#beat him on a fucking sliver of health

[bloodbrown]

[HYPERVENTILATING]

[designernishiki]

next task on my trophy crusade is winning all the climax battles and so far I’ve won all of them except the ultimate section and hoo boy. let me tell you. my hands fucking Hurt

[targaryenluvs]

— SHARING IS CARING

pairings: clarisse la rue x aphrodite!daughter!reader, luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter!reader

summary: the whole camp believes you to be sunshine personified, everyones bestfriend. and being absolutely stunning as well as off limits unless they want your girlfriend breaking every bone in their body. but it seems a certain friend of yours can’t help his feelings for you, and your girlfriend?

warnings: i’ve gone mental, fluff, threatening, violence, protective clarisse, kinda naive reader ngl, luke is lovesick and is confused about his feelings, not proof read

a/n: basically the two of them agreeing to be with you and now you have attack dogs <3

if there was one thing everybody at camp half-blood could agree on, it was that they all loved you. even if they acted differently, the idea of hating you was practically foreign.

for as long as you could remember, even if it’d only been two years, you’d been there, it’d been your home. and for as long as you could remember, you’d been best friends with luke castellan. he was unbelievably helpful when you first arrived, shy and sweet but overtime you opened up to him.

of course you were nice to everybody, but to your friends you were on a whole other level. almost motherly in a sense, always concerned for their well-being, their health and them over all. luke was no exception, if anything, you cared for him the most. but that was before clarisse came along.

even if luke wouldn’t admit it, he liked the attention. for once someone was caring for him, going out of their way to help him. you were always right there when he needed you, and he’d gotten used to being by your side. whether at breakfast in the morning, or by the creek at night the two of you went out of your way to be together.

and over your time together he not only began to feel protective over you but also something else. it creeped up on him, yes, but it wasn’t all that surprising with you being the daughter of aphrodite.

he found himself wondering if you felt the same for him, or if you were indifferent. with developing feelings came changes of attitude, he found himself annoyed. not at you of course, never at you, but at himself. he felt as if he had a real friend, someone he trusted truly yet it was as if his own body was sabotaging him with feelings. he didn’t want it to change, your relationship, not wanting to risk what you had.

but then late at night he’d find himself daydreaming.

holding your hand when walking together, cutting up your pancakes for you, securing your armour himself, sitting closer to you by the campfire, your sweet eyes looking up at him everyday, filled with even more love than usual. maybe even staring down other campers, who for some reason, had the silly thought that they could make a pass at you.

he’d overheard one of the new girls talking about her own crush on a girl. luke hadn’t meant to, of course, but he was currently sitting on the shore, cleaning off his muddy helmet. she rambled on about the girl she liked, how she walked and talked, how she smiled, how she daydreamed. he felt his throat tighten at the words, it was as if his own crush was being described.

then, she began to talk about a certain daydream she loved having, the fight scenario. in which her crush was training and perhaps losing, the other person being a bit too harsh to the point where she herself had to step in and save her girl.

the idea of being a saviour.

he thought it was stupid, his head was telling him so. but his heart thought differently and he secretly agreed. the idea of saving you, your hands clinging onto his arms for safety, teary eyes and rows of praise and thanks from you. fucks sake, he wanted it.

he wanted you.

but again, your time together, and his plans to be with you were cut short, a certain ares girl beating him to the punch.

the irony was not lost on luke at all. the first time you’d gotten a sliver of niceness from clarisse was when the two of you were walking together from the strawberry fields, having picked a fresh bundle on account of mr d randomly asking for them.

“is there such a thing as strawberry alcohol? is he going to try and have someone make it for him?” you joked as the two of you made your trek to the big house. “maybe he’ll eat them and pretend their alcohol-infused grapes.” luke laughed as your eyebrows scrunched together, “you can do that?”

the two of you continued on, sneaking a few strawberries here and there, of which mr d had sworn he’d be able to tell if any were missing. jake lockly, a new boy, was hot on your tail. he was brash and arrogant, handsome yes, but his personality was more than enough to send a girl running. and he had his eyes set on you, the girl everyone seemed to love. he viewed you as nothing more than a challenge, you viewed him as a creep, “hey y/n. you’re looking good today.” jake whistled, a cat call.

now, you were nice, yes, but gods he made it hard. so you figured the best way to react was to not speak at all, a thumbs up was all the acknowledgment you were willing to give and not what he was willing to receive.

“don’t be like that, i know you wanna talk to me.”

his voice was closer this time having picked up his pace. “it’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk to you, and it’s pathetic that you keep trying.” luke was so close to dropping the basket, and dropping him. “oh yeah, pretty boy? why don’t you go pick some more strawberries.”

you frowned at the comment, pondering the meaning of it, “i picked strawberries, what’s wrong with that?” jake flashed a toothy grin your way, “nothing princess, keep walking, leave this to the men.” his hand grazed your back.

and jake ended up with his face in the floor, courtesy of clarisse, “touch her again and i’ll break every bone in your body.” jake clutched onto his abdomen as clarisse laughed, and so did luke. “at least you didn’t kill him.” luke chuckled, “is he okay?” your shoulders drooped looking at his crumpled body. “who cares? come on mr d is waiting.” luke grabbed your hand and gently led you along, unaware of clarisse following along.

she nabbed a strawberry from your basket as you gasped, “come on!” she didn’t respond, rather grinning before eating it. “how’s your day been?” you smiled at her niceness, “stuck with luke all day.” his eyebrows furrowed, “it’s never a bad day with me. don’t lie.”

and after that you found yourself running into clarisse more often, training together, even if it was more so her beating the shit out of someone, and you watching. you ended up being around her so often that your body quite literally gravitated to her. whether at breakfast or in lessons, the two of you were always hanging out. so it wasn’t a surprise to you when she asked you out, and you were more than happy to agree.

the only people that found it surprising, was every other person around.

obviously, during the early stages, you’d heard the whispers and seen the stares directed your way, but clarisse had shut them down pretty easily. a kid ended up puking into the same toilet bowl they’d been dunked into, a tamer version being someone’s matress torn apart, and a few not super serious injuries.

not life threatening.

but at the end of the day, all you could care about was her. her smile that was only really directed at you, the jewellery she obtained by suspicious circumstances, the sweet words and kisses were all you could ever ask for.

besides her, you also cared about him.

you’d felt as if the two of you had grown apart in the few months you’d been with clarisse, not necessarily either one of your choices, nor faults, but it was upsetting. even when you tried your hardest to seek him out around camp, it seemed he was always surrounded by people, teaching, leading, or just, not there.

you’d known him long enough to know he was evading.

luke hated it, how he felt. the idea of not being able to control himself, and how he acted was unbelievably annoying to him. not having you by his side, all the time, had him realising how often you were around him, he’d grown to rely on you. your presence, support, your face, friendship, gorgeous smile.

yeah, there were a lot of things he liked about you. he thought he only felt that way for you, but the weirdest combination of people seemed to double them. seeing you and clarisse around was common now, but the longing wasn’t.

you’d talked about your strained relationship over a million times to clarisse, and quite frankly she’d had enough, of course she didn’t mind listening to you talk but it was honestly driving her crazy. which is how she’d ended up with luke, in the middle of the night, sitting across from eachother, talking about you.

“she’s my girlfriend.”

“she was my bestfriend first.”

“so why didn’t you make a move?”

“i didn’t want to mess up our friendship. she… she’s my best friend, i didn’t want to drive her away.” clarisse leaned back on the bench, hands supporting her body, “so what now? you continue ignoring y/n, making her absolutely miserable since her bestfriend won’t even talk to her. or you tell her, and you guys aren’t friends anymore.” luke scoffed, “what makes you think we wouldn’t be friends anymore?” clarisse leaned forwards again, “well she wouldn’t have anything to say back to you, she’s with me.”

“well she would’ve been with me if i’d confessed.”

“but you didn’t, who’s fault is that luke? you were too scared to ask her out, and that’s not on me. talk to her, let her know, and we’ll see what happens.” clarisse rose from the table, but a thought in her head pulled her back. she turned back to see luke sitting at the table, even more gorgeous than usual, annoyingly so, the moonlight was a paid actress.

luke looked up and met clarisse’s eye, “what if.. what happens if she has feelings for both of us, now, at the same time?” she grinned, “you’re not an ugly face luke, i wouldn’t mind.” there were few times luke castellan didn’t know what to say, but he sat staring, feeling warmth arise in his face.

maybe they could come to terms with this, work something out amongst all of you. he swore you liked him back, when you were friends and single, and even now that you weren’t. the longing gazes you sent his way, the shy waves, as if on thin ice, testing the waters. why settle for one gorgeous girl, when you could have two?

after all, sharing is caring.

[seven-oh-four]

penismuncher24 was slain by The Nightmare Worm.

penismuncher24: NOOOOOOO

breadus: NOOOOOO rip

penismuncher24: man i was so close to beating him too he had like a tiny sliver of health left

penismuncher24: alright i think i'm gonna head out for the night. hopefully i'll beat him tomorrow

breadus: alright cya, nice playing with ya

penismuncher24 left the game.

breadus has unlocked the achievement Final Farewell! [-]

Say a final goodbye to a friend.

breadus: wait what

breadus: what does that mean?

breadus: i didn't even know that was in the game what?

breadus: what do you mean final goodbye

penismuncher24 has unlocked the achievement Sweet Irony! [-]

Die in real life the same way you last died in-game.

breadus: WHAT.

breadus: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN.

breadus: WAIT

breadus: THE NIGHTMARE WORM????

breadus has unlocked the achievement Say Goodnight! [-]

Get chosen as The Nightmare Worm's next victim.

breadus: WHAT

breadus: WHAT

breadus: WHAT

breadus: WHAT

breadus: WHAT

breadus: WHAT DO YOU MEAN. WHAT DO YOU MEAN. WHAT DO YOU MEAN.

breadus: what was that

breadus: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT

breadus: OH FUCK

breadus has unlocked the achievement Sweet Irony! [+]

[ogdoadfates]

It was only a cough: #5 Silvery barbs

Here it is! I’m not the best at writing Pike I think but I gave it a shot! Like always here’s a link to the story on ao3!

Vax is, Vax is a lot of things, he’s scared because the woman he loves is sick, he’s traumatized by both his past and the hellish present they all find themselves in, he’s revolted by the stench the undead has left on everything, he’s worried for their friends who aren’t traveling with them, but right now the most prominent thing that he is, is a horrific mixture of anger and terrified. The emotions coil around his beating heart in a desperate attempt to make it burst and release the carnage that is what’s become of his mental state onto the floor. He wants to scream, he wants to rage, he wants to punch whoever controls fate in the face for the hand they all have been dealt.

It was just a simple sentence, one singular sentence that spilled from his twin’s lips like a viper peeking its head out of its den, prepared to strike and kill whomever disturbed it.

“We’re going to have to stop at the next hospital.” That one fuckin sentence destroyed most of the slivers of whatever sanity Vax had left.

Keyleth has been getting slightly better but Vax didn’t know how low their med supplies had gotten. And god does that anger him, he was a damn EMT for fucks sake not to mention his girlfriends health is historically horrendous he SHOULD be the one keeping track of that the most and yet he let his mind slip.

They have to go to a hospital.

His reaction to that news wasn’t the best , the only regret with that is that now Keyleth is even more stressed then she already was. To be fair he wasn’t the only one to react in outrage and fear to the notion of scavenging a hospital, Scanlan’s words spoke true about all the dangers involved but neither of them could fight on it when Vex and Pike pointed out they’d be doomed if they didn’t refill on meds. Even Vax had to acknowledge that they’d die like wildlife in an oil spill if they got sick without meds and that Keyleth would be the first to go.

He’s worrying Keyleth but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it and it sickens him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands as she tiredly drapes herself onto his back, rubbing his arms lightly in a comforting gesture.

Keyleth’s sicker than Trinket after he eats a chocolate bar and yet she’s the one trying to give some comfort. He can feel the rattle of her ribcage when she turns her head away from him to cough into the empty space and all it does is tell him how screwed they are.

After a particularly harrowing coughing fit from Kiki, he takes his hands away from his face, grabbing her hands lightly.

“You should rest, Keeks.” He says softly yet, try as he might, he can not mask the stressed undertone his words take. She huffs and the next thing Vax knew he was being pulled down onto the bed. Vax’s eyes widen at the short and sudden display of strength from Keyleth as she now looms over him with a sad expression on her face.

“I’ve done nothing but rest for two days now, I’m not going to sleep if it leaves you stewing in misery alone.” She says with as much conviction her hoarse voice will allow. The two stare into each other's eyes for a moment then, taking in the silent words between them.

The fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty and the underlying care and love that despite all the struggles the world has been hurling at them has done nothing but bloom. Like a garden overtaking a mass grave, they struggle but have found a beauty to overcome the grotesque death surrounding them.

Keyleth sighs, and collapses onto the bed facing Vax. She reaches up to take his hand, the angle making it a little awkward but like always they make it work.

“I’m sorry.” She says it barely above a whisper but he still catches it. Vax’s face contorts into one of confusion.

“What for?” He says back. She looks at him for a moment before averting her gaze, he can see her expression morph to one of deep conflict and dismay.

Suddenly it hits him.

Oh, Keyleth.

“It’s not your fault, Kiki. Most likely we would have had to stop at one sooner or later considering we only had basically a week or so’s worth of them.” He says as he rearranges himself on the bed to properly face, never letting their hands part as he does. Vax takes his unoccupied hand to cup the side of Keyleth’s face lovingly, as their gazes finally meet again his heart breaks at the burning fires of her committed self hatred dancing in her eyes like sick vipers of flame dancing in rage within a wooden crate.

“I’d agree if I most likely wasn’t the cause as to why we had so little medicine to begin with. I feel so useless.” She sighs but huddles closer to him, Vax now wrapping his arms around her.

“You’re not useless, Keyleth. We’d be lost without you. Who the hell would have been able to get the keys to the van after they fell through floor boards of that farm house? Who’d have come up with the idea to use email to safely keep in contact with everyone? Who the hell would have remembered the way to Zephrah?” He tells her with conviction as she holds onto him tighter with each word that makes its way out of him. “I couldn’t do this without you. I can’t do this without you.”

At that statement she buries her face into his neck, he can feel the wetness her tears leave.

It’s a while before they move again, Keyleth refusing to rest, regardless of Vax’s pleas, is standing near the window peeking through the small opening in the curtains as Vax watches her from his spot sitting on the bed.

Minxie hops onto the bed curling up next to Vax’s leg and he can’t help but smile at the calming creature. He can’t help but remember when all of this started, the feline wasn’t particularly happy about have to get into their crate to go to the vet so Vax had volunteered to help Keyleth get the feisty feline until they suddenly heard a crash and the next thing he knew everyone was screaming. Gods is he lucky he had been the one holding the carrier so his first thought was to look out the window to see what was happening instead of just rushing down to help.

He’ll never forget seeing the undead tear that man apart, limb from limb like a clan of hyenas devouring a bloated carcass. The sounds and fear radiating off of everything sprung him and Keyleth to action, grabbing anything they could and getting the hell out of there while he called his sister. From there it was a blur, getting into Percy's car with the rest of the gang and high tailing it away.

They were aimless for a while till they were far enough away that they could stop for a minute and call people, that's when they learned the undead hadn’t hit Zephrah or Whitestone yet but both places were getting rapidly colder. At first they thought that meant they needed to head south, run from the cold, but Keyleth quickly corrected them. Better to deal with the cold in places with protections against it rather than places that aren’t.

