#will not permit panicking in any situation

[starqueensthings]

Tech refuses to let a big deal be a big deal: Part Five

other parts linked in my masterlist

[ms-demeanor]

Hi. I've followed you for a while and your advice to others always seems pretty good. You seem very knowledge about therapy and driving. This may be a bit out of your depth, feel free to delete this ask if so, but if you have any advice I would greatly appreciate hearing it. I've got a problem: the field I'm studying for and love doing will require frequent trips to places I cannot walk/bike/bus/fly to, and I'm terrified of driving. My father decided the best way to start teaching me was to put me behind the wheel on a small road in a big city with pedestrians and bikes on the road, and tell me to drive. It's been 4 years and I can't even think about getting behind the driver's seat without bursting into tears. Riding in the front passenger seat is fine. I want to get over this fear and finally learn to drive, with paid therapy if necessary, but I don't know what terms to search for to find a therapist that can help me with this. Any ideas?

So I think pretty much any decent therapist will be able to help you with this fear, just like any decent therapist will be able to help you figure out how to approach any fear that you've got.

But I'm also not sure this is something you need a therapist for so much as some very good friends and a lot of time. If you don't have your learner's permit I'd recommend getting one, and from there I think I'd say to ask some good friends, who you know are good drivers, to help teach you the rudiments of driving.

I think that you should do this by starting on a closed private property where there aren't people or pedestrians or anything else, and just put the key in the car, put the car in drive, and drive up and down a driveway until you are capable of doing so without panicking. From there, have your safe trusted driver friend take you someplace with no traffic of any kind but that does have some kind of lane markings (school parking lots on weekends, shopping center parking lots late at night, etc) and begin practicing things like stopping, turning, and acceleration. Do that until you're comfortable driving around empty parking lots, at which point I'd say that you should look at enrolling in a driving school with a closed course.

You were put in a very stressful situation that frightened you a lot, but there are ways that you can build up that should help you to see that it doesn't have to be stressful like that. Sit in the driver's seat of a parked car. Turn the car on without putting it into gear. Drive it back and forth just to get used to the car being in motion at very slow speeds.

If you want to work on this with a therapist you're probably going to want to be looking for someone who specifically discusses dealing with phobias around driving or accident-related trauma and recovery; cars can be terrifying and there are a ton of people who have had bad times with cars so there are lots of professionals who have dealt with getting people comfortable around cars as a necessity of our car-centric culture. That's the kind of stuff I'd be looking for, is people who talk about vehicle-related or accident-related trauma.

But also I think that's just a good thing to say out front if you're shopping for a therapist. "I am scared of driving and want to learn to drive, that is my primary current interest in therapy and I'm looking for a professional to support me while I work through this." Say this out loud as you call offices, and DO make calls, don't just look for reviews. People may not advertise this kind of thing specifically because it may just be taken for granted that it's something that their office can help equip you for.

Though, again, I think that you can likely do a lot of that yourself with the help of a good friend or a patient family member who is willing to respect your boundaries and work within them, but you need to think about what your boundaries are and what your goals are before you get to work.

[sunny-mercya]

Dressed in Red

Rogue Cheney x Male Reader

Fandom -> Fairy Tail

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

The existence of a Blood Dragon, wasn't mentioned in any records or pre-existing documents and books of Fiore and its past history and neither was it mentioned in the index of Dragons—so therefore, such dragon was a false and doesn't exist.

Blood magic, on the other hand, does exist—although, since it's misuse throughout the decades, it had been set—although a long forgotten art now—on a Dark-Magic list and banned to be either learned or to perform.

So it had been a particularly surprise for not only the Fairy Tail guild—which had taken you in, when Natsu had found you during one of his Request missions, unconscious and covered in wounds in a destroyed shrine—but also for Rogue, when he had meet you during the Grand Magic Games, when they discovered your actuality.

At first they thought you only could do blood magic—which had been a hassle for the guild to get a permit of usage for you, from the government—but then, during a feisty moment of battle, you baffled them all when you used Dragon Slayer power.

During the after celebration of the won battle—which had interrupted the Games, those would be continued a few days later (although the Capital looked like a destroyed battlefield still)—Rogues second impression of you was pretty handsome.

