#whadda hell. where’s my sleepy

[mars-ipan]

it is bedtime and i should be going to sleep but instead i am… restless???

[tomwambsmilk]

keep going through this cycle where I feel tired sleepy so start using energy drinks instead of coffee to wake up and get functional in the morning but then my sleep schedule gets disrupted so I start taking sleeping pills to compensate which only makes me drowsier in the mornings so I keep using the energy drinks etc etc and I don't think anything of it until it so happens that I run out of sleeping pills and energy drinks at the same time and am too busy or lazy to buy more right away and lo and behold after only a couple of days I find myself naturally falling asleep around 11pm and naturally waking up around 7am having gotten enough sleep that I am awake and functional albeit maybe a bit drowsy in the afternoon and I think woagh whadda hell was I just artificially fucking up my sleep schedule?? can life be like this?? until one day I feel a little drowsier than usual so I go to the grocery store and buy a 4-pack of energy drinks 'just for the bad mornings' and then my sleep schedule is fucked up so I pick up some sleeping pills 'just for when I need them'. and you wouldn't fucking believe what happens next.

[stellar-solar-storm]

I don't wanna know, I don't wanna go, I don't gotta know where I'm gonna die.

OK SO THIS. SAPPHIC WEEK. HELL YEAH. For @killjoynest here’s a little wlw oc ficlette, I hope you like it!! (ao3 link)

Day one: Masks

Aguilá can’t sleep. All her days as a Rongee Kay has completely fucked her sleep schedule. Money Lighter- her girlfriend- asked her about three weeks ago to give up that life, and at the time it was difficult to give it up, but she knew this was the best thing to do- cheaper, as well. But that didn’t change the fact that she could not fall asleep. At all. But, there she was, none the less, holding her girlfriend in her arms, lightly petting her neon orange hair.

“Mi amor, are you awake?” Aguilá whispers into her girlfriend’s hair

“Yes, ma chérie, we just got in the bed thirty minutes ago,” Light sighs back, finding Aguilá’s hand and rubbing her thumb over her wrist.

“I know, but I just, I know this is good, I’m doing better, but I don’t..?” Aguilá really hates not being able to convey what she wants to. 

“Know what you’re supposed to do?” Light finishes for her and Aguilá smiles into her girlfriend’s hair.

“Exactly, you always know what I’m gonna say.”

“Well, that's because I know you- and I know you’re trying, and you don’t know how much it means to me that you are, Aggie, and whatever’s coming up- we’ll do it together.”

“I love you,” Aguilá says in a sleepy, sing-song voice.

Light lets out a one-syllable laugh, “I love you, too. Whadda you say about going to the market tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, mi corazon, the DJs said something about the calvary rolling through 3, maybe we should lay low for a bit- wait it out.”

“Oh c’mon- that was three days ago- and all they’ve done so far is collect a few wave heads, I bet they don’t even have crows with ‘em.” Light rolls over and flops down onto Aguilá’s chest, looking up at her with ‘You’re such a lawyer’ written out in her eyes.

“You’re not wrong- but I think we still should be careful, don’t you?” Aguilá looks down at her girlfriend, meeting her gaze.

“Ugh, fine- you’re right. We still have all those extra carbons- witch, the stuff people’ll pay to watch… it’s fuckin nasty.” Lighter cringes at the distant memory.

“I know- but we should go out and treat ourselves… we can go to the market tomorrow- not like I need to give you permission, but I’m down for that.” Aguilá caves in, and her girlfriend giggles against her chest. A comfortable silence falls over them both, Aguilá isn’t any more tired, but she can tell she’ll be able to drift off to sleep as long as Lighter’s there.

“Aggie?” Light whispers, her voice muffled.

“Sí, monada?”

“When I die- don’t put my mask in the mailbox.”

“Light- what? I thought you believed in the witch?” Aguilá sits up a little- she is completely caught off guard by Light’s statement.

“No, I do- I just don’t want to leave you again. Put my bandanna in- but not my mask. Give it to your little brother- Static? Give it to him. I don’t want to leave you again…”

“I love you so much, but that’s so morbid, I… Is your little sister still in the city?”

“As far as I know.”

