#and I could probably manage on my own without it? and it feels so melodramatic to ask when it is ultimately within my control

[annabelle--cane]

hwah

[13eyond13]

What headcannons do you have on B during his career (for a lack of a better word) as a serial killer? To me, he's like one of the funniest characters but also the most pathetic in the most poetic try-hard way. Why do you think he's such a try-hard? He's coping but what is he coping from?

OMG B!!! Haven't thought about my favourite stupid son B enough lately, so thank you for this ask....

So he's a try-hard because he is probably VERY INSECURE, to be blunt. He probably has very little sense of self-worth or a concrete sense of identity outside of trying to one-up L, and he takes that to the extreme in a highly comical way. He's also no doubt traumatized from his insane childhood as a shinigami hybrid who watched many people (including both his parents) die while knowing they were going to die / was also raised very weirdly and abusively/experimentally at Wammy's and made to feel like he was only worth something if he could be as smart and talented as the legendary L. In his mind he decided that creating his own destiny would be better and rebelled against that expectation by being like, "why be the next L when instead I could DEFEAT L by creating a brilliant crime that he can't possibly solve?"

ANYWAY there's a reason he is the most creepypasta villain / emo boi / dark academia darling of the fandom, and that highly melodramatic backstory is a huge part of it - which I DO love dearly in its own mid 2000s way, even though I also sometimes sigh at it because of the extra villainous cartoony edge it adds to L's backstory, and don't always want to take it very seriously as part of L's characterization in the manga plot...

So on my most recent re-read of the LABB novel, I feel I was a bit struck by just how... Not Good B's impression of L actually is? And this was kind of hilarious to me to think about. I feel like when I was younger and really into shipping LxB I read it just as "clearly B has a massive crush on L and is doing his best to imitate him perfectly because he hero worships him and sincerely wants to be him so bad!" HOWEVER this time around I remember thinking something along the lines of "wow, this feels almost like B just googled how to cosplay L and then lazily threw something together 5 minutes before crawling under the bed", hahaha. So he either just kinda sucks at imitating L (and maybe so, but he also managed to trick the families of the victims into letting him investigate the crime scenes, so he's probably not THAT bad at acting when he wants to be?) or maybe he's intentionally trying to make a mockery of L. It is ALSO FASCINATING from a psychological POV to imagine he's just being a troll about it all and trying to make fun of L with how he behaves! Like! Was he intentionally mocking L with his impression of him to somebody who would never even get the stupid joke in the first place? If that's the case, it's excruciatingly cringy to me that nobody even gets his joke the entire time, hahaha.... poor Naomi suffered more than Jesus at some points during that investigation, I swear...

B trying to do a scathing impression of L to somebody who has never even met him before:

ANYWAYS. I think that whatever the case, he PROBABLY hoped/expected L himself was going to show up to the crime scene to confront him, at any rate. And so therefore he probably initially dressed up as L not to genuinely pass to anybody as L, but maybe expecting to do some ominous dark mirror/ arch-nemesis big reveal shit to L?? Perhaps once he realized that Naomi was the only one coming / was working for L he just changed gears a bit and decided he'd just lead her through the clues as best he could while trying out this cosplay of the guy that he wants to offend most, but this is in my mind pretty much how it must have gone.

One of my fave headcanons about him is that he re-read that crossword puzzle he made / that the police threw out without solving SO MANY times while he was sweating off his makeup under the bed, as well... that's why he had to show it to Naomi as soon as he got out... he was like "I PUT A LOT OF WORK INTO THIS DAMMIT, and SOMEBODY is going to appreciate it" hahahaha. Ohhh, B....

[nochuelinha]

Chapter 4: Lepus

   A few days have passed, I've fully adapted to the Cullen family, my family now. I've spent hours talking about books with Jasper, although he's very reserved and quieter than the others, he's kind and helps me with everything I need, he and Alice make a harmonious and somewhat unlikely couple, but the way their eyes sparkle when they meet doesn't deny the love they feel for each other. With Emmett it was a muscular thing ? We bet on races and hunts several times, I managed to beat him in 3 arm falls and we exchanged punches a few times, amicably of course, he was like an older brother who liked to pick on everything, unlike Rosa who is always delicate and restrained, she taught me several things like how to behave and not let others walk over me, she helped me to have more confidence in who I am.

     Alice is the friend I never had, a sister, a companion, she goes out of her way to help me, it feels like I've known her since I was very little, she taught me how to dress based on the things I liked, she showed me how to apply make-up so that my pale skin wouldn't be my only feature, but she always made it clear that it wasn't to hide my freckles.

___ It's one of the traits that makes you unique, as well as enhancing your beauty, it's common for us to become more attractive with the transformation, usually our best traits are revealed, but I've never seen eternity fall so well on a person and you wear it very well, let's just add a little color, see yourself as a canvas that can always change and show itself differently - she said as she calmly put makeup on me, nothing too extravagant, a little blush to make my cheeks blush, mascara to make my eyelashes look more voluminous and a gloss - you have well-defined and marked features, your mouth is beautiful and fits in perfectly with everything - with every little change she made, compliments would reach my ears, with these little self-care routines with her I learned to think of myself as more beautiful and secure.

     Esme taught me how to make different kinds of tea and when I asked her about a cup of coffee, she was very happy to make one for me, she really acts like a mother, I went for a few walks with her, we picked flowers to decorate the vases in the house, we talked about how the weather in Forks was closed, but at the same time it had an air of coziness and we shared calm and happy moments. Carlisle introduced me to the library, full of all kinds of books, it was probably bigger than the bookstore where I worked, he gave me free access to all of them and taught me things I didn't know, talking to him is very easy, he is wise and manages to put you at ease in his presence, now I can understand his fame as the best doctor in town, not only because of his medical skills, but also because of his social skills.

     Now the time I spent with Edward was very interesting, he showed me all kinds of artists and musical genres, he let me into his world a little, which I noticed was more melancholic and a little melodramatic, but made him more sensitive and delicate in his own way. It was late at night and I was lost in my reading, but with a little attention I began to hear a piano playing. Curious, I got up from my bed, put the book aside, not before marking the last page I'd read, and followed the sound, at the end of the corridor was Edward's room, the door was ajar, I didn't want to be nosy but the melody was so enchanting that I couldn't help but feel drawn to it, I stopped in the doorway, he was playing with such emotion, it was almost a crime to watch without his permission. Then he stopped. He stood up and turned to me. If I still had blood running through my veins, I'd certainly be redder than a bell bell pepper.

___ I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, I heard the sound and followed you, but I'm already on my way back to my room, have a good... - I began to stutter and speak rapidly. And before I could finish my sentence, I was interrupted.

___ You can come in Stella, it's no bother, it's been a while since I last played for anyone, would you like to hear some more? - he asked gently, I looked into his eyes, which were always warm, but something was wrong, they were dim and taciturn. I went in and sat down on a sofa next to the piano - Do you have anything in mind? - Well, I didn't know any classical music, but I remembered one that I heard at Christmas time when I was 15, on the small TV in the orphanage in a special that was on.

___ Clare de Lune? - I let out without being too sure if that was her name, but Edward gracefully sat down on the piano bench and began to play delicately, the sound filled the room and my heart, I remembered my childhood and the things that have lived up to this point, everything I've been through, the difficulties I've faced, everything was thrown back and forth in my head, my thoughts running deliberately as the music played, I let my mind travel through the song, I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the moment, honestly I could spend eternity listening to him play so elegantly. When he finished, I smiled, it was exactly the song I listened to as a teenager.

___ I'm sorry - he whispered, I opened my eyes and stared at him without understanding what he was feeling - Your thoughts were very loud, your childhood and life in the orphanage, the things you've been through, I'm sorry - he explained calmly, I felt undressed again by his gaze, you can't hide anything from him, can you?

___ Those were different days, I don't think I suffered that much, I like to think I was always optimistic about the things I had to go through, then a gift fell on me and after a lifetime, I finally have a family - I didn't want to sound so melancholy, but the moment made me a little sentimental.

___ I can teach you how to play if you're interested - he proposed solicitously, I cheerfully accepted and my piano lessons began at that very moment, learning new things made me excited, it was as if I was now able to achieve everything I'd always wanted, not that I couldn't before, but it seems easier now. Days passed and always at the same time our classes took place, it was easy to be in his presence, we exchanged easy conversations, sometimes he told me more about himself, about his girlfriend, and I had forgotten that detail, him someone, that won't change the fact that we can be friends, I just have to control my heart.

     When I went shopping with Alice, she bought me a new cell phone, and on a whim I asked for headphones. At times when I wasn't with any of the Cullens, I either spent time reading or listening to music, both of which calmed me down and made me happy. My eyes were finally golden, so tomorrow I would start going to school in Forks, in second grade, just like my brothers, it's different to refer to them like that, but it's so pleasant.

     When it was time to leave, I made myself as presentable as possible, Alice persuaded me to change my haircut, the long hair still remained, but now I had a straight, full fringe, I loved the result and Alice went around the house shouting how cute I looked. I chose a wine dress, with tights and boots, a leather jacket and simple jewelry. Was it too much? I did a simple make-up and went downstairs. Rosa was happy with the result and complimented me, like everyone else. We went down to the garage, Emmett, Rosa, Jaspes and Alice occupied a car, Edward opened the door of his volvo, I didn't know which one to get into. I went towards Emmett's car when Edward's voice stopped me.

___ You're coming with me, they're too noisy - he replied laughingly, Emmett and Alice gave him the tongue. I went towards his car and got in - Let's go by Bella's house - and so he started it, the silence was comfortable, when we arrived at Bella's house, I got out of the car under Edward's confused gaze and got into the back seat, a few minutes later a pale girl with brown hair appeared and ran up to the car, she got in and didn't notice me.

___ Hey, you're early today - his voice was murmured and low.

___ Well, it's Stella's first day of school, she's even here - Bella looked back startled and I gave her a smile, she returned it robotically, Edward started the car and the silence now seemed to carry a ton. When we arrived, I almost jumped out of the car, much faster than I should have and ran, as slowly as I could, towards my brothers, Rosa laughed.

___ What, you don't like our sister-in-law? - she joked and I made a cartwheel.

___ She didn't talk the whole way, I can't form an opinion like that, but I don't want to be rude, she smells like a wet dog - I whispered and Emmett laughed out loud, and I scolded him.

___ She's friends with a wolf, that's why she smells like that, but it usually happens when she spends time with him - Emmett replied casually. Edward and Bella didn't come any closer, it sounded like they were arguing, they weren't being very discreet - Here we go again, the couple of the year is arguing again, from what I heard she's wearing a wolf boy's jacket - Emmett was stretching to hear better, Alice tugged on his ear.

___ Don't meddle in other people's lives, let's introduce Stella to the school - she scolded Emmett and smiled at me.

___ She's like a bloody wolf disguised as a rabbit - Rosa said between breaths.

___ Wouldn't she be disguised as a lamb? - I asked without thinking too much, Emmett laughed again and slung an arm around my shoulders and we walked into the school. Apparently it's going to be a lot of fun studying here.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

topic: Margo Hanson

Oh, man. You know, I was thinking the other day that Margo is a very difficult character to write, because she's so deeply human, which means she's very contradictory, and I think a lot of us have this impulse to present the Mythology of Margo the Destroyer as if it were a fact, when it's -- a fact, I guess, but it's actually not more true of Margo than a lot of other things are. She definitely has a temper, and I think Eliot (who did coin the Destroyer thing) really gets a vicarious thrill out of her little explosions -- Eliot, who pretty much never raises his voice to anyone in the whole series, seems to kind of view Margo as his Anger Translator, the person who dgaf when Eliot can't quit giving all the fucks, who's fearlessly in the moment of her emotions when Eliot is always second-guessing himself because of his crippling imposter syndrome. So because we see so much of Margo's character illuminated through the Margo-and-Eliot dynamic, I think that part of her gets foregrounded.

But she actually is often privately anxious or uncertain, and she has this amazing warmth and empathy that she's a little reserved about letting just anyone see (I think she lets Eliot live out that side of her a little, like he lets her live out his repressed willfulness). I think the scene where she tries to let the Muntjac have agency over her own fate is one of the best scenes in the entire show, and it's the way Summer plays Margo's sadness and her uncertainty and her helplessness in this incredibly human way that doesn't call into question any of the pride and the drive we've also seen Margo exhibit. All of that exists there together, along with that kind of natural, unforced wittiness that makes her probably the funniest character on the show, without being The Comedy Character. I also cherish the s4 scene where she thinks Eliot is dead, and she tells Fen that she won't grieve because she would never reach the end of that once she starts, because it is similarly this perfect mixture of humor and vulnerability and dignity. It's a scene that could be mawkish or melodramatic, but Summer is so magnetic, and she always seems so aware of Margo's full emotional range, and creates this perfect balance between what Margo can and can't reveal, will and won't reveal, of herself at any given moment.

I have a lot of complex feelings about s5, and I do not think it does Margo justice -- in fact, I think she fares worse than almost any other character, with the way her storyline becomes so completely warped around this question of whether or not she's a good enough girlfriend to Josh. That being said, I do always kind of hold this image of her at the very end in my mind, because she truly does feel like Best Margo to me there. It's not really earned by the story, but it is shot and acted very well -- the way she looks so relaxed and natural as she reclines on the sand eating her first meal in New Fillory, the way she projects warmth and softness and self-possession. I feel like I'm looking at someone who truly knows herself, who's been tested and who has been able to claim her successes and forgive herself for her failures, and it's a really beautiful transformation from the s1 version of Margo, who is sort of preening and bratty and self-promoting. I think more than any other character, I see her as someone who started out with a false idea of where she was headed and managed to take this weird, winding, nonlinear journey and become a person she was surprised to like as well as she did, shedding a lot of her more maladaptive defense strategies and figuring out how to actually show up for herself in a resilient and well-rounded way.

[pathetic-gamer]

And that concludes Verdant Wind maddening mode/classic/no NG+ We did it! Gold screen!!

[The only reason this took 24 turns is that I spent 10 full turns parked on a stronghold trying to make Nemesis break his sword bc I thought it would be funny. He did, and it was. Ingrid final MVP yet again - i now have final MVP screens for her from every route but CF lol]

Once I got through the first few two chapters, this was significantly less challenging than I had expected. The final map was just as hard as AM, which is to say, not hard.

Run summary and some final thoughts (including some VW vs Silver Snow ~discourse~) below the cut <3

Making everyone fight their zombies was fun, and I did manage to get some crit/crest/signature art combos, too! Took clips of it, I'll put them together someday probably. The only hard part was wasting so much time trying to get people in the right position to fight their zombies at all (looking at you, Mercedes).

Fraldarius vs Fraldarius was a sight to behold, tbh. They both activated their crests almost every attack but also both consistently either dodged or proc'd aegis - even survived a crit through aegis - so it took four rounds of combat. (And NO, no one else was allowed to help. This was Felix's fight and his alone, ok.) Being a melodramatic bastard in combat must run in the family. I wrote a fic about it lol.

Units, classes, items:

Felix actually used a sword for most of this battle, I just happened to have the bow equipped when I took the screenshot. Also, they didn't all actually use their relics for the majority of the battle. Mostly silver weapons or the legendary forged ones. ALSO also, Leonie is actually a sniper, I had to restart bc I forgot I had reclassed her during some auxiliary battles.

I feel like I finally understand firsthand why crests make the nobility lol Leonie was the only person on the team without a crest, and I actively missed it. Constantly disappointed by the lack of a fun little glowing shape smh

Final pairings:

m!Byleth/Linhardt

Claude/Marianne

Hilda/Balthus

Lysithea/Cyril

Leonie/Seteth

Catherine/Shamir

Felix/Annette

Mercedes/Sylvain

Ingrid/Yuri

Dorothea/Petra (no, I didn't use either of them for a single battle, I just made them eat lunch together until they fell in love ok thank u bye)

Overall MVP: It was surprisingly even across the board, but ultimately Annette took it, winning by two over Sylvain and Lysithea, who were tied.

Highlight: Gronder Field, where I successfully made Edelgard kill Dimitri so I wouldn't have to.

FINAL THOUGHTS ON STORY + SILVER SNOW COMPARISONS: (warning you now, this is really long)

Verdant Wind's story actually falls flat sometimes, man. Things like Edelgard’s death scene stick out like a sore thumb, they so obviously belong to a different story (*cough cough* silver snow). What if instead, we got some final dialogue between her and Claude where he says he could have worked with her? He explicitly said earlier that he thinks they actually have similar goals.

(It also would have made the TWSITD reveal more interesting ["Edelgard, bestie, rethink this. We both want to free people from prejudice and discrimination, we can work together." "Surprise, bitch, I wasn't doing this on my own, the whole thing was manufactured by these secret baddies." "Girl help, I've been underestimating the depth of the secrets of this world."])

Idk, I still like it but there's something to be said about how much was taken from Silver Snow and vice versa and where they REALLY belong. When I finally played Silver Snow, after having already played VW, I was like "ohhhhhhh this makes sense now" about so many things. I'm actually of the opinion that VW is reusing story from Silver Snow more than the other way around. In fact, think Nemesis would have been an appropriate penultimate boss for Silver Snow (penultimate bc lets be honest, hes not designed like a final boss. I literally fucked around and made him lose his battalion and break his sword, just for fun. He's just a normal map boss. Kinda boring.).

What they SHOULD have done is turned Thales into a final boss for Claude so that TWSITD actually do feel like the ultimate baddies theyre supposed to be. He could even turn himself into a big cool monster like Edelgard does in AM!!

And I do love the final boss in Silver Snow, I think it's what really makes the story hit. You sided with the church specifically to save Rhea from Edelgard, only to end up having to fight her anyway! You fight the people who want nothing more than to kill Rhea, only to have to kill her yourself! You finally learn the truth of the destruction of the Nabateans, only to have to pit them against each other! Gorgeous!!!!

So heres my ultimate proposal for Silver Snow: Claude helps draw troops away from the great bridge of myrrdin, as is canon. You actually do try to help Dimitri at Gronder, but you get there too late to save him. You defeat the empire, then they give you the info about TWSITD. You defeat Nemesis. Seiros goes berserk, and you fight her as the real final boss.

For Verdant Wind: All the same, except Thales is the actual final boss. The End.