He still can’t see how she thinks herself useless, she probably has saved the entirety of both Whitestone and Zephrah with her explanations and helping Cassandra and Korrin on how to keep the cities safe in frigid temperatures.

She’s done so much and yet the world only wishes to punish her.

Pike’s been watching Scanlan pace for the past few hours, the anxiety and frustration wafting from him in agonizing waves. Grog had been with them for the first two hours but decided to go on patrol when it started to reach the third.

She can’t blame Scanlan for not being particularly happy at the news that they had to scavenge a hospital for meds, he made a promise to his daughter at the beginning of all of this that he’d see her again whether it was crossing paths during travel or when they reached either Whitestone or Zephrah.

Hospitals are nowadays death traps, she’d know better than anyone how dangerous they are. She idly rubs her fingers over the scar that lay upon her eyebrow. And now they had no choice but to venture into one, otherwise they’re probability for survival is basically zero.

As light starts to dim, Pike begins to ever so slightly shiver. She should probably go inside but she isn’t going to leave Scanlan out here alone. Hopefully they snag some blankets from this motel and that they’ll fit in the van, Keyleth hadn’t been exaggerating about how it’s getting colder and apparently it’s only going to get worse.

“Scanlan?” She calls out causing him to stop abruptly and snap at her.

“What!” Scanlan shouts, Pike flinches slightly at his tone and volume causing him to shrink back, head down, shoulders up. “Sorry.”  The two of them take a moment to see if his shout attracted any attention but it’s starting to seem as if they did actually kill everything in the area.

“We need to get inside.” She says walking over to him, he refuses to meet her eyes but gives a small nod. He lets her take his hand and leads him back inside where they find Grog sitting down on one of the waiting chairs, giving a happy Trinket some much appreciated scratches. “Hey, buddies.” She greets him with a small smile, Grog looks up from Trinket and she knows he heard Scanlan shout but can also tell he shouldn’t say anything about it so he just greets her back and goes back to paying attention to the large dog in front of him.

Pike takes Scanlan to one of the rooms the group has been using during their stay here that’s empty. Where Scanlan proceeds to collapse onto one of the beds and stare up at the ceiling.

The lack of jokes about them being alone in a bedroom together really pressed on how much everything is bugging him and in a way unsettles Pike. She’s gotten so used to him being one of the people who lighten the mood that she sometimes forgets he’s in this hell hole too.

She lays down next to him, not close enough to be touching but close enough to feel the other's presence.

“Are we doomed to die?” The question startles Pike, she doesn’t answer immediately, having to gather her thoughts.

“I don’t think we’re doomed to die, I mean we’ve made it this far? And we haven’t lost anyone yet!” She says but even she’d admit that her tone even with her trying isn’t the most convincing but hopefully the facts made some progress into relieving some of Scanlan’s stress.

Scanlan huffs and turns to face her. “We’re going to a literal kill box soon and yeah sure, I won’t be one of the people entering it most likely but if you all die in there, it’d just be me and Keyleth who. Gods she is a good friend but if everyone goes she’d go into shock and either die from an accident or from some random ass sickness, I’d probably die not that long after.” Pike’s eyes widened at his words, she reached over and grabbed his shoulder.

“Scanlan we aren’t going to die in the damn hospital, yes we need supplies but we also know when it’s time to retreat. I think out of everyone, I’d be the one to know that. We’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll see your daughter again Scanlan. Yes we should be cautious, maybe even a little scared but there isn’t a point in dwindling in what if.” Her voice rings with conviction as she stares Scanlan down. “We will live.”

He stares at her for a long while, particularly the scar marking her brow like some sort of unholy marker of what's before them,he gives her a nod. “Alright, alright.” She smiles and gives his shoulder a light playful push before a smirk slowly makes its way onto his face. “You know, we are alone.” He says with a playful rise of his eyebrows. There it is!

Pike groans and shoves his shoulder enough to where he falls off the bed with a loud thump, yet she can’t help but let a little blush and smile come to her face. Gods, I need a break.

[rubys-domain]

ladies and gentlemen and nons, it's time for

Doing every single domain* but only with x character/s 2: electric boogaloo

*not actually every single domain but that's not a catchy nameeeeeee

give it up for our guest star of the day: Lyney!!!!!

*camera pans to Lyney as the spotlight shines on him and he bows with a confident yet smug smile on his face*

let's see if this pretty boy can magic his way through all of teyvat's domains, shall we? ;)

(okay i'm dropping the tv show host voice now)

viridescent/maiden's - there were only 5 enemies so it was alright. not the comfiest clear by a long shot, but with better kiting skills than mine it definitely works

noblesse/bloodstained - hoo boy. despite the pyro abyss mage that i knew for a fact lyney had no chance of dealing with completely solo, i did it anyway cuz i'm the graystillplays of genshin players chongyun mains. and. yup. he died. and this is when i realized that an er sands would actually not be a bad idea for solo-ing purposes. since he gets that one stack from his burst, he can still go back up to full health if he ever drops below the usual 60% hp. of course the nre was still essential for me, but this trick definitely helped prolong his lifespan a bit. i did unfortunately have to use my other non-pyro teammates tho, i.e. barbara, candace, and lisa, all lvl >40 (again, i'm doing this to find the most efficient friendship farming strategy for domains). and of course they died too. but i beat the domain in the end. with the tiniest sliver of health on lyney. so yeah.

blizzard strayer/heart of depth - i has donned the er sands. and boy. despite the obvious loss in damage after giving up my atk sands, it was by far the most comfortable clear, despite having to fight a fucking abominable snowman. it's thanks in part to those little moments where the thing will sometimes just stand around not knowing what to do. it's not a slow connection thing it's just. idk, the movement code being wonky or whatever. (i'm not a game dev; don't come after me for not knowing game dev terms.) because of those, i had an easier time dodging, and also getting headshots in. i am not going to redo the previous two with the er sands (even i'm not that masochistic), but it definitely would've made those clears at least a little bit more comfortable

tenacity/pale flame - oh my god, that was actual pain and suffering. he literally died three times — it was awful. -20,000/10 would not recommend. unless you have some kind of shielder or resistance to interruption, these fuckers are a nightmare to fight

shimenawa/emblem - despite the electro abyss mage and his annoying electro ring thing, it was even easier than the blizzard strayer domain. goddamn

husk/clam - this... actually went way smoother than i thought it would. i did not eat a single healing food in this domain, and lyney still cleared it with full hp. his hats actually made for some decent crowd control so i didn't get corrosion as much. my teammates were all on life support tho, that much goes without saying. also that little healing trick with his burst helped a ton, especially now that he gets his burst back every two casts of his skill. the hat taunt + his skill + his burst let me get in quite a bit of aoe damage as well. he did not die once, i did not swap into my other party members the whole time. overall, i'm surprised at how well he can actually clear this domain. he might even be better than the bennet+kazuha duo here

gilded/deepwood - was pretty chill on account of not needing to hug the enemies like bennett and kazuha do. and also the er sands (ergo, way more burst casts) was enough to keep him super healthy without healing food

marechaussee/golden troupe - i mean this domain was basically tailor-made for lyney. so of course he's gonna clear it with ease. his damage wasn't amazing on account of er sands of course. but not needing to eat healing food constantly was nice and comfy. it was also fairly fun kiting practice: the meks aren't the fastest, so there's a decent size window to dash out of range of their attacks when they try to lunge at you. again, the taunt also helped them not come after me constantly. i definitely would do this again cuz i already use lyney to clear this domain anyway; might as well have him solo it and take freeloaders along to soak up the friendship points

[demonfox38]

Completed - Super Mario Bros.

Yeah, I know. You know what "Super Mario Bros." is. If you want to know about my failings as a person and how beating this game was a way for me to address them, click below.

Video games have never not been a part of my life. At least, as far as I can remember. The first console I had any experience with was, as it was for a lot of Millennial U.S. kids, a Nintendo Entertainment System. It was a Christmas gift from my mother to my father, a little sliver of luxury in the post-80s agricultural bust that plagued the Midwest's economy. From 1990 to 1998, this was the only console we had in the house. If I'm overly sentimental and sweet on it, it's because it was not only a link between my parents, but my parents, my sister (younger than this system!) and me.

Except for "Super Mario Bros."

Here's a funny thing. Young children? Not always the most coordinated. Me, at age 4? I definitely didn't have the concept of gravity down. I was proud enough just to figure out how to cross the first pit in 1-1. I tried to show my dad this, but he wasn't in the room at the time. So, I waited for him. And the game's timer ran out. And Mario died. And I thought to myself, "Oh. I guess I'm not good at this game."

And then I didn't touch it for THIRTY FUCKING YEARS.

Here's another funny thing. Okay, funny in a mildly traumatic way. I was not given a lot of room to screw up as a kid. Certainly, not academically. When it's drilled in your head that "your schoolwork is your job", you take it seriously. When you are applying to universities and colleges and your advisors keep encouraging you to take the ACTs repeatedly to get better scores and more financial aid, you do that. When you get a scholarship to a college that obliterates your tuition debt if you keep your GPA up, you damn well keep that GPA up. When you graduate post one of the greatest recessions in U.S. economic history, you will take whatever job you have and knock out the rest of your debts. Again, and again, and again, I was not allowed room for failure.

The only reprieve from this perfectionist demand was in video games. Even then, I had to grow a thicker skin to accept my flaws and defeat. It was hard to do, particularly with shrieking Simon electronic games and rotting Apple IIs and whoever thought it was socially acceptable to pair reflex gaming with mental mathematics. (There's a reason "Oregon Trail" is brought up as nostalgia positive and not "Super Munchers.") Honestly, it wasn't until I played "Star Fox 64" that I had the feeling of "Man, I suck at this game, but I want to try again!" That wasn't quite a 1985 to 1997 jump. More like a 1992 to 2000 jump. But goddamn. It took me a long time not to loathe failure, particularly with noisy, mocking electronics.

So, I'm thirty-four, at the moment. Not for all that much longer. I've learned how to handle debt, my pets, my health, the demands of my job, housekeeping, family relations, and generally what most people would expect out of an average adult. I replace old appliances to keep my house up to code and date. I haven't missed a single vaccination in a decade, despite loathing needles. I've replaced two toilet floats, one of my brake lights, and exchanged various console parts to keep my video game collection up and going for as long as possible. Hell, I've even got my video game collection registered with my home insurance provider. Weird? Maybe. Childish? Biblically, I suppose. The point is, I do things that are painful, annoying, or even frightening to keep me and my loved ones in a happy, stable environment. God knows I couldn't make it in this world without facing my fears.

And as small and petty as this goal was, I damn well didn't want to live my life being afraid of sucking at "Super Mario Bros."

It's stupid, right? Who gets their back up about "Super Mario Bros."? This is one of the most recommended games for newbies and kids! You run, and you get the mushrooms and flowers, and you spit fire and jump on shit, and problems get solved. It's just 32 levels, and really, you only need to do 8 of them. But, hell. Phobias and fears aren't always a logical thing, especially when the machinations of a child's mind are involved.

I'd still recommend "Pokémon Red/Blue" or "Dragon Warrior" before this one. I mean, yeah, you have to know how to read. Maybe having a basic comprehension of logic and budgeting doesn't hurt, either. I was doing better at those things when I was 4 than running through gymnastic death traps.

Okay. So. "Super Mario Bros." might be about jumping and collecting junk and sniping enemies with fireballs. Maybe saving a princess and seven of her idiot court members. We all get that. Even with simple, easy-to-understand mechanics, "Super Mario Bros." is no walk in the park. It's basically everyone's video game grandpa, if that grandpa was also Charles Bronson or Jack Palance. And goddamn, will Grandpa kick your ass the first chance he gets.

While I feared this game for a long, long time, I certainly didn't hate it. It's vivid, colorful one moment and ominous the next. The story is simple, but the character and monster design is diverse, both in the game and the industry at large. (I mean, how many plumbers are out there fighting turtles and dragons, anyway?) The music is driven and upbeat. It's no wonder that the "Super Mario" universe remains so globally popular. It's unique and over-the-top. Hard for a kid to ignore, at the very least!

The game is a marvel in ways that modern audiences may not always understand. It comes from an era where something as simple as scrolling screens was borderline wizardly. Yes, the lava is water and the clouds are bushes and many things are things in different colors. The amount of data compression going on here is impressive. Having duplicate levels with minor gameplay tweaks helps, sure, but it's neat how much this game puts out for just having 32 kilobytes to work with. I've got a few YouTube videos for your perusal, should you be interested in seeing how these levels are coded and assembled:

"NES Scrolling Basics Featuring Super Mario Bros. – Behind the Code" from Displaced Gamers

"Super Mario Bros. Glitch Levels Explained" from Retro Game Mechanics Explained

Honestly, think about how many video games prior to "Super Mario Bros." are in the collective consciousness for good reasons. Like, games your parents could name. You'd probably get a list with titles like "Donkey Kong," "Pac-Man," "Frogger," "Breakout," "Space Invaders," "Pitfall," or maybe "Pong," if they were rich and old enough for that. (Okay, maybe "Dragon's Lair" or "Sinistar" if your parents were really cool.) The best versions of these games were available to Americans in arcades. It was up to the shop owners as to what people got to play. Some games might have had decent console conversions, if developing companies weren't beating their staff like mules or bickering over copyrights with feuding studios. Maybe, if people had enough money, they could have invested in something like a Commodore 64 or an Apple II and gotten something more complex, along with practical software. "Super Mario Bros." was an equalizer in terms of quality and affordability, particularly to people like my parents—people with full-time jobs, no arcade access, and a tight budget.  

Man. Do you ever think about how a significant chunk of the console wars can be explained by a family's income and geographic location?

Okay. You know the Mario. You may be able to "Do the Mario." But, how did I get even a semblance of competency in this game, if I sucked so much at it?

Practice! Obviously. The least fun answer in the world! However, I took specific steps to improve my memorization and understanding of the game. First, I limited myself to a World a night in terms of practice. That is, a -1, -2, -3, and -4, each played all the way through without save stating. My usual gaming time per night is around 2 hours, breaking when my dogs need my attention. So, that would be about 30 minutes per level, right? Well, not quite. If I got through a level without losing lives or power, I didn't dwell on it. But, if I got injured or killed? That was when the grind locked in.

I had to pass a level 5 times before I allowed myself to check it off. Not consecutively, but in the best case, it would be. See, when I was in high school, I had a band instructor that taught me this particular semi-consecutive method for learning bassoon drills. If I played a set of measures right once? +1 to my score. If I screwed it up? -1. So, the greatest success would be a string of five +1s. But, if I screwed up, it took away one of my successes, resetting finally at 0.

That wasn't enough, either. For each level, I wrote down a series of notes on how to progress through it. I also gave myself a confidence rating in each level, which broke down like this:

S: Confidence Achieved

A: Can Beat Consistently in Fire Mario Form

B: Can Beat Consistently in Small/Super Mario Form

C: Have Beaten at least Once

D: Have Not Beaten

And you might ask, "What's the difference between an S and an A?" Just my feeling, dude. Because, hell. I might have been regimented about this, but I still had intuition and doubt to evaluate alongside actual data.