“If I don’t get to see her- then give mine to her, too. I actually think that’s a great idea…” Aguilá sighs. Out in the zones, you never know if the next day is gonna be your last, so you gotta make use of the time you have. Aguilá doesn’t want to be terrified of dying. She doesn’t want Light to get hurt- she doesn’t want to get hurt. She just wants to get away from here- from all the blood, and from all the pain, and from all the death. She just wants to spend the rest of her life with her girlfriend, in peace. But there’s a war to fight- and no one’s going anywhere. Aguilá can sense Light’s breathing slow, she’s fallen asleep, and looking down at her- Aguilá realizes how much she loves her. She would do anything for her, follow her anywhere and everywhere, she would shout her name from the rooftops. And she knows that they both are safe. And that feeling is enough to help Aguilá fall asleep.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

finding the videos | telling lux | thunder

content warning: referenced/implied noncon.

Four safehouses in as many hours. They’re hard to find, impossible to get into. But for Lux, Emory would do the impossible.

He’s brought a few things for the search. An extra hoodie for Lux, clean and dry, big enough to hide away in. A picture of them together. A little plastic orb that glows with no batteries, and hangs itself in the air without hanging from a string - enchanted to hang in their bedroom by the ceiling like a little moon.

He hasn’t been able to convince many magic users with the enchanted object that he’s a warlock. A few have let him into their safehouses, kept an eye on him - but when he starts asking questions, they get paranoid quick. It reminds him of how much Lux doubts, how he asks hesitant questions, doesn’t believe things that are right before his eyes. Like they’ve all been tricked before.

“Have you seen him?” Emory asks, holding up the picture. In it, Lux’s arms are draped around him, and they’re both beaming, the sun shining behind them and making orange light peek through Lux’s curls.

“No way,” Mutters the witch who takes the photo from his hand. She turns it to see it better in the light from the cracked window - no electricity in here - and laughs out loud. “It’s the vet!”

“The vet? Like, veterinarian? Has he been healing animals?”

“What? He can heal?” He fingers tighten on the edge of the picture, eyes hard and calculating. “Fucker can heal?” At Emory’s watching her in return, outwardly guarded but secretly panicked at his slip-up, she continues, handing it back to him. “No. Vet, like veteran. New to most, but a few of us recognized him. From years ago. And he’s got the…” She smiles, shrugs, waves her hands vaguely; Emory watches her movement like any second she’ll cast a spell to send him flying out of the safehouse he doesn’t belong in. “You know. He acts like he’s seen some shit. Shifty eyes, always tense, sticks to corners, doesn’t sleep. Smart to be that way when big shit goes down. Not so smart for all the time. Guy’s gonna crash hard, sleep for a whole day, get himself swept up by cops or something.”

Emory waves the picture impatiently, gesturing for her to give him something to work with. Her eyes flick down to catch the colorful image again.

“He looks happy in that,” The witch muses curiously. “Didn’t know he could smile. You tryna find him to make him happy like that? Or to wipe him out? Warlocks that get searched for don’t usually end up alive.”

“I want him safe. I want him home.”

Her eyes glint, head tipping back. “Ohhhh. I get it. Well, listen. He’s not yours anymore. You don’t have magic, guy, and he’s with his kind now. I don’t know what shit you’re into, but you don’t own him anymore.”

Dark brown eyes flash with anger. “What? Own him? He’s my-”

“Boy toy, warlock pet, good boy. I know. New trend, you’ve obviously heard. Pick a witch or warlock off the street, beat the hell out of them, twist their head all up ‘til they’re tamed. ‘s fucked up. But, hey, whatever does it for you, you know? Long as no one tries something with me, I don’t care. We’re all fucked either way.”

“I’m not some fucking - I didn’t do that. He’s my boyfriend. God, you’re sick.”

“It’s a sick fucking world, dude.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” A near-glare finds its way onto his face, hours of frustration adding up to something that leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He’s only been met with poverty and violence and paranoia and, god, he thinks some part of him might hate magic users. Or hate how they have to live. The injustice of it is clashing with how much it’s torn at him today, and he just wants to get back to his part of town, to his nice house, with Lux safe and clean so he can pretend that warlocks can live normal lives.

“Boyfriend, then. Didn’t know Vet was a-”

“Watch it,” Growls Emory, and the witch’s eyes flicker with something as she takes a half-step back. He knows that she’s a little bit scared now. He doesn’t like that, but he’s not really in the mood to comfort a witch after the day he’s had.

“He’s not here.” She wants Emory gone, that’s clear. Wants it bad enough to lie?

“Mind if I look?”

Magic crackles in the hallway they stand in, red and restrained. The witch raises a hand, eyes locked on the threat before her. “Yeah, I do. Vet’s not here. Go look somewhere else.”