Okay that's all thanks for reading love you bye xoxo

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

Still loving Komahina and I also love hurt/comfort sickfics so this was pretty inevitable. Nagito is very good for sickfics. Anyway, I wanted to show these two trying to navigate a bad illness and all the frightening and sometimes embarrassing things that come with that. Post-hope arc again. With fluff because I can’t NOT do fluff. I hope you enjoy it - Circle

Also on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34280557

Warning: descriptions of vomiting (I didn’t describe the puke itself or anything, don’t worry, I’m emetophobic myself) and high fevers/vague descriptions of medical procedures.

Hajime noticed at the beach this time - and just like every time, he kicked himself for not noticing before he’d made Nagito leave the cabin. He thought back to when Nagito stumbled as they walked across the island, about how he’d chased every meagre bite of breakfast with a gulp of water like it was difficult to get down. Hajime hadn’t been vigilant enough, and now they were sitting together on the sand and Nagito was leaning far too heavily against his shoulder.

“Nagito?” Hajime said cautiously. When Nagito turned his head, Hajime hastily put a hand to his forehead, managing to catch it before Nagito veered away. “I knew it. You’re burning up.”

Some old routine. Nagito would deflect, then grow self-deprecating; Hajime would shut that down, then begrudgingly carry Nagito back to their cabin. They’d done this dance together over and over, whenever Nagito’s weakened state and illness made something like a common cold seem as serious as smallpox.

It didn’t seem so bad for the next couple of days. Nagito had a fever, but it was a low one, and he ate when Hajime asked and seemed alert and talkative. Hajime felt comfortable leaving him in the care of their friends while he went to Mikan for medicine and advice - though his friends proved to need supervision of their own. He returned to his cabin just as Sonia and Gundham were leaving, reassured when Sonia reported that Nagito wasn’t any worse. At the time, he didn’t notice the splashes of brown paint on Gundham’s bandages or Sonia’s dress.

Hajime stopped short when he stepped over the threshold. There was a gigantic swirly witchy symbol covering almost the whole wall above the bed, the heavy smell of paint in the air. Nagito was peeping over the top of the bedsheets, eyes sparkling.

“What the hell is that?” Hajime couldn’t even sound angry. He was just bloody tired. Why were the Ultimates so dramatic?

“Sonia and Gundham did a ritual for my good health,” Nagito explained. His lip twitched and Hajime knew he was fighting a smile. “I was so honoured to have two Ultimates working to help me that I thought it’d be unspeakably ungrateful to protest.”

“Oh, shut up, Nagito! I can see you just think it’s funny,” Hajime snapped. Nagito snorted and disappeared under the sheets, spluttering.

Hajime sighed and took another look at the giant eyesore on his wall. At least it was painted fairly neatly - and he knew Gundham and Sonia’s hearts were in the right places even if this particular stunt was irritating. He supposed they were trying to help in a weird way. Sonia went along with anything Gundham said, and Hajime didn’t expect Gundham to know you shouldn’t paint giant symbols on other people’s walls without permission. Gundham navigated social interactions like he was going into battle; Hajime doubted he would ask permission for something he clearly saw as a good deed.

“Doesn’t it make your boring plain wall more interesting?” Nagito piped up.

“Don’t push your luck, Nagito.”

“Right. Who knows what pushing my luck will do.”

Later on, Hajime would worry that he’d jinxed them somehow, that whatever strange force was behind Nagito’s Ultimate Luck was malevolent and wanted to teach them a lesson for mocking it - because that night brought disaster. Nagito was usually exceptionally clingy when they were in bed, often to the point where Hajime got so warm he had to pry him off, but now he curled up right on the very edge of the mattress, well away from Hajime. Hajime knew he was awake from his strangely measured breaths and his unusual stillness; Nagito was a restless sleeper. He frequently kicked Hajime in the night and rolled right on top of him and yanked the blankets away. Sometimes Hajime felt like he’d get more sleep on a busy runway as airplanes roared overhead.

Hajime poked Nagito in the back, careful not to tip him right off the bed. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t get a response. Hajime sighed. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’re not asleep. You never sleep like that. So what’s going on?”

He wound his arms around Nagito’s waist and tried to pull him closer to get a better look at him, but Nagito winced and slapped his hands away with surprising force. “Don’t,” he gasped, curling up even tighter. “Don’t press…”

“What? Is it your stomach?” This was new. Nagito had been off his food lately, but then he frequently found it difficult to eat. “Do you feel nauseous?”

Silence. Getting information from Nagito was like getting blood from a stone sometimes. Hajime felt Nagito’s forehead in the gloom. His fever had definitely gone up and his skin was clammy. Hajime let his fingers trail down Nagito’s cheeks to his jawline and felt along his neck - the lymph nodes were so swollen they felt like two throbbing ping pong balls.

“Fuck,” Hajime muttered. “I thought we might get through this one without anything too bad.”

He was expecting some strange rambling about how this bad luck would inspire them to hope for good things in the future, but Nagito still didn’t speak. He rolled over and shuffled across the bed, tucking his burning head right under Hajime’s chin. It worried Hajime more than any words could; Nagito didn’t actively seek out comfort unless he was feeling really terrible.

“Hey,” Hajime mumbled, having to spit out a mouthful of Nagito’s unruly curls. “Ugh, your hair keeps getting in my mouth. Look, I know you’re sick and I’m sure it must feel crappy, but you’ll be okay. You’ll probably feel better by tomorrow morning. Right?” Hajime knew he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as Nagito.

More silence. Hajime could feel Nagito shivering, and wound his arms around him quickly. He usually teased Nagito for being so chilly all the time, needing his jacket whenever the sun dipped behind the clouds and getting goose pimples in the air conditioned cabins, but it didn’t seem remotely funny anymore. Nagito trembled like he was buried up to his neck in snow, but he certainly didn’t feel cold.

“You’re burning up. Fuck, I think I need to get Mikan,” Hajime said. He felt a hand shoot out and grab hold of his t-shirt, clinging for dear life. Hajime knew he could easily pry Nagito off, but he couldn’t bring himself to try at a time like this. “Okay, don’t freak out. I’ll stay. But I’m going if you get any worse.”

It was after midnight when the vomiting started. They’d already been in the bathroom since eleven, huddled together on the floor by the toilet, sharing a blanket. Nagito kept sleepily begging Hajime to go back to bed and leave him there, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t be here with me if our roles were reversed.”

“That’s different. You’re you and I’m me,” Nagito whispered. He let his burning head rest against Hajime’s shoulder despite his pleading.

“It shouldn’t be different though. It’s not different, not to me. You’re sick and I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway if I knew you were in here on your own feeling miserable.”

“You have such a kind heart, Hajime. To think you could care so much about someone as worthless as I am.”

“Nagito. If you don’t stop that I’m going to shove your head down the toilet and flush, no matter how sick you are,” Hajime threatened. “You’re not worthless. For the millionth time.”

“You’d think you’d have got tired of saying that by now,” Nagito said.

“I have. Very fucking tired. But I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Now shut up and try to get some rest. And let me know when you need to throw up. You’re in a position right now that would have you puking down my front and it’s making me nervous.”

Thankfully, Nagito was exceptionally neat about it when he did have to lean over the toilet to vomit. Hajime hooked his white curls back behind his ears and tried not to groan too much. It was unpleasant, obviously, but it was clear Nagito was the one suffering the most right now. He didn’t need Hajime moaning in his ear for him to hurry up - and as the minutes ticked by Hajime found his embarrassment and mild disgust morphing into anxiety. He knew Nagito hadn’t had much to eat these past few days, but the retching and heaving went on well after Nagito had nothing left to bring up. Nagito’s cheeks grew flushed and blotchy, and it wasn’t long before Hajime was the only thing holding him up over the loo, his arms wound around Nagito’s chest. He could feel Nagito’s heart pounding hard against his arms, on and on.

“Come on,” Hajime said eventually. “I’ll get you a bucket or something. You’re not really throwing anything up now anyway. You need to lie down.”

Nagito didn’t respond. He was breathing heavily, his face dripping with sweat. He was gripping the porcelain so hard his knuckles bleached white. Hajime had to pry off his fingers one by one.

“Come on,” he repeated. “I’ll get you something to wipe your face. I know you feel miserable but you can’t stay tethered to the toilet until you die.” He scooped Nagito up into his arms, cradling him as carefully as a newborn. Nagito felt frighteningly hot and damp.

Shaky arms wound around Hajime’s neck and a weak, hoarse voice whispered into his ear. “Death would be welcome at this point…”

“Stop it,” Hajime said firmly. “Don’t go all melodramatic on me. You sound like Gundham.” He carried Nagito to the bed and ran a cloth under the tap. “Here. Shall I do it for you? Then you don’t have to sit up.”

Nagito didn’t react, staring up at the ceiling. He seemed to decide to ignore Hajime at will, and it annoyed him almost as much as Nagito’s self-deprecation.

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” Hajime snapped. “I’ll scrub your face like a baby if you’re going to act like one.” Despite his tone, Hajime ran the damp cloth over Nagito’s skin with unbelievable care and tenderness, going carefully around his eyes and mouth.

Nagito’s eyes flickered over to him. “Well, Nurse Hinata, what’s your diagnosis? Is it curtains for me now? Is this world finally finished with me?”

“No! God, I’ve never known anybody so dramatic,” Hajime said angrily. “It’s just a little stomach flu or something like that. Don’t be so stupid.” He was almost shouting now. It was far easier to get angry than to admit to Nagito that he was scared too, that the knot of panic in his chest was getting tighter by the minute.

Nagito stared at him pityingly. Hajime wanted to slap him and clasp him close all at once.

“I’m going to get Mikan.” He turned to leave, but felt a clammy hand grasp his wrist and hold it with a surprisingly firm, desperate strength. Hajime turned back. “Nagito..?”

Nagito had his head bent, his lips pressed together. He didn’t speak, but he clung to Hajime’s wrist so tightly his fingernails dug in.

“But we need help. I’ll be as fast as I can, I promise. I’ll run all the way,” Hajime tried.

The hand squeezed even tighter.

“Oh fucking hell,” Hajime groaned. “Okay, I won’t leave. But we still need help, so you need to let me go for a second, okay? I promise I won’t go past the door to the cabin.”

A pause. Then Nagito slowly unclamped his fingers and let Hajime break free. He immediately flew to the cabin door, opened it wide and took a deep, long breath inwards. “HEY!” he bellowed, as loud as he could possibly manage. His voice boomed through the still night air. “WE NEED HELP! COME OUT AND HELP US!”

He yelled the same simple lines over and over until a door opened. He’d rather hoped for somebody sensible like Twogami or Mahiru; he ended up with Kazuichi. It made sense really - the sensible people would be asleep at three in the morning, and Kazuichi’s cabin was directly across from Hajime’s.

“What the hell are you screaming about, Hajime?” Kazuichi whined, scrubbing his eyes. His hands were covered with oil and he smeared it across his cheeks. It looked like he was wearing bad war paint. He’d doubtless been hunched over some project he was working on. It usually annoyed Hajime to see his friend neglecting vital things like sleep for his machines, but he was grateful for Souda’s insomnia tonight.

“Kazuichi, come over here, I need your help. Nagito is sick. Like, really sick. I need you to go get Mikan. Please.”

“What? Why can’t you do it?” Kazuichi said indignantly.

“I just… I don’t want to leave him alone, okay?!” Hajime muttered, flustered.

“Awww, Hajime! You loooove him,” Kazuichi cried, spluttering with laughter.

Hajime heard Nagito snort behind him too. He must’ve heard. He felt his cheeks flush crimson. “Kazuichi, will you just fucking go before I throttle you!”

“Stop yelling at me, I’m doing you a favour!” Kazuichi cried, looking wounded - but he ran off in the direction of Mikan’s cabin obediently.

None of them slept much that night. Mikan worked diligently, trying antibiotics and saline drips and ice packs, but she couldn’t get Nagito’s fever down, getting more and more tearfully apologetic as if she was personally blighting him herself. “His fever is dangerously high. We have to find a way of lowering it,” she muttered over and over like a mantra, shaking her head.

Anti-nausea drugs stopped the persistent stomach pains, but Nagito was clearly far from comfortable. He stopped smirking and teasing Hajime, stopped laughing at Kazuichi’s silly jokes. He stopped putting himself down and babbling about how the four Ultimates were so full of kindness and hope to be fussing so much over someone like him. He just stared vacantly up at the ceiling, his eyes foggy and over-bright, his cheeks flushed.

They each toiled in their own way until dawn, when they finally collapsed with exhaustion, squashing up together on Hajime’s bed. They lay there undisturbed until Twogami came looking for them, concerned by the absences at breakfast. He shook Hajime awake, wanting to know why there were four people curled around each other like puppies on his bed, but all Hajime could focus on was Nagito. His head was resting on Hajime’s chest, burning hot through his shirt. The fever was still there. He’d woken up but the nightmare was still going.

It was a mercy that Twogami found them. He sent Mikan off to sleep in her own cabin and made Hajime give a detailed account of the previous night (he let Kazuichi remain asleep at the foot of the bed. Twogami knew he wouldn’t sleep again if he was disturbed, and he wasn’t in the way).

“If he gets any worse, we might have to contact Future Foundation,” Twogami said thoughtfully. “They’ll have more complex medical equipment.”

“We don’t need them,” Hajime snapped. “Especially Makoto.”

He’d thought Kazuichi was still sleeping, but he snorted. “Because Nagito gushes over Makoto. That’s why you don’t like him,” he mumbled sleepily, sitting up.

“Shut up, you hypocrite. Why didn’t you like Gundham before?” Hajime argued.

“I don’t know why you get so fussed, Makoto looks a lot like you.”

“He doesn’t!”

Twogami sighed and crossed his arms like an exasperated parent. “If you two want to bicker you can go do it outside. Nagito needs peace and quiet.” He sounded like a parent too, and the other men quietened immediately and focused on Nagito again.

Nagito didn’t seem to wake up properly. He could open his eyes (though this looked like it was taking an extreme amount of effort) but he didn’t speak or even react very much when somebody spoke to him. He barely blinked when Hajime tried to make him sip water or Kazuichi tapped on his cheek and called his name. Mikan was forced to give him fluids intravenously. When the afternoon brought no improvements, Hajime let Twogami contact Future Foundation for better medicine.

Hajime spent another anxious, sleepless night desperately holding Nagito - though he didn’t feel like Nagito. He hadn’t spoken a single word all day, and though Hajime was trying to be optimistic, he could feel panic pooling in his stomach like oil. Would the medicine get here in time? Would it even work? Nagito was so sick, as sick as he’d been with that awful Despair Disease. Hajime remembered how he’d left Nagito alone then; he wouldn’t make that mistake this time. He’d be there for Nagito - if he was even aware of Hajime at this point. It seemed less and less likely. He wasn’t even opening his eyes now. All Hajime could do was hold him, hold onto this lifeless, unresponsive husk that sucked in shallow breaths far too fast. He wondered if the real Nagito was somewhere deep inside, floating aimlessly, or if the fever had fried his brain completely and obliterated the strange, smart, fascinating person Hajime knew. No, surely he was being stupid. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Unless Mikan and Twogami were just being tactful. Maybe they both expected Nagito to perish and just didn’t want to snuff out Hajime’s hope. He clutched the burning body tighter.

“Don’t you dare die,” he whispered fiercely, cupping Nagito’s cheeks. “I mean it. Not after everything that’s happened. You can’t just give up now. You woke up once before. It took you the longest of everyone, but you still came back. Do it again, because I’ll lose my fucking mind if anyone else dies. You’d better fight this.” His eyes burned. Several tiny droplets of water fell onto Nagito’s face.

Hajime waited. He silently begged Nagito to open his eyes, whisper something coherent, clutch his hand… but nothing happened. Hajime held him all night, terrified of drifting off to sleep in case he woke up and found Nagito stone cold and white and still. He’d found Nagito dead once. Bloody and bound, his eyes bulging with pain… No. It wasn’t real, even if it felt real. It wasn’t real it wasn’t real it wasn’t real.

Morning brought the stronger medicine from the Future Foundation. Twogami explained what it was and how it worked, but Hajime was so fuzzy-headed with lack of sleep and stress that he didn’t take any of it in.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Twogami said doubtfully. “Mikan set up the IV so you don’t have to worry about anything. You could leave one of us here, go get some rest.” He tried for ten minutes to convince him, but Hajime shook his head.

“I can’t leave him. Not until he’s better.”

“You’re so stubborn. At this rate we’ll need to start nursing you along with him,” Twogami muttered, but he left them alone. Mikan left as soon as she could too, apologising even more than usual. Maybe Hajime had been glaring at her? It wasn’t her fault, he just had a splitting headache, but he obviously couldn’t leave to go apologise. Not now.

Time had started to blur. Minutes crawled by like days, but then suddenly an entire hour could disappear in a second. Hajime stayed sitting by Nagito’s side, periodically holding his hand, begging him to squeeze his back. Nagito lay still, but his breathing had evened out considerably since he’d been given this new medication. Hajime tried tickling at his cheeks and smoothing back his hair and Nagito twitched and sighed - tiny reactions, but they were reactions. Hajime hardly dared let himself hope and he definitely didn’t dare let himself sleep, though he was so tired now he had shooting pains behind his eyes.

Later - much later - Kazuichi came back, bringing Hajime toast and coffee. He looked startled by the state he was in. “Good God, Hajime, you look worse than Nagito!”

“Thanks a bunch,” Hajime grumbled. He didn’t touch the toast but took a grateful gulp of coffee.

“Seriously, bro, when did you last sleep? Or eat? Or… shower?” Kazuichi asked, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Have you seriously not slept since he got sick?”

“How can I?” Hajime snapped. “Will you please stop bleating obvious questions at me, Kazuichi. Yes, I’m fucking tired and hungry and I look like shit right now, I know. But I’m trying to make sure my boyfriend doesn’t die right in front of me, so forgive me if I can’t give much of a fuck about anything else! I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. So can you please just shut up or fuck off!” He was practically screaming by the end of it. Part of him really wanted Kazuichi to yell back, start a real fight; he was so tired and so frustrated and it was so easy to take it out on Kazuichi.

But Souda didn’t argue. He didn’t speak, but his eyes filled up and he ducked his head to hide his quivering lips. Hajime felt a sudden wave of shame wash over his head. He didn’t want to make Kazuichi cry (even if that was pretty easy to do).

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting his head in his hands. “Yes, I’m tired. Tired and miserable. It’s not your fault.”