This weird behavior started coming out as I was running "Super Mario Bros." drills. I wasn't so much interested in avoiding danger as I was trying to figure out what I could get away with. Yes, it's common knowledge about how Goombas and green Koopa Troopas have no self-preservation when it comes to edges. But, what determined when a Piranha plant was comfortable in emerging from its pipe? Why did Bullet Bill launchers stop shooting when I was face-to-face with them? Did projectiles come in one or two shots? Were gray Cheep-Cheeps slower than red ones? How big was a Blooper's hitbox, and how much was it really following me? I can't say I mastered all A.I. behavior—certainly, not when it came to hammer-throwing enemies—but I had some surprising events when it came to stage and enemy manipulation.

There was a real turning point when I managed to dodge three Bullet Bills—two coming from the right, one from the left—and I laughed at my own survival. Like one short, ugly, mocking laugh! I could have never imagined myself doing that before! Not when I was terrified of this game's pinpoint perfect demands!

Reaching and defeating 8-4—the final level—was a particularly strange experience. I mean, we all know how "Super Mario Bros." ends, right? Even if we're not capable of reaching that ending ourselves. Like, when I beat "The Legend of Zelda", there was this feeling of contentment and peace. "Ah, Zelda! Nice to see you." Reaching Princess Toadstool? There was happiness, but I barely even registered her being on screen. It felt like, "I didn't do this for you, honey. I did this for me." And man, that was a weird feeling. Particularly, since she's one of my Smash mains.

Also, it bothered me as a kid when she went from redheaded to blonde in the Mario games. Like, I get the palette limitations of the NES were a factor in why she was a redhead, but it still felt weird and off when she went SNES blonde.

Am I good at "Super Mario Bros." now? Can I cold-perform a complete playthrough like "Star Fox 64"? Well, I feel confident enough to say that I can at least make it to 8-2 using a series of warps. And honestly, I'd probably choke and do something stupid in 4-1 first. And man, I really only got that 1UP Koopa shell jump trick to work a couple of times. But, the feeling is no longer, "Oh, no! I suck at platformers, so I can't ever possibly beat this game!" It's more like, "If I'm not being sloppy and remember how to recover from a bad situation, I've got a decent chance of doing this." I think that's pretty good progress, especially for just a week of practice!

If it helps, I can give you a list of things I wish I knew about "Super Mario Bros." way sooner:

You can continue from the first level of the last world you died on by holding A, then hitting Start.

You'll only get close on time on level 8-1. And by that, I mean you'll probably have 80-90 tics left on the timer. Don't get anxious about time, and don't be impatient.

Bullet Bill launchers and Piranha Plants will stop coming out if you are standing directly by their respective pipes.

Blooper hitboxes are smaller than you'd think. Their head is more dangerous than their tentacles.

Hanging out at the bottom of a water level is usually pretty safe, barring the 8-4 fire bars and some random Cheep-Cheep spawns. Assuming you're not in a pit, anyway.

Fire bars start in a fixed position and can be manipulated via controlling your speed and the loading edge of a level.

You're probably better off ignoring Lakitu. Unless you want 8-2 revenge on him, I guess. He is right there, after all.

Mario starts with three lives. Mario dies at 0 lives. But, as long as you keep trying, Mario has infinite lives.

[mourning-again-in-america]

just completed the first mission in arkham city, and POV has gone over to catwoman

the open world system doesn't work very well with multi-level dungeons, but i did appreciate the stealth combat a lot -- searching for a few minutes to find the best spot for a takedown, swooping in and maybe having to throw a few punches if i fucked up, and then hurriedly GTFOing is a combat system i like a lot

the mister hammer fight was really good for a boss fight. i'm not very good at controlling space in the game, but i knew that the way to win was to kite the mooks to the sides and finish them there, far away from a hammer swing, but that didn't stop me from getting kited into mister hammer while i whittled away their numbers. i appreciate how the game makes multiperson fights feel kind of real to the thing --managing a two on one is hard for a normal human, so makes sense that The Bat starts struggling at 3 on 1* and can't manage a 5 on 1 without some CC or grappling out of the way. when all the mooks were dead, master hammer was easy, but i appreciated the challenge that he gave to the boss fight. i could have tried to take him down earlier, but keeping him stunned with the electro ray and beating him enough to finish him off sounds hard to do with the mooks around. i much preferred engineering a situation where i could take my time.

because i'm not very good at video games, i still barely managed to scrape through the boss fight with a sliver through health, and died several times in the dungeon (by falling into lava and the like). i'm glad i wasn't penalized too heavily for that.

i expect the third dungeon will be impossible for me unless i get REALLY good at grinding lol.

*: i think this is what capestun is for? idk if i've unlocked it, i should try using it

[fkingsteverogers]

This Feels Like Falling In Love

Summary: Talking to your husband has never been your strong suit. 

Word Count: 1.6k

Featuring: two idiots In Love who don’t know it, Bruce Wayne is charming and very horny actually, PR relationships, questionable changes in POV, and questionable titles

Tagging: @clints-lucky-arrow bc they were supportive 

“—the mental health of my late mother-in-law was, and continues to be, the business of nobody but the Wayne Family, her loved ones, and her health care team. The fact it is being sensationalized is disgraceful.” 

“Dr. Wayne, can you—“ the tv snaps off before the reporter can finish her sentence. “Thought you might watch.” Bruce turns to see you, dressed elegantly and holding a tray of food. You’re the only person besides Alfred who can actually sneak up on him. It’s part of why he picked you from the long list of marriage candidates the Wayne Enterprises PR team gave him. That and the fact that you’re so beautiful it actually hurts. 

Why you agreed to marry him he’ll never understand. It’s not about the money, you make enough as Gotham's environmental consultant. And it can’t be his sparkling personality. 

“Dory was just bringing up some sandwiches. I told her I would do it. I think she thinks we’re going to fuck because she’s vacuuming the spotless downstairs instead of polishing the banister outside.” Bruce smiles, actually smiles, and picks up a sandwich from the tray you set down. You perch yourself on the arm of his desk chair, dangerously close to sitting in his lap. Your proximity makes his skin ripple with electricity. He wants to reach out and touch you, to feel your creamy soft skin under his fingertips. 

He wants to hear you gasp and moan as he thrusts into you. 

“Bruce? Are you listening?” Your question shakes him out of his fantasies. “…no.” You make an annoyed little huff and frown down at him. It would be so easy to just reach up and pull you down into his lap, to feel you pressed against him. It’d be so easy to slip a hand between your legs and…shit, he got distracted again.

 “I asked you how you’re feeling about…” you trail off and gesture towards the now black tv. He shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich. In truth, the things they’re saying about his parents makes his blood boil. It makes him want to storm into the studio and beat up the reporters. Instead of admitting that he goes for a neutral: “I’m happy you’re dealing with it.” 

You shrug and take a sandwich. “It’s what you hired me for, is it not?” It’s Bruce’s turn to frown at you. “Don’t make that face at me, Alfred hired me to be your wife. I’m doing my job.” The way you nonchalantly mention that you’re not really his wife knocks the air out of Bruce’s lungs. Legally speaking, you are married. A little over a year and a half ago you’d become Dr. Wayne in a large ceremony neither of you really wanted. Someone had to Keep Up Appearances and he couldn’t be bothered. 

“Don’t do that.” 

You hadn’t meant to sneak up on Bruce, truly. You’d meant to knock before you heard your own voice. The anger had washed over you and before you could contemplate politeness, the tv was off and you were staring at Bruce. You’re always a little shocked by how pretty he is when you see him for the first time in a long time. His intense, intelligent eyes always surprise you. You always get the impression he’s looking straight into your soul. Would he like what he sees? 

You set down the tray, it’s sliver because of course it fucking is, in the middle of your explanation. You watch Bruce’s eyes glaze over. With anyone else, you’d be offended if they stopped listening mid sentence. Bruce is different, Bruce is out of practice with human interaction. His explanation (or lack of) of his feelings might as well require a translation. Good thing you’re fluent in all things Bruce Wayne. Instead of piecing out exactly what he’s feeling about this revelation, you goad him. 

The fact that W.E. PR arranged your marriage bothers him. It bothers him even more when you remind him of this fact. “Don’t do what, Bruce? Remind you of the truth? Remind you I’m no better than the working girls at the Iceberg?” What exactly you want out of this conversation is a mystery to even you. Why you’re furious at him is also a mystery. His eyes flare at your comment, his anger clear. “You know I didn’t ask them to find me a wife.” His tone is dark with undercurrents of his true anger. You shouldn’t push him any further. 

You do.

“And yet you’re happy to let me manage the Wayne legacy. You’re happy to take me to bed and fuck me like I’m your wife.” 

The storm that rushes over Bruce’s face makes it clear you pushed too far. “You are my wife.” “Only when you need me, Bruce.” Being this close to him is suddenly too much. The space between your arms sparkles with electricity and if you don’t get out of there, you’re going to let him bend you over the desk. You stand a little too quickly in your rush to get a safe distance away and almost topple over into his lap. His hand on your elbow steadies you. Sparks rush up your arm and it only makes you angrier, irrationally angry. You rip your arm away from him and manage to throw yourself more off balance. Before you can fall to the floor, Bruce catches you in a perfect dip.  

It’s a romance novel worthy scene, you in the arms of your husband, caught mid fall during a heated argument. In the romance novel, you’d look up at him, your anger forgotten. He’d look down at you, concern evident in his face. A moment of silence would pass before he would bend to kiss you and any anger either of you had would be forgotten for the passion of kissing the man you love. 

Instead, you stomp on his foot and he drops you. 

Thankfully, you’d chosen to make your little scene on the rug so you don’t hit the hard stone floor of his bedroom. Bruce looks down at you, betrayed by your assault. You look up at him, defiant from your place on the floor. The ensuing starting contest feels like it lasts forever. You break first. “I’m sorry.” He frowns down at you and holds out a hand. “Don’t apologize, you did a good thing.” You take his hand and he pulls you up. There’s a moment where you two just look at each other, still holding hands, before he clarifies. “Defending my mother, I mean. Thank you.” You shake your head in disgust and drop his hand like it’s scolding. “Your father basically had someone killed and all anyone cares about is your mother’s mental health.” You’re muttering more to yourself than talking to him. Thankfully Bruce doesn’t comment as he sits back down. You sit down in the chair across from him. It’s a safe distance away and you feel like you can breathe, “I don’t regret saying yes, Bruce. I do not regret becoming your wife. I just…” you trail off. You wish it had been Bruce’s choice. You wish you had been Bruce’s choice. You wish he really loved you, you wish you could be Dr. Wayne in more than name only. 

Instead of actually talking about your feelings, you blurt out what you’d come here to tell him about in the first place. “They told me I should get pregnant, you know.” His head snaps up and anger rushes back across his face. “I went to our quarterly meeting with the PR team, you missed it by the way, and they said I should get pregnant. If we conceive in the next two months we can feasibly announce on our second wedding anniversary and the baby will be born around your father’s birthday. Even better if we have a boy and name him Thomas Wayne II.” 

Bruce, as usual, says nothing. You fidget in the silence. Would having a baby with you be that bad? “I told them we could adopt a circus kid or something and they just looked at me like I was crazy.” Your suggestion makes him snort. A few agonizing moments pass in silence. With your anger done, you’re suddenly exhausted. “I should go, I’m sure you have other things to do…” 

“Stay.” The word stops you in your tracks. It’s more commanding than he’d prefer but it has its intended effect. “I’d like you to stay.” 

You give him a curious look. “And do what, exactly?” 

“I would like to…talk.” You laugh and the sound goes right to his cock. He’d been behaving himself, thinking of designs for his suit to prevent getting embarrassingly hard from just having you there. Your laughter makes it impossible for him to behave himself. “Bruce, this is the most you’ve said to me in six months.” You pick up the umbrella you’d laid on the bed and shrug on your coat. “You don’t talk. We don’t talk. You come over, we fuck, and you disappear.” Before you can turn and open the door, he grabs your umbrella and lays it back on the bed. He gently slides the coat off your shoulders, pressing kisses to the newly exposed skin. “Then dance with me.” 

You laugh again but it’s shakier, less sure. “Dance? There’s no music.” Bruce reluctantly lets go of you and crosses the room to turn on a record player that had been his father’s. He can feel your eyes on him and it makes heat bloom across his cheeks. “Bruce…” He pulls you flush against him, one hand resting respectfully on the small of your back and the other clasped in your much smaller hand. Your arms tentatively wrap around his neck and he can feel your ring resting against his neck. The two of you sway gently as the music plays. 

You’re too wrapped up in your own world to notice when Alfred opens the door and leaves without a word.

[thismustbefakeme]

I Want To Hold Your Hand

Pairing: Bucky/Reader

Description: Set after TFATWS. Newly appointed Captain America, Sam Wilson, and his team enjoy a relaxing night at a bar. Reader has a crush on Bucky and gets a little jealous.

Warnings: *Chris Evans Captain America Voice* Language.

Bucky Barnes was a health hazard. Truly.

You bit your lip as you watched him casually positioned up against the bar and you felt that familiar heat stir in your chest. You sighed as you watched a smile grace his handsome face, his lips showing just the barest hint of bright white teeth. His blue eyes even from across the crowded space sucked you in like a black hole. You honestly were starting to feel dizzy. Is this what ladies felt like in the forties? Ready to swoon at a moments notice just from close proximity? There might as well have been no-one else at this damn bar, because as far as you were concerned, the 106 year old former assassin was the only thing you could see. You watched as he chatted with Torres who stood next to him with a beer in hand. Getting some time off between missions was few and far between these days, and you especially loved seeing Bucky relaxed and casual. He laughed at something Torres said and your heart skipped a beat.

Cursing you signaled to the bar tender for another drink. Maybe more alcohol would slow down the hormone train that you found yourself a passenger on.

Fuck who were you kidding? You might as well call yourself the conductor of the Horny Express whenever this man was around. Honestly, who did he think he was—just existing? With his chestnut hair, perfectly styled to look like he’d just rolled out of bed without a care. Tight jeans sagging just a bit too low on his hips so that you could see a tiny sliver of skin when he leaned across the bar to get the bartenders attention. You weren’t even going to think about the Vibranium arm. Nope. You absolutely were not going to be thinking about that. Or the fact that you wanted desperately to ask him if there was a vibration setting on that thing.

Fuck.

The sound of your drink being set on the bar top snapped you out of your trance and you took hold of the glass like it was the only lifeline keeping your mind from falling back into the gutter. The burn of the gin soaked your tongue and quenched a fraction of your thirst and you sighed as you set the glass back down.

“You need a napkin?”

You jolted at the familiar voice from beside you.

“Huh?” Came your eloquent response.

Sam Wilson laughed, his whole body shaking with mirth and he clapped a big hand on your back before gesturing to your face.

“For the drool.” He chirped his warm brown eyes playful and you felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Fuck off Sam.” You growled, rubbing a hand across your mouth in the off chance you really had been leaking salvia unknowingly. Honestly you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had in fact been serious.

Sam laughed again after seeing you glancing quickly over to Bucky again who was now chatting with a tiny but curvy blonde in the tightest dress you had ever seen.

Surprised she can breathe, you thought bitterly.

Where the hell had Torres wandered off to was a mystery but the sight of this petite Barbie lookalike trying to flirt with Bucky made your skin crawl.

“You should ask him out.” Sam said from beside you and a sarcastic scoff burst from you.

“Ha ha, very funny Samuel. You can cut the shit. I was ogling, and apparently wasn’t being as subtle as I thought, no need to rub it in.” You lifted your glass to your lips again, hoping Sam would drop the subject. Dumb, considering who you were dealing with.