Seeing you dressed in all red, probably because of your blood magic—the long traditional robes, which looked like river of blood, fitting your body nicely—was definitely a eyecatcher and Rogue, kinda wished, to have you for yourself.

»C'mon lover boy, just chat him up!« Sting throws his arm around Rogue shoulder, carrying two glasses and a bottle of champagne in his hand, saying such so easily.

Rogue scoffed, shrugging off his friends hold and looking at Sting with a grimace of irritation—easy to say for Sting, who not only has a boyfriend already—which he had to pay free—but also managed to befriend Fairy Tails Water Dragon Slayer as well, like the charming guy he is.

For Rogue it wasn't that easy, he wasn't a loud mouth like Sting nor had he a carefree personality like Natsu—Rogue's more on the silent nature of personality, someone who likes the solace of quiet and lonesome sometimes.

»Oh, please! Don't start with your brooding speech and how you're not easy to talk to! You can snag this dude just fine as well. You gotta be fast tho, because as far as I could tell, Laxus eyeing him too.«

»Would you shut up?!«

And then an argument had broke out between Rogue and Sting, getting slightly physically at one point, to which both Minerva and Yukino had to intervene and break it off.

And while the small Saber-Tooth group was busy with themselves, none of them takes notice how Frosch and Hector wanders off and through the crowd—having both formed a plan, how Rogue will be talking to this red dressing person he seemed to fancy.

~~~•~~~

»Excuse me, do these two Exceeds belong to you?« it was your voice—Rogue recognised it immediately, although only heard a few rare minimal times during the battles.

Gods, you're here! Standing behind him and asking a question—Rogue feels how his body locks up on itself, getting panicked sweaty.

»Frosch says, bawling their eyes out, how they and Lector had lost you two in the crowd and asked me to help them to find you, because I'm the pretty red from Fairy Tail.« you continued, elaborating why you're here in the first place.

Sting had to hold in his laughter, finding the situation funny—especially Rogues red beaten face and embarrassed expression, absolutely priceless to witness—but his amusement vanished just as quickly as it came, when he process what exactly you just had said.

Two Exceeds? Getting lost? Frosch and Lector? Sting had never moved so fast, standing next to the still back turned Rogue and looking from you to their shyly acting Exceeds.

Sly—Sting thought, real sly and clever of them to deceive you like this and bringing you here, without Rogue having to do the first move on his own.

»Why, thank you! We were just about to search for them, didn't we Rogue? Well, thanks for bringing Lector, I see you later!« with a pat to Rogue shoulder and flashing you a smile—Sting takes Lector and walks aways.

Rogue turns around, coming face to face with you and Froschs small teary eyed expression—and Rogue wanted to glare at his friend, for leading you here and telling the compliment he calls you in secret.

»Would it be okah for you, if I hold Frosch a bit longer? I don't have a Exceed on my own, so I'm a getting a bit attached to other Slayers Exceeds«

»Sure you can. Frosch looks content in your arms, so it's fine.«

A silence emits between the two off you and while you feed Frosch some cupcakes from the buffet—having walked with Rogue towards it, after Frosch cries out they're hungry—Rogue admits you even more.

Your (e/c) eyes and the (h/c) short cut hair was a stark contrast to your red coloured style of dressing—but it brought such intense colour even more out, making you up close even more gorgeous handsome, than Rogue had thought.

»You have pretty eyes. They're red, I like red.« the compliment you just told Rogue, came out of the blue—bringing a dark flush onto his face, the embarrassment returning.

From a distance, Rogue could hear Sting and Natsu laughing in amusement—definitely at him for being such a shy coward—the girls already reprimanded them for it.

Now or never—Rogue thought, having to say something as well or you would walk away soon and being swoon off by Laxus or whomever might fancy you as well.

»You're red handsome too!« Roguee had shouted it so loudly, that—despite it wasn't like this—everyone in the ballroom had stopped and looking at him—Sting and Natsu, followed by Gajeel now, laughed even harder.

You smiled at Rogue, it's by far the best and kindest compliment you have ever received—a honest one even, as most compliments were just a fake to begin with.

»I'm [Name], Blood Dragon of Fairy Tail. Nice to meet you.«

»I'm Rogue.« both of you officially exchanging a handshake now.

»Care to dance?« you asked right away and Rogue nodded, Frosch climbing onto his shoulder now.

[peaches2217]

Everything's Okay

TW: PTSD, Dissociation, Brief Description of Vomiting

AO3 link! And a massive thank you to @squagel for your feedback and help!