Emory’s just a little pissed at how this has gone, but as he decides how to react, he notices that it’s been quiet since he walked in. No warlocks sitting against the wall cradling injuries, nobody cursing or laughing drunkenly or using magic. This witch might be alone in this safehouse. He wonders what happened to the others.

“Alright. Fine. Just, if you see him, tell him to come home.”

~

Two more safehouses searched, and Emory has a new limp. Temporary, not like the one that crops back up for Lux sometimes. It’s nothing as bad as poor Curls’ once-dislocated hip, just bruises around his knee and down his shin. Those kicks were meant to break something so he couldn’t get away or put up a fight. Warlocks fight dirty.

For one of the first times in his life, Emory begged. He can’t fight as well as they could, so he begged, pulling the crumpled picture of Lux out of his pocket, swearing that he was just looking for the man he loves, not trying to hunt anyone down or get warlocks killed.

His hand shook as he raised the photo to show them, and they laughed at him for it. One of those moments where he thought he might be getting a glimpse into what it’s like to be Lux. It still makes him dizzy with humiliation, thinking about it hours later.

This safehouse doesn’t look as rundown as the others. The windows are securely boarded up, the stairs climbable, the front door sporting a lock that looks like it actually works.

Emory knocks like the magicless, hilariously out-of-place guy that he is.

There’s shuffling. Movement. Emory cradles his ribs sorely, waiting for the beating that comes with barging in somewhere he doesn’t belong.

The door creaks open, amber eyes taking stock of him instantly. Emory holds still.

“Whadda you want?” The magic user asks tersely.

Emory raises the photo. He’s too tired to beat around the bush. “Him. Curly hair, quiet, nervous. My name’s-”

“Emory,” The guy guesses, then pulls the door further open. “Yeah, he cries about you in his sleep. You gonna get him outta here? He pisses me off.”

Heart absolutely fluttering with relief, Emory steps inside. It’s good to hear that Lux has at least slept. “Why’s he piss you off?”

“Uh, ‘cause he’s a spineless crybaby that just gives you big scared eyes if you come near him? Vet or not, he’s annoying as shit. He likes you. You hit him? Listen, he’ll get over it, you just gotta hit somewhere no one can see the bruises. Trust me, he’ll stay.”

The words make Emory feel ill, but he doesn’t lash out. From this whole search, and even just from being with Lux, he knows to listen to more than words. If he had to guess, he’d say this amber-eyed fugitive is speaking from the experience of being the one who was hit, not the one who did the hitting, even if the warlock is still smirking. He’s guarded like all the others.

He leads Emory inside, flicking either hand this way and that to take down some of the wards that keep non-warlocks out. Leads the way into a big room that looks like it was made by tearing down one wall between a sitting room and a kitchen. There’s a card game going where warlocks and witches sit on the floor, a pile of random things in the middle of the circle.

And there, over on the couch, is Lux. The warlock is halfway curled up, knees up by his chest where he sits, head lying on couch cushion at his side, eyes closed. It looks like he fell asleep sitting folded up there, shoved into the corner of the couch, far from the others with his back to the wall.

There are bruises on his face, and near his throat, and peeking out from under his ratty sleeves. Dirt is streaked across his skin. There’s blood staining the couch, but Emory can’t tell if that’s normal here, or if it’s from Lux.

“Curls,” He whispers as he sits gingerly on the couch. “Lux, honey?”

Lux doesn’t stir. When’s the last time that he slept? Two days ago? More?

The amber-eyed warlock scoffs and steps forward while Emory leans closer, raising a hand to place it gently on his boyfriend’s arm. Emory’s prepared for Lux to react badly, to be startled and then emotional.

But the other warlock grabs a fistful of Lux’s shirt and hauls him up off the couch to punch him square in the jaw. Lux jerks awake, gasping, scrabbling to get his legs under him. His hands shake and push against the guy holding him upright.

“Morning, sunshine,” Amber eyes mocks and lets Lux stumble back with a shove. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Lux’s eyes find Emory, and his legs give out just in time for him to fall back down onto the couch. A sleepy, shuddering breath huffs out of him. “Em?” As sleep fades he gets more tense. “Em, wha-at, what’re you doing here? F’ck’off,” He growls at the warlock who lingers to watch how the reunion goes. Amber eyes stalks away.

“I was looking for you. To bring you home. You can come home, Lux, just come back with me. I messed up, I know, I’m sorry-”

“You didn’t. Em, look, it’s - this is where I belong. If you ever wanted to let me go and have a life that’s, that’s not sad and stressful and, and if you want a boyfriend who doesn’t - who isn’t me, this is your chance. Just let me go.” Lux is hugging himself, speaking to his knees, like he’s been practicing this in his head for days, resigning himself to it. There is exhaustion in every inch of his posture.