“I know you’re tired. I thought I could stay here. Keep watch over Nagito for a bit. You can sleep next to him,” Kazuichi said, his voice cracking.

Hajime felt worse than ever. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He grabbed Kazuichi and pulled him into a clumsy hug. “You’re a good friend. Better than me.”

“I’m your best friend, right?” Kazuichi asked hopefully. “You’re not just being nice? Am I actually just annoying?”

“You are annoying. But you’re still my best friend.”

Kazuichi grinned. “Okay. And you’ll get some rest now? I think you really need it, Hajime. You’re so grouchy when you’re tired.”

Hajime rather wanted to grumble about that comment, but he didn’t want to prove Souda’s point. “You’ll wake me up if anything changes with Nagito? Even something tiny. Even if you’re not sure it’s a change, can you wake me up to check?”

“Yes. God, you’re worse than Peko with Fuyuhiko. Do you really love him, Hajime?” Kazuichi asked.

“Look, we’re not at a pre-teen sleepover, Kazuichi. I don’t want to sit here with you and gossip about boys,” Hajime said, shuffling close to Nagito. He wasn’t sure - maybe it was wishful thinking - but he thought Nagito’s body was slightly cooler.

“See what I mean. Grumpy,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime didn’t bother to reply this time. He didn’t think he’d manage to get a wink of sleep with all the stress and worry, but he was out like a light almost immediately, so exhausted he didn’t even dream. He wasn’t sure how long Kazuichi kept vigil at their bedside (several hours, he guessed. Kazuichi was a good friend) but he was gone when Hajime opened his eyes. The silvery dawn light was filtering in through the windows, bathing their furniture in a soft glow. Something was burrowing into Hajime’s chest like a small animal.

“Nagito..?” Hajime mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Of course. Who else do you invite into bed, Hajime?”

“Nobody, dumbass.” Then it clicked and Hajime was instantly awake, peering through the dim light. Nagito truly was awake, looking very pale and sleepy and weak, but his eyes were open. Hajime clutched onto him at once, holding him as tight as he dared. Nagito felt as fragile as glass, like he might shatter altogether if Hajime squeezed too hard.

“Careful, you’ll yank my IV out,” Nagito mumbled, but he buried his face into Hajime’s shoulder too. His skin was still clammy, still warm, but not that terrifying burning anymore. Nagito felt clammy all over. “You should wait till I’ve showered before we do all the tearful reunions.”

“Shut up. I need a shower too,” Hajime said hoarsely. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Fuck, it’s good to see you awake and talking.”

“How long was I out?”

“Several days. How much do you remember?”

Nagito paused. “I remember the night Mikan and Kazuichi came. It gets a bit muddled after that. Someone tried to make me drink quite a few times. Nothing much then. Except…”

“Except?”

“Perhaps I was dreaming. I couldn’t imagine somebody caring so much for someone like-”

“Oh Christ, I haven’t missed that,” Hajime groaned. “Just tell me what you remember!”

“You. Your voice, telling me not to die. Though it sounded more like you were threatening me not to die. And something dripping on me.”

Hajime felt his face flushing. It seemed like years ago that he’d hovered over Nagito and frantically begged him to keep fighting. “Trust you to remember something embarrassing like that.”

“Were you truly crying?”

“What else would I be doing? Drooling on you?”

“You hardly ever cry.”

“I’ve never seen you that sick before,” Hajime admitted. He held Nagito in the hug so he couldn’t see his face. It was somehow easier to blurt it all out in the gloomy morning half-light. “It was… fucking horrible. I didn’t dare sleep. I haven’t felt scared like that since the simulation. I thought I was going to lose you… just like Chiaki.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Hajime could feel Nagito’s breath tickling against his neck.

“We smell awful,” Nagito finally whispered.

Hajime started spluttering with laughter. “For God’s sake! Can’t you ever be serious?”

“You know I don’t have any idea how to comfort people. But… you shouldn’t worry so much when I get sick. Not just because I’m me, but because my luck usually comes through for me eventually. It hasn’t let me die yet. Well, except in the simulation.”

“Shut up. Don’t talk about that,” Hajime said quickly. “Izuru has luck too. So that should mean I’m stuck with you forever.”

He rather expected Nagito to shoot back with some sort of self-deprecating response like “poor you” but Nagito was silent for a while. He was practically in Hajime’s lap now, his skinny legs wound around Hajime’s waist.

“Thank you.”

“Hm?” The words were so quiet Hajime barely heard.

“Thank you for taking care of me. Nobody has ever done that before,” Nagito said, his voice as light and delicate as the dawn. He still found it so hard to accept things like this. He’d spent so many years building walls around him and then Hajime had come along and blasted through them in an instant. Nagito felt raw and vulnerable and exposed - but there was a warm feeling in his stomach too, new and unfamiliar.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Hajime promised.

“You’ll probably have to. My immune system is awful.”

“Then I will. Needing things isn’t bad, Nagito. You’re not meant to do things all alone.”

“The thing we need right now is a wash.”

“Yes. We’d better get that over with first,” Hajime agreed - but despite their words they both remained in their embrace, clinging to each other with desperate strength, long after that sun had risen properly.

[calaofnoldor]

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​

TEAM SQUIRREL: @deanwinchesterswitch​ @deandaydreaming​

[machinegunbun]

UnConventional Bakers [Pete]

Requested? no

word count? 1.7k

TW? None

A/n: it’s like 80% dialogue bc it’s supposed to be a tv show. whadder ya gonna do

The props department did a wonderful job this season, comedy inspired props sprinkled about the set. Mic stands ended in lollipops, rice krispy stools covered in modeling chocolate, Comedians stood at every station, patiently awaiting directions. 

Conventional Bakers was finally ready for shooting its first season. It was a show about famous people coming together on a baking show and competing. It would have everyone from singers to actors or, in this case, comedians. Every season would be inspired by the careers of the people competing.

“On this season of UnConventional Bakers we are joined by,” the camera took turns panning to each comedian as you said their name. 

“Kevin Hart, Pete Davidson, Adam Sandler and…” you paused for dramatic effect “Fluffy!!!”

The comedians protest coming fast after 

Why’d he get all the excitement?” Adam asks

“Yeah, i’m literally your fiance what the fuck.” Pete adds, laughing “I don’t like that, i don’t like that shit. I got my eye on you Gabriel.”

“Don’t hate me cause I'm beautiful.” Fluffy replies

“Bakers! Comedians, whatever,” you call out, trying to regain their attention, Pete playfully mumbled but returned his attention “if you want a chance at winning you will have to pay attention.”

“Got it, go. No wait… yeah okay, go.” Adam interrupts, causing you to bite back a smile. This would be a long shoot

“For tonight's challenge, you’re in for a treat. Because it’s only the first round, we’ll take it easy on you and allow teams.” muted murmurs fell over the room as they decided who would be on whose team, “Tonight we will be making the one thing a comedian couldn’t live without.” Your co-star, Nicole Byers, continues.

“Weed.” Pete guesses,

“No, their audience.”

“Oh, speak for yourself.” 

“You will be making your very own audience cupcakes. When we say go you will head to your baking stations where you will find step by step instructions on how to make your audience, along with photo references and the clock will begin counting down.” You say

“Go, go, go! What are you waiting for?!” Nicole rushes, you take your seat as they make their way to the respective stations. The teams ended up being Pete and Kevin, Gabe and Adam.

Things were going pretty smoothly, the comedians racing back and forth from the ingredients to their stations as things began starting up. As you look around, you see Pete and Kevin looking confused as they stare at the instructions.

“Something wrong, sweety?” you ask

“No, all good over here. Thanks for asking.” Gabe pipes up, you laugh and make your way over to Pete

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I shouldn’t have dropped out of college.”

“How come? What's wrong?”

“I need ⅔   a cup, but there’s not a ⅔  measurement cup.” he says

“Well, if you need ⅔  but there's not one, you just take two--” 

“Don’t patronize me. I got it.” Kevin cuts you off in the middle of explaining, grabbing two handfuls of flour and throwing it in the mixer “There, that should work.” 

You sigh, making your way over to the other stations to check on how everyone else was doing. Adam was doing well, which wasn’t a surprise considering he’s a father and probably does some baking at home.

“Gabe, how are you doing?” 

“Not good, I’m used to eating cake and not making it.”

“Oh hush, you’re doing fine!” You encourage, leaning forward to whisper to him “Kevin just measured flour with his hands, so I think you’ll be okay.”

“Guys, I think they’re talking about you.” Adam yells

“Yeah, I know.” Pete laughs.

“That's okay, cause you know what? Haters gonna hate.” Kevin yells

After making your rounds you sat back down, turning to face a laughing Nicole.

“That wasn’t sugar, that was salt.” She barely squeaks out “They’re gonna be so gross” you nod and laugh along, all but excited for the dishes that would soon be in front of you.

“On that note, can we get some water?” You call out to the team behind you

“And a medic?” Nicole adds

“And a mathematician. You understand this shit?” Pete says

“What? Basic measurements? Yeah baby, I do.” 

Before you knew it the timer had gone off and the cupcakes were sat in front of you. 

“So, these are what your audience were supposed to look like, and this is what they do look like.” Nicole says, vaguely gesturing to the cupcakes

“We- we uh, we took some creative liberties.” Pete says through a laugh

“Well, let’s see what it tastes like.” you say, grabbing one from the crowd and cheersing it with Nicole’s

“Might as well get this over with.” she says, making a clink noise with her mouth, as she does there's another noise too. The rock hard exteriors made a clunk noise. Your jaw dropped as you made eye contact with Nicole, not believing what had just happened

“Wait.” you say, grabbing another and throwing it at the ground with all the force you could muster. It cracked directly in half, crumbs flying across the floor.

“Pete!” you yell, an amused smile painted across your face. Pete laughs, covering his face 

“I have no idea what happened.”he says, picking up the cupcake from the floor

“This is my passion, how did you fuck up this hard?!”

“I have no fucking idea.” he laughs, crumbling it up in his hand.

“I guess we still have to taste it.” you say, grabbing another and cracking a piece off on the table, handing one to Nicole. When you bite down there's an audible crunch that makes everyone in the room wince. You can’t help the expression that overcomes your face as the taste hits your tongue, looking over to Nicole to confirm it wasn’t just you. It wasn’t.

You attempt to open your water, your hand slipping again and again until Pete walks over and opens it for you, feeding you the water as he apologizes through his laughter. It took you a minute of held back gags to recompose yourself, but when you finally did you said,

“Your BLEEP is sweeter than this.” You say, deeply preferring it over the burnt, salty, crunchy thing in front of you.

“Really?” Pete asks, laughing and when you nod your head it only makes him laugh harder.

“Pete, you fucked up Pete.” Kevin says. 

“Dont throw this on him, you’re the one who wouldn’t listen.” You say, looking over to Nicole who had resorted to licking the icing off the cupcake

“Look at what you’ve done to this poor lady. You should be ashamed. It’s gotta be a zero from me” You laugh, more than ready to move on.

“You know what, the icing wasn’t bad,” They began to fight over who had made the icing. “I don’t care, just promise to never do that again. Adam, Gabe, before I take a bite you have to promise me it won’t be like that.” Nicole says, dead serious. They shake their head, letting out little reassurances while choking down their laughter. You take a deep breath before lifting the cupcake to your mouth and taking a small test bite, surely traumatized. 

To your delight, it was actually very good. You smiled and nodded, taking another bite as Kevin and Pete groaned, knowing they’d surely lost.

“I feel like theirs was so bad we can’t even celebrate.” Adam says.

“Yeah, i don’t think we need to add insult to injury by announcing the winners of this round. On to the next?!” You cheer, preparing to announce what would come next.

“For your next challenge, we will be making cupriphon- cupcakeriphones- Okay, the name hasn’t been completely sorted out yet, cupcake microphones!” You announce

“Yes! And because we felt bad for the loser, that’s just in the script so i had to say it, i don’t actually feel bad for you that was disgusting. Because we felt bad for the loser, we decided to give them a leg up. If you look at the stations, two of them have buttons. They’re called the happy heckler buttons and when you press them a timer will be set and either Y/N or myself will go yell encouragement to your teammates until it goes off.” Nicole says

“Awhh, so sweet. Ready? Set? Go!” You yell, watching them scatter to try to find a station.

“Ay, stay back this is mine.” Fluffy says to Adam, haphazardly wielding a knife, momentarily fighting over a station before Nicole reminds them the timer is counting down. They take a look at their ingredients before rushing over to the storage space and grabbing what they need.

You’d managed to get to the decorating stage with little to no issues when you hear Kevin yelling, “Pete! I need your help, I need those long legs pete.” straining to grab something from the top shelf

“Hold on, one second.” He says, glancing back momentarily as he tried to finish decorating.

“Oh shit, you’re already decorating?” Kevin asks as Pete hands him what he needed before walking back to his station.

“Yeah, catch up.” Pete says

“Okay, i’ll catch up, if that's what you want.” Kevin says, slamming his button down in a melodramatic act of sabotage.

Nicole yells in excitement, ready for some action, running over to distract Pete.

“You dick! I thought we were friends.” he says, slamming his own button. You run over, making sure to get in Kevins face as you encourage him, giving him slaps on the back and shaking his shoulders. Things had gotten very chaotic, very fast.

When the four minutes were over you left Kevin’s station for Pete’s, hanging out with him as his cupcakes cooked in the oven. He was bent over in a hug with you, small kisses being pressed to each others lips.

“Doing so good baby.” you mumble, fingers tangled in his hair. Usually you didn’t like PDA, but you had made an exception today because it had been a long shoot and you missed him.

“Way better than last time.” He confirms, remembering last time they had burnt and opting to check the oven.

“Look at that! This aint fair, Pete’s sleepin with the judges!” Kevin yells, making everyone laugh

“You could be too, Kevin.” Nicole winks

“Nicole, you’re both married.” You remind them

“Hey, that's show business baby.” Kevin jokes

When it all came to an end, Adam ended up winning and it was a surprise.. To no one. He was the only one even kind of equipped to win and he rode that all the way to the finish line.

[shortiedreams]

Nobles in the night

Requested by @jwxei

Pairing: Bakugo x (fem) Reader 

Synopsis: You’re a princess set out to kill the king of your nation. Will you succeed?

Word count: 1,821

CW: Attempted murder

A/N: Played ‘Phantom of the Opera’ soundtracks whilst writing this. Dying right now ✌️

_

“The hour of the ball has transpired.” a hushed voice came from behind the entrance.

With the help of his usual dynamic tone, Bakugo immediately recognises the familiar voice of his fidus Achates, Kirishima Eijiro. 

“Very well.” he sighs, and Kirishima could almost hear a frown through his raspy voice. 

None of this was going the way Bakugo wanted it to, yet he couldn’t back out anymore; it was simply too late.

“I’ll be taking my leave then, your majesty.” Kirishima reports.

“Please do.”

Bakugo examines his profile in the gilded mirror. He glowers at his own reflection, how outlandish he looked in his formal attire. Even short of the mantle cloak he was supposed to wear tonight, everything about what he’s dressed himself was far too extravagant for his liking.

He poses again with several new angles as if his judgements will change in one swift movement, but of course, it still feels improper.

He drops his eyes in defeat, succumbing to the unadorned fact that he was going to have to get used to the policies of being king.

He has no idea why everyone worshipped the throne. All he ever wanted was to live a secluded life with his family and friends. 

In actuality, that was what he had before the Mediterranean War a year prior to the present, wiping out the entirety of his family, ergo his newfound entitlement: the king. Kirishima was the only part of his childhood that remained, the only part of his childhood he still had physical contact with. It wasn’t surprising to say that he was very attached to the man, granting him the chancellor’s position. 

Which is why with Kirishima and his family’s former support, it was impossible for him to deny the tradition of the annual ball no matter how much he opposes it. He hates the notion of prattling aristocrats shattering his peace and quietness. Even more so of his invitation to you, the Princess of Agathinos, under the monarchy’s recommendation. This would be the first time a guest with royal blood would visit the palace ever since his family’s death. 

As always, Bakugo initially wanted to decline, but Kirishima advised him that he should accept it since it was ‘time’ for him to start courting. He thought Kirishima was being a nuisance, then again he also didn’t want to be looked down on by the aristocrats. He already knows there are rumours of him, calling him all sorts of names like ‘boorish to women’ or ‘ a  critter of another nation’. 

Bakugo was a smart man, so it didn’t take him much to realise that if he really terminated these accustomed traditions, the public would cause unnecessary commotions. Therefore, for the sake of his future peace and his reputation, the ball is set to commence tonight.

Bakugo snaps out of his sombre daze as he reaches the doors to his chamberlains. He fixes himself, coughs a little, before the doors open and he’s now striding out into the hallway. 

Two handmaids are waiting outside his chambers on cue, guiding him to the ballroom. Bakugo glances around the normally dimmed hall, spotting the marshals line-up in armour and the walls decorated with large candles and Renaissance artifacts. He could hear the distant melodies of the orchestra, currently playing some melodramatic composition. Amidst the lively energy of the hall, Bakugo thought that these attributes only made the area more inhumane.

Bakugo soon enters the top of the stairway, where he adjusts himself as he sits on his throne. He doesn’t even get a few seconds to himself and the guests are already flooding into the ballroom, producing a discord between the music and the chatters. 

“Just great.” he grumbles to himself, resting his chin atop a fisted hand.

_

“For the stead of my parents and the kingdom.” you remind yourself.

You too were sitting in front of your vanity mirror, questioning yourself of your affairs. 

You stare into the mirror long and hard. The dress you were currently wearing is the embodiment of an icy blue oasis. The crystal embroidery embellished on the outermost tulle of the skirt was your definition of a wintery wonderland. The rest of your body was touched up with matching accessories too: diamond earrings, silk gloves and silver hair ornaments. Everything about your outfit shone under the moonlight, but you didn’t, you merely blended in with the dark. Especially with the expression you were holding, no one was going to see you as a ‘princess’.

The reason for your morose mien was your parents, who weren’t attending the ball alongside you as they were busied with engagements arranged overseas.

The only thing they left behind for you was the invitation card, and a letter explicitly telling you to the murder the king. 

At the time you read the letter, you were shocked at how your parents could possibly craft up an assassination plot with such detail. You weren’t oblivious to your parents being megalomaniacs; it was why they were away most of the time, focus directed towards any other royalty overseas rather than their own daughter back at home. 