~~~

“Peach?! Peach!”

The fire Peach dozed by may well have extinguished itself for how quickly her blood ran cold. Blissfully sleepy just moments ago, every nerve and neuron now blared alarm bells that forced her to move before she could even form a coherent thought.

She clambered her way out of the drawing room chaise as quickly as the extra weight she carried would permit, but even so, the ten steps to the bedroom door felt impossibly vast. It would feel no different even if she could sprint with the speed of a Yoshi racing through summer fields.

She was no stranger to hearing that voice call her name. She’d never heard it cried like that.

Just as she reached the door, it flew open, forcing her to clutch her belly protectively as she dodged its outward swing — and there stood Mario on the opposite side.

They stared at one another in shocked silence, and Peach took the opportunity to assess him before making her next move. Outwardly he appeared unharmed. He was still in his daytime attire, though the right strap of his overalls was undone and the adjacent bib corner hung limp from his chest. His hair was mussed, his eyes wild, boring into her with some mix of raw terror and disbelief; glancing over his head, she saw his cap resting on their bed near the far wall, its blankets still made up but visibly rumpled, the sheer canopy still drawn as it had been that morning.

A nightmare. He’d simply had another nightmare. Though she loathed to see him so frightened, Peach breathed a private sigh of relief. She had been so certain he was in legitimate danger from his tone of voice alone.

Honestly, she hadn’t even known he was in their quarters already. He must have snuck in sometime after dinner while she shared evening tea with Toadsworth and laid down to rest, crashing before he could even finish getting out of his clothes and snoozing soundly until his rude awakening.

“Peach…?” This utterance of her name was much quieter, almost quivering, and the weight that had lifted from her chest seeing him unharmed slowly resettled. Even newly awake, she could tell that this nightmare had been more intense than usual.

Indeed, he dealt with dark dreams somewhat regularly, dreams of attacks or disasters which jolted him awake and left him restless unless Peach was awake and available to distract him with lighthearted whispers across the pillow. Yet such dreams paled in comparison to the worst of his nightmares, in which he oftentimes lost her. Never any less painful in their familiarity, he woke from those dreams crying her name, and no amount of chatting could put him at ease; he would remain shaken and a little distant even as Peach fed him reassurances, resting his ear against her chest and listening to her heartbeat until he drifted off again.

The subject of tonight’s nightmare, therefore, was all too easy to discern. He must have panicked harder than usual upon waking to an empty bed.

“I’m right here,” she soothed, dropping her hands from her abdomen to hold him lightly by the shoulders. When he didn’t relax beneath her touch, she stroked his cheek, startlingly pale beneath her fingertips. Perhaps he was still half-asleep as well; maybe he still had trouble in discerning reality from another dream.

That happened sometimes on nights like this, so Peach didn’t panic. She guided him with gentle movements back into their room, leaving the door open so the heat from the fireplace could warm the dark bedroom. When she reached their bed, she situated herself on the mattress’ edge, urging Mario to sit beside her.

He didn’t sit. He remained standing before her, his expression dazed and his breath unsteady, but his eyes at least began to clear. At least she thought they were clearing. The moonlight that filtered in through the curtains was just adequate enough to see and not much more.

Adorning her gentlest smile, Peach took his hands. The rough skin that was normally a touch too dry was now clammy. “It’s alright, love,” she said. “It was just a bad dream. Everything is okay.”

Mario blinked a few times, glancing down at their hands. He made no attempt to hold hers in return. 

“Everything’s…” he muttered vaguely. After a moment, he nodded. “Y… yeah. Everything’s… okay.”

Before she could utter another reassurance or encourage him again to join her, he withdrew his hands, the bulb in his throat bouncing as he swallowed thickly. “J-just a minute.”

“Of course,” Peach said in her same soft tone. With that, he nodded once more before lumbering away, towards the bathroom door; he flipped the lightswitch on as he entered but didn’t bother closing the door behind him. A jab low in her stomach drew Peach’s attention away from the empty door frame, and she smoothed her palm over that area of movement.