“I’m serious!” Sam protested and your eyes snapped to his.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He protested, “You and I both know that ever since I introduced you two, you’ve been pining after him like a lady from one of those Jane Austen films. Just ask him out, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could say ‘NO’ and then I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye, let alone work with the guy!” Sam frowned at you and you felt your face getting hotter just thinking about the embarrassment.

Sam was right though, you HAD been pining after the man. From the moment the new Captain brought you onto his slowly forming team and introduced you to Mr. Tall Dark and Broody, you’d been a mess. Well, a bigger mess than usual.

It wasn’t even just the fact that he was basically a walking, talking wet dream. Although that surely was a plus. You actually really liked the guy. Bucky had been quiet at first, but once you had been on a few small missions with him he had come out of his shell. He was funny and sarcastic underneath all of that self loathing and trauma. Knowing his history, it was impressive that he was seemly so well adjusted. Plus he actually accepted your quirkiness and would laugh every-time a new a creative expletive came out of your mouth when things went south on the job.

You caught yourself staring at him again as he continued his conversation with the woman who was now getting way to handsy. You saw his face twitch with barely contained discomfort and you cursed him for being so polite. Poor guy probably wasn’t used to 21st century women and how bold they could be now.

“I think I see steam coming out your ears.” Sam teased and you rolled you eyes.

“Chick needs to learn about personal space.” You bit out.

“Buck’s a big boy he can handle himself.”

The woman giggled at God knew what and placed a hand on Bucky’s chest, her grabby hand sliding closer to his left arm. Bucky shifted backwards and you watched his body tense up.

“Hold my drink.” You muttered to Sam and made your way down the bar. Seriously, the little lady was about to get an ass whopping if she didn’t keep her hands to herself. You would probably overthink this protective streak later. But with the alcohol in your system bolstering your confidence you stepped up to the two of them and locked eyes with Barbie.

“Ya wanna take your hand off of him?” You smiled, voice dripping with false positivity.

Barbie looked startled by your sudden appearance but after a cursory glance of your person she seemed to deem you as non-threatening and plastered on a fake smile.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” She chirped a subtle hint of annoyance to her tone.

Not even the best therapist in the world could have explained what possessed the next words to come out of your mouth.

“I’m his girlfriend. And I’d appreciate you keeping your hands to yourself.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot to his hairline his eyes locking on yours and you realized with mild horror what you had just said.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.

Barbie didn’t seem to notice the small panic attack you were having and yanked her hands back from Bucky her eyes darting between the two of you.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know.” She squeaked and left quickly. Completely oblivious to the stare down you and Bucky were currently having. Not that you were even aware of her swift exit. All that was going on in your brain currently was a bunch of sirens and alarms screaming ABORT MISSION.

Bucky held your shell shocked stare for a moment before quickly recovering from his surprise. You watched as a cheeky grin spread across his face and you felt your stomach drop to the ground.

“So you’re my girlfriend now?” He asked and now you were breaking out in a cold sweat. Damn your brain to mouth filter. Out of all the things you could have said to get that woman to leave him alone, that just had to be it.

“It just came out.” You laughed uncomfortably, “I’ve had a few drinks, and I just wanted her to leave you alone. You looked uncomfortable.”

Bucky laughed softly and your heart speed up at the sound.

“You know I heard they say ‘a drunken man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.” He said and your eyes widened as you tried to process what he was getting at.

“I haven’t had that much to drink!”

“Sure Doll.” He chirped and you briefly thought you would pass out from how that term of endearment made you feel.

“Look, I’d really appreciate it, if we could pretend like this didn’t happen.” You murmured, wondering passively if Sam was enjoying the show from his spot at the other end if the bar.

“Oh no. That won’t be possible.” Bucky stated and you let out an exasperated sigh expecting him to start teasing you some more. What he said next however made you think maybe you HAD indeed had too much to drink.

“You see now you’ve put the idea in my head, I kinda like it.”

“I’m sorry?” You blurted, heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

“Come on Doll, I know I may be rusty, but all the flirting I’ve been doing had to clue you into the fact that I like you.”

Yea, you had officially transcended to another plane of existence. Because you couldn’t be that clueless could you? Your brain was firing on all cylinders, as you struggled to catalogue each of your interactions with the man in last few months.

“Doll?” Bucky asked and you heard a hint of nervousness in his voice, “I’m sorry if I read into this wrong. Really we can forget it if that makes you more comfortable.”

“No!” You all but shouted and searched his eyes for any hint of teasing or falsehood and saw none, “No. I don’t want to forget it. I mean shit, I’ve had this ridiculous crush on you basically since we met, I guess I’m just completely oblivious. I never imagined you thought of me as anything more than a teammate.”

Bucky laughed his hand taking yours, and even though he wore thick leather gloves you shivered at the contact.

“I figured you were just playing hard to get.”

“No I’m easy.” Slipped out of your mouth before you brain could stop it and you cringed, “Fucking shit-balls, that’s not what I meant.”

Bucky chuckled wryly and his hand tightened briefly on yours, “Those creative phrases of yours will never get old.”

You laughed and locked eyes with him and tried to fathom this drastic turn of events. Had you really been wasting all this time pining after him, when he was just waiting for you to make a move? Of course. That seemed par for the course with your history.

“So will ya' let me take ya' on a proper date?” Bucky asked his Brooklyn accent thick and doing inappropriate things to you. Honestly you would have been happy to just keel over and die then and there.

“Yea Buck, I’d like that.”

[spencersweatervest]

LOSING TIME [ONE-SHOT]

character(s): spencer reid, jennifer jareau

tags: drug use, drug addiction, post-episode: s02e15 revelations, mental health Issues, hurt, eventual comfort, just thinking about spencer going through withdrawls and addiction alone again

summary: or, five times spencer struggles with addiction alone (and one time he doesn't have to)

i.

when spencer gets home from a 24-hour surveillance watch at the hospital, two bottles of dilaudid hidden in his bag and then smuggled deep into his pockets, he feels fine.

at least, that's what he's telling himself. and he has the statistics and scientific proof needed to show that people have survived in worse conditions. so he's fine.

he is breathing. he is blinking. he is fully functioning, with all the brains and bones and blood he had before (well, maybe a little bit less blood, but he has the statistics for that, too.

there's four levels of blood loss, each getting progressively worse and more dangerous than the last.

one: the first 10-15%; lightheadedness, maybe nausea, especially if you have to look at it.

two: 15-30%; about 1-2 liters. presents cooling of the skin and quickened heat rate to be kept alive.

three: 40%; most likely in need of a transfusion, extreme heart rate. small blood vessels constrict, symptoms may feel like death.

four: 50% or more; the deadliest. comatose state, the heart stops beating, causing organ failure. with rapid medical treatment, survival may be possible, though unlikely.

if he felt some or more of these symptoms while in the hands of a man playing god, that was his business.

he was fine.

is.)

he wonders if when he says it aloud, it sounds as desperate as he does in his head. if it's as raw as he feels. on the worst nights, when his head is pounding behind his eyes and below his scalp, he wishes he'd lost a little bit more blood, wished tobias has granted him just a sliver of peace.

he thinks the only thing grounding him is the needle in his shaking right hand and the liquid he fills it with. he pushes it into his skin and watches it drain, before taking off the turniquet and staring at his ceiling.

he feels himself disassociate and in the small silences and stretches of wasted time, where the only thing that matters is an escape from the pain he says he doesn't feel, he almost manages to convince himself that he really is fine.

but his mirror is shattered from a bad night that ended in nothing but a mess and bloody knuckles, and he knows the dark bags under his eyes and the red surrounding his pupils and his hallowed out cheeks isn't just a result of the broken glass. there are tiny scars on the inside of his elbow, from desperation and addiction that bleed from where he scratches absentmindedly. maybe, if he weren't so fucked in the head all the time, he might care more.

but the clock strikes three, and it's just another reminder that he has something to spend his time doing. even if it's not ideal.

he swears he'll stop. he knows the others know, even if they don't explicitly say - hotch had not so subtly slipped him a business card of a therapist when he'd asked for time off, and morgan had been side eyeing him ever since their last plane ride back. maybe he should feel more grateful, but the only thing he really feels lately is a thick, hot red anger, and a molasses exhaustion.

he watches the clock continue ticking.

he swears he'll get better. eventually. but, for right now, he's fine.

ii.

it's been seven years, eight months, and twelve days since spencer has owned a calendar.

when you have the constant mental tick tock, tick tock of a countdown in your brain, you find you have no real use for one. and spencer can - does - countdown everything; how long it's been since he's graduated, how long it's been since he's gotten his first, second and third phd, separately, how long it's been since he's eaten a full meal or gotten the recommended minimal eight hours of sleep, how long it's been since tobias, how long it's been since his last hit.

it's all kind of draining, if he's being honest, but he can't find a way to make it stop.

so it just keeps ticking.

but nonetheless, when he's desperate for solutions and feeling a million miles away from everything, he buys a calendar.

he drives to the nearest store, picks out one of those miniature, cheap fifty cent ones, with dogs and cats and birds on every other page and a printout of the months on the rest that garcia would love. he crosses out every day up until april 19th in red sharpie, and then circles the 26th in black.

seven days. one hundred sixty eight hours. ten thousand eighty minutes. six hundred and four thousand eight hundred seconds.

tick tock, tick tock.

there are the things that come easy to him - mathematics, science, logic. if he can break it down into manageable chunks and numbers, put it in boxes, organize it, then he can appreciate it.

it's not so easy when he can't.

he's not good at confrontation, never has been. sitting back and suffering through the boxes and numbers and chunks is better than standing up and doing something about it. easier.

he can't do that now.

he is two days in and shaking, trembling, nauseous, and sweating, and more desperate than he's ever been when he trades a watch he got for his twelth birthday from his mother for fifty dollars worth of a poison.

when he wakes up, head pounding and muscles aching, hours later, he looks to the aide at the bottle on the floor and the tourniqet still tied painfully around his arm, and the only thing he feels is anger.

he wants to stop fucking up, wants to be able to function like a normal person without the drugs, wants to force tobias to dig his own grave while he aims a gun at him, wants to point a gun at himself and pull the trigger, and he stares at the dilaudid bottle and thinks he's never hated himself or something more in his life.

he stands and rips off the tie, breaking it at the knot. he bends down and picks up the half empty glass bottle, so, so angry and throws it at the wall.

it shatters.

iii.

garcia calls at 3:36 on the third attempt. morgan calls at 4:21. garcia calls again at 7:53.

he ignores them. considers throwing his phone against the wall, not unlike he did a few weeks ago with the dilaudid, but ultimately decides against it.

he needs a distraction.

there are things he can do, in the area and otherwise - trails to walk, parks he can visit, libraries to clean himself in - but standing up, walking to his door and opening it, stepping past the foyer, going down the stairs, and into the outside feels insurmountably impossible.

there's another possible distraction.

and - god, what the fuck is wrong with him? because between the need for a distraction and the temptation and the helpless feeling that just keeps growing and how tired he is -

he's just tired.

that's all.

he can't feel mad. he can't feel sad. he can't even feel disappointed. he's just tired.

if he does this, its not like he can't restart. it's not like if he does it just one more time, that's it for him. there's no one offering help. and there's no one stopping him.

he fills the syringe, before he can change his mind, if he had the will for that, if he really cared at the moment.

it's more than he's used to, but naybe it'll help his exhaustion.

iv.

spencer has failed at a lot in his life.

his gun training, for one. being a good son. being physically fit. being a profiler, on the bad days. not failing.

he has never felt it weigh on him more than now.

every time he glances, thinks, pauses, considers the dilaudid no longer sitting on his nightstand, or in his bag, or pocket, or behind the bathroom mirror, he fails. everytime it's just one more hit, that's all, he fails.

he'd failed from the beginning. maybe he could blame tobias the first time, but he is no longer holding a gun to spencer's head and telling him to dig his grave; he is doing it on his own.

there's two things that are required for recovery, according to na.

the spiritual principles: acceptance, hope, faith, courage, honesty, patience, humility, willingness, brotherly-love, integrity, self-discipline, and service.

a lot of these don't apply to spencer. the obvious ones like courage and brotherly-love and integrity, but also acceptance and hope and faith. he's never been one for any of these things.

and then, after you let all that into your heart, you have to move on to the twelve steps: admittance, belief, surrendering, understanding, confessing, allowance, acknowledgement, amends, continuance, improvement, and awakening.

it's all bullshit, he thinks. and maybe it wouldn't be, if he was religious. maybe it wouldn't be if he wasn't so tired. maybe it wouldn't be, if he could bother getting past the first part of it all.

these are the only things you need for recovery, they say. redemption.

tobias hankle had promised redemption. benjamin cyrus had, too.

look at where that got him.

v.

he tells himself if he messes up again, he's better off dead. he tells himself that this time, this time, if he fills that needle and sticks it into the familiar space he knows it to go, then he might as well keep going. fill it to the top, until there's no turning back.

it's not like he hasn't thought about it before now. at least this way if he does, it's his own fault. others can't blame themselves for his actions, and he'd go down in a blissful, forgetful high.

it's hard to hold onto the things that used to be his motivation, now. he hasn't called his sponsor in months, and he's ignored his advances. hasn't reached out to morgan or emily. hasn't bothered going in to work if there wasn't a case.

there's a lot he doesn't bother with.

maybe it's better if he keeps closing himself off. it won't hurt them as bad if he leaves.

but.

he owes them. so, so much. and he's not bothered and messed up enough to know that if he doesn't at least try, just one more time, one more time, he's even more of a failure and he deserves everything that's happened to him.

so he tries.

one more time.

+ i.

it takes a long time for someone to say something.

after emily dies and comes back and spencer explodes like a ticking time bomb, on jj, who hadn't deserved it, not really, and it seems like the universe is re-righting itself, re-putting itself back together, when jj speaks up.

he knows, realistically, why they couldn't before. why they all knew he was struggling, but didn't, couldn't say anything; if they just pretended it wasn't there, hotch wouldn't have to report him, and he wouldn't have his job, now.

still, sometimes he wonders if it was really the best option.

jj catches him, after he yells at her, back at quantico, and offers him a small, sad smile. he looks up at her warily.

"we made a mistake," she starts, and glares at him when he opens his mouth, "and i'm not talking about the decision we made with emily. i don't regret that - especially considering the circumstances. i'm talking about what the whole team did. or didn't do."

spencer's eyebrows pull together and he blinks up at her, "what?"

"we made a mistake years ago, when a member of this team was hurt. after tobias."

what hadn't they -?

oh.

"we saw how bad you were struggling, spence. we all did. and none of us did anything to help."

spencer shakes his head, "i didn't -," need help.

"yes, you did." she says, and he stares at her.

he thinks about how, for once, he doesn't have an answer to how many hours he spent laying on his bathroom floor, shaking and soaked in sweat, or staring at his bedroom, thinking and not thinking and in pain. he knows he could've reached out. knows he should've. but he hates confrontation and nobody on the team deserved that.

"i made a mistake, too." he says, and her eyes soften.

"but you shouldn't have had to go through it alone."

he purses his lips and taps his fingers against his leg, absentmindedly. "i'm okay, though, now." and then adds, "seriously." when she gives him a disbelieving look.

"will you just tell us? if you start struggling again? tell me?"

i'm sorry i yelled at you, he wants to say, but finds he can't quite, not yet. he'd still meant every word, despite the harshness of them. maybe soon, he thinks, and she smiles at him, offering a hand.

"wanna get a drink?" she asks and he smiles.

"yeah. yeah, i'd like that."

maybe soon.