Another reason why they never really bothered with you was because you were a daughter. Although you were an only child, you understood that society’s misogynistic ways definitely influenced their lack of attention towards you.

It's not like you and your family had a bad relationship but you weren’t exactly close either, therefore you didn’t have enough memories to form any opinions on them. Well that is up until now, when the confidential letter telling you the kill the king ceaselessly echoes through your mind. 

Brazen of you, but you wanted to get some of your family’s attention for once. In a sense, you inherited their selfishness. 

You temporarily shake off your thoughts, and with the minimal amount of dignity left in you, tread along to where your chauffeur was, waiting to escort you to the plaza - the location of the castle. 

Inside the privacy of your cart, the thoughts of how the assassination will go runs through your mind as you fiddle nervously on the holster underneath your dress.

You just hope you’ll manage to come out in one piece.

_

The moment you make your ‘grand’ entrance at the ball, strangers are already gushing at you as a peculiar redhead announces your status. 

You realise that this was probably your first official appearance in public as your parents never let you out, contradicting their own actions. 

You waste no time to ask around for the location of the lavatories. Luckily, the same redhead fills you in on the information you need, and you manage to make a quick escape to the toilets. 

You shut the doors behind you, puffing in pure relief. You were never good with crowds since you haven’t even been outside after all, so the comfort of this cloistered space warms you a little. 

Anyway, you’re here to collect yourself before you even dare to think about killing anyone.  

It takes you a while to calm your breathing as the plan continues to play through your mind for what feels like an eternity. Killing really is all that disturbing.

When you finally muster up enough courage, you step out of the lavatory with undeveloped confidence. Flushing, you look down at your feet as you attempt to make your way back into the ballroom, not even noticing the man standing straight ahead. You stumble into him ungraciously, earning you a merited knock on the head.

“Ouch.” you wince in pain. 

Your eyes drift up to meet with a prepossessing blonde who gazes down at you with an amused guise. He was dressed in haute couture, a form-fitting navy suit pinned with the golden emblem of the Bakugo’s: a griffin.

Without a second glance, you instantly note that he’s the king. 

“Careful, Princess of Agathinos.” he alerts, his voice suiting as the most soothing cord of notes you’ve heard pour out of a mouth in a while.  

How did he recognise you?

“You dropped something, princess.” Stupefied, you watch in awe as he bends down to pick up your possession. 

Moments later, you finally knock yourself out to check what’s fallen off your outfit. In vain, you find all your accessories precisely in their designated locations.

Wait.

“A dagger?” he taunts, raising a brow in your way, “Mind explaining why you need this in a clearly guarded place?”

“My King, I-”

“Don’t have anything to defend yourself with?” Your eyes widen at his accurate observation.

Unnerved, you flee from his light grasp and begin pacing in the opposite direction witlessly.

“Running away from me in my premises. How fatuous.” he chuckles to himself, inspecting the dagger that played in his hands.

_

You dash tirelessly past the postern and into what appears to be a garden. You don’t give a second thought as you bolt through a vineyard, the chiffon fabric tufting together under the remiss handling of your silk gloves. 

Reaching the mouth of an inviting forest, you feel a pair of arms repelling you from going any further. Your eyes widen once more, not being able to tell if you were gratified or terrified, or a genuine mixture of both. 

“I wouldn’t go there if I were you.” the flattery music blows into your ear.

Absent from warnings, two strong arms spin your waist around to engage you with a  handsome physique under the moonlight. You shudder at the enchanting sight of the king. 

If he’s run all the way here for you unaccompanied, it is only alright for you to assume that he doesn’t care about the incident back there.

He seems to be more interested in you, like you are with him.

“Please don’t run, princess. I’m not the beast that everyone deems me to be.”

You show no apparent reaction to his comment, still fazed.

“Don’t be afraid.” he adds, sounding ever so sincere. 

“Oh, I won’t.” you promise. It was the only thing you could say after being completely infatuated by him.

“If you’re saying that on account of me releasing you, then you’re wrong, princess.”

“I mean it, your majesty.” you clarify challengingly.

He hums, palpably entertained, “Will you allow me to try something?”

Was the king seriously asking you for permission even after he knew you were a threat?

Oh lord.

“S-sure.” you stutter, making a downright fool out of yourself.

“Well then, forgive me for my bold deed.”

Before you could even say anything, you feel the sensation of his soft lips pressing against yours, juxtaposing to his unyielding image beneath the moonlight. It sent butterflies fluttering down your back impetuously.

Slowly pulling away for air, a silence hovers above the both of you, utterly enraptured by each other.

“Bewitching.” he comments as he leans in for another kiss. This time you lid your eyes, prepared to devote yourself to your king, Bakugo Katsuki.

[drarrymybeloved]

is this alright? (or what happens when two idiots actually communicate)

should i be studying? yes. do i have a microfic to write? also yes. have i done either of those things? nope, i did this self-indulgent thing instead :D

baby’s first non-microfic published work :’) also on my ao3

Draco is furious. He understands that the war wasn't too long ago and that resentments, or in this case regrets, still linger. Much of that is valid. But this? Absolutely not.

His jaw hurts with how hard he's clenching his teeth. He paces around the eighth year common room, running his hands through his hair and shoving random pieces of furniture.

"You need to stop with the dramatics already."

Draco whirls around to pin Blaise with a fierce glare. Blaise, the absolute bastard, just raises both eyebrows and shrugs nonchalantly.

"Just tell us what's bothering you so much, Draco," Pansy says, without looking up from inspecting her nails.

Draco narrows his eyes. "Thank you ever so for the concern, but I have no desire to talk about it," he spits out.

Theo heaves a melodramatic sigh and pushes himself out of the sofa. "Well then old boy, if you're not talking to us, I don't see why I should waste a perfectly good day trying to get you to open up," he turns to Greg, "How about you? Does a dip in the lake sound more fun than this?"

Greg shoots Draco an apologetic look, but then firms his shoulders and says, "It does actually," and follows Theo out of the common room, determinedly avoiding all eye contact.

Underneath his anger, Draco feels a curl of satisfaction at seeing Greg starting to become his own person. Really, Draco bossed him about far too much when they were kids.

"I appreciate the show of concern and all that, really, I do. But— bugger off," he says to Blaise and Pansy. He just needs to work out this strop, in peace, on his own. No need for a bloody audience.

Blaise huffs out a disbelieving laugh, while Pansy mutters something that sounds an awful lot like "absolute ingrate" but they leave all the same.

"Fucking finally," Draco mutters, resuming his furious pacing.

But apparently peace is not an option today, because just then, the common room door opens.

"Pans, for fucks sake, just let it go. Not everything needs to be talked to death," he releases a harsh breath, refusing to turn around.

"I'll tell her you said that," comes a voice from behind Draco. A voice that is decidedly not Pansy's.

Draco whirls around, "Potter?"

“Hi,” Potter grins at him, that stupid crooked smile of his.

"What do you want," Draco grits out. The Slytherins and Gryffindors have called a truce of sorts— it's not uncommon now to see the two groups mingling, playing a casual game of pick-up Quidditch or finishing their homework together. Draco isn't opposed per se, but he does have his reasons for wanting to avoid the Boy Wonder in particular.

Potter shrugs. "I passed Pansy and Blaise on my way here, and they said something about you having a strop. I thought I'd see if I could help."

"To see if you could— why would you even want to—", Draco splutters, caught off guard. He takes a deep breath. "Point is, Potter, no you cannot help me nor do I want your help," he manages to pull himself somewhat together, attempting to look haughty. The pink bleeding into his cheeks probably isn't helping matters.

Potter looks even happier now, his grin widening and eyes positively sparkling.

Irritated, Draco turns his back on Potter, hoping he'll take the hint and leave already, never mind what the more imaginative parts of Draco's mind are suggesting.

Of course, because he turned his back, he doesn't see Potter approaching him and proceeding to wrap his arms around Draco's middle.

Draco freezes. His mind goes absolutely blank, because whatthefuckisharrypotterhuggingmesweetbabymerlin.

He feels Potter shift a bit behind him, his unruly hair brushing Draco's nape. "Is this alright?" Potter asks in a low voice.

Draco's trying to formulate a response, truly, he is. But Potter is pressed against him and his mouth is so close to Draco's ear. When Potter speaks, Draco feels the lightest of brushes on the shell of his ear, which could have been air or it could have been Potter's lips. Hastily, Draco steers his thoughts away from Potter’s lips.

"Draco?" Potter's loosening his hold, making as if to step away, and no absolutely not, that will not do.

Draco's hands clamp down on Potter's, still wrapped loosely around his middle, to hold them in place.

When Potter chuckles, Draco can feel it on the back of his neck, and it's a good thing Potter's holding him firmly again because Draco doesn't think his knees are of much use anymore.

"So that's a yes, then?"

Draco clears his throat and prays his voice comes out steady. "Obviously," he manages, and if his voice cracks a bit, well. Potter's never been the observant type.

"And this?" and then Potter's lips are brushing his neck, the barest of suggestions.

Draco shivers and lets his head fall back a bit, his body leaning more into Potter's.

"Yes," he exhales, his eyes falling shut. But— "Wait, no, aren't you dating Weasley's sister?" Draco leans away from Potter, attempting to rally his scrambled brain. Massive crush or not, Draco's not willing to be the other man.

The hands around Draco's torso turn him around, and then he's looking right into Potter's eyes. The amusement he finds there confuses him, and he frowns.

"You would think that someone who spends so much time being hyper-vigilant of me, would know I'm currently single," Potter's hands come up to smooth out the frown on Draco's face.

"You do it too," Draco mumbles, because it’s true and he’s too distracted by what Potter just said to come up with anything better. Also— Potter’s hands are on Draco's face.

Potter grins unabashedly at that. "Well, I am," he says, still smiling. "Single, that is. And I happen to have my sights set on a particularly dramatic blonde."

Even though Draco's heart is singing a little bit, and his cheeks are possibly apple-red, he has just enough presence of mind to say, "I am not dramatic, thank you very much," while attempting to look as indignant as possible when in Harry Potter's arms.

Eyes shining with amusement, Potter asks, "Oh really? Tell me what got you this worked up, then."

"...Slughorn refuses to give me the marks I deserve," Draco reluctantly mumbles, looking down from Potter’s gaze to where his hands had come up at some point to fiddle with Potter’s tie. "Maybe marks aren't important to you, but Potions is my top subject, I'll have you know. I can't have Slughorn messing up my perfect record," he adds defensively.

Potter just laughs, the unbearable git. "Can I kiss you now?" he asks, looking at Draco with a startling amount of fondness.

"Good idea," Draco hums, meeting Potter halfway.

They're both smiling too much into the kiss, and it's really not that great, but that's okay. They have plenty of time for better ones.

[ganymedesclock]

K, N, and P for the fanfic asks please?

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

See this is a bit tricky because I have a somewhat contentious relationship with the idea of 'angst'- not as it's typically used, but that I feel like sadness is a thing you have to balance and blend just right, or you end up with something that feels exaggerated and hollow and melodramatic.

My personal pedantry aside, though, I think that the majority of stories I write have some element of darkness and certainly some elements of hurt/comfort to them, even when it's about sparing a character who dies in canon. I have this "no free lunch" corollary where if a character avoids death, I feel like it should be a near miss and have consequences. So I have a take of Maria Robotnik somewhere where the gunshot wound didn't kill her but it did permanently damage her spine and she's a paraplegic wheelchair user; PK in Refuge For Resolve not only has the facial crack his unresponsive body in canon gained but he's also got a void-related affliction he's trying to manage, and Tiso in Nos Morituri survives taking a mawlek to the entire body, but has to face the possibility of permanent disability muscling in on the strength he was so arrogantly proud of to get himself into this situation in the first place, and changing his entire fighting style as a result.

It probably isn't astonishing to say that I also am a co-author on a long-runner Zelda fic I've mentioned a few times before and scars are a huge theme in that. But I don't generally think of this stuff as 'angst'- I think it's a lot of just, what interests me personally so it's stuff I like to play with. It makes it hard for me to really tell what qualifies as Really Heavy Stuff to other people.

Of my current projects, admittedly I'd say the Zelda fanfic is probably the darkest compared to its source material- like my HK fanfiction is set in a full-stop gothic horror universe so if I have PK surviving and actually reaching the emotional health to regret a lot of his actions and make sincere effort towards a better future that's pretty darn chummy compared to HK.

But that same tone- which is again, to me, neutral, because I just really like gothic horror and it's a flavor I put in anything- really stands out in Legend of Zelda which absolutely has fucked up stuff but largely consigns it to being sorta isolated and/or forced to share a game with robots that flirt with your sword and cynical clown men whose raison d'etre is shooting people out of comically oversized cannons.

So, uh, fucked up-ness is relative? it's relative. And it feels like, presumptuous as a horror writer to crown the most fucked up of my own ideas. That's for the audience to do. Squeeze the tears back into your body and tell me how they tasted.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

See this is another tricky question because I think all writers have some manner of love hate relationship with the idea of magic button that make story go brr without your input but also the pride in our creations hinges overwhelmingly on the fact that it's ours, and damn the gales or the ravages that made it hard to create.

Incidentally this is also why I rarely feel too miffed about people taking inspiration from my works or borrowing ideas to use for their own writing; technically anybody else could write another idea for me, or pick up one of the countless ideas or half-finished fics I'd discarded with time, and that would certainly be something interesting; it just wouldn't be mine, it'd be theirs instead. Which I think is a good thing about art. We can get very up in arms about faithful or unfaithful adaptations (sometimes, for very noble reasons!) but I think that in many ways the thing about ideas and stories is that even people with mutually perfect grasps of the text will have completely different notions about what it means.

And I think this is the biggest reason I like having an audience. I love hearing about what my stuff means to other people.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

I quite frankly could afford to do a lot more planning. I don't just mean this as idle self-deprecation!

Generally, ideas come very easily and naturally to me. Putting any amount of media or content into my brain causes it to ping all over the place like kernels in a popcorn machine. Even leaving ideas to fester just boils them down into stock that feeds new ideas. It's one way that my adhd definitely works with my writing process on a formative level, and I think that it is a big connection to the way I engage and interrelate with media. At the same time, though, if it has a drawback, it's that it's always easier to run off on a new idea than stick by a current project.

In that sense, to run with the 'gardener' metaphor, I have tremendous success getting things to take seed and grow, but not so much with an actual nice or orderly garden- but I've met some people with some absolutely beautiful topiaries and ivy-encrusted fountains, and getting older and more experienced myself, I've been getting more precise with the pruning shears and thinking harder about what things are going to mean. A great comparison for this is if you compare my 'early draft', Refuse and Regret, to my current ongoing one of the same story, Refuge For Resolve, I planned absolutely nothing in Refuse and Regret. I had the VAGUEST notion of where I wanted some things to go but I was really just running with it and deciding chapter-to-chapter what I wanted to happen next and while this meant it was tremendous fun to write, in hindsight it's pretty labyrinthine and potentially directionless. RFR, meanwhile, I thought a lot more on it- if nothing else, lining it up with my friend Meta's parallel fic meant I've had to think about certain achievements or thresholds PK runs into.

Admittedly, this does mean that a lot of ideas for Refuse and Regret went to the wayside. There was a concept I entertained briefly of PK leaving the Ancient Basin by way of the Deepnest Tram Station and getting shoved off a ledge to his (temporary) death by Galien.

[gills-corn]

Once there was a boy and a butterfly.

It wasn't a butterfly at first, of course - the boy picked up a lone caterpillar one scorching May morning and nursed it to adulthood. As it molted and grew wings and learned to fly, the boy played under the sun, showering in the sunshine and the summer rains.

The butterfly flew away, right out of a window and to the sky. The boy was outside, running around with a group of children his age, playing whatever their heart desired. He didn't even had the chance to say good-bye.

He cried himself to sleep that night, inconsolable. The next day, he's back on his feet after a friend gave him a cone of ice cream, as fickle as the summer day that shined down upon him.

He became just a boy, with no butterfly, but a boy who knows more about leaving and losing than the day ago.

The next years repeated the same way - a boy, alone in the universe, but bodies still orbited around him, people he knew loved him but he couldn't quite comprehend why or how. He had long forgotten is butterfly. People came and went - friends, classmates, family members - and he had learned how to cope. He had learned about the importance of them arriving, of them leaving, of them tracing a solitary mark on his life.

Still, the idea of having something you value so dearly, so tenderly is lost on him. But what does he know? He's sixteen and miserable and alone, not entirely friendless or lonely, but there's still a vacuum around him, warping around his from like a black hole.

"I don't think I'm capable of love," he had mentioned to his friend once, in the throes of drunkenness. There's a sad smile on his face, reminiscent of a boyhood not-so-lost but drifting away.

"You are. Everyone is," his friend answered, his eyes fluttering shut. He rested his head on the other boy's shoulder.

The silence rang through the boy's ears as other bodies slept around him, his friends that fancied themselves as rebels but didn't do more than sneak a few bottles of beers. He examined his friend's face and returned to his drink, his body thrumming.

He was nearly seventeen, crying in the bathroom, his heart threatening to burst out of his tight chest. A boy with no butterfly, no love to give, no best friend to hold onto, whether they're drinking, laughing, or exploring the blissful tragedy of teenage-hood.

He thought he knew how to say good-bye. He had practiced this all of his life - see you soon, hope you'll be okay and, in times of death, I'm so sorry for your loss. This was worse than death itself - it was something that was torn out of his life, like a page from a book, except the page was inked with memories he could never forget and things he wished he had said.

First there was sadness.

Then there was anger.

He tore out fistfuls of hair from his head. He threw away comic books they once shared, mixtapes they made for each other, notes passed around class, naughty and mischieveous and immature. He kicked his door and teared up because he stubbed his toe. He tore his curtains down and immediately repaired them, not wanting his mother to be more worried than she already is.

Finally, it was the numbness, the calm.

Everyone was too worried about him, too careful about the words they said. The hurricane had soon departed, he thought to himself, but everyone was afraid to start another one. He did not have the energy nor the time for it anymore. He had wasted enough time as it is. He had school to focus on, friendships he wanted to revive, apologies he had to give out.

He was trying to be a better person. But why did it feel like he's only making himself worse?

"He told me you thought you didn't know how to love," a friend told him. She blew a gust of smoke on his face from the cigarette she'd been smoking.