Your father, she sighed to her baby, letting her disorganized thoughts finish the sentence. Between the everyday pressures of being a hero and a consort, the apprehension over the rapidly approaching birth of their daughter, and the thousand royal tasks he insisted upon shouldering for her because “We can’t take any chances, Peachy, stress is bad for the baby! So you let Mario do all the stressing for you, okie-dokie?”, Peach had begun to wonder how he hadn’t fallen into a coma from sheer strain. A high-intensity nightmare was the last thing he needed.

But it would be okay, she assured herself. Mario was hardly invincible, but he could still handle more than most. He would feel better once he splashed some cold water onto his face, took a moment to breathe, and when he was ready to return she would give him a safe haven within her arms. By morning his nightmare would be a hazy memory and he’d live to fight another day.

Exhaling sadly and slowly, she relaxed her posture and fetched her husband’s cap where it lay just behind her, tracing the familiar coarse stitching with her index finger. The seams along the brim showed signs of fraying. Perhaps she could convince him to go bareheaded tomorrow, and she could busy herself repairing the beloved article. Give his spirits a much-needed lift. Already she could imagine him beaming and kissing her cheeks over and over as though she had performed some monumental act of charity, and the thought brought a grin to her face once more.

Clank!

Peach looked up. The noise came from within the bathroom, the unconcerning sound of a bottle being knocked over or perhaps a bar of soap being dropped. It wouldn’t have worried her in the slightest, if not for what followed: silence. Perfect, pure silence, no running of water, no padding of footsteps, nothing except for Mario’s breath, still far too labored for her liking.

“…Mario?” she called softly. 

Mario’s response: a quiet, strained groan.

The dread blossoming within Peach’s chest burst violently into bloom at the commotion that followed, a sudden cacophony of distressed noises and the thud of something heavy hitting the floor, and now it was her turn to cry her beloved’s name.

“Mario?!” Abandoning the cap on the covers once more, she leapt to her feet with unprecedented vigor and rushed to where he was, hastened by a strangled cry and the sharp clank of porcelain on porcelain and—

And the unmistakable, nauseating sound of retching.

The sight that met Peach past the doorway froze her to the spot in horror. Mario, on his knees and clinging tightly to the latrine, coughed so violently into the bowl that his whole body shook, his few breaths between coming in pained gasps, and just as soon as he’d filled his lungs he was gagging again. His tongue lolled from his mouth and thick drool dripped from his bottom lip; tears streamed from his eyes, screwed tightly shut; and only when he lurched forward once more was Peach able to come to her senses.

“Mario—” She hurried to him as he vomited again, standing uselessly over his hunched form and running her options through her brain. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and coated every inch of visible skin in a thin sheen. Okay. First order of business: cool him off and help him calm down. Then they’d go from there.

He went into another coughing fit as she yanked the top drawer of the cabinet open, though it was far weaker now, phlegmy and punctuated with meek gasping. “Breathe, sweetie,” she said, praying he couldn’t hear the panic that bled into her tone despite her best efforts. “Just breathe. You’ll be alright.”

Running the first rag she could find beneath a stream of cold water, Peach tried to focus on the rush of the faucet, and that was almost enough to drown out the agonizing sounds that still spilled from his throat. 

“Breathe,” she repeated as she wrung the drenched rag, returning to him to drape it over his exposed nape. This got a reaction from him at least; he shivered at the cloth’s ice touch, and his death grip on the porcelain loosened, and his shoulders sagged as he did his best to follow her order, and that was all good, she decided. As good as a situation like this could get, anyway.

Next order of business: water.

With the promise of her swift return, Peach beelined to the kitchen to fetch a glass and some sort of sickly syrup made to combat nausea. Nurse Toadessa wouldn’t be in bed for a few more hours. That would give Peach plenty of time to get Mario somewhat comfortable and then have him checked over. And it would probably be wise to receive a checkup herself, just in case…

But there had been no reports of any sort of stomach bug outbreak, and Mario was far too hardy to be among the first to catch an illness. Thinking back through the day, she couldn’t recall detecting any signs that he was feeling poorly, or at least anything other than overworked; she could, however, remember thinking poorly of the mutton served at dinner and politely refusing it, offering her portion to Mario under the (not entirely untrue) guise of wanting to save room for extra cake. He had practically licked both plates clean. (And then he’d belched loudly by complete accident, over which they shared a fit of laughter, albeit with much embarrassed fluster on Mario’s end.)