[disastermages]

[read it on ao3]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” Cangse asks, her eyes looking up at the tin roof that hangs over the train station, as if she could see through it and watch as the building gets pelted with rain without letting it touch her or the bag that’s starting to dig into her shoulders. The weight of it is welcome and familiar, it no longer burns and itches like it had after she’d first left her mother’s house.

The old woman who’d been standing next to Cangse for the last two stops only smiles and shakes her head, “This is a winter rain still, my dear, you haven’t seen a rainy day in Yunmeng until you’ve been here in the spring.” Bringing one finger up to her nose to try and brush warmth back into it, Cangse wants to ask the woman what the difference between a winter and a spring rain was, but she doesn’t get the chance.

The headlights of something bulky and black sweep over Cangse and the old woman, making them squint, even as Yu Ziyuan sucks on a lemon in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel. They needed her there, but it would be a cold day in hell before Yu Ziyuan would be happy about it. Cangse doesn’t dare dim the smile on her face as she waves and turns back to the woman standing beside her.

“Popo, are you going to be alright by yourself?” Cangse does her best not to bend to speak to the old woman, but it’s hard, the woman is short, and Cangse worries about the woman hurting herself to look up at her. Rain and cold were supposed to hurt old bones, weren’t they? “My friend could give you a ride if you want.”

Calling Yu Ziyuan a friend was a stretch when she was already honking the horn, the sound of it blaring, but the old woman only smiles and shakes her head, her hands gripping her bag tightly. “My son will be here soon, you go on. Your friend doesn’t seem like the patient type.” For one moment longer, Cangse and the old woman share a conspirator’s smile, trying to drag another round of honking out of Yu Ziyuan, but then Cangse is being nudged down the steps.

“Are you wearing bell bottoms?” Cangse hadn’t expected to be helped with her bags, but the sight of Yu Ziyuan’s bell bottoms more than makes up for it, the grin spreads across Cangse’s face before she can stop it, the rain is still pelting her back, and Yu Ziyuan is still frowning up at her, though she shuffles further against her side of the car, the heel of her boot catching against the car’s floor.

“Shut the door! It’s freezing out!” Yu Ziyuan demands, though she looks no less like a ruffled cat when Cangse does as she’s told, the car shaking and bouncing as she gets settled into her seat, tracking in mud that neither of them mention. Cangse would get used to the mud, she would have time.

The car starts and Yu Ziyuan reaches into her bag with one hand, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, her foot still heavy on the brake. She must feel Cangse looking at her, because Yu Ziyuan looks back, the cigarette between two fingers, “Did your mother not tell you what mine did? It’s fine to smoke, but only in the car.” It’s the driest thing between either of them, but Cangse knows a joke when she hears one, and she doesn’t stop herself from snorting, even as she cracks the window, just enough to let the smoke out and to keep the warmth in. Cangse doesn’t blame Yu Ziyuan for smoking, not since Jiang Yanli’s health had started its downward tick, but it still almost makes her cough, and it still makes her eyes burn.

“I thought you and Jiang Fengmian would have sent Wei Changze after me.” Wei Changze would have been happier to see her, but he would have insisted on helping Cangse with her bags, and Cangse would have had to thank him, but not in the same way she would have thanked Yu Ziyuan, had she offered.

Finally, Yu Ziyuan takes her foot off the brake and they start rolling down the gentle slope of the hill, picking up speed when she finally presses on the gas, the cigarette still held between two fingers. Those fingers are no longer near Yu Ziyuan’s mouth, though. “Wei Changze had to drive A-Li and her father to a doctor’s appointment.” The phrase “A-Li and her father” raises Cangse’s eyebrows, the meaning behind it clear. They were fighting again. She’d seen it during their courtship, during their engagement, even on their wedding day. Or, at least, she’d seen some of their fighting on their wedding day. Wei Changze had carefully pulled her away from that, keeping her hands held tight in both of his.

Cangse sees the smile on her own face in the window’s reflection, but she can’t see the old woman on the train platform anymore, but she doesn’t see another pair of headlights behind Yu Ziyuan’s car, either. She must have gone inside of the office, she’d only stepped out to keep Cangse company after all, hadn’t she?

The woman had been there, and she’d gone inside the station office, where it was warmer and drier, to wait for her son.

“Fengmian wants another baby.” Yu Ziyuan says it suddenly but steadily, the train station behind them growing smaller and smaller in the rearview, the cigarette between her fingers is already halfway burnt. Cangse presses her lips together, but she isn’t surprised. Jiang Yanli was almost five, she was almost five and already needed delicate handling. Jiang Fengmian would want someone he could play with. It still sets Cangse’s teeth on edge.

“What do you want?”

Cangse doesn’t ask the question lightly, nor does she ask it to be cruel, but Yu Ziyuan’s cigarette is almost completely ash by now, only a sliver of white left to see before she stubs it out quickly. Some of the ash blows onto the denim of Cangse’s jacket, but she won’t begrudge Yu Ziyuan for it.

“I think,” Yu Ziyuan starts and stops, loosening her grip on the steering wheel, “I think I’d like a boy.”

~

“He fucking didn’t.” Wen Qing’s voice rings out across the dining room, a coffee cup still held in one of her hands, but Meng Yao doesn’t turn to look at her. The spoon in his hand is too heavy, but he still plays with it, even as Jiang Yanli stands up from where she lingers just inside his line of sight. She’d been lingering like that, since Saturday evening had dripped into Sunday morning like ink, and Meng Yao had pretended that he hadn’t heard Wen Qing tell Jiang Yanli that the bruises on his neck looked self-inflicted.

They weren’t, Jiang Yanli knew that, though she hadn’t said it. It went unsaid that there was no point, but Meng Yao knew that the bruises that had been there, even though they’re fading into nonexistence. He’d hoped… he’d wanted them to be gone by the time Lan Xichen got back, so he wouldn’t have to explain, but his hand still strays up towards his neck, trying to feel for swelling that went down. Jiang Yanli and her constant, too cold, ice pack had seen to that.

“I’m not pulling him out when he gets stuck in the mud again, my whole front end almost came off the last time.” With sleep heavy eyes, Meng Yao can see Jiang Yanli’s hand on the small of Wen Qing’s back, neither of them backing away from the window. They don’t have to worry about being seen, both Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were already in town, taking care of their own businesses. They rarely came home for lunch. Jiang Yanli had told him that when she’d stepped into his office, refusing to let Meng Yao take his lunch there. Jiang Yanli had gotten stubborn about leaving Meng Yao alone. She’d left his office door open, and lingered like a ghost dressed in blues, and purples, and the occasional yellow or green, or she’d kept him from leaving to the loneliness of his own room.

She’d almost driven him crazy, but he’d been grateful for it. Meng Yao had been grateful for every interruption and every excuse she’d given just to keep him from being alone.

It still hadn’t stopped the nightmares, nor had it stopped the sleepless hours that came in between, but Meng Yao is grateful for every measure Jiang Yanli had gone to. He’d done his best to swallow it all down, but even Yu Ziyuan had called him out for the dark bags under his eyes and the way he’d only picked at his breakfast.

His work still hadn’t suffered because of it, Meng Yao had made sure of that.

“A-Yao,” Jiang Yanli’s voice is as gentle as the hand she puts on his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts and making Meng Yao look up at her. He wants to shield his eyes from the brightness that spreads across Jiang Yanli’s face, “You’ll come to the door with us, won’t you? Xichen is back, and he’ll want to see you first, I’m sure of it.” There’s insistence in Jiang Yanli’s voice, her smile wide and bright enough to make Meng Yao think to shield his face from it.

It takes him a moment too long to realize what she’s said, but when he does, Meng Yao is letting the spoon clatter into the bowl as he stands. He doesn’t care if Wen Qing turns to glare at him, he hasn’t cared about that since Saturday evening, but he somehow cares even less now.

Meng Yao can’t help but glance out the window as he walks by, his eyes falling on something light gray and shiny, and tragically just low enough to get caught in the worst of the mud if a storm were to come and swallow them up. Wen Qing’s words make sense now, even if Meng Yao had only been half listening to them. The three of them walk to the front door together, but Jiang Yanli allows Meng Yao to lead, trailing behind with Wen Qing as Lan Xichen beats them to the door, his bag hanging heavy on his shoulder and his keys still jingling in his hand.

Something makes Meng Yao stop short, his throat going tight and the light bruises around it suddenly burning again, as if they were fresh. His hand twitches, but Meng Yao won’t let himself reach up and press his fingers to them, he’d done enough of that when he’d looked into his own reflection, wary of any sudden change that might happen.

Can Lan Xichen see them? Would he have any idea that they had been there? If he doesn’t, Meng Yao won’t tell him, he couldn’t and wouldn’t put that weight on Lan Xichen’s shoulders. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he did, and he couldn’t expect Lan Xichen to either, no matter how much he might want to.

But there’s already a hand pressed against his cheek, a thumb already stroking just underneath Meng Yao’s eye, soft enough that he can’t choke down the pull he feels to wrap his hand around Lan Xichen’s wrist. His own thumb strokes over the rounded bone of Lan Xichen’s wrist. If they hadn’t had an audience, Meng Yao might have pressed a kiss to Lan Xichen’s palm, but he’s too aware of Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli standing at his back, pretending that they don’t see the two of them, just like Meng Yao pretends not to see the two of them in their spare, stolen moments.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen starts, a gentle smile spreading across his face, but Meng Yao feels no need to shield his eyes from it. His other hand twitches, wanting to reach up and hold Lan Xichen’s face in return, but the chance is taken away by the sounds of two people bounding down the stairs from where they’d been doing who knows what for how long, only coming down to cut Lan Xichen’s words before they’d even fully formed.

Meng Yao has no energy left to be angry at them for it, nor does he stop Lan Xichen’s hand from slipping away from his face, though their fingers still linger, still clinging to each other by the tips. Something so small shouldn’t settle all the ruffled parts of Meng Yao, but it does. Touching Lan Xichen soothes the frayed ends and soothes the bruises that still burn at Meng Yao’s throat, whether Lan Xichen can see them or not.

It’s easier to follow the group of them to the kitchen this time, to watch as Lan Xichen drinks water from a tall glass that Jiang Yanli gets for him, to watch him lean against the counter, to participate in the flurry of conversation that comes when Lan Xichen returns, a glass of water held in his own hand.

This is a routine that Meng Yao had seen before, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be part of it. He’d tried to stay out of it, and he’d tried hard, but now Meng Yao doesn’t have to force himself to remember Lan Xichen’s name, nor does he feel the prickle of being someone new somewhere old.

He doesn’t stop himself from listing, just a little, after the others leave him alone in the kitchen with Lan Xichen, all the frayed, ruffled, and now soothed parts of him dragging him downwards, until his forehead meets Lan Xichen’s shoulder and fingers press into Meng Yao’s cheek.

“Yanli called me, you know,” Lan Xichen starts gently, stroking the apple of Meng Yao’s cheek with just the tips of his fingers, “she told me what happened.” Meng Yao squeezes his eyes shut. He hadn’t imagined that Jiang Yanli would have told on him, but he might have known that she would, if she’d been pressed. “Let me see?” Lan Xichen asks, and Meng Yao starts. The prickly feeling comes back into his stomach and he hesitates for a moment too long, swallowing thickly. “I won’t make you, A-Yao, but I was worried, I thought…” Lan Xichen doesn’t finish, Meng Yao won’t make him.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Meng Yao makes himself tilt his head back, exposing what remains of the bruises and letting Lan Xichen bend down just a little to look at them. His thumbs press into the sides of Meng Yao’s throat, and he closes his eyes, his own hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He won’t allow himself to push Lan Xichen away, he would let him be kind.

Lan Xichen deserves to be kind, if he wants to.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen whispers, leaning in closer and pressing a kiss to either side of Meng Yao’s neck, “what got ahold of you?” Lan Xichen isn’t looking for an answer, Meng Yao knows, but the words stick in his throat like bones.

Meng Yao doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels both of Lan Xichen’s hands on his cheeks, his lips on his forehead. There isn’t a breath of space left between them, and Meng Yao finally lets himself set his hands onto Lan Xichen’s hips, asking him to stay close without a word. “I should have been here, I could have…”

“Xichen,” Meng Yao tries to speak, but his voice is already muffled against Lan Xichen’s chest as he’s pulled close and bone crushingly tight. What could he have done? Would he have gone out into the woods and returned with nothing, just like the police had? Would he have tried to open the door from the hall, and would he have gotten the same result that Meng Yao had? Meng Yao presses his face into Lan Xichen’s chest and breathes hard, trying to shake the cold memory of that room off of his skin still.

“A-Huan.” Lan Xichen reminds him softly, fingers stroking gently through his hair now, though his voice is no less serious, “When we’re alone, I’m A-Huan, remember?” Meng Yao nods, but doesn’t dare raise his face from Lan Xichen’s chest, not when Lan Xichen’s whole body is still so comfortingly warm around him, driving whatever miniscule amount of wakefulness away, and making Meng Yao sleepier by the second.

“A-Huan, I missed you.” Meng Yao allows himself to say it finally, no matter how muffled his voice is in Lan Xichen’s oversized sweater. The words twist a wary laugh out of Lan Xichen, the sound of it comforting against the top of Meng Yao’s head.

“I didn’t get around to grading any of the boys’ work that I said I would, that’s how much I missed you.” It pulls at something in Meng Yao’s chest to hear that, his arms sliding up to curl around Lan Xichen’s neck, though he’s almost too short for it. “I would start to, but then I would think about you, and I would think about how you would already have all of this done. I would try again, but the same thing kept happening.”

Despite everything, Meng Yao hears himself chuckle, the point of his chin pressing into the center of Lan Xichen’s chest. For a moment, there’s only quiet and the two of them, clinging to each other like no one else could walk into the kitchen and see them, but then Lan Xichen is speaking again, the sound of him quieter now than it had been before, “I thought we could sneak away a little bit later, that’s why I brought the car. There’s a place down by the cove, Yanli told me how to get there once.”

“You’d take me there?” Meng Yao has to ask, but the words are brittle. Even if Lan Xichen didn’t know how to get there, Meng Yao remembered the walk to the cove well, when he was younger, couples went there for bragging rights, but Meng Yao had never been lured there by some high school boyfriend’s siren call, not once.

“I would.” Lan Xichen answers, pulling away, though only far enough to look into Meng Yao’s eyes before he kisses him, soft and sweet, and far, far too quickly. “Yanli says it’s prettier at night, but I thought we might catch the sunset.”

If Jiang Yanli had gone to the cove… Meng Yao silences that thought with a tiny shake of his head. He wouldn’t think about what Jiang Yanli had done with anyone at the cove, be it Wen Qing or anyone else.

If Lan Xichen took him there, it would be their cove. Theirs and no one else’s.

“Alright.”

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 18

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader   CW: mentions of abuse, throwing up, depression, horrible coping mechanisms, implied sexual references   A/N: Read CW for this chap.

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 18: Love Isn’t a Magic Potion

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

February 14th, 1976

There wasn’t quite another person like James Potter who knew what unrequited love felt like.

After years of harbouring feelings for Lily, making a fool of himself, his failed attempts of trying to impress her; she never seemed to take interest. Lily always sent him disgusted looks, never passing up the opportunity to call him a dirty arrogant toe-rag.

And sure, it phased him sometimes; her words cutting deep, but despite it all, James still believed in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half. His parents were his main inspiration for love. Years — decades they’d been together and still, the love they held for one another, so fierce and unstoppable, it even shocked James at times.

A long time ago, when he truly understood the concept of love, he made a promise that he wouldn’t settle for anything but for the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding his soulmate — his better half.