Something wrenches behind his ribcage. "Yeah."

"I'd say you were wrong," she replied. "You acted out because you love him. And you can't bear to see him leave."

"I know," he murmured. He raised his head. The familiar warmth of his friend's eyes, the slope of her nose, the crookedness of her teeth were all a gentle reminder of a childhood diminished but he hoped to cling onto it as much as he can. He tried to stop his voice from cracking as he added, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be. We're all upset. And sad. He's our friend since, like, forever. But the world goes on. If you don't catch up, you might just get left behind."

That was the thing he liked about this friend. She was never too gentle.

He was able to move onto seventeen without a hitch. His remaining friends helped him celebrate, throw a party, down a few shots. He made him realize that was able to love and he had been loving them since he knew them. And he knew they loved him back.

Seventeen felt new, fragile. Maybe he was just being overdramatic but he was getting closer to adulthood. He wasn't much of a child anymore, with overgrown limbs, unwanted hair and things he was not able to control, but the thought of moving to adulthood was too daunting. Sometimes, your past selves are the ones who leave and you must still know how to depart from them properly.

The universe goes on and he moves on. Slowly. But he's getting there. School was ending. The number of summers of spending with his friends was dwindling. Soon, there'd be university, jobs, apartments. A few years later, relationships, marriages, children would start to appear in his life and rubbed on his nose, whether he liked it or not. The future was vast, terrifying, like the expanse of the wide, deep space. He decided that he'd take on his last summer as a child, even though he had lost the title years ago.

He knew things left. He didn't always expected them to come back.

Everyone rejoiced at his best friend returning for the summer - everyone, that is, only his friends. They all were planning for their last hurrah before departing their own ways after the next school year. He didn't know how everyone just became happy and fun and excited as if his friend's loss didn't rip out a piece of his soul.

Summer was ruined. He should have known that days of fingers sticky with melted ice cream, skin smelling just like sunshine and jumps into creeks and pools were long gone. He stayed in his bedroom for as long as he can. He knew that with him coming back, he'd be leaving again.

"Are you avoiding me?" his friend asked him, lying side by side as they stared on the dark ceiling of his bedroom.

He was not able to get out of the end-of-summer sleepover. He did not want to disappoint his other friends and their powers of convincing were straight out of an telemarketer.

He breathes out, his heart rattling. "What do you think?"

"I'm sorry. I - I know you're still upset with me leaving."

"Well. That answers your question now, doesn't it."

"You can't hide from me forever. I can't handle it."

"Do you think I knew how to handle it when you walked away from my life?" he shot back.

Tears clawed at his throat and he felt something hot behind his eyes. He closes them, hoping to get out o this nightmare.

"I didn't have a choice. My dad got a promotion, my mom's unhappy with her job here - "

"You could have told me," he replied. His voice was quiet, pinched. "At least I could have prepared myself."

"Can we talk outside?" his friend whispered urgently.

The two of them stood up. They were both the same height now, all awkward limbs and unharnessed strength. His friend gleamed under the glow of the silver moon outside, his tears glossing on the tops of his cheekbones. He stretched his hand, beckoning him to come closer.

He had no choice but to take it.

That summer night was cold but everything else was bright. If they were seven years younger, they would have howled at the full moon and ecstatic that they had managed to be awake past midnight. Nostalgia gnawed through his heart like an unwanted termite. He clasped his chest as his friend sat on the grass, not minding the stains on his white pajamas. He sat beside him, listening intently to the silence.

"Do you still think you can't love anyone?" his friend answered.

"No, not anymore." He smiled. A little. "I realized that I actually love all of you. My parents. Even my little sister. I was just drunk and melodramatic."

His friend laughed quietly but in a way that was still distinctly his. "I get what you meant, though. Sometimes, I - I feel like there's just something missing and it makes you all hollow inside."

"But you still loved, right?"

"Yeah," his friend replied. "I have never felt more love. That was cheesy but it's true."

"You're right. Maybe truth is a little cheesy. Maybe we need a little cheese in our life."

"I am so, so sorry. I can't - I did not know what to tell you, really, that I was going to go."

"But you told Tom - "

"No, I meant you. It's just - just the thought of saying good-bye to you hurts. Hell, even physically. I did not want to lose you. Or anyone. But especially you."

"Well, you tend to lose people in your life. That's sort of how it works."

"But then I wouldn't know how to live."

"Don't say that. Losing people does not mean losing yourself, too."

His friend sighs. "I know. What I'm trying to say is - I didn't want to make you upset, disappointed, sad or whatever. I know what I did probably made you more like those things and I apologize. Really. It was selfish of me. I didn't want to think about you not being there right by my side."

"You were right." He sat up straighter. "I - I didn't know what to do with myself when you left. Losing people means losing a part of you, I know, but I never seemed to realize that you were such a large part in my life that it made me crumble."

"Remember the first time I gave you ice cream? We were like eight or whatever. It was from my savings from school. I wasn't actually full that time. You were just so sad and you loved ice cream so. . . I gave you a cone."

His eyes crinkled as he gazed upon his friend's open and vulnerable face. "My butterfly left the day before. Of course I was sad. But why did you do that?"

"You know how I always get you ice cream, right? You, only you. Always vanilla and chocolate in a wafer cone. Whenever you want one or whenever you're miserable, I give you an ice cream cone. Sometimes, there wasn't even any reason. I just gave you one."

"Yeah, but Kay and Rachel are lactose intolerant and - "

"I'm trying to say that you're special. To me. Ever since we met. And I can't - I did not know how to say good-bye. Especially to my favorite person."

They were grasping hands, sweat intermingling.

"I know. But we all have to, right? Eventually. But seems like I still need to learn that lesson."

"Why?"

"You're my favorite person as well and I - I can't bid you farewell for the second time."

"Well. We don't have to think about saying good-bye right now, you know. We can think of what we should be doing now."

"Like what? Sleep?"

"No." A beat passes, like a flap of a butterfly's wings. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

As their lips meet, bittersweet yet refreshing, filled with shed tears, unfurled emotion and whispered love confessions, they say hello and bid good-bye to each other again and again, like two butterflies floating in the air.

[deliquescentnightmare]

Easy Come, Easy Go- CH 4

~What's worse than nicotine? An annoyance.~

Delila braced her back against the wall to the left of the open door. She stood there for a small eternity before the silence was punctured with a tense exhale from inside. She took that as her cue to whip into view, eyes taking in the man stretched languidly on the couch, feet hanging off the end. The two made eye contact and Sherlock’s eyebrow raised.

“Oh. Hello I assumed you’d have a gun pointed at me sooner or later, but this must be a new record,” he stared at her, almost seeming amused, “We’ve only known each other for what? A half-day?”

“Where’s the danger?” She asked, narrowing her eyes as she looked about the messy apartment.

“I said it could be dangerous, not is,” Sherlock replied, “And I said that to John, not you.”

“There’s no danger, is there?” Delila asked, switching on the safety and reupholstering her gun with a sour look, “It’s all clear, John,” She called behind her and he limped into the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked Sherlock

“Nicotine patch, helps me think,”

“Is that three patches?” Delila asked, or more so exclaimed.

“It’s a three patch problem,” came the reply and she simply rubbed her temples, as if fighting off a large migraine.

“John, do you mind if I get myself a glass of water? I feel like I’m going to have a headache at this rate,”

“Make yourself at home,” John said absentmindedly.

“Thank you,” Delila nodded and pulled off her coat, laying it on the back of a chair, vanishing into the kitchen.

“Why’d you bring her along?”

“We were supposed to be getting coffee,” John replied irately, “What did you need us for?”

“I only asked for you,” Sherlock remarked, nearly the textbook definition of melodrama, “Can I borrow your phone?”

“My...phone?” John stared at him as if he’d grown another head.

“Yes. I don't want to use mine; always a chance the number will be recognised, it’s on the website,”

“You called me here to borrow my phone?”

“Yes,”

“I was on the other side of London!” John explained, exasperation evident on his face. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes, as if John was the irrational one.

“There was no hurry,”

“So you need me to send a text,” John sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket as Delila drifted back into the room, holding 3 glasses filled with water. She placed one each by the two other men in the room and sipped on hers thoughtfully as she loitered by the window, attempting to spy out the window inconspicuously. Of course, when one was with The Great Sherlock Holmes, nothing was ever inconspicuous.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked almost immediately and she sent him a glance of something stuck between surprise and amusement.

“We happened to meet a...friend of yours,” She managed, hesitant through the statement, taking a long pull from her water. As if taking her cue, Sherlock swivelled to sit, startling at her remark.

“A friend?” he asked indignantly, reaching over to grab the glass and drink from it hesitantly.

“An enemy,” John added.

“Which one?”

“your arch-enemy, according to him,”

“...did he offer you money to spy on me?” Sherlock asked, voice hush and slightly rough as if it were some secret that the world couldn’t know. Delila turned to look at John in surprise.

“...yes,” John finally answered, visibly perturbed by the question and both sets of eyes on him.

“Did you take it?” Sherlock asked, and it was his turn to have two sets of shock-widened eyes set on him.

“What? No,”

“Pity, we could’ve split the fee,” Sherlock merely replied before casually chastising Delila, “Come on, Agent Lestrade, you really should’ve talked some sense into him,”

“She wasn’t there,” John supplied helpfully, drinking some of his water before realising how thirsty he was and downing the rest of it shortly thereafter.

“Ah, well if you do happen to meet him, I’d take the spying offer- it’s good money,” Sherlock said dismissively,

“Who is he?”

“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met, and not my problem right now. There’s a number on my desk. I need you to send a text,”

“A text?”

“Yes, to the number,” Sherlock directed, “Quickly,”

“Right,”

“So this is about her case?” Delila inquired, dropping the curtain after a beat, eyes raking over Sherlock curiously.

“Her case…” Sherlock mused absently, “Yes, her case. Of course, it’s about her case. The killer dropped her off, forgot she had it,”

“I assume you’ve figured out where it is?” She asked although they both knew she already had figured out the answer to that question. So, Sherlock simply disregarded her question and aimed his next statement at John.

“John, are you putting in the number?”

“Yes, hold on,” came the reply.

“Are you doing it? Have you done it?”

“Yeah- Just hold on!” John exclaimed and Sherlock looked like a miffed toddler, all wide eyes and melodramatic offence. Delila almost laughed at the man’s expression. Almost.

“Send this text exactly: What happened in Lauriston Gardens, I must’ve blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come,” Sherlock directed, finishing off his water.

“You blacked out?” John and Delila asked in unison, varying levels of concern written clearly upon their faces as if they were pages in a dictionary.

“What? No- No! Type the message and send it!” Sherlock leapt up, visibly agitated.

“What’s the address?”

“22 Northumberland Street!” Sherlock exclaimed as he snatched up the suitcase and Delila felt compelled to move to the couch. He dropped it into the seat of the desk chair and unzipped it while John simply stared at it in shock.

“That’s her case… that’s the pink lady’s case,”

“Yes, obviously,” Sherlock replied, voice practically dripping with self-satisfaction. His expression shifted, however at seeing the shock remaining on the man’s face as he quickly added, “I guess I should probably tell you: no, I didn’t kill her,”

“I never said you did,”

“Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it’s a perfectly logical assumption,”

“Do people often assume you’re the murderer?” Delila asked, an amused sort of smile on her face.

“Now and then, yes,” Sherlock replied, hopping up onto the back of the chair, feet firmly planted in the seat. It was vaguely reminiscent of the way Delila contorted herself to curl her legs underneath her at odd angles on the couch.

“...okay,” John said, limping himself over to the other chair and sitting down, “And how did you get this?”

“By looking,” The answer was obvious, to Sherlock. To John, it was just another thing that was so very Sherlock that at first he was caught off guard. It didn’t take long for him to come to terms with the fact that this man; his likely flatmate, was simply bred this way. He was blunt, clever, and rather narcissistic.

“Where?” John asked, partially to indulge the curly-haired brunette, partially to satiate his own vaguely morbid curiosity.

“The killer must’ve driven her to Lauriston gardens, he could only keep this case by accident- forgot it was in the car- nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, especially not a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he would have felt compelled to get rid of it; it wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to recognise his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston gardens and anywhere someone could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip,”

“Right, what now?” Delila interjected and both John and Sherlock turned to look at her curiously.

“Skip? Large container for storing garbage?” John asked and Delila shook her head in vague displeasure.

“Dumpster? You British people and your weird lingo,” Delila scoffed, “Anyways, continue with your lecture, Professor Holmes,” she said pointedly, earning an unamused scoff from the man in question.

“You got all of that from the fact that the case would be pink?”

“Of course it had to be pink,” Delila answered, “What other colour would it be?”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Sherlock replied. In response to the shocked expressions he gathered from the other two he sighed out, “Don’t be so offended, everyone is,” He pointed to the case, “Now look, do you see what’s missing?”

“From the case? How could I?” John remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Her phone?” Delila supplied pointing to the mesh zipper pouch on the inside lid of the case, “There’s a charging cable right there, and that sort of cable only goes to iPhones,”

“How do you know?” John asked, confused.

“I have one, obviously,” Delila replied.

“How do we know she had one?” John asked, looking like he wanted to rub his temples as Delila did upon their first entry to the flat.

“You just texted her number,” Sherlock remarked calmly.

“Maybe she left it at home?”

“She’s had a string of lovers and she’s careful about it; she’d never leave her phone at home if she could help it,”

“Wait, we’re- Wait, why did I just send that text?”

“Well, the real question is, where’s her phone now?”

“Did he just text a murderer?”

“Maybe she left it when she left her bag, maybe he took it from her for some reason, either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone,”

“Sorry, did I just text a murderer?” John asked, looking mildly panicked, “What good will that do?” His question was punctuated with the ringing of a telephone- John’s telephone. Sherlock’s face barely contained his glee as he glanced at the phone, feigning calm.

“A few hours since his last victim -and now he’s got a text which can only be from her ... Now someone who'd just found the phone would ignore a text like that. But the murderer,” He stood, snapping the case closed and causing Delila to jump slightly, “Would panic,” He crossed the room and started to tug on his blazer.

“Have you talked to the police?” Delila asked, untangling herself from where she sat on the couch

“Four people are dead, there’s no time to talk to the police,” Sherlock dismissed her, not even sparing her a look.

“Can I just...call Dad? Just to let him know?” Delila pleaded and the tallest of the three let out a long, troubled sigh.

“Fine,” Sherlock allowed irately, huffing and pulling on his coat. Delila pulled hers from the back of the chair she’d rested it on and vanished. Sherlock turned back to what he was doing.

“If you can’t talk to the police, then why are you talking to us?”

“Mrs Hudson took my skull,” Sherlock mused sadly. John looked up to the mantle, and the skull was indeed missing.

“So we’re just filling in for your skull?”

“Relax, you’re doing fine,” Sherlock assured John, who simply looked at him with an expression of levelled shock and thinly veiled curiosity, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well, you could just sit here and watch telly” Sherlock twisted his scarf about his neck with a look that practically screamed holier-than-thou. John stood, uncertainty in his role written clearly across his face.

“You want me to come with you?”

“​​I prefer company when I go out - I think better aloud, and the skull just attracts attention,” Sherlock explained, pulling on his glove, “Problem?”

“Yes… it’s just that sergeant Donovan… she said you get off on this, you enjoy it,”

“And I said dangerous,” Sherlock stared down his nose at the shorter man, ghost of a smirk upon his face, “And here you are,” He chose then to vanish down the stairs, and John stared after him, openmouthed.

“Damnit,” John hissed, limping after him, face tightened into a grimace of pain and annoyance as he limped down the stairs.

[dcbicki]

holding my breath for you (crowd my grave)

A Rick/Harley fix-it fic • Chapter 1/?

To say he’s surprised to see Harley Quinn standing in the doorway of his shabby, middle-of-nowhere motel, in shredded jean shorts and heart-rimmed sunglasses, would be a serious fucking understatement. And it’s not because it’s one o’clock in the morning and the sun went down hours ago.

“How the hell did you find me?”

She shrugs, picking at a long thread on her jacket, “I know people.”

Rating: T/M • Characters: Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, and mentions of others • Read on AO3 or below the cut

“I think I just walked in on someone screwin’ a goat.”

To say he’s surprised to see Harley Quinn standing in the doorway of his shabby, middle-of-nowhere motel, in shredded jean shorts and heart-rimmed sunglasses, would be a serious fucking understatement. And it’s definitely not because it’s one o’clock in the goddamn morning and the sun went down hours ago.

“How the hell did you find me?”

The blonde shrugs, picking at a long thread on her jacket. “I know people.”

“Better people than mine, apparently,” Rick rasps, and he runs a hand through damp hair. Thankfully he’d managed to trade in the towel for sweatpants before she’d started pounding on the door. “So much for flying under Waller’s radar.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Harley says, and the sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose when she dips her head to shoot him a devilish look, single brow raising, “I promise she don’t know I’m here.” Suddenly there’s a hand in his face and she’s wiggling her right pinkie finger as if that'll prove anything.

She taps one foot against the carpeted floor then, toe of her boot crossing the threshold, and Rick has decided she reminds him of a vampire; one covered in sparkles and tattoos with a pink, fluffy duffle-bag dangling from her fingertips, but a bloodsucker all the same. “Ya gonna invite a girl in or what?”

“You plan on telling me what you’re doin’ here first?” he asks, but then he’s moving out of the way so she can duck under his arm and enter. Harley breezes past him, tossing her bag somewhere across the room, and she plops herself down into the old, worn leather seat by the television. There’s some Spanish soap opera playing to itself on the screen.

“Mi casa es su casa… and all that.” Flag grumbles, pulling the door to a close behind her—but not before shooting a quick look out over her shoulder towards the parking lot. He locks it, then turns and presses his back up against it, hands on his hips.

“You can stop looking so constipated, Flag, I told ‘ya. I’m off the grid myself these days.” She taps the side of her neck twice. “The old dragon lady ain’t coming for either of us.”

“Right.” A nod, then, “Dubois told me about that.” The deal. The squad forcing Waller to meet them halfway and offer freedom in exchange for silence.

(He hadn’t exactly been shocked to find out Dubois was still in possession of the drive. It was a smart move; not the best one, or the right one, and it was a far cry from the one Rick had fucking died trying to pull, but not everybody lived by a code of honor. He couldn’t blame the rest of the team for following suit.)