A sudden pang of guilt struck Peach, not helped by the sharp kick below her ribs she received at the same time. She’d only meant to spare the feelings of the castle’s hardworking cooks. Perhaps, she thought now, it would have been best to speak up. 

But that might also explain his extreme reaction to his nightmare. The few times Peach had experienced food poisoning, her own dreams were uncomfortably vivid. Still, content that she knew the source of his illness, she held her head higher as she returned to the bathroom, medicine in one hand and glass of fresh water in the other.

Mario lay curled on the tiles, his head cushioned on his extended left arm, and now his breath was shallow but fairly steady. The toilet lid had been closed and the cloth Peach had provided him with was clutched loosely in his outstretched hand. Though her heart hurt for him, she couldn’t help but be taken by a sad but fond affection. 

She had become well-acquainted with the bathroom floor during her episodes of morning sickness, and whenever she felt in good enough humor, she would promise to repay Mario’s attentive care if ever a similar sickness befell him. On those days he would challenge that promise, sprawling out on the tile beside her and listing off the endless stream of luxuries he expected to be showered with the next time he so much as ran a slight fever; only when she was giggling too hard to forget about her own misery would he kiss her forehead and assure her that it would be enough just to know that she was there.

Now was her chance to carry out that promise, at least.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to endure a bit of torture now,” she warned, equal parts teasing and sympathetic, setting the water on the vanity so she could pour said torture into the plastic cup that fit over the bottle’s lid. “But I assure you, it’s for your own good.”

The room remained silent as she measured out the syrup. Odd. Mario never passed up an opportunity to complain whenever he was forced to take medicine. She had at least expected a disapproving groan. For a moment she thought he might have fallen asleep, but looking again once the cup was prepared, his eyes appeared to be open. 

“Mario…?”

He didn’t so much as twitch. If not for the quick rise and fall of his sides, he could have easily passed for a corpse.

Peach felt her hands begin to shake even before she could register her own emotions, and she set both the bottle and cup of syrup on the vanity lest they slip from her grasp. She knew this. There were occasions, very rare occasions, in which Mario remained awake yet became unresponsive. But it only happened when…

In a few swift movements, she joined him on the floor, shuffling towards him on her knees and reaching over her swollen stomach to jostle him — and eventually, with some difficulty, roll him onto his back.

He must have wiped his face with the cloth, because it was damp but fairly clean save a few residual tears that trickled down his cheeks, almost normal in appearance. But his eyes… they looked straight up and right through her. Aware, sort of, but glazed and dull, like ocean marble gone cloudy with age, like he could see her but didn’t actually know she was there.

Food poisoning and cloying syrups were suddenly the farthest thoughts from her mind.

“Hey.” She stroked his cheek with an uncertain hand; she felt a minute twitch of muscles in response to her touch, but Mario himself did not react. “C-come back to me, alright? We’re safe, love, everything’s okay! Everything’s…” Her words faltered, her throat closing off and her eyes stinging, staring into his blank gaze and searching for some sign, any sign, that he was with her.

Nothing. He blinked, maybe from her voice and maybe just automatically, but his stare remained as lifeless a stare as someone otherwise alive and well could possess.

The terror with which he’d screamed her name, terror reflected in his face even after seeing her… the daze he’d fallen into then, impenetrable no matter how sweetly she spoke to or touched him…

That was it then. This wasn’t the result of undercooked food or anything of the sort. Whatever images had been conjured up and presented to him in his sleep, they had triggered some sort of trauma response, and the only way his brain could protect itself from the onslaught of anguish, so sudden and unendurable that it had driven him to physical sickness, was to shut itself down.

Peach’s vision went unfocused, and she sat back on her heels. This hadn’t happened in years. What could she do?

Anyone who thought rationally on the matter for more than a few seconds could easily infer that Mario suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, or something like it. One doesn’t become a war hero without going through a handful of near-death experiences and witnessing more destruction and suffering in a single day than anyone should have to see in a lifetime. 

Even so, the semi-frequent nightmares were usually the worst that trauma manifested, and the very worst of those never triggered this. No, these out-of-body (or maybe locked-in-body, he was never sure how to describe it to her) experiences only happened in the wake of considerable events: being crushed or burned until he stood inches from the gates of the Overthere, witnessing the near-death of the universe up close, things of that nature. 