He wanted all of it. The good days, the bad days, the glitter and sparkles, the cheesy one-liners; long walks on the beach, nursing them back to health after they caught the flu, watching the sunsets, dancing in the rain — even the stupid petty arguments. He wanted all of it.

No matter how long it took to find them, he would; after all, everyone had their person.

Maybe that’s why he chased after Lily for so long — hoping for that romantic love — the love that’s made for movie screens — the type of love that conquered all. But he wouldn’t continue to beat on a dead horse, especially if Lily didn’t want that.

He wouldn’t force her and certainly, he wouldn’t harass her.

But, James would consider himself lucky, he found his friends — they were already his platonic soulmates and he’d go to the ends of the earth for each of them. His parents, the Marauders, Marlene, now Whiskers; he was always surrounded by only the purest amount of love.

He was never a person to cover up his emotions — hardly, that is. He wore his heart proudly on his sleeve, never once letting others dictate his life and the way that he loved. He laid himself bare, open, and there was a beauty to it that words couldn’t describe.

Love truly conquered all, whether it be romantic or platonic.

But to the women that fell in love with Sirius Black, well — there wasn’t quite another group of people like them who knew what unrequited love felt like — not even James ‘Oi, Evans!’ Potter could compare. 

Love is shit.

Love is cruel.

Love is unfair.

Sirius would go on date after date. One fleeting look and soon enough, he had women at his feet, falling for his devilish charm that captivated them in seconds.

They swooned over his chiselled jaw and thick glossy hair; eyes so mysterious with profound, moonlit mirth. The epicanthic folds highlighted his sharp and pointed look that they swore cut through them, searching through the deepest part of their souls.

He was a part or used to be a part of the oldest and most noble Pureblood families in the country. He was rich, of high status, French, could speak five languages and a mischievous bad boy straight out of your classic Muggle film.

Falling in love with Sirius Black was an easy task, so simple and it could happen in a blink of an eye. The realization would come either fast or slow depending on the poor lovesick git who let themselves fall.

But getting Sirius Black to return that affection was an impossible task.

He was raised as a gentleman and would play the part before becoming bored. They were all fillers, the people he dated.

He would admit it, he’s a bit of a dick.

He never fell in love with anyone he’s dated so far — never got past the fancying stage and even then, it was never strong. It never made him feel those butterflies that James described them as. His heart never jumped, never sped up fast, he never felt his skin heat nor did their laugh ever put him into a trance — nothing like what he described them to be like. If anything, he’d always break it off with the girls he found himself getting too comfortable with; always severing it before it became too much.

Although, it technically never was his fault that they fell in love. Most of his admirers like to daydream from afar, or they’d make a promise at the beginning — no strings attached.

Well for them, it did. It almost always ended with strings attached with Sirius holding a pair of shiny scissors at the end of fried thread.

He did not believe in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half.

But that doesn't mean he didn’t want it.

But, above all, Sirius Black considered himself to be a realist. Unlike James, he couldn't — he wouldn’t let himself believe in that shit anymore. Love is disappointing and it does nothing but hurt you, nothing but a filler he used to distract himself with, no matter who it was. Love did not fix his fuck ups nor himself.

All of the adoring admirers, the ones that lined up for him, they would all leave if they caught a glimpse of the worst parts of him. The ugly, nasty parts. He used rage as a means of defence, he pushed the people he loves away, he was moody, dramatic and above all, reckless.

All they wanted was to take, use him for his body — they wouldn’t love him if they knew him. The real him: the ugly side along with the beautiful one he wore. The side that wasn’t always adventurous, daring, bold, brave… happy, go-getting.

Nobody would stay for the ugly part of him.

In that regard, Sirius was unloveable. Completely, utterly unloveable.

Currently, the uglier, caged part of Sirius re-emerged as he writhed around in his bed. Eyes moved rapidly behind eyelids, squinted in pain as he squirmed around, clutching the bed sheets tightly. His head flopped from side to side as he was unable to wake; stuck in a nightmare.

“You mudblood lover —” “Don’t call them that!” “Babies, Regulus, babies!” “It’s killing me to stay.” “CRUCI —”

Sirius woke with a jolt, choking on a strangled scream that clawed at his throat. His mind seemed to be encased in a wordless static, muting him to the noise around him as he felt the rapid, hard thumps against his chest. Distantly, he could feel his body raking in waves as the sticky, cold feeling of his sweat dripped from his temple and down the side of his face. It made his hair stick to his forehead uncomfortably yet somehow, despite the sweating and the overwhelming feeling of heat, he felt ice cold.

He swallowed thickly, sniffingly away the stinging growing behind his eyelids but failed as a few stray tears had already settled on his cheeks. Sirius looked around frantically, meeting the familiar red and gold bed sheets that were now pushed off of him as he sat upright in his bed. Red velvet drapes hung around the sides, pulled together as slivers of bright light sliced through them. It made him squint and focus on the surroundings.

Soon enough, it felt like a weight lifted off his chest, marked in unspoken forgiveness once realizing where he was.

You’re safe, his inner voice spoke firmly, It was just a dream. A dream.

“Wakey, wakey Padfoot!”

He had just enough time to wipe the freshly fallen tears away before James ripped back his curtains, jumping into his bed. He drew a deep sigh, avoiding James’ eyes and trained them to look outside.

Upon the grass and mountains, snow sprinkled on much like sugar over a cake. The distant chirping of birds could be heard singing their usual song, or more like an alarm clock, as they soared high in the sky without a worry in the world.

If only Sirius could be a bird, what a simple life he would lead.

“Fuck you,” groaned Remus, “He might be awake, but I’m not.” His eyes clenched in annoyance, throwing his blanket over his head.

“Well aren’t you lovely? Isn’t he, Sirius?”

“The loveliest,” he managed to grit out, throat groggy and dry.

“Shut up!”

“Okay, calm down big bad wolf.”

“Well,” he mocks James, his voice going an octave higher, “This big bad wolf can maul you.”

James beamed brightly, the ever morning person he was, unaffected by Moony’s response. Instead, he padded his way over to him, shaking him before Remus flipped the covers off his body, tackling him into his bed.

“Do you guys think I should cut my hair?” James managed to get out as he gasped. Remus sprawled out on top of him, pinning him in place as he was being crushed from his weight. “I want to make sure I look good for today.”

“You’re always in need of a trim,” Peter called out.

“You look fine,” Remus added, “Besides, you and scissors are not a good move right now.”

Meanwhile, Sirius’ stomach felt hollow, worry ate at his very being before he felt something rise within his throat. Quickly, swinging his legs over the edge, Sirius made his way to the loo in a rush while James and Remus were both distracted.

Peter was there, rifling through the cabinets with his toothbrush dangling from his lips. “Morning,” he said, not quite looking over to him, “Do we have any more toothpaste? I keep telling Prongs not to use so much…”

“Get out,” he managed to say before shoving Peter out of the door, closing it shut. He barely managed to cast a silencing charm before opening the lid of the toilet seat, throwing up. For the most part, Sirius gagged on air before finally attempting to collect himself, preventing hyperventilation.

Foolishly, even up until that dreaded night, Sirius had an ounce of hope. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was hope that Regulus might have turned out different, or maybe it was hope that he’d finally be accepted, even though he knew that would never be the case — never with parents like Walburga or Orion.

But every time he dared to dream, to hope, he was always quickly reminded why it hurt. Hope was dangerous, a false sense of reality — a taste of what people dreamt and chase for but could never quite grasp.

It was more addicting than any kind of alcohol he drank — or the girls — or pranks.

Eventually, he got up from the floor, jumped in the shower and followed his morning routine before wrapping a towel around himself and stepped out.

Sirius was drying his hair before catching a glimpse of himself in the large mirror in front of the sink.

Sirius had never been insecure about the way he looked. A part of him, the arrogant and narcissistic part of him knew that he looked good and he’d flaunt it. But there were times like today, where he’d look at himself, but feel as if he’s looking at a familiar face that wasn’t his — a monster reflected back.

He wondered if this is what Moony felt like.

For a moment, Sirius let his face rest, allowing the helpless, loitering fear and guilt he felt engrave its way onto the smooth surface of his skin.

The eyes looking back at him today were his father’s, his hair reminded him too much of Regulus, his high cheekbones reminded him of Walburga and the tired, slightly crazed look reminded him of Bellatrix.

A member of the Black family, that's what people saw when they first looked at Sirius, the heir of the most noble and ancient house of Black.

Sirius Orion Black.

Orion Black… Even his name made him want to cry out in rage. Another reminder.

Pushing back his wet hair, he studied the faded scar that disappeared into his hairline.

It was more apparent than ever that Sirius had scars.

But unlike James, whose scars were from happy memories of the Quidditch pitch, or Peter, whose only scars were from chopping chocolate for a fancy baking recipe — and lastly, Remus, whose scars were visible, laid out for everyone to see, Sirius’ scars were invisible.

He wore them day in and day out without anyone ever knowing.

With a blink, he drowned out his thoughts immediately; his dreams, his past, his thoughts were for another time.

He sucked in a breath, clicking the door open.

Remus was the only other person still in the dorm. He stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his white school shirt before ducking down and grabbed his bag, shoving in books, his wand and any other loose pages of parchment that he assumed was for his little study group.

“Where’s Wormy and James?” He asked, not liking the way his voice sounded wobbly and hoarse. His eyes no longer peered up at his chap, instead looking around the room. Anywhere but his face.

Thankfully, Moony didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the now overflowing pile of Valentine gifts and cards on his bedside. He grew frustrated with them with every passing second as they littered his space.

“Accio bin!”

The black bin from across the room flew into Remus’ hand, quickly shoving the letters in but soon a guilty look flashed across his face.

Remus had always been too considerate about their feelings, perhaps Sirius should take a page from his book.

Sirius had a pile accumulating on the carpet beside his trunk; it seemed like more and more people every year were confessing their feelings, but this time, Remus seemed to be getting a lot more along with the rest of the Marauders. But he smiled, happy to know that Remus had been getting some action. He fucking needed it.

“Er — sorry, Pete’s off to Wood’s room to borrow their toothpaste and James —” Remus cut himself off, bringing a hand to the sides of his temples as he moved them in circular motions. “I’m pretty sure Prongs went to find Y/N. Something about finishing a sign or a song for today —”

Sirius bit back a laugh, “A song?”

“I guess he’s fucking Paul McCartney now.”

Remus passed him, disappeared into the loo, giving enough time for Sirius to get dressed.

It was his third dream that week about that night and it was wearing down on him emotionally. He was losing sleep, he wasn’t eating, he was reclining from the Marauders, he was so prone to anger; lashing out, yelling… he didn’t like how he was acting — it reminded him too much of Orion.

And the thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to be a monster.

Lost in his depressing thoughts, Remus re-entered the room. But instead of walking up to his bed, Remus halted, looking directly at him before he crossed the room, putting a protective, encouraging hand onto his shoulder. A serious and calculated look crossed his face.

“Do you need anything?” He spoke in a hushed voice, as if he were to speak any louder, the walls might hear.

Sirius felt unexpected annoyance brewing in his chest. Bloody fucking Lupin, of course he knew — using his heightened senses to sniff out his distress.

Unlike Sirius, who hid his emotions, who covered and buried even a sign of weakness, who searched for answers high and low, Remus was so blunt — clear cut with his emotions. He knew just what to say, knew what was happening before others did even if they hadn’t even spoken yet.

He wished his thought process was as clear-cut as Moony’s.

“What do you mean? I’m fine,” he said, faking nonchalance. Jokingly, he prodded Remus’ cheek with his finger, “Turning into Moomy, again?”

His friend did not smile, concern still latched on.

“You know I’m always here for —” Before he could say anything more, Sirius hastily grabbed his bag, slinging over his shoulder, bolting out of the room.

Hiding — running away from his problems — that’s what Sirius was an expert on. And like that, he switched off that part — the ugly, unloveable part of his brain for the day.

When Sirius reached the Great Hall, he wasn’t surprised when a dozen owls bombarded him with letters and chocolates. It brought a sly smile to his lips

What? He did say he was arrogant.

“Looking grand, Black,” Marlene teased as she observed the overflowing amount of cards already in his arms. She ruffled his hair as he was forced to take the seat next to L/N. Marlene turned to chat with Dorcas, who finally was back on her feet and kicking it.

“It’s not even eight and your bag is filled?!” Peter exclaimed, baffled.

A part of Sirius didn’t feel annoyed as he sat beside her. Maybe it was because his main stressor, the Black family, was out of the picture and he’d been desperately trying to control his lash outs, but Sirius was stumped. Since the break, especially after the ‘Muggle’ incident, he found himself tolerating her presence.

Just a bit.

He understood why James, Remus, Lily, Marlene; why everyone took a liking to her.

But he had an inkling as to why.

Although, his mixed feelings towards her were not helping in the slightest as he dealt with the string of recent events in his life.

She was the one that spoke first, which surprised him.

“Ugh —” Y/N fiddled with the hem of her robes, “Kettleburn wants us to switch the Puffeskin between us. I was thinking since we’re in the same house, we could keep it in one of our dorms. I was thinking about keeping it in yours.”

“Why not yours?”

“They liked to hatch in warm places. Your dorm has a fireplace, right? I remember James telling me you had one… And it would make it easier since women can go into the boy’s dorms.”

For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself — he just couldn’t. “I bet you’re trying to get off quick.”                

The accusations did not sit right with her.

For someone like Sirius, someone who dealt with the worst shit imaginable; someone who'd been beaten down, both metaphorically and literally — someone who by the textbook was supposed to curl in on himself — keep to himself, be small, avoid drama, don’t cause arguments — Sirius did anything but that. Everything he did, he made sure to cause a reaction.

“No —”

“Are we about to argue because you want to win, or is it because you want to learn?.”

“You’re so arrogant. I don’t need you for grades. Your brain probably grew twice in size when I turned you into a dog.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Then why are you replying?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Very creative.”

“Do you ever just shut up?” She snaps. Her face inched closer to his.

Unbeknownst to her, for a second, a second that he’d never admit, Sirius' brain falters. They hadn’t been this close to each other since that day after Kettleburn had assigned their group project. He catches the smell of faint floral — tulips, he thinks. Or maybe vanilla? Books? Tea? He couldn’t place it.

But his heart did a funny thing. It never does a funny thing like that and it concerns him. He wasn’t sick, was he?

Silence lingers.

L/N scoffed, “Well finally, it looks like you have.”

Although, she seems completely unphased by their closeness.

“Huh, you really do shut up.”

He snorts, his brain finally working again. “You nag an awful lot.”

“Well, you —”

“Whiskers. You’re a woman, how do I look?” James asked. He came bouncing up to them across the hall from the entrance. He twirls a little, showing off his outfit. In one hand, he held a sign and a bunch of roses. “Would you fancy me?”

“Dropping hints, are we, Potter?” She smirks playfully, “Anyway, I know you nicked that from Sirius.”

Sirius looked over to him, his head nodding up and down but was surprised that she noticed the difference, “She’s right, that is mine. Maybe that’s why you look so good.” He meant for the remark to come off as a joke, but cringed as the words spewed from his mouth. He sounded like a complete arse. 

James ignores him, “I have everything planned.” Then, he holds up a sign, all in baby pink with hearts dancing across the page as a huge message declaring his affection for Emmeline was written in bold fonts. I looked fairly cheesy, but that was James for you. A romantic at heart.

“Well,” he starts, clearly happy, “Do you like it?! I’ve also got a song written!”