“You don’t belong here, honey.”

“I do, I… don’t belong where you live.” He’s curling in on himself, hiding from Emory’s support and entreaties. Only when his head is tucked down does he continue. “‘m messed up. Dirty. Not, not someone you wanna be close to, wanna touch. Hnn.” A soft, involuntary frightened sound escapes him at the very concept of touch. It’s been less than a day since, since the last one. He hasn’t even been out of the house, away from Emory, for long. He’s already been pressed into the ground and left barely able to limp more than two times (three? Four? He lost consciousness, and the days melted together, so he can’t be sure).

Emory touches Lux’s shoulders, lightly, lovingly, and the warlock draws a shuddering breath. “Curls. If you don’t belong there, then I don’t either. I just want to be with you. Even if it has to be here. I wanna watch your back, keep you safe, let you get some sleep. Help with your shoulders. Keep the nightmares away.” Lux takes a tumultuous breath that sounds like it could peak and crash into a sob. “I just love you so much, Lux, you’re all I want.”

“I-I, I’m bro-oken, Em, ‘m used, you don’t want…”

“I do want you. Your voice, your mind, your heart. You’re a whole world, honey, you’re so beautiful to me. What’s happened to you doesn’t change that.” The videos. Lux thinks he’s too dirty, too used up to be good to anyone. “Lux, when… when you kiss me. When you lay next to me. When I wake up and you smile because you were waiting for me. It just makes me so happy. It feels right. You’re the one I want forever, Lux, I want to be at your side forever. You’re the boy I wanna marry, Curls. Please come home.”

“I, hnnn, it’s…” Tremors crawl from his spine to his fingers. “O-o-okay. I, I wanna go ho-ome.” Emory’s fingers on his shoulders are massaging relief into the aching joints. “Wanna go home.”

~

It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done, pulling Lux up to his feet to go. It’s a sad, tired, tender moment that sits lodged in space, time slowing to a stop like it’s so wrong for Lux to be so worn down that the universe is lingering to watch and mourn. Pulling Lux up to his feet puts a strain on his shoulders that pulls a new sound out of him, a choked-back whimper that makes the other magic users perk up. They listen, feigning disinterest, to gauge whether Emory’s hurting Lux, whether there’s a threat among them.

Up on his feet, Lux sways, lines etched into his face from the pain of standing, all the color drained out of him. His fingers are wrapped tightly around Emory’s arms for balance and it’s barely keeping him from falling like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Do you want me to carry you, Curls?” Asks Emory, wishing he could sweep his love up, kiss his cheek, bury his face in those curls and just listen to his boyfriend’s breathing.

“I can walk.” The others are watching. Listening. Lux doesn’t feel safe showing how badly he needs help. Emory won’t push it.

So they attempt a smooth, careful walk toward the door. Lux limps stiffly and makes soft sounds, cheeks flushed with humiliation, tremors running through his legs. If he fell, Emory would catch him and pick him up. It would be easier. But Lux stays upright. They make it to the door, and outside, the warlock taking short, shallow breaths and faltering in his pained steps.

“What’s wrong, Curls?”

The warlock squints into the natural light as he peers out to flick his gaze over everything that moves. “Outside. ‘s not safe.”

Emory’s brow furrows slightly. No, he guesses it’s not, judging by the state of his boyfriend. “Not when you’re alone.”

Lux shudders, ducking his head down, but he doesn’t apologize as if he’s scared that he pissed Emory off. He’s more closed off than that right now. Emory rubs circles between his shoulder blades for a moment before getting them moving again. “It’s okay, Curls. I got you. Don’t gotta watch for danger anymore, or be tough. You can relax.”

“N-nnh, not until we’re back,” Pants Lux, taking halting, agonizing steps down from the porch to the sidewalk. “N’t ‘til we’re back home.” His stamina is fading fast. Making it to the car is starting to seem like too high a demand. “Even, th-, hhh, then. I dunno, if. If it’s, sa-a-, -afe… nnnh…”

The warlock makes an airy sound as his legs fold under him, eyes fluttering closed. Emory cries out as he kneels to follow the momentum, arms wrapping around the warlock’s middle to keep him from flopping over and hitting his head on the pavement. “Curls, honey, are you -” Lux isn’t responding, isn’t tense in his arms. He’s floppy, not even eking out a whimper. Passed out.