But Mario, through a combination of sheer stubbornness and an insatiable love for life, refused to let even that much take him down. In due time, he always came to peace with these events, or at least learned to leave them in the past where they belonged, at which point nightmares would once more be the worst of his concerns.

Sniffling and swiping her knuckles across her eyes, Peach took in his still-unmoving form, those blank blue eyes still trained on the ceiling. What in the Eight Realms had he dreamed of? A reaction this strong suggested it had been far worse than just losing her.

Or maybe there was more at play than a one-off dream. At present, Mario spent every day giving every last ounce of energy he had to spare (which, mind, is a lot), and for the past few weeks he’d barely even made it into bed before crashing. But he still seemed so happy, and though Peach had her suspicions that he was beginning to struggle, she had never stopped to wonder if he was already crumbling.

Of course. Of course he would hide the extent of his struggles from her more fervently now than ever, content in the knowledge that, for once, she would be too distracted with personal and shared concerns to see the usual signs. Of course he’d happily waste away to spare her concern, until his mental state was so eroded that one bad dream was enough to break him.

The tears she had cleared from her eyes were back just as quickly, accompanied by guilt so immense she could see it like storm clouds in her peripheral vision, but she swiped at her face once more and fought against it with whatever might she possessed. This was no one’s fault, or it was both of their faults; regardless of who was or wasn’t to blame, the only fix was to move forward. Wallowing in regret would help no one.

She considered redoubling her efforts, maybe using her magic to fill his brain with comforting images to coax him back. But what if the fear and hopelessness she felt was too strong to withhold from him? What if she only made it worse? Those thoughts compelled her to scoot across the floor on her backend — awkward, perhaps, but less taxing and risky than trying to hoist herself to her feet — and from the cabinet against the opposite corner she retrieved a rolled towel, the softest in their possession.

Maybe letting this episode run its course was the best option. Dark a thought as it was, Peach wondered, settling the towel beneath her husband’s head, if this forced shutdown of his mind might be exactly the reprieve it needed.

Mario blinked again. Still no focus in his eyes. Peach combed her fingers through his curls, still damp with sweat, and did her best to smile at him, just in case he could register it. Just in case her presence really was enough, just as he’d once said it would be.

A powerful kick to her side made her inhale sharply, and she turned her attention from Mario briefly to soothe their baby. She wasn’t in any mood to be soothed, so it seemed; she kicked again, somehow even harder, and this was followed by a flurry of tossing and turning tantamount to a full-fledged tantrum. Peach held her belly steady in both hands and winced at the barrage of sensation.

“Maybe we could tone it down a bit tonight?” she murmured, more to fill the silence than out of any real hope that she would be heard. Already her little girl threatened to match her father’s boundless energy, and Peach had long since resigned to taking the brunt of it (though Mario sometimes fell victim too — the memory of his expression the first time his unborn daughter had kicked him in the face, eyes wide with the most authentic shock she’d seen from him in ages, elicited a fleeting giggle from Peach). But tonight…

Come to think of it, it was well past storytime by now, wasn’t it? Of course she would throw a fit over the unexpected change in routine. Peach sat back and huffed in sorrowful amusement. 

Every night without fail — at least until tonight — Mario made a point to devote time to bonding with their daughter. Most nights it was a casual affair, humming little lullabies or telling stories in either of his tongues while he and Peach lay in bed together. But the closer her due date drew, the more elaborate those bonding sessions had grown. Last night, he’d laid Peach down on the couch with a mug of spiced cocoa, surrounded her with pillows and blankets, then knelt on the floor and read a colorful picture book to her stomach, complete with over-the-top faces and hand gestures and unique voices for all of the characters and frequent interjections of “How exciting!” and “Ooh, what do you think happens next, albicoccetta?” 

Their baby had kicked and moved about as if bouncing in excitement, just as she did each time she heard her father’s voice before bed, and Mario had chastised Peach for interrupting the sacred ritual of storytime with her delighted laughter, his voice thick with playfulness and his tired face alight with glee.

In the present, the warm fondness of recent memories was chilled by a dark, dawning realization.