“Remember the last time you wrote someone a —”

Y/N kicked him, hard, under the table, which caused Sirius to look at her sharply before his face turned annoyed again. She hadn’t even glanced his way yet. She continued to calm James down, giving him a pep talk while Sirius would jump in with encouraging words.

“Of course we love it — is it for Lily or —”

James shakes his head and they both knew who he was referring to.

“— Then Emmeline will love it even more! Get the girl, Bambi!”

James smiled triumphantly, sticking his fist out for a fist bump before running off happily towards the Ravenclaw table.

“Y’know,” Y/N starts, talking to Sirius as they both watch as James gets up on the table, preparing to serenade Emmeline in front of the entire Great Hall with a guitar that vaguely looks like Remus’. “You can choose not to be a dick.”

Surprisingly, he laughed, small, but there. And then, he finds himself responding to her comments, “I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.”

Sirius’ eyes widened, feeling his mouth go dry. He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fluttering shut a couple times. It didn’t help that she smirked at his reaction and it made Sirius feel funny. An odd swoop piddled at the base of his stomach.

“I’ll take that into consideration for later,” he settled on.

Remus and Lily waltzed into the room, both holding small cards of their own. L/N and Sirius shuffled over as much as they could to fit in with both Remus and Lily. 

A part of Sirius’ routine had started incorporating Lily doing his hair. Most often, she did pretty braids or buns — but of course, not without James pouting to him later. He only hoped that with Emmeline’s new presence, James would stop.

“Ooo la-la!” Y/N mocked, swiping one of the cards from Lily and Remus. “You two are popular.” She turned to face Lily.

“It’s n-nothing, really, “Lily stuttered, her head ducking down. But her eyes seemed to look up at her, seemingly in hope of some recognition.

“Don’t be so modest!”

“A-hem!” James’ bostal voice. His foot wobbled on the edge of the table that made them all nervous if he were to fall. He finally concluded his song. Lily looked over and smiled, glad to know that James had finally chosen a different target to annoy.

“Fuckin’ barmy,” Remus muttered out, a hand going to cover his mouth in suspense. His hand travelled down to his chin-stroking his jaw.

“Emmeline, thou beauty —”

“Oh my god,” groaned Remus again, sinking in his seat from the second embarrassment but smiling nevertheless.  

However, Marlene whopped loudly, a large grin on her face.

Lily looked over to the scene, her eyes finding their way back to L/N, Peter paled slightly at the scene, Marlene was howling in laughter along with Sirius.

But much like himself, L/N found herself laughing with them too.

Her laughter rang out, and Sirius found himself drawn to the noise. But what was worse, was that he wanted to hear it again.

And even though he knew that other women and even men were staring at him right now, ready to give him all their affection and attention, Sirius found himself unable to look away from her.

He felt his palms getting sweaty, his heart beat harder, he wanted to sit closer to her and a smile tugged at his lips but he forced it down.

Fuck.

It was almost as the realization hit him there like a thousand tidal waves.

His heart jumped, it sped up fast, he felt his skin heat and her laugh put him into a trance — everything like what James described it to feel like.

If it was what he thought it was, Sirius wasn’t quite pleased with his newfound knowledge. He already had too much shit to deal with and certainly, someone like her was not worth it.

As the thought arose, there was something else that pulled him from these thoughts; it was the very shit that Sirius was dealing with, coming to haunt him again.

Regulus entered the Great Hall and Sirius had the urge to run to the nearest bin again. He hadn’t seen him since that night.

Within seconds, Regulus sensed his gaze and their eyes locked.

He wasn’t proud of Regulus, if anything, Sirius resented him — hated him and his entire body spiked in anger as he stared at him. He chose his path. But he couldn’t help but feel immense, dreadful guilt.

He could’ve done more, been there for him more, talked to him more. There were so many possibilities, so many outcomes and Sirius managed to end up with one of the worst paths imaginable.

He both wanted to scoop him up in his arms, cry — hold onto him tight like how they used to years ago, but the other part also wanted to take a Beater’s bat and swing a Bludger at his head.

His head shook slightly, just enough for Regulus to get the hint.

There was a hard, hopeless expression on Regulus’ face as he seemed to take a sharp inhale, his shoulders slumping within every passing second.

They were from two separate worlds, more evident than ever now. They weren’t brothers, not really.

Two of the brightest stars were torn apart forevermore.

Once the bell rang, Sirius sprang out of his seat and walked down the halls. He dodged owls, letters, chocolates and even a few love potions. There was a familiar void that punched its way through Sirius’ chest.

It was too early for firewhiskey, he couldn’t get knackered, he couldn’t talk to James, not when he was this happy and getting a pack of smokes from Remus — he’d bloody know within seconds what was wrong and call a Marauder's meeting or sort out some intervention for his sanity. Besides, he needed to apologize to Peter for how he acted that morning.

So the next best thing; snogging — a quick shag.

The next girl that tossed a flirtatious wink his way, he immediately approached. She was pale, had brown hair, soft skin and he vaguely recognized her but couldn’t quite place it. They flirted, Sirius would suggest it, she smiled, nodding her head and giving out a breathless sigh as Sirius dove for her lips, walking into the nearest broom closet.

Things were fast, almost a blur. She reached down, fumbling with his buckle before it clanked to the floor; he unbuttoned her top, hoisting her up and pushing them against a wall. She let out soft whimpers and he groaned into her neck.

The sensation, the building pleasure had left as soon as it came, leaving him feeling empty once more. He peeled off the girl, checking if she was alright like every other time. He didn’t know her name, forgetting it, and smiled awkwardly as she dressed.

He watched her leave the broom closet, the door clicking softly behind her. He could hear the faint scuffle of her shoes as she skipped down the hall excitedly. She had gotten what she wanted, a piece of Sirius; the Sirius that he put out — the pretty, nicely packaged Sirius.

Bent down, sinking to the floor, rocking on the balls of his feet, arms wrapped tightly around his legs and his head resting on his knees; emotions pooled through Sirius, attacking his frail heart.

Sirius laughs; it was dry, sad, pathetic, defeated. It was hard enough to hide with smiles, pranks, the random girls, sex, but those happy hormones that he craved, it was never, ever enough.

He couldn't go on like this, he had to fix something because something else was bound to break.

His laughing became strained as the walls of his throat began to close, eyes filling with tears. But now, finally alone, he let them cascade freely as his quiet sobs echoed in the dusty closest.

Love isn’t a magic potion.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

【I hope it was clear in this chapter that in no way am I trying to romanticize Sirius's trauma】

[beware-of-you-98]

Hey I saw your prompt list thing and almost died, could you write something one day about prompt 3, Emily reassuring jj. I didn’t realise how much I needed that in my life until I saw that.

“You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you, love.”

tw: mentions of ptsd, anxiety, violence

It happens in a matter of seconds.

One moment, Emily has her head on JJ’s lap, content with the warmth she provides and how easily her fingers glides through her hair. Dull nails lightly scrap against her scalp and she leans further into the feeling. The lamp on the table beside them gives off a muted golden glow, making even the room feel warm even if both of them are in sweaters and sweatpants.

The next, the room goes black from a sudden and spontaneous power outage.

Emily’s eyes fly open and look up, not because of the sudden loss of light, but because of the soft, surprised gasp that escapes the blonde’s lips. Her fingers still in place, her body rigid and tense from her nerves. Her eyes are glazed, wide with panic as they dart frantically around the room.

The brunette sits herself upright beside her wife immediately, forcing herself to keep her hands at her side—she knows better than to reach out for JJ without consent (it always does more harm than good, so she stays put even if it pains her to do so). “JJ?”

Blue eyes dart quickly around the room, a sliver of pink tongue darts from her mouth to wet her lips as her heart beats increase. Her chest is starting to rise and fall rapidly, her body is already wracking with horrible tremors and she can’t find herself focusing on anything but the smell of mildew and gunpowder, blood and sweat. She squeezes her eyes shut, placing her hands firmly over her eara because all she can fucking hear is the grunt of pain that comes from her friend every time their captor finds some new way to torture him...

“JJ, can I touch you?”

Emily’s voice is muffled by the noises JJ knows, knows, aren’t there but she can hear them so vividly: the clanking of chains, the clamboring of boots against a concrete floor, water dripping, the strong, crackled zap of electricity as it shoots out between the two metal rods crudely attached to the car battery. The realistic memories are so real they throw any sense of rationality she has out the fucking window.

And her body, god, her body hurts. Her side spazms (whether it’s voluntary or not, she can’t focus enough to tell), the skin feels hot and... Her stomach coils harshly as she gags— god she can swear she smells her own flesh burning.

Her breathing hiccups, her throat constricts painfully as tears squeeze from her eyes. Through the haze, she just barely hears Emily repeat her question and gives a single, jerky nod. Her hands clasp tightly into the older woman’s, the soft clicking of their wedding bands hitting together offering her some semblance of balance, something that tethers her to reality. Emily’s thumb rubs slow, soft moving circles on the backs of her hands, distracting her from the awful memories. “What can I do to help?”

It takes a lot of effort for JJ to swallow, and even so, it hurts like she’s trying to get down a ball of lead from her throat. She opens and closes her mouth, unsure of how to respond, can’t even think clearly enough to form a rational response. Her eyes squeeze shut once more, a soft, scared whimper crawling its way from her chest. “It hurts,” she croaks through tears as if it’s enough to encompass everything she’s feeling. Her tone is clipped and sharp, laced heavily with the frustration she feels at herself, at being unable to decipher what’s real and what’s all just in her head.

Emily’s fingers squeeze her own firmly. “I know,” she whispers soothingly. “I know.”

JJ nods numbly, stiffly. The validation makes her relax ever so slightly and makes her feel less insane. She forces herself to focus on Emily, on every part of her (her voice, her proximity, the feeling of her breath just ghosting over her cheek, her scent), and slowly the memories feel less intense.

She leans tiredly into the older woman’s frame, using her steady heartbeats to count with in her own head.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and repeat.

Slowly, her breaths start to sync up to the rhythm and she’s left trembling in her wife’s arms.

Emily’s warmth is a jarring contrast from the cold visions, her body soft and gentle, so unlike the hard concrete ground and oh-so-real echoed pains of her past torments. “Where are you?”

A thick, hard swallow echoes into the room as JJ’s breath hitches. “Home,” she timidly responds, the end of her voice rising as if she’s unsure. The more rational part of her mind screams at her— where else would she be?

But everything feels so real. If she weren’t pressed up against the older woman, she swears the room feels cold, that she’s back in that warehouse hanging from rusted metal chains that dig into her wrist.

“That’s right,” Emily confirms gently. “You’re in DC in our home,” she clarifies just as softly.

“You’re real?” It comes out so soft, so timidly that she barely hears it. But JJ’s looking at her warily, as if she’s unsure of even that.

There’s a gentle pressure on the blonde’s wrist as the brunette moves her hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m real. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

The room is silent for a brief moment, JJ’s shaking, steadying breaths filling the room with some noise. Her nails dig into the back of Emily’s hands as she stuffs her head firmly into the crook of her neck in attempts to control the tremors that wrack her small body. “Sing to me?” she finally croaks.

The older woman barely reacts to the request, moving her hand to stroke through long strands of blonde. She nudges her wife’s head with the side of her nose, her lips brushing against her forehead softly as she softly starts to sing. She wants to give JJ as many points of contact as possible, if only to reassure her that she’s real and that she’s not in danger. “Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn how to fly...”

Emily’s voice is soft and light, soothing JJ’s nerves significantly, especially at the choice of song. No one else but her wife would have picked that song. It reminds her what’s real, tethers her back to reality. The brunette’s chest rumbles steadily from her voice below the blonde’s cheek and she nuzzles further into it. Each passing verse Emily sings makes JJ feel lighter, safer.

(Tired, she adds to herself, eyelids feeling heavy. It’s been a while since she’s had an attack this bad.)

She blinks harshly when Emily sings the last line of the song, accurately aware of the sharp, cool breeze that blows across her body. Her head lifts and she blinks again in confusion when she accesses her surroundings: the cool grass tickles her ankles, the sounds of cicadas and crickets rings out and the moon shines brightly above them, casting them in a cool blue glow.

The older woman presses a lingering kiss to her wife’s temple. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were trapped,” is the quiet explination she offers and JJ accepts it with a simple nod. She crawls from the brunette’s lap and lays her head up on her thighs, staring up at the stars. Her heart rate is practically back to normal, and while her hands still tremble, she feels relaxed as Emily begins to run her fingers once more though her hair once more.

“There’s Orion,” she murmurs softly, her own line of sight up at the night sky littered in stars. She lifts a hand from JJ’s hair to point in the direction of the constellation.

The blonde hums softly, eyes following her wife’s finger before they dart off to the side. She licks her lips, pointing slightly off to the side of the brightest star in the sky. ”Big Dipper,” she murmurs before chewing her bottom lip in between her teeth.

Her eyes burn with tears, stomach coiling with guilt. Emily didn’t ask for this— she shouldn’t have had to deal with anxiety and panic attacks that weren’t her own. JJ knows it’s just as draining on her as it is on herself. She feels awful. She had ruined one of the few nights they had off all over a power outage. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that,” Emily chides softy, returning both her hands to her wife’s hair. “Don’t do that to yourself. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

JJ sniffs harshly, shaking her head once. “I do,” she insists on a broken whisper. “I just— I don’t...”

She’s cut off by one of the softest kisses Emily has ever given her, gently cupping her face between her palms. The blonde shivers at the contact, tears spilling at the overwhelming feeling of love she feels pouring out of her wife at the gesture. A soft sob leaves her mouth and Emily’s thumb gently strokes her cheek, pressing their foreheads together firmly.

“Don’t ever apologize for something that’s out of your control,” the brunette murmurs soothingly.

“I ruined the night,” JJ croaks timidly.

Emily’s eyes meet her’s, their fingers tangling together naturally. “You could never.” She presses a tender kiss to her cheek. “I rather you be okay over anything. That’s what matters to me. Your safety and well-being matters to me.”

The blonde’s breath shudders out as their palms press flush together. “I’ve got you,” Emily murmurs genuinely. “Through sickness and in health. I will walk beside you through whatever our lives may bring,” she recites with a soft smile, brushing the few tears from her wife’s face.

JJ’s shoulders slump at her wife’s words, her own hand coming up to curl at the hair at the base of the brunette’s neck. “I love you,” she murmurs thickly. “I love you so much.”

Their kiss is soft, but full of so much love and passion it makes them both dizzy. Emily gently grips her wife’s hip, propping herself up on her elbow in the grass. It feels so much like their kiss that sealed together their union, full of the promise of forever.

“Can we stay out here?” JJ asks through kisses, pulling back to press a few along Emily’s jawline, so unwilling to pull her mouth away from her wife but her need for oxygen becoming to much to ignore. She really doesn’t care what they do for the rest of the night— all she wants to do is spend it in the arms of the love of her life. But spending that time cuddled in the grass of their backyard while staring up at the stars sounded too perfect.

Emily presses a small kiss to her nose. “Anything for you.”

[zodiyack]

Protection For The Lost

Requested by anon: hello! would you consider writing lost and found but instead of them meeting and having this cute reunion he finds out that she has a abusive possessive boyfriend (some arranged dating) and that boyfriend tries to keep tommy away from her? with a happy end?

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, violence, mentions of abuse, small abuse(?), alcohol mention, cigarettes (the word “fag” is used for it once, but it’s British slang, not a slur!), kinda cheating??