“Milton knew?! He knew where you were this whole time and didn’t tell me? That mother fucka!” She grits her teeth, nails strumming atop the television cabinet.

(He doesn’t ask about Milton. It’d probably be a long, convoluted story and he’s not exactly in the mood for one of Harley Quinn and her gift of gab. Not that he has much of a choice right now...)

“Now you wanna tell me what you’re doin’ here?”

Ignoring him, Harley takes in her surroundings, chewed-end of her plastic sunglasses between her teeth as she eyes the dingy room. It’s cramped for sure, dull magnolia paint is chipping off the walls, and there’s a queen-sized bed with crumpled up grey sheets and three flat pillows, a sign of recent use. Odd number, Harley notes. Would four kill them?

The little washroom is beside the dresser, and there’s a towel hanging from the bathroom doorknob, wet footprints still clear on the tiled floor. It’s only then that she looks up and realizes he’s shirtless. Oh.

“This place got food? I could so do with a burrito right about now.”

(A place this rundown probably doesn’t even have a cleaning crew, much less any other kind of service. Although, there was half a pack of mints beside the sink when Rick first rented the room so does that count?)

(He’s not ashamed to say he finished them off.)

“I got whiskey and half an eggroll, that do ‘ya?” Rick quips, and there’s a smirk starting on his lips.

He’s still waiting for an explanation as to why the hell she’s here, how the hell she’s here, and what the fuck she thinks she’s doing by checking up on him in the first place. He’s supposed to be laying low—supposed to be dead—and she’s supposed to be free. Or at least as free as someone like her can get, which probably isn’t very free at all.

But there’s something off about her whole demeanor, something decidedly un-Harley, and the man can’t help but feel like he’s just waiting for something. Whether it’s one of Waller’s goons bursting through the door, or Harley herself finishing the job or, hell, Harley breaking down (and God, he hopes it’s not that), he’s not sure. He’s not great with emotions. And she’s without a doubt the most expressive person he’s ever had the (dis)pleasure of knowing.

“Hi, Harley. You know, I’m doing pretty good after havin’ my heart practically ripped apart by a fuckin’ toilet seat. How ‘bout you?” She lowers her voice as if to match the bass in his own and goddamnit he finds it charming.

(He doesn’t have the heart to correct her.)

“You know, a little heads-up that you weren’t DOA might’ve been nice, Colonel.”

“Wasn’t exactly high on my priority list,” he informs her, voice dipping as he nods, slow. “Staying alive kinda won that round. You know, ‘cause of the shit jammed in my chest.”

“They said it came out the other side, ‘ya know. My guys. Wanted to see for myself.” She stands up then and walks to him until she’s about four inches away from his face, taking in the long gash above when his heart lies. “I’m thinkin’ they lied though because that don’t look too deep to me.”

“Yep. Not much to see.” He shrugs, heavy as though there’s weight on his shoulders, casting a glance down at his chest when she raises a hand. She doesn’t touch him; just lets her fingers dance in the air above the skin. “Sorry to disappoint, Doc.”

The scar runs right down the middle of his chest. From left collarbone to navel; a rushed surgery in a (probably, totally) sketchy makeshift hospital. It’s not a good look. But she’s seen worse. “It’s healin’ just fine. I’m getting plenty of fluids and I’m takin’ my meds. Think you can be on your way now you’ve done your check-up.”

“I thought you died.”

“False alarm.”

“You died,” Harley repeats, and there’s an edge to her voice Rick doesn’t recognize. She moves from one foot onto the other, swaying back and forth on her heels, eyes unmoving from off of his chest. “And I didn’t even get a goodbye out of it.”

“Was I…” he pauses, considers the look on her face for a moment. “Apologies.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“The fuck you want me to do? Go back in time and tell him to wait so you can make it about you first?”

“Just think it’s kinda rude for one of my friends to go off and die and leave me alone like that.”

“Tad dramatic, don’t you think?” Rick asks before remembering who he’s dealing with. Harley Quinn is theatrical and melodramatic and showy. Of course, she’d turn this into a whole fucking thing. “You’re a grown ass woman with a criminal record and probably a couple dozen bounties on your head, I think you can handle getting on a plane without a handler.”

She stops swaying. But the look on her face is ice cold and calculating and if he didn’t know her any better, he might be slightly terrified. So this is the infamous killer queen, huh? She wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe once upon a time, a few years back, but not now. Not after… “You’re supposed to be the leader.”

“You had Dubois.”

“But not you. And I know Milton’s a fine leader an’ all, but he’s not exactly a great conversationalist. Or much of a hugger.”

“I ain’t either.”

“But you humour me. ‘Ya put the effort in, Flag.” The blonde pokes his chest, manicured and pale fingernail against his sternum, skin hot to the touch. “And no one else is gonna do that for me, so yeah, I’m kinda mad that you went and got your heart broken into little tiny pieces and didn’t think to let me know you weren’t buried under a fuckload of concrete. Not very friendly of you.”

“And since when are we friends?”

There’s a silence then, and now he’s reconsidering not showing any signs of fear. He’s in no position to fight her. Harley is… Well, one kick and it’d be lights out for Flag.

(Since Waller forced her to take swimming lessons with a mean, ‘It’s a basic life skill, Ms. Quinn. No one else is going to have your back out there'  and he made sure he was her assigned instructor. Even brought her a cute two-tone bathing suit that wasn’t Belle Reve-approved and all. Since everyone in Gotham decided they wanted Harley Quinn six feet under and he let her crash on his couch that one time—those three times—and he made her bacon and eggs in the morning. And he didn’t even get mad when she got ketchup all over his carpet. Since she got drunk that second time and kissed him out of loneliness and he never held it against her.)

“Whatever,” she backs away from him with a huff, but her eyes are still dark; a sure sign that she’s not happy. “I’m starving.”

“There’s a place around the corner.”

“Aces,” she grins, then picks up a discarded shirt from the foot of the bed and tosses it to him.

    There’s no mention of her getting her own room. It goes unspoken: she’ll be staying here with him.

“Not sayin’ this is better than sex, but it’s definitely better than a lot of the sex I’ve had lately.”

“Good for you,” Rick retorts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glances around the restaurant. There’s only one other patron in there aside from them, and the chef is off somewhere in the back. He glances down at his watch, then fists the napkin in his other hand.

“Am I keeping you up?” Harley jests, curling her legs up beneath her on the stool. It squeaks under her weight, one of the metal legs unevenly balanced on the patterned tiles. “Got plans I’m disruptin’?” She clicks her tongue, a devilish grin in full swing.

“Nope. Just rest ‘n recuperation, right, Doc? That your diagnosis?”

“Prognosis,” she corrects him, then drops the rest of her tinfoil-wrapped burrito onto the little round table, a thin layer of grime coating the surface. “And yes,” Harley says with a light nod,  putting on her best matter-of-factly voice. She feigns pushing glasses up her nose, head tipping back to look down at him for a change. He’s leaning against the table with his forearms crossed, tanned skin pressing against the greasy tabletop as his sharp chin rests on a curved wrist. “Sleep and that bottle of bourbon my little eye spied hiding under ‘ya bed will do the trick just fine, Colonel,” she says cheerily.

He nods, only half-listening. “Can’t wait.”

“You could smile every once in a while, ‘ya know. I came all the way to Ti-fuckin’-juana to make sure you weren’t rotting away and letting yourself go in some ol’ shitshack. Would a little appreciation for the thought go amiss?”

“I didn’t ask you to,” the man tells her, leaning back in his chair. He clasps both hands in his lap. “Matter of fact, I’m still wondering why you did. What’s the deal, you get bored running from the feds for a change? Didn’t think you tired so easily.”

“What if I just missed you, huh? ‘Ya consider that possibility, soldier?” She pushes her hands out, her chair scraping back against the floor again. Harley picks up the rest of her food, casting him a dark look. “You’re no fun.”

“Never have been, Harley, that shouldn’t be news.” He follows after her, rushing to keep the door from swinging back in his face when she exits the restaurant in what he can only assume is anger. Or maybe she’s just messing with him; truthfully, it’s hard to tell sometimes. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself, you know.”

“I am a delight,” she says, whipping around to face him, palm flat against her chest. The many rings on her fingers tap against her necklaces, and she stares up at him with furrowed brows. “Everybody loves me.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true, either.”

“OK, well not everybody hates me, how’s about that?” The scowl on her face turns into a smile then, teeth-baring and wicked. Her eyes are blown wide like saucers, and the crimson lipstick on her mouth suddenly becomes the only thing Rick can focus on that isn’t… Doesn’t...  Deranged, he thinks.

Harley Quinn is an absolute basket case and he must be out of his fucking mind for finding her so damn… what? Fascinating? It’s as close as he can get to thinking of a word to describe her that isn’t derogatory. She’s a character and a half, a whole clown car full of crazy jam-packed into one tatted and made-up doll of a woman, but God help him if he doesn’t kind of want to--

“That’s more like it.” She’s probably hard to love, but she’s not easy to hate.

Rick smiles back, finally, then reaches out a hand—tentatively. She’s still her and he’s never a hundred percent certain she won’t slit his throat with a Hello Kitty keyring or something—and wiggles long fingers. “Wanna get drunk and watch god awful late-night television?” He leans down; not too close, not close enough for her to grab, and adds, “Friend?”

Whatever that thing was he’d been waiting for, that unidentifiable something he’d felt looming over them since she showed up in his doorway an hour ago, looking somehow both tired and elated, finally revealed itself; in the form of tears in Harley’s eyes and a shaky hand accepting his.

She nodded and excitedly said ‘yes!’ and then he realized all she’d been after was a friend; the comfort of knowing that there was someone in the world who wasn’t out to get her, who had nothing to gain by being good to her.

And she’d almost lost that. Lost him.

(So when she hogs two of the three pillows on his bed and helps herself to one of his shirts—his favorite, actually. An old wife-beater with torn sleeves and a faded wildcat on the front—Rick doesn’t say a thing. Just lets her curl up in a ball beside him, red tips brushing against his bare shoulder, and rest.)

[scripts4dreamers]

Bedside Manner

AN: Lockdown is always hellish but it does leave you a lot of time to think. Characters: Marcus Arguello Pairing(s): Marcus x reader Spoiler(s): None Warning(s): Swearing, unhealthy coping mechanism (Smoking/drinking)

 Prompt: this post I saw from @write-it-motherfuckers

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

When the monks rushed in and started pulling people out of class, you weren’t sure if you were terrified or relieved. On one hand, you could hear the fight happening in the corridors, the sound of Saya and Maria yelling at one another, kids cheering something on, and you were scared of what they might do to one another if no one intervened. On the other, the school itself getting involved was almost never a good sign and, as a staff slammed into your back, ushering you forward, you couldn’t help the rising tide of panic in your chest. The corridors were packed with students being pushed and shoved towards their rooms and you searched through the chaos, without much hope, for a familiar face.

“Y/N!” You heard someone call, “Y/N!”

“Marcus?” You shouted back, turning in the direction of the voice, “Marcus where are you?”

“I’m here!” He shouted, closer now.

The kids next to you pushed and shuffled forward, blocking your view and, no matter how much you twisted and turned, you couldn’t see past flashes of navy blazers and anonymous patches of skin. It was horribly claustrophobic but, just as the panic started to get too much, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist and caught sight of a familiar mess of brown curls.

“Got you,” Marcus assured, still several people behind you, “shit Y/N/N I thought-shit, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Maria and Saya?” You asked.

Marcus shook his head, “I’ll explain later. What’re the monks doing?”

You opened your mouth to explain but, before you could, Master Lin did it for you.

“Everybody back to your rooms,” Master Lin’s voice boomed, “We’re officially in lockdown.”

Marcus’ eyes widened. The monk at your back shoved you hard, forcing you forward and through the first available door. You stumbled in, tripping over a backpack on the floor, and just managed to catch yourself before you fell. From behind you you could hear Marcus being pushed into the room and, beyond that, just for a second, the sounds of your fellow students yelling and complaining before the door to your room slammed shut and you heard the lock click into place. Your heart sank and you swore under your breath, turning to face Marcus, who was tugging uselessly on the door handle.

“It’ll be locked from the outside,” you told him, “always is during lockdown.”

Marcus Arguello was almost a friend of yours. Almost. You liked him well enough. He was smart and funny and caring, he was friends with all of your friends, he was helpful and interesting, he respected boundaries and he always knew how to get a smile out of you. All in all, he was an incredible person, but that was kind of the problem; you liked him a lot. Too much. Since his first day at King’s, Marcus had done nothing but make you smile and blush and generally make an idiot out of yourself at every available opportunity, which, at this particular high school, wasn’t just embarrassing, it was dangerous. Trouble followed him like a lovesick puppy, putting your life at risk more than once but, no matter how many times you told yourself to just forget him and move on, you couldn’t. You just kept coming back, every time. You wanted to believe that some part of you was distancing itself from Marcus and that that was why you were hesitant to call him a friend but, if you were honest, you just weren’t keen on lying to yourself. You were in too deep, he meant too much to you.

He sighed, “Fuck.”

You hummed in agreement, trying to hide how nervous the idea of being stuck in a room with Marcus made you feel. There wasn’t much else to say about lockdown anyway. They didn’t happen often, but this was by no means your first, and you knew there was no real point in fighting it.

“This is bullshit,” Marchus continued, “they’re not really just gonna keep us locked in here, are they?”

“Yup,” you answered, collapsing onto the bed and picking up a book, “no leaving except two bathroom breaks a day and meal times. You might as well get comfortable.”

“This isn’t even my room,” Marcus complained, “what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“No, it’s my room,” you explained, gesturing to the other twin sized bed, “you could start by sitting down and telling me what the hell is going on.”

Ever since that trip to Vegas, where everything had gone so horribly wrong, things had been different. Marcus had been different. He was more somber, vacillating between being on edge and being extremely happy and relaxed. He was stressed, of course, you all were but there would be moments when you would look up and catch him just watching you and then, when he saw you looking, he would just smile a bit, like he was sad about something. It always made something in your chest pinch. What made the situation worse was that, outside of those moments, he’d been distant with you. More distant than what was usual for Marcus. As far as you could tell, he was avoiding you in class, sitting next to Petra or Lex at lunch and just generally keeping you at arm’s length. You hadn’t had a real conversation in weeks. You wanted to be indifferent to it but, in reality, it had hurt more than you wanted it to and you wanted an explanation.

He wasn’t smiling at you now. If anything, you noted as Marcus folded himself onto the floor with his back against your roommate’s bed and buried his head in his hands, he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days and it was wearing on him. That thing near your heart pinched again and you cursed your own selfishness. Marcus had obviously been dealing with a lot, more than the rest of you combined probably, and all you could do was think about your bruised ego. Typical. Cautiously you swung yourself upright, sitting cross legged on your mattress to face your friend.

“Marcus, are you okay?”

“Hmm?” he answered, his voice thick with exhaustion, “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine Y/N/N, don’t worry about it.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief but didn’t push, knowing he’d open up in his own time.

‘How long do you think we’ll be in here?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Until Lin gets what he wants, I guess.”

“What if-” he paused, “what if he doesn’t though? What happens then?”

You leant forward, “What’s going on, Marcus?” you asked gently, “You can tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Before you’d even finished the question he was shaking his head, “No. No, Y/N/N trust me, you can’t help with this.”

“I can try,” you argued, giving him a small smile, “I’m pretty smart, you know?”

For a second it looked like Marcus wanted to cry. His eyes watered up and you had to fight the instinct to reach down and pull him into a hug.

“Yeah, I know that.” he said softly, sniffing and wiping his eyes to force back the tears, “Okay, Y/N, I’ll tell you.”

Satisfied, you leant back on your bed, waiting expectantly while Marcus collected his thoughts. He sighed again, running his hand through his already messed up hair. His dark eyes darted around your room, taking in every inch of the place like he’d never seen a dorm before. It made you feel strangely unsettled.

“This really your room?” he asked, pulling out a cigarette and sliding it between his lips, “It’s nice.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, it’s my room and you,” you started, leaning forward and pulling the cig out of his mouth, “can’t smoke in here.”

“Wha-really?” Marcus complained, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

His hands were fidgety, which meant he was nervous.

“Yes, really, Now stop deflecting and tell me why I’m stuck in my room with no one but you for company, and why you look like you haven’t slept in a month, will you?”

He met your eye and you felt, more than saw, his resistance crumble.

“Well, I should probably start with how I blew up my old roommate at the boy’s home,” Marcus started, leaning back against the bed, “and why he wants to kill me for it.”

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

When Marcus finally fell silent you were shocked. You felt like a tidal wave of information had just knocked you over and you were just drowning in it all. How had so much been happening without your knowledge? Some things you’d known about, of course, like Maria killing Chico and Billy killing his dad but, all this other stuff? Chester and El Diablo? Maria killing Yukio? Juan going after Saya in the middle of the hallway?

“Jesus Christ,” you said.

Marcus snorted, “You can say that again.”

You reached behind your bed and pulled out a bottle of vodka that was still mostly full, left over from some house party or another that you’d managed to smuggle in. In one fluid motion, before you could think better of it, you twisted the cap off and took a deep swig, sloshing a little bit on your uniform by accident. The alcohol burned like fire on the way down and you grimaced as you passed the bottle to Marcus.

“Thank fuck,” said, accepting the bottle gratefully, “Y/N, you’re an angel, if you ever need anything-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you smiled, “shut up and drink, Arguello.”

“If I must,” he joked with a melodramatic sigh, taking a massive gulp.

As he drank, you watched Marcus as inconspicuously as you could. He seemed lighter now, like the act of opening up to you had taken a huge weight off his shoulders. You still weren’t exactly sure how you felt about it all. Were you confused? Angry? Terrified? Did you wish he’d never said anything? Were you happy he’d trusted you? You didn’t know, probably a little bit of all of it but, despite the craziness and confusion, you were glad you’d been able to help, even if it was just by listening. Talking to Marcus had always been one of your favorite things to do and, sadly this was the most genuine conversation you’d had with one another since Vegas. It was nice, in a weird, messed up sort of way.

“Is this why you’ve been so off with me lately?” you eventually asked, “You were trying to keep this all a secret?”

Marcus grimaced, whether from the alcohol or embarrassment you weren’t sure, and passed the bottle back.

“I’ve always been shit at lying to you and, yeah, I wanted to keep you out of it,” he admitted, “I thought if I just waited long enough everything would just sort of die down.”