He had dreamed of losing a lot more than just her.

“Peach…”

Peach’s head snapped down with such speed that it made the room spin.

Mario was making a feeble effort to raise up on his elbows, though he groaned quietly and his face screwed in discomfort from the effort. The tightness in Peach’s throat returned with a vengeance.

“Relax,” she somehow managed to squeak, one hand finding his hair and the other resting on his chest, where the unhooked denim bib exposed his shirt. “Lie back down, love. Gather your bearings.”

He followed her guidance without protest, which was as comforting as it was disquieting.

The attempt at getting up drained whatever energy he had left, and once more his breath came in labored pants, his eyes shut tightly, sweat beading at his forehead. Peach glanced at the vanity, next to which sat a small refuse bin, and her hands reluctantly left Mario so she could retrieve it. Best be prepared in case he needed to vomit again.

He caught her hand before she could move away.

“Peach,” he whispered again, and even that whisper sounded as if it took a great deal of effort to summon. She had always been entranced by his hands, large and impossibly strong yet warm and careful. But now the hand holding hers trembled, cool to the touch, and Peach knew she could easily break free from his frail grasp if she felt so inclined.

She was not inclined in the slightest. She wanted nothing more than to hold on even tighter and tell her love that everything would be okay — and she wanted just as badly for him to do the same for her.

When he opened his eyes, they finally focused on her, and they looked much the same as they had in the drawing room: terrified, pitiful, pleading.

“Non andare,” he mouthed. If any sound passed his lips within those two words, Peach couldn’t hear it.

She clasped her free hand atop his and willed herself to give him her most comforting smile, even as her bottom lip quivered, even as she lost the battle against her own tears. “I’m right here,” she promised him. “Mario, we’re not going anywhere. We’re safe.”

Mario nodded with small, rapid movements and shakily pulled their conjoined hands to his chest, covering them with his remaining hand and mouthing something like Okay, okay, okay. His pulse hammered away beneath Peach’s touch, yet he released a deep sigh and closed his eyes once more.