Note: I’m sorry! I'm sorry if I strayed from the request a bit! I’m not sure if I went a bit overboard with any angst or violence or anything- feedback is appreciated! In other words, I hope you like it and now I’ll leave you to read the fic.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy​, @stydia-4-ever​, @matth1w​, @redspaceace​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @simonsbluee​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Everyone has a reason. A reason to live, a reason to fight, a reason to sing, a reason to do things in general. If it wasn’t a lover, it was a person of an equal, yet platonic love. Perhaps a relative, a friend, a best friend, it could really be anyone. 

Most of the Shelby family already had theirs. Although John had Martha, who sadly passed, he grew to crush on a woman. A woman who, unfortunately for him, was only interested in pleasure. Arthur had Linda, their marriage happy and strong. Ada was...under suspicion to have a lover, but the point was that she had someone.

Sad, horrifying, terrible memories burned their way into Tommy’s memory. The war had an impact on him, an impact horrible and scary, but there was a sliver of light to those memories.

A woman. Or as Tommy called her, an angel sent from the heavens. As soon as he got home, he was determined to find the mystery woman who helped him, healed him, saved his life, and became his reason.

So shockingly to everyone, Tommy did have reason. She just hasn’t found her way back to him. Worries struck his heart each day, wonders of her health and if she was even alive. But determination and love were quick to ease his racing thoughts.

“I’ll find you, Angel. I’ll never give up. I promise.” Though he was aware that his vow to her was unheard, he still planned to stay true to it. 

And that he did.

Each day he got up, went on a search for Y/n/n, and talked to his family about her appearance, hopefully giving enough information that they could spot her if she were to end up in the Garrison or betting shop, pretty much anywhere they were.

With each ask of her name, everyone said no. A couple people recommended asking nurses from France who just so happened to be in Birmingham currently, or to ask a hospital. 

Tommy followed their advice and set off to the nearest hospital, only earning back a bit of information. But a bit was more than plenty to Tommy, at least in this situation.

Soon enough, he ended up far away from Birmingham, at the doorstep of a man named Henry Bennett. He didn’t know why but if it got Y/n one step closer into his arms, he was willing to do anything. Maybe it was her father? Or brother? Maybe a friend? He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the door swing open and an agitated looking man lean against the door frame.

The man, who Tommy assumed was Henry, cleared his throat. “What do you want?”

“To ask you some questions.”

The man chuckled mockingly, “about what?”

“Well, do you know anyone by the name of Y/n/n?” Tommy quirked a brow when the man froze and widened his eyes after hearing the name. He glared at Tommy and readjusted his position to a more intimating stance- failing miserably at scaring the raven haired Shelby.

“Yeah. What of her?”

John stepped up from behind Tommy, “mind if we come inside, eh?”

“Personally, I’d prefer you didn’t, but seeing as the conversation’s topic is of importance,” He moved backwards and kicked the door open harshly with his boot, “come on in.”

The three brothers stepped inside the house, looking around and taking in the place. It smelled strongly of alcohol and cigars. They sat down on the sofa and waited for the man to sit in the chair next to it.

“What’d you say your boys’ names were again?” He groaned as he sat down, moving a bit to get comfortable.

“We didn’t. However, I believe I know yours. Henry, is it? Henry Bennett?”

The man, now confirmed as Henry, nodded his head and lit a cigarette, putting the fag between his lips. “That’s me.” Henry breathed out the smoke before moving the stick back to his mouth, stopping only to ask a question. “How’d you know that though?”

“We have our sources. Now, back to Y/n/n?” Tommy was eager to learn more- whatever he could about the woman he was so whipped for. He would take anything he could get, let it be another address, name, number, meal, anything that could possibly be of any help to his search. “What do you know about her?”

“I could be askin’ you the same thing. Bloody Peaky Blinder goin’ after my girl.”

Arthur and John froze in place, like Henry did earlier, and slowly turned to Tommy. Their faces held confusion and slight worry, Tommy, much to their dismay, returning a similar look, mixed with a tint of jealousy. Arthur tried his go at the maker of their clueless emotions. “How-”

“You think I wouldn’t notice you lot? I don’t know your names, nor do I give two fucks, I don’t know if the rumors are true, again, I don’t really care, and my lack of knowledge for the two subjects do not matter to me.” He got up, walking to the fireplace and grabbing a shot glass from beside it, “plus, the hats really gave you away. I was warned ‘bout those.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Bennett?”

“Here in the United Kingdom actually. But I went to France after the war. And before you ask, no I did not fight in it. Frankly, I don’t care about that shit either.” 

John chuckled quietly at Henry’s response, a chuckle of bitter amusement. Purely disgust of the man. Tommy shared the same feeling, whispering “coward” under his breath.

Arthur continued questioning Henry, “Then why did you go to France?”

“Same reason your glare-y friend here came to my home.” Arthur raised his left eyebrow. “Y/n.”

John and Arthur looked over to their brother, communicating with their eyes to wordlessly see if he was alright. His jaw was clenched and his fist tightened. He couldn’t have been- was Tommy too late? Y/n promised herself to him, why was Henry saying, or rather hinting, that they were an item? Had she forgotten about him? Had she lost hope?

“What’s going on? Between you two? Are you childhood friend’s or somethin’?”

“Actually, we’re lovers. Engaged, to be married in three months time. Why else would I go to see her in France? I had to ‘confess my undying love’ one way or another.” 

Arthur, being the eldest of four, knew when someone was talking just to piss another person off, and this was definitely one of those times. Whether what he said was true or not, he was running his mouth to spite Tommy. “Okay, then wh-”

A door creaked open, causing Arthur to stop in the middle of his sentence, all four men going silent and waiting for the cause of the nose to reveal itself. Soft padded thumps sounded in the hall, stopping next to the entrance of the living room door, the door pushed open to reveal a woman with a blanket draped over the parts of her body that weren’t covered by her night-gown.

“Henry? You have guests?”

Tommy’s eyes shifted from the woman to Henry. He noticed how he tensed up and was quick to dismiss her. “Go, I’ll uh- I’ll be there in a moment.” He turned back to the ashtray next to him, putting out the cigarette. Henry waited a couple seconds before facing her again, “I said go. Get. Out. Now.”

She flinched slightly and backed up like she was the prey to his predator. Tommy swore he could see the fear flash through her eyes. She looked familiar...

The female still hadn’t left the room, cowering even farther into the corner, if that was possible, when Henry jumped up from his seat. “I said get in the fucking room!”

Arthur jumped up from the couch. “Hey! You don’t fuckin’ yell at her like that! I don’t give a fuck if she’s a relative, some woman you’re cheating on Y/n/n with, or really who she is at all. Don’t fucking yell at her!”

Tommy looked at her again, his eyes following hers as they widened with fear and shock. “You don’t get to tell me what to fucking do in my fucking house, got that, Peaky Blinder?”

“Henry-” Her hand reached out his arm in attempt to calm him, the attempt working to no avail as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him despite her small whimpers; “Henry, stop- you-you’re hurting me-”

“No! I’ve had enough from you too!” He pushed her to the ground. Probably one of his biggest mistakes, action wise, to commit in front of the Shelby boys. The blanket fell off her body, making the hidden marks and bruises visible to everyone in the room.

Her identity clicked into place. Tommy knew exactly who she was. “What the fuck have you done to her?!” He stomped over to Henry, connecting his fist with his jaw before he could respond. “You bastard!”

Henry spat out blood, coming back up with a punch of his own that hardly affected Tom. “Get the fuck out of my house.” He stepped in front of Y/n, blocking her from Tommy’s sight. “Now!”

As much as Tommy wanted to charge at Henry, tackle him to the ground and beat him until he was six feet under, he knew it wasn’t the time. John tugged on his arm, nodding towards the door.

“Let Y/n come with us-”

“No. You’ll stay the fuck away from my fiancé!”

Henry pulled a gun from the side of his pants, pointing it at the men as Tommy repeated himself. “Let-”

“I said no! Get out of my house before I blow your bloody brains out!”

Tommy ignored Henry’s rage, walking to the door with one last look in Y/n’s direction, “We’ll be back for you Y/n/n, I promise.”

“Tommy!? No, he’ll kill y-” the rest of her sentence was muffled, a hand covering her mouth, succeeding at blocking her words but failing to block out her loud cries accompanied by tears. 

Tears that matched the ones falling from Tommy’s ocean eyes as he tried his hardest not to look behind him, in fear that he’d never be able to bring himself to leave.

. . .

Not even a full month had passed, and Tommy stayed true to both promises. He broke into Bennett’s house after learning his schedule. Y/n was forced to stay home and only leave the house with him, likely thanks to Tommy, but it was still a problem, especially if it was already a thing.

Why would she marry him? Why would she accept? Tommy wondered why Y/n was committing to that toxic relationship. The bruises on her once clear and stunning skin were burned into his brain like the war.

This was the war.

His war.

And he was going to win it again.

He quietly walked through the halls, inspecting each room with his gun in hand. Where cold she be? If there was ever a time in Tommy’s life when he prayed so hard he was about to cry, he was 100% sure this was that time. 

A small creak came from under his foot, followed by a feminine sounding squeal. Rushed footsteps were heard from a door on his right, disappearing into silence. That silence was sliced with a sharp squeak of a bed, as if someone had jumped onto it or tried to push their way under it.

“Y/n/n?”

In the room, Y/n hid under Henry and her, unwillingly, shared bed. Her breath matched her heartbeat, uneven and faster than the horse races. Her nickname was spoken from a familiar voice, coming from the other side of the door. The nickname was never spoken again after the war. Henry disliked it and refused to call her by it, as well as told everyone they knew that she hated it.

The door handle twisted a couple times before the door pulled open. “Tommy? You came back?” He nodded. “I- Henry’s gonna murder you, ya know that?”

“...Why?”

“Pardon?”

Thomas looked away, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. “Why do you stay with him?”

“Tom...I don’t really have much of a choice. He’d hurt me if I left and it’d hurt my mum if I left. Either way, I can’t get out of this.” Tommy looked back to her, his eyes bulging. “You have to leave. He could be ba- mmpf!”

Tommy’s hands cupped her cheeks, making sure to be gentle with her weakened body. She didn’t finish her sentence or argue, instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

After they broke the kiss, Tommy pulled Y/n into his chest. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I thought that too...” Y/n drawled, tears threatening to spill.

Tommy wiped away the watery threats and smiled lovingly at her, “run away with me.”

“What?”

“Right now. Let’s go back to Birmingham, you can live with my family and I, we can break the news to your mother whenever you’d like.”

“Tommy...” She thought for a few seconds, Tommy’s smile broke into a frown, his nerves mixing with anticipation. Y/n looked back up to meet his eyes, finally breaking on a decision. “Is there anything I need to grab before we go?”

[noro-noro-noro]

more dreams. a lot of these have roller coaster scenes.

1. my big pet wolf can resist solar flares 2. stupid scavenger hunt takes me to the art museum 3. volcanic eruption 3.5 teeth 4. wizard fights

1. i had a giant pet wolf ? big enough to ride around on his back. I invited my sister & one more person I forgot to also ride with me but they didn't want to. we went outside & went around. I visited the house of people who live on the corne, & there were solar flares or something that completely engulfed the mercury house. fortunately my wolf was built to have between 30k & 40k health so it was enough to survive.

2. some kind of scavenger hunt in a city that was pissing me off because a lot was based on text convos from a group chat I wasnt even in, so I was only succeeding through trial & error. the other guy solving it was someone I knew from middle/high school. one of the scavenger clues meant "go to the art museum & see where that guy snuck art into o e of the exhibits" but the hint itself was written as a poem that I didn't understand any part of except for "go to the museum" & "look for art by someone who isn't famous." I was literally just browsing & the I heard the agent through the earpiece like "he's following you now you need to go" & ofc I glanced over my shoulder & there was a guy that looked like colin Baker in a teal trench coat and magenta scarf but very serious and angry slowly walking after me. I was like what. dude it's an accident idk how I got here. I thought it'd be easy to lose him though so I walked around a corner behind one of the pillars (this exhibit was in an area with gardens & pillars) & then hid behind it & jumped into the gardens to hide. easy. I had somehow got the before tge guy with the actual clues & my pov switched to that guy who found the thing but then got caught. he ratted me out & we were thrown in this storeroom in the back together & I was pissed off.

3. some kind of volcanic apocalypse cause by like a 7 month old baby somehow, & the only people who could fix it were me & that other guy from dream 2. idk. Danny Fenton was there. he evacuated his family on a roller coaster, & his family was the rest of the Incredibles fsr? they went (when I say went I mean they took the roller coaster network & elastagirl had to say 'bob stop lifting the car to make us seem lighter, it's planned for your weight & we're going to miss turns' to Mr incredible) to elastagirl's mom's house & did some hypnosis on themselves so they wouldn't overly worry bc they trusted that danny had this under control. they adopted 2 treasure boarders like "yes these are our other children". anyway he did NOT have this under control. the magma volcano earthquake thing was fucking shit up..every building was like floating on a chunk of land on top of an ocean of magma that was all kind of very very slowly swirling around the drain of some giant hole. me & that other guy escaped imprisonment after a few days & were like "I saw Danny get up but I don't see him now" & I was like "it has to do with that baby the baby is doing this" & eventually I found Danny, like beat up & magma burnt, in this house on the edge of the magma hole, holding the baby which was safe & ok. we decided we needed to get them both to a safer area so we evacuated Danny which was good bc the house was teetering over the edge of the sinkhole, & then I started leaving holding the baby.

3.5: teeth dream. my teeth were falling out again & every time one did I was like "this is the last one that will fall out." (didn't work). my middle front tooth next to my lower right canine fell out & I pulled it out to prevent from accidentally swallowing it, but there was a piece of it stil there in the gums that I kept cutting.myself on so I went & pulled my gums apart & pulled out this thin sliver of something that was connected to something really wide, & it looked like a fingernail had started growing in my mouth. I ripped the whole thing out & then went to my dad with blood all over my face & was like "dad what's this"

4. some kind of war between magic factions. one was led by my mom (not my actual mom just my dream mom) & the other faction was led by the man who fathered me (mads mikkelsen obviously). my mother had 2 older siblings (me & someone else) hat were both from mads mikkelsen, & 3 younger siblings (two sisters & a younger brother) & she clearly favored the older ones. this dream also featured kim kitsuragi if his main color was blue, & a young cheerful girl that was the strongest magic user in my friend group. her name was Milana or smth. part of this dream was dedicated to that girl's classmate asking her out politely, which seemed okay at first, but it turns out he hooked up a whole lot of ostentatious over the top sounds & lights & invited a lot of people to clap & cheer!! but she hated this spectacle & was like "if you knew me at all you would have known I hate this" ,& ran away crying. then the dream changed so it was kim who was asked out in such a way & he felt so put on the spot he rejected the guy & then went off by himself to sort through his feelings & it was from milana's POV cheering him up. also she lived in a tree, and kim was sulking on a rollercoaster by himself. she jumped from the car behind him to his car to talk to him.

anyway I really don't remember every intricacy of this dream since it was really long, but at the end my mom's faction was defending my dad's in real life house. I was upstairs in a landing that does not exist in my dad's house calling out people I saw sneaking up to my door. there were also golems from ror2. anyway mads showed up with his contingent all looking like James bond villains & I called them out & then my mom was choking my youngest brother to death so I came down from the lookout & I passed mads & said "let me through father" & then started choking my mom instead. she was some random white person so I didn't feel too bad. then I woke up