“But it hasn’t?”

“But it hasn’t,” he agreed.

“So, we’re all basically fucked.” you said simply.

“Unless I can get to Saya, convince her not to gut Maria and explain what happened before anyone else does, yeah.”

“Well,” you sighed, pushing yourself up onto your feet and sliding your secret stash of contraband from its hiding place in the ceiling, “you know, whatever happens I’ll fight by your side when the time comes,” you said, avoiding his eye, “but for now, since this might be one of our last chances, we might as well enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Marcus looked up at the contraband and smiled, “you’re amazing, you know that?”

Blood rose to your cheeks and you broke his gaze, tossing a bag of cheetos at him, “Shut up.” you said fondly, “And don’t ever keep me in the dark like that again.”

The teasing glint in Marcus’ eyes softened and he reached out to catch your hand, forcing you to look back at him from where he sat on the floor.

“Never.” he promised.

You passed the first few hours of lockdown in a bubble of serenity. While you lay on your bed reading and listening to music, Marcus doodled in his journal all the while maintaining an easy conversation with you. You avoided the hard topics, focussing instead on music and comic books and which teachers you thought would win in a fight as you passed the bottle of vodka back and forth. It felt good, easy even, joking with one another like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t, you reasoned to yourself, maybe this is how it had always been at King’s; a little bit messy, a little bit terrifying but better than what your life had been before. Maybe this was enough, maybe this was the trade off you made when you agreed to go to a school for assassins and, maybe, you could be okay with that.

At some point Marcus had moved and was now leaning up against your bed instead of your roommates so that you could play with his hair while he drew. It was something you’d discovered that he liked entirely by accident, sitting on the roof together one night when he was still fairly new at King’s. Back then he’d been so touch starved that he’d almost cried the first time he felt your fingers carding through his hair and you’d wondered, not for the first time, what exactly had happened in that boy’s home to make him so afraid. You’d never do it in public of course, people would get the wrong idea and pick on you both if you did but, in private, you’d gotten used to just reaching out and twirling one of his curls around your finger whenever you wanted. As you gently let your fingers scrape against his scalp you could hear Marcus' pencil as it scratched against the paper, and you fought the urge to lean forward and see what he was drawing. Journals were private shit, you reminded yourself, if Marcus wanted to show you what he was doing, he would.

“What’re you reading?” He asked, breaking the comfortable silence you’d fallen into.

“The color purple,” you replied, “my mom sent it to me.”

“I didn’t know you and your mom were close like that,” Marcus said, a note of confusion in his voice, “in fact,” he stopped drawing suddenly and twisted his head to look at you, “I don’t really know anything about your family.”

You shrugged, “There’s not much to know, really. My parents are smugglers and I’m at King’s, end of story.”

“End of story? Just like that?” he retorted, “Come on Y/N/N, you know everything about me and I know almost nothing about you. Tell me something.”

“That’s ‘cause you are a chronic oversharer and a terrible judge of character,” you teased, ruffling his hair and returning to your book. Marcus sighed, all melodrama and betrayal and you could feel his eyes burning a hole through The Color Purple. You swore loudly and sat up, “Fine, whatever, you win,” you conceded, “what do you want to know?”

“Yes!” he sighed, laughing at his own cleverness before continuing, “Okay, do you have any siblings?”

“I had an older sister, she died when I was eight and we’re not going to talk about it,” you answered, “next.”

“Favorite colour?”

“Blue or grey.”

“Where were you born?”

“In a tiny little city you’ve never heard of,” you said.

“Have you ever been arrested?” Marcus pressed on.

“Twice, have you?”

“Never,” he replied.

“Okay square,” you joked, “my turn. What’s your biggest fear?”

“Jesus, alright,” Marcus laughed, reaching for the vodka, “if we’re going there we both need to be like 15% less sober.”

You snatched the bottle back, “How about this, for every question we choose to answer we get to drink. If we pass on a question then the other person gets to ask two more which we then can’t pass on, agreed?”

“A drinking game version of twenty questions? What are we, seven?” Marcus complained, but he shook your hand anyway, “Agreed.”

“Good, so back to my question,” you started, “what, Marcus Lopez Arguello, is your biggest fear?”

Marcus looked at you for a long moment, like he was sizing you up and, instinctively, you fought back the urge to shiver under the weight of his stare. He was, of course, incredibly handsome; the sort of handsome that you couldn’t help but notice, even when you were trying not to, but that wasn’t what made it so difficult to meet his eye. No, what made it difficult was that, despite what he thought, Marcus really knew you. He saw past all the bullshit showboating, all the carefully constructed facades. Every single defense mechanism you had was worthless against him because, at the end of the day, you didn’t really want to keep Marcus out. If anything you wanted him closer and, when he looked at you like that, you felt like he might see right through you, into that secret part of your heart that you kept hidden. So you did what any self respecting coward would do; you looked away. Marcus sighed and reached for the bottle.

“Dying without really having lived,” he admitted, taking a swig from the bottle, “and dying alone I guess. You?”

You wrinkled your nose, “Pass.”

“What?” Marcus laughed incredulously, “You can’t pass! I just bared my soul to you and you’re just gonna opt out? Boooooo! Booooooo Y/N!”

“Fine,” you laughed, “fine I’ll tell you. I uh-I’m afraid that I’ll never find somewhere to belong. Like maybe I’m just always gonna feel like an outsider wherever I am until I die, maybe even after that.”

“You belong with us,” Marcus said, “with me and Billy and Petra and the others.”

You shook your head and drank deep, wincing at the vodka’s burn, “Nah, I don’t. Not really at least, not like you and Billy. I’m sure they all like me just fine but, at the end of the day, I’m nobody’s reason for being there, you know?” Marcus looked thoughtful but, just as he opened his mouth to answer, you cut him off, desperate to avoid hearing whatever kind, pitying lie he’d come up with, “Anyway moving on, it’s your turn Arguello. Hit me with your best question, I’m an open book.”

You traded questions back and forth like that for quite some time, laughing and joking and drinking as you did. Marcus was ruthless in his honesty, laying himself bare in front of you and refusing to pass on even a single question. You passed on many. Not all of them were deep and personal, some were funny or nonsensical, but enough were deep and personal that, by the time the alcohol had started to really kick in, you were feeling a little raw. It was like Marcus was desperate to wrap himself up in his own honesty, clinging to every shred of emotional intimacy he could find like it was a lifeline and flinging himself ever deeper into his own vulnerability. Usually you would have pulled back so fast at the idea of being that open that you’d have given yourself whiplash but now, with the alcohol making you feel warm and light, and Marcus smiling at you like there was nowhere else in the world that he would rather be, you revelled in it. There was a sort of tension building too, not exactly something but almost something….very nearly something, and part of you was just excited to see what it was. Marcus laughed at something you said, you didn’t even remember what, and the sound made you so happy that you actually had to stop and catch your breath. He was still leaning against your bed but now his back was to the cupboard next to your headrest so that he could face you while you talked. Unfortunately this also meant that you could study his face more conveniently, mapping every dip and curve and scar like he might vanish if you looked away. Dangerous territory, a voice in your head whispered, sharp turns up ahead.

“Shhh, stop, it’s my turn,” Marcus asserted, still breathless from laughing, “Okay, no shhh-Y/N-listen, here’s my question; have you ever been in love?”

Dangerous territory! Your brain shouted, Abort, abort, abort, abo-

“Nope,” you answered, which felt like a lie even though it technically wasn’t, “have you?”

“Is that your question?” he asked, which some small part of your brain noted was strange since, up until now, you’d both been answering every question.

“No! Well-yes-but I have a different, better question so just answer this one anyway.” you said, pushing the thought away and looking down at Marcus expectantly.

He held your gaze for a second longer, took a deep, deep drink and nodded before saying, like it physically pained him, “I’m in love now.”

Your heart stuttered and dropped into your stomach like a stone, but you kept your face neutral, “Saya?”

Marcus gave you a wry smile that hinged on sadness, “Is that your question?”

You blushed and shook your head, trying to recapture the fun, carefree energy you’d had just moments before. Somehow, your drunk brain noted, you’d made Marcus sad. Or he had made himself sad. Or the question had made him sad, maybe? It was confusing and thinking about it made your chest feel tight so you just pushed forward.

“No, here’s my question-are you ready? It’s a good one-here it is; what is your most precious recent memory and why?”

Marcus frowned, “Most precious memory? What does that mean? Do you mean my best memory?”

You shook your head, “See, that’s why it’s so good; a precious memory is like a good memory, only more. It’s a memory you play over and over in your head whenever things get tough because something important happened there, something you didn’t realize was happening when you were in it. So you have to keep remembering it, you know?” you explained, “So you can figure out what happened and why it was so important.” you continued, “And I say recent because, well, we’ve talked about our families a lot, and the people we’ve lost, but we’re on our own now, and we’ve gotta start making new precious memories.”

“Oh,” Marcus said softly.

“It’s good right?” you continued, distantly aware that Marcus was looking sad again, “Like mine is that day that I tried to stop Viktor from stealing that girl’s kit kat.”

“You mean when he and his goons beat you to a pulp?” he asked dubiously.

“Almost to a pulp,” you corrected, “but while he was wailing on me, the girl got away. I knew when I went in that Vic would beat the shit out of me, but I did it anyway and it worked. It was the day I realised that the choices I make can have some positive effect on the world, so long as I’m willing to take the consequences of them.” you finished, shifting so that your head was resting on your hand, “So, what’s yours and why?”

Marcus shook his head and took another sip from the vodka bottle, “You’re killing me here, Y/N/N. Pass.”

Your jaw dropped, “What!?! NO! You never pass on questions, that’s like your thing.”

“Yeah well I’m passing on this one so just-” he waved his hand, shooing away your berating, “ask me something else.”

“Fine,” you sighed, mulling over the possibilities in your head for a moment, “okay well, since you apparently are in love and I’ve never been in love, what does it feel like?”

“Hmm?”

You met his eye, “Being in love,” you clarified, “what does it feel like?”

In the dim light of your dorm room it was hard to tell, but you were pretty sure you saw Marcus flush deep red.

“It-uh-” he started, fiddling with his hands, “it’s kind of hard to describe.”

“Try,” you encouraged softly, mesmerized by the shift in his demeanour.

“Well I-” Marcus cleared his throat, “for a long while I wasn’t sure it actually was love. I thought maybe it was just general teen stupidness you know? You want what you can’t have, projecting onto someone you admire, that sort of crap but then one day-after Vegas actually-it just,” he shrugged, “changed.” you listened intently as every word burrowed itself into the small secret part of your heart like a knife, and he continued, “Suddenly everything made sense. It’s like my whole damn life was leading me to that moment, like maybe this was why all the shitty stuff happened, so that I could be here, feeling like this.” he explained simply, keeping his gaze focused on his hands, “And now it’s fucking crazy ‘cause all this shit’s going on and all I can think about is keeping-is not losing this. My heart feels like it’s gonna explode half the time, like it’s too damn big for my body and it hurts but it’s a good hurt, like stretching a stiff muscle. I’m not even really worried for myself anymore, but I’m so fucking scared that something I say or do is gonna come back and mess everything up and-” he shook his head, his voice quivering, “and I’m terrified, but I also don’t ever want this feeling to go away. It’s scary having someone hold your heart like this but, at the same time, I think not feeling like this, now that I know what it’s like, would hurt a million times more.” he finished, tensing his jaw and fidgeting like he was nervous, “Sorry, bit of a rambling answer. I owe you another one, don’t I?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” you answered, snapping yourself back into focus. It felt like the air itself was heavy with tension now, like all the things you wanted to say were swirling around your head, invisible but always present because you knew that feeling. You knew it all too well and for him to feel that way, to talk that passionately about someone else...you just couldn’t take it. “Okay for my second question;” you continued, “tell me your most precious memory and why.”

This time all the blood leached out of Marcus’ face, like he was becoming a ghost right before your eyes. You felt mean, it was a total bastardisation of the rules and you knew it but there was a little voice in the back of your mind telling you that this was the only question you wanted answered, that this was what you needed to know.

“That’s so against the rules.” Marcus tried, lightening the atmosphere considerably.

“No it’s not,” you argued, “it’s a dick move for sure but there was nothing specifically forbidding it in our original agreement.”

“You suuuuuuuck,” Marcus whined, leaning into your arm where it hung off the bed.

Instinctively you threaded your fingers through his hair, playing with the soft curls like you always did. You felt Marcus arch up into your touch, humming with pleasure as you scraped your fingers through the baby hairs on the back of his neck. He shivered, but the tension slipped out of his muscles and he relaxed with a sigh, resigning himself to his fate.

“Do you really want to know?” He asked softly.

“I really do,” you replied.

“Okay then” he breathed, “honestly, it’s that time on the way back from Vegas when everyone else had gone into the gas station for food, and it was just you and me in the backseat of Willie’s car.” he continued, “You had your hair pinned back and I was telling you some story about my childhood while we waited. You had a red sweater on, and bright blue nails. It was dark out, but the lights from the gas station were shining around your head like a halo.”

“I remember,” you told him, your voice hardly louder than a whisper, “but why? Why that memory?”

Marcus looked up, his dark eyes filed to the brim with the kind of vulnerable sincerity that made you feel breathless and afraid. Slowly, as though he were approaching an injured animal, he reached up and pulled your fingers from his hair and held your palm in both of his. You were frozen, like a deer in headlights, but you still felt the shiver as it ran up your spine at his touch.

“It was the first time I saw you smile, for real, since we’d arrived in Vegas,” he explained, studying your hand, “up until then I was pretty sure I was never gonna see it again but,” he shook his head and shrugged, “I made some awful joke about wishing I’d known then what I knew now and...you laughed. You really laughed and you rested your forehead on my shoulder and-boom-just like that...I knew.”

“Knew what?” you asked, half terrified of the answer.

Marcus gave you that smile, that sad little smile he’d been shooting you for weeks, the one that made your heart hurt just to look at and, before he even said anything, you were already shaking your head.

“Don’t make me say it Y/N,” he whispered, “surely by now you know?”

“No.” you said, pulling your hand away and leaning back, “No, you don’t. You can’t, Marcus.”

“Y/N/N-”

“No, you don’t understand,” you insisted, “it’s not possible. You aren’t-you don’t think of me that way. No one does, I’m not like that. I’m not lovable like you are.”

“Like I-?” Marcus started, following you up and sitting gingerly on your bed, “Y/N you’re infinitely lovable.”

“No I’m not!” You asserted, sure that this had to be some sort of trick, some sort of sick joke, “Who could love me? Who could possibly be fucked up and unlucky enough to love me?”

“I could!” Marcus promised, “I do, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Marcus, you’re the only person I’ve ever felt this way about,” you admitted, “please don’t joke.”

His answering smile was gentle and understanding, like he saw the pain you were in, like he understood. You couldn’t hope for this, you had never let yourself believe for even a second that-

“It’s not a joke, Y/N,” he promised, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to meet his gaze, “I’m just-I’m in love with you. You were wrong, you’ve never been an outsider, you’ve always belonged with me.”

You searched his eyes, his dark, beautiful eyes, for some trace of deceit, some hint that this was too good to be true and that he was waiting to take it away from you, but found none. Maybe he was right, a small, hopeful voice in your mind chimed in, maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe just this once, you didn’t need to be afraid, maybe you could let yourself want this, want him.

Because looking back, it made sense, didn’t it? All those things you’d written off; months of secret smiles and gentle touches, of seeking one another out when you didn’t need to, this was what they were leading up to. As you looked, Marcus blushed, his cheeks flushing a pale shade of pink as you both realised, for the first time, how close you were, how open and vulnerable you were to each other in that moment.

“Y/N/N,” he started softly, “Y/N/N I don’t want to be an asshole or anything but-” he let out a breathy laugh, “but I really want to kiss you right now. Would it be alright if-”

You were kissing him before he could even finish his sentence.

[dianapocalypse]

Alright y’all, with the release of Mass Effect: Legendary Edition, it’s time for me to share my playlist for the entire trilogy.

I’ve refined this over like six years so scientifically speaking it’s probably good right. oh also it’s four hours long. so if you have a road trip or a boring job, this one’s for you. disclaimer, it’s entirely possible I have garbage taste in music. I also missed some characters and moments because there’s 65 songs here and I am merely human.

If you don’t have the patience for four hours, I recommend starting at track 45 and listening to the end, as the Mass Effect 3 portion is the strongest in my opinion.

UNDER THE CUT FOR DESCRIPTIONS WE GO!

FIRST MOVEMENT - MASS EFFECT 1

1. Atlas - Coldplay Eden Prime

“Sometimes the wire Must tense for the note Caught in the fire, say oh We're about to explode“

I really like the atmosphere of this song. It’s ominous, but also somehow hopeful, and makes me feel like Something Huge Is Coming.

2. I Will Not Sing A Hateful Song - Constantines Paragon Shepard

“But I was also born and raised To always speak and listen clear To know the last sound that I make Could be the last sound that I hear“

OK, listen, I think this song is about vampires, and I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a metaphor or not. But I think this is a great song about controlling one’s temper, about knowing that you have to Rise Above the parts of you that want to lash out sometimes to get things done and have peace. Seeing as how paragon Shepard, to me, always seems like they’re three deep breaths away from snapping, but manage to keep it in check, it fits them to a T.

And also maybe they’re a vampire.

3. Hard to Kill - Beth Crowley Renegade Shepard

“So I let the rumors Turn me into a legend 'Cause I'm only human But a good myth is hard to kill”

This one’s a recent addition, but holy cow, I love it for Renegade Shep, particularly an Earthborn or Ruthless, but it works for any of them.

4. We Own the Skies - Five Iron Frenzy Joker

“My hands are bleeding where they often crack The stars will sometimes burn with longing Through the choking black Of night shifts piling each against the next”

This really vibes with Joker’s backstory for me, his super driven serious self in flight school, contrasted with who he is when he can fly a ship. He’s the best pilot in the goddamn fleet and I love him.

5. I Just Wanna See - Smash Mouth Kaidan Alenko

“Mister moon checkin' on how y'all livin' The stars all winkin' at the day that's dimmin' I just wanna see”

This song fits into his reactions to first showing up at the Citadel and his former romanticism about living in space. Ironically, it’s a song about Earth, but I feel like it works well for him. Also, Smash Mouth absolutely sounds like the kind of music Kaidan would listen to, no I will not be taking questions or constructive criticism.

6. Don’t Give Up - Noisettes Ashley Williams

“She's got a talented face and a suitcase Ain't got no desire to go no place In her case she's got no desire with her hand in the flame say's she don't feel the fire “

The energy of this song is just perfect for Ashley’s no-nonsense chip on her shoulder attitude.

7. About As Helpful As You Can Be Without Being Any Help At All - Dan Mangan The Council

“I was thrown in the boat/Cast out to sea Friendly with waves/There were sharks below Hungry for me/So I dangled my leg”

I mean, the title says it all.

8. The Captain - Guster Anderson

“Courageous, just like the captain Marching forward with no doubt in his head”

I have adored this song ever since my friend played it for me, and it’s the ultimate mentor-protégé jam for me.

9. Secret Agent Man - Johnny Rivers Garrus Vakarian

“Here's a man who leads a life of danger To everyone he meets he stays a stranger Oh, with every move he makes another chance he takes The odds are he won't live to see tomorrow”

I have to poke a little fun at Garrus and how seriously he takes himself in Mass Effect 1. I romanced him across four playthrus, I’m allowed!

10. I’m Getting Too Old For This Shit - Kill Lincoln Urdnot Wrex

“This random apathy/I swear it's killing me But I guess it's all the same, till the devil knows my name”

I don’t know ANYTHING about this band, but this song fits Wrex’s disillusionment with the Krogan well, plus, like. The title. (And also, that he secretly DOES care what happens to the Krogan.)

11. Bird Song - Juniper Vale Tali’zorah nar Rayya

“I want to dance on the horizon line But there is something I am caged behind I have a heart made for take flight But I'm low, so low”

I adore this song and the sound of Juniper Vale in general. The etherealness of this one, combined with the youthful optimism, feels very Tali. The line about ‘something I am caged behind’ works well for the suits, too. This one’s especially good if you’re a Talimancer!

12. 11. Green Garden - Laura Mvula Liara T’Soni

“And I’ll fly on the wings of a butterfly High as a tree top and down again Putting my bag down, taking my shoes off Walk on the carpet of green velvet”

I really like this song’s vibes and I feel like Liara fits it well, particularly in ME1, before all her youthful optimism is stripped from her. The scenery descriptions feel very Thessia, too.

13. Feed Me (Git It) - Little Shop of Horrors The Thorian 

“The guy sure looks like plant food to me!”

Do you get it. Do you get my joke. It’s because the Thorian is a plant that eats people. (I’m not funny)

14. Blindness - Metric Matriarch Benezia

“I was a blind fool, never complained All the survivors singing in the rain “

I don’t love the use of blind here as a negative, albeit metaphorical, descriptor, but I think this song fits Benezia’s indoctrination and death well. If you have suggestions for another, though, let me know!

15. Technologic - Daft Punk Saren

“Buy it, use it, break it, fix it, trash it, change it, mail, upgrade it”

I just think it’s Neat

16. Watershed - Vienna Teng The Reapers

“ While you were building your empires I was still sleeping”

I think this is the song that inspired the entire playlist. Vienna Teng sat down and decided to write a song from the perspective of a natural disaster, and it’s so ominous and gut-wrenching.

17. Hourglass - The Hush Sound Virmire

“This is how it ends We believe every lie and say we'll be friends How long will it last? Before we scratch all the scripts and we rework the cast “

hahahahah rework the cast get it because you have to pick who DIES

Seriously tho I really like this song for Virmire and that moment of choice that feels like it lasts 100 years on some playthroughts.

18. Pompeii - Bastille The Siege of the Citadel

“ And the walls kept tumbling down In the city that we love”

Throwback to when this song was on the radio like three times an hour. Which is around the time I made the first draft of this playlist, incidentally! It’s such a good Final Battle Jam for the Citadel, and the part about “if you close your eyes/does it almost feel like nothing’s changed at all” I think work really well for Shepard in this sequence. Shepard knew the Reapers were coming, had been fighting them all along; this attack on the Citadel is just retreading familiar territory for them, as horrifying as the war being brought to their doorstep is for the Citadel’s citizens and the council. James Vega has some good dialogue about that kind of thing in ME3.

INTERLUDE THE FIRST

19. Starships - Nicki Minaj The Normandy Crew

Starships were meant to fly Hands up and touch the sky

I like to have a little fun OK

20. Gravity - Yoko Kanno The Death of Commander Shepard

“Am I alone? is somebody there beyond these heavy aching feet still the road keeps on telling me to go on”

Welcome to mood whiplash, it’s my specialty! This is the part where you die. I think it also works for her coma very well, when she’s just drifting between life and death, not sure what’s going on, but something keeps trying to pull her back to the world.

SECOND MOVEMENT - MASS EFFECT 2

21. The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy The Lazarus Project

“Hey young blood, doesn't it feel like our time is running out? I'm gonna change you like a remix Then I'll raise you like a phoenix “

this song has no right to go as hard as it does and if  you think it’s melodramatic shut up

22. My Body Is A Cage - Peter Gabriel Commander Shepard

“I'm living in an age Whose name I don't know Though the fear keeps me moving Still my heart beats so slow “

This works particularly well if you romanced The Virmire Survivor, but this song captures the energy of Shepard freaking out bc they are trapped with Cerberus, because Cerberus rebuilt their body from the ground up. That jarring, caged feeling is so palpable in ME2 that when they gave me back Joker the first time I played, I BURST INTO SOBS from relief.

23. The Lady is a Vamp - The Spice Girls Miranda Lawson

“That's all in the past, legends built to last But she's got something new”

Listen. She’s a bond babe. Handbags, heels and pistols rock. She’s got class. This is a song about Miranda. That is all.

24. Kryptonite - 3 Doors Down Jacob Taylor

“ I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon After all I knew, it had to be something to do with you “

This one’s about the Vibes for me. Also can apply to his past relationship with Miranda. I’m also super showing my age on this song, oof haha.

25. Stable Song - Death Cab For Cutie Colony Abduction

“Rows of deserted houses all Our stable mates highway bound “

I really like the mood of this one for showing up on the very first abducted colony, the eerieness and sadness of it all and Shepard’s resolve to do something about it.

26. Konichiwa Bitches - Robyn Kasumi Goto

“I'm so very hot that when I rob your mansion You ain't call the cops, you call the fire station”

THAT COUPLET ALONE MAKES THE ENTIRE SONG. I love how playful and cheeky it is.

27. Seven Nation Army Glitch Mob Remix - The White Stripes, Glitch Mob Zaeed Massani

“And I'm talking to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette”

Pretty sure we all had this on some playlist or another when it came out, and it’s the perfect Badass With A Grudge song.

28. Science is Real - They Might Be Giants Mordin Solus

“ And when a theory emerges Consistent with the facts The proof is with science The truth is with science “

This one actually got added by my wife to replace a song that wasn’t on Spotify, but that has the same energy; Hank Green’s “I Fucking Love Science”. I get more into the emotional side of Mordin in the ME3 section, but I also really just love his Hamster On Coffee energy and this song captures it really well.

29. Prove Yourself - Radiohead Garrus Vakarian

“I can't afford to breathe in this town Nowhere to sit without a gun in my hand Hooked back up to the cathode ray

I'm better off dead “

The absolute rock bottom mental state Garrus is in when you get back to him in ME2 is so heartwrenching. Might not always agree with my boy’s methods, but he’s one of my favorite fictional characters of all time.

30. Rat a Tat - Fallout Boy Feat. Courtney Love Jack

“We are professional ashes of roses, this kerosene's live You settled your score, this is where you come to beg”

It helps that Courtney Love sounds exactly like Jack to me, NGL.

31. Defeat You - Smash Mouth Grunt

“Hey I know what you've done It makes it that much better to defeat you “

Only I am brave enough to put two songs by Smash Mouth on the same playlist, to be shared in 2021

32. The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot - Brand New Horizon/The Virmire Survivor

“If it makes you less sad I will die by your hand Hope you find out what you want Already know what I am “

Hits harder if you romanced the Virmire Survivor. Mostly from Shep’s perspective. This is a Shep that feels Bad after that encounter rather than Mad, so Your Mileage May Vary.

33. Violet Stars Happy Hunting! - Janelle Monae Tali’zorah vas Neema

“I'm an alien from outer space I'm a cyber-girl without a face a heart or a mind”

I just like the vibes of this one for Tali! I know it’s more about an actual AI but...IDK. I like it. So there.

34. Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd Thane Krios

“There is no pain you are receding A distant ship smoke on the horizon”

This song works both on a Literal level with his Kepral’s syndrome struggles, but also Metaphorical re: his Battle Sleep. Plus, Thane is a dad, so he gets Dad Rock.

35. My Medea - Vienna Teng Samara

“For I have made her prison be Her every step away from me And this child I would destroy If you tried to set her free “

Mom of the year award, here

36. Toxic - Britney Spears Morinth

“There's no escape, I can't wait I need a hit, baby, give me it You're dangerous, I'm loving it”

If Morinth weren’t so under-utilized after recruitment and didn’t get killed off in the background of ME3 I’d probably actually recruit her sometimes. I almost did on my most recent playthru bc that Shepard just HATES SPACE COPS. Anyway the song explains itself

37. Turn me On - David Guetta feat. Nicki Minaj EDI/The Collector Attack

“My body needs a hero Come and save me Something tells me you know how to save me”

I know this song is a metaphor but also it works really well both literally and metaphorically for Joker saving EDI

38. Robots - Dan Mangan Legion

“Robots need love too They want to be loved by you “

The Geth just want to live peacefullyyyyyy 

39. Be Still - The Killers Love Interest Theme

“Be still / someday you’ll leave fearlessness on your sleeve”

This song works so well for the night before Omega-4. If you had an ME2 love interest, anyway. Also “fearlessness on your sleeve” is one of my favorite set of words ever written.

40. No Cars Go - Arcade Fire The Omega-4 Relay

“We know a place no spaceships go We know a place where no subs go “

This one’s pretty literal.

41. Rocketman - Elton John Suicide Mission

“ And I think it's gonna be a long, long time 'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find I'm not the man they think I am at home “

I like sneaking some Classics onto my playlists, and I think this is how I generally approach Shepard’s mindset during the Suicide Mission, mostly the chorus. I’m also a sucker for ballads during action sequences. This one isn’t a perfect 1:1 but the Vibes check out.

42. Blast Off - David Guetta feat. Kaz James The Normandy Crew

“Got all my people with me And none of us give a fuck So put dem hands up higher Let's smash this party up”

You have to imagine they partied HARD after recovering from Suicide Mission, but before Shep got arrested, right??? This is the Starships for ME2.

INTERLUDE THE SECOND

43. I’m Not Your Hero - Tegan and Sara Liara T’soni

“ Feeling like I am now lighting up the hall I was used to standing in the shadow of a damaged heart Learning all I know now, losing all I did I never used to feel like I'd be standing so far ahead “

This feels like a good coming of age moment for Liara, as she copes with the choices she made in the 2 years of Shepard’s death (giving them to Cerberus), losing Feron, etc. This is her coming into her own as the Shadow Broker. She’s not meant to be an uncomplicated Big Damn Hero, but she can do good from this position.

44. The Well and the Lighthouse - Arcade Fire The Alpha Relay Incident

“I'm serving time All for a crime I did commit You want the truth? You know I'd do it all again“

These opening lines I feel capture the Alpha Relay Incident really well, and how Shepard did what they HAD to do there, and would do it again, but it still feels like shit. I always wished there was more choice on that mission, but also, having something like that happen without player agency is interesting. Shepard is at their most interesting, I think, in times where we DON’T have a say in what happens to them.

45. Reignite - Malukah Commander Shepard

“Crush my heart into embers, and I will reignite”

Is it cheating to use a Mass Effect fan song on my playlist? I certainly don’t think so, and this is the best Mass Effect fan song ever written.

THIRD MOVEMENT - MASS EFFECT 3

46. This Is War - Thirty Seconds to Mars Leaving Earth

“It's the moment of truth, and the moment to lie The moment to live and the moment to die The moment to fight, the moment to fight To fight, to fight, to fight “

It feels Too Easy to use this here but I’m gonna anyway. You’ve seen AMVs of this set to everything. It’s the ending song of DA:O. It’s the quintessential World At War song.

47. Battleborn - The Killers James Vega

“Up against the wall There's something dying on the street When they knock you down You're gonna get back on your feet”

James Vega is massively underrated and I will love him til I’m cold in the ground. Aro icon.

48. Handlebars - Flobots The Illusive Man

“I can hand out a million vaccinations Or let 'em all die of exasperation Have 'em all healed of their lacerations Have 'em all killed by assassination”

The way this song escalates fits TIM and Cerberus’s fall back into being Just Full On Evil really well. Perfect song for a power trip.

49. Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect - The Decemberists The Virmire Survivor

“And I am nothing of a builder But here I dreamt I was an architect And I built this balustrade To keep you home, to keep you safe From the outside world”

I like this song for how the Virmire Survivor feels about their survivor’s guilt and also about Shepard. I honestly wish they were both more heavily utilized in ME2 and 3, but I realize it’s hard to write a ton of content for characters who just aren’t in half of all peoples’ playthrus.

50. Heaven Knows - The Pretty Reckless Grisson Academy

“One, two, three and four, the devil's knocking at your door Caught in the eye of a dead man's lie Show your life with your head held high“

This song is so perfect for Jack and her biotic kids that she’s one of the only returning characters that gets her own song on this playlist

51. The Great Fire - OK Go Javik

“But when the flames die down, and everything is gone, Will there be fire under the ashes still?”

Self explanatory. Javik is the fire remaining under the ashes.

52. Bring the Hammer Down - Paragon Priority: Tuchanka/Kalros

“ Hammer strikes the anvil A rage that breaks the chain Strikes down like a lightening In our ranks “

KALROOOOOS

53. Wake Up - Arcade Fire Curing The Genophage/Mordin Solus

“If the children don't grow up, Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up. We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms, turnin' every good thing to Rust I guess we'll just have to adjust”

I just really love this song as an image of Mordin’s spirit looking out over Tuchanka as the genophage cure is dispersed, and watching over future generations. If you didn’t cure the genophage, how dare you. No song for you.

Anyway started tearing up listening to this one while writing the description don’t look at me

54. Ballad of a Politician - Regina Spektor Councillor Udina/Priority Citadel 2

“A man inside a room is shaking hands with other men This is how it happens/Our carefully laid plans”

traitor

55. Cyborgs vs. Robots - Ludo The Geth-Quarian War

“But your iron fist will never knock me down 'Cause I'm powered By a conscious right to conduct my life without fear.”

This is probably a bit silly for this awful war. But also. It does fit. You can’t tell me it doesn’t. Just save them both at the end and you can feel fine having some fun with it!

56. Artificial Heart - Jonathan Coulton The Geth

“It's not a real heart It is a real artificial heart”

Just a little fun with the Geth! This works best with Reaper Upgrades.

57. With A Little Help From My Friends - Joe Anderson, Jim Sturgess The Citadel DLC

“What do you see when you turn out the light? I can't tell you, but I know it's mine

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends”

I happen to prefer this version to any other because of how much fun it sounds like they’re having

58. Dark In Here - The Mountain Goats Priority: Earth

“Steal away at sundown, pick a place to hide Check for signs of ambush, hunker down inside Tired of running, tired of never standing still Hear them riding up the hill“

You know I had to get the Goats in here. Would it be a fan playlist if there wasn’t one?

59. Adieu - Yoko Kanno Leaving your Love Interest/Shepard and the Beam

“My love for you burns deep inside me / So strong Embers of times we had And now, here I stand / Lost in a memory I see your face, and smile”

...do I need to say more than that?

60. My Way (Minor Key) - Chase Holfelder The Indoctrination of The Illusive Man

“Regrets, I've had a few/But then again, too few to mention I did what I had to do/I saw it through, without exemption“

This cover takes this song from something I tolerate when I hear it to one of my FAVORITE songs. The frenzied way he sings the “through it all” verse is PEAK Indoctrinated TIM.

61. I’m Alive - Disturbed Refusal 

“There will never be a reason why I will surrender to your advice To change myself, I'd rather die/Though they will not understand”

Honestly I didn’t “get” the Refusal ending until I heard this song, then I was like, OH, I SEE IT ALL SO CLEARLY NOW. This is my favorite in-universe Shepard take on the Refusal ending. I always got it from the player’s perspective of being dissatisfied with the options, but this one puts it into the world for me. This is a Shepard who does not trust the Starchild. This is a Shepard that chooses to end things on their own terms rather than submit to their designs.

62. Machine - Regina Spektor Control 

“I collect my moments Into a correspondence With a mightier power Who just lacks my perspective And who lacks my organics And who covets my defects “

I used to have Adieu here, actually, because like Refusal, I didn’t used to GET the Control ending. Now, I do, in part thanks to hearing this song. I mean, just go look at the full lyrics. If this song hadn’t been written years before the end of Mass Effect 3, I’d swear it was a fan song for it.

63. Maybe Tomorrow - Yuki Kajiura Destroy 

“The moon is gone And the night is still so dark I'm a little bit afraid of tomorrow“

I’m a Destroy Ending person, I won’t lie. Full on “the starchild is a liar and my synthetic friends are FINE” indoctrination theory level destroy ending. But this song is not about that. It’s about the canonical destroy ending, and if you prefer a Shep that survives it, this song’s for you.

This song captures the exhaustion and melancholy of the end of a long journey so well. Shepard is afraid of what comes next, the collateral damage resulting from their actions. But they know that, at least, it’s over now. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

64. Waiting For the End - Linkin Park Synthesis

“ I know what it takes to move on I know how it feels to lie All I wanna do is trade this life for something new Holding on to what I haven't got”

This is one of my favorite songs of all time. The hardest part of ending is starting again. Oof. Gets me every single time. Shepard finding the resolve to sacrifice themself for the hope of something better, of things not going how they planned, ever, of learning to make peace with that and the people who loved them learning to carry on without them? OOF.

65. Shine - Vienna Teng Epilogue

“Shine with all the untold Hold the light given unto you Find the love to unfold In this broken world we choose“

Vienna Teng is a master of capturing life’s softer emotions, and this fits perfectly with the epilogue scene for me. Tell me again about the Shepard.

“Find the love to unfold in this broken world we choose” has to be one of the greatest lines about the human experience ever written.