And still nothing felt right, not at all, but he was back with her at last, so that gave Peach the strength to feed him the little white lie that it was all okay.

~~~

Peach woke to a Mario-sized indent in the mattress beside her and the sweet smell of melted chocolate and caramel. Still enveloped in the fog of sleep, everything felt disarmingly normal. Dreamy, even.

Ten seconds into her struggle to sit up, she caught sight of Mario exiting their quarters’ small kitchen, his hair and nightclothes dusted in flour and a platter of something that looked like pancakes and a fork balanced in his hands; the cheerful smile he flashed when their eyes met initially gladdened Peach, but uneasiness settled over her just as quickly, and much more strongly at that.

“Morning,” he greeted as he reached her, setting the platter on her bedside table before slipping an arm behind her back. “Here, here, don’t exert yourself. I gotcha.”

Once she was upright, he quickly fluffed her pillow and set it against the headboard, helping her scoot back so she could sit more comfortably. Then he handed her the platter with a quip of “Buon appetito!”, and after brushing the residual flour from his body, he set straight to work smoothing the bedcover over her legs.

Peach paid no mind to the platter in her hands at first. She simply watched as her husband busied himself, humming a familiar tune, and the casual atmosphere only served to heighten her discomfort.

This wasn’t the same Mario she had fallen asleep with. That Mario had eventually been able to pry himself from the bathroom floor and join her in bed, but his eyes remained distant and his movements heavy and stilted. They’d laid together for maybe an hour before Peach drifted off, his ear firmly planted over her heart and his palm following each and every little (and not-so-little) movement from within her belly, her fingers combing his hair and her voice carrying increasingly drowsy whispers of affirmation.

Maybe she should have been relieved, she thought, seeing him move so easily and act so cheerfully after such a troubled night. Anyone else might assume the experience had lifted some great weight from his shoulders and restored his drive. Yet he’d spent far too long fussing over the bedcover, and the longer she watched, the longer she realized he was pointedly avoiding her gaze. Almost like he was hiding from her, hiding in plain sight…

Peach was thus not nearly as excited over the breakfast offering as she wanted to be. A real shame, given said offering was chocolate pancakes with chocolate chips drizzled in chocolate and caramel sauce. Any other morning, she would have happily obeyed her cravings and scarfed the stack down, showering her personal pastry chef in compliments the whole while. Indeed, this was the cleanest, most attractive plate he had ever presented to her… and that told her everything she needed to know.

Mario was no pâtissier — more of a pastassier, really — so the uncharacteristically perfect presentation confirmed that he had been awake and at work since well before sunrise. She sighed heavily.

“What’s wrong?” She could hear the dismay in his voice, hidden beneath a thick layer of partially-feigned concern. “Not, uh, not feeling up to chocolate today? Well don’t you worry! Mario’s here to make you anything you—”

“We can’t just pretend last night didn’t happen, Mario,” Peach said, lifting her head from the plate — and finally catching his eyes.

She caught him unguarded just long enough to see it all in his face: guilt. Embarrassment. Regret. Crushing, crippling exhaustion, the sort that any average person simply wouldn’t be able to function under. And just as soon as she saw it, his guard went right back up, a few milliseconds too late.

“...Peach—”

“Please,” she cut in, because she couldn’t bear to watch him sweep it all under the rug, not after seeing him in such a despondent state. “Darling, I know you. These episodes don’t just happen out of nowhere. Won’t you please just… talk to me? I’m worried about you.”

Mario perked up a bit at those last four words, and immediately she realized, with no small level of annoyance, that she’d given him a perfect springboard for diverting the topic.

“Ah, amore,” he crooned with painful sincerity, drawing closer to lay a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got enough on your plate, yeah? Let’s leave all the worrying to Toadsworth! You just worry about yourself…” he released her shoulder to tap her cheek affectionately. “...and our albicoccetta…” He brought his hand down to repeat the gesture to her bump, but stopped when he saw the pancake platter Peach still held atop it. 

“And getting you something to drink.” He clapped his hands and smiled brightly, almost brightly enough to outshine the dark circles beneath his eyes and disguise the frown lines barely hidden by his hair. “Mamma mia, how could I forget? What do you want? Tea? Juice? More of that spiced cocoa from the other night? Ooh! Or maybe—”

“I want you to rest, ” Peach interjected, perhaps a bit more harshly than she intended, judging by the way his face dropped and he briefly flinched away. But she couldn’t entertain this a moment longer. “I fear you’ve taken on more than you can handle right now. The pressure is breaking you. And I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but now that I know, I won’t let it go on any longer.”

Mario stuttered uselessly, his mouth opening and closing around nonsense sounds and unfinished words. Peach took the opportunity to recenter herself while he searched for his words; clearly he didn’t disagree with her assessment. Perhaps she could still talk some sense into him.

“Here,” she continued more gently, setting her still-untouched breakfast back on the bedside table and shimmying from beneath the blanket. “Trade me places.”

That kicked him into gear. “You can’t,” he said quickly. “You-you really shouldn’t, Peachy. The baby—”

“Some mental stimulation will be refreshing, and the change of pace will be healthy!” Mario’s meticulous blanket-smoothing work now ruined, Peach carefully swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I promise I won’t overdo it. And, of course, I’ll stay until you can get back to sleep, and I’ll check in with you throughout the day. But trust that Toadsworth and I are more than capable—”

“No!”

Now it was Peach’s turn to flinch, her heart stuttering in her chest and her words dying on her tongue. Mario had never raised his voice at her. Not like that.

She saw her shock reflected in his face. No, it was far more than shock on his face; it was a rush of those same emotions she saw earlier, guilt and shame and humiliation, all interwoven with understated but blatant horror.

“J-just…” He reached out hesitantly, not daring to make direct contact, like he feared his touch might bruise her. Suddenly Peach wanted nothing more than to feel the full strength of his arms around her. “Here.” His left hand ghosted over her side and his right gestured to her legs, urging her to pull them back up. “Lay back down, okay? Lay down.”

Peach numbly complied, pulling her legs back onto the bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to lay down fully. She watched as Mario tentatively pulled the cover back over her legs and forced the wheels in her head to spin, give her the answers for how to make everything right.

Mario eventually found the nerve to glance back up at her. “I’ll just… get you some water, yeah?” He smiled, and maybe it was supposed to look calming or reassuring, but it just made Peach want to cry. He looked so miserable.

The words came to her as he made his way to the kitchen, though they weren’t the words she was expecting.

“Come here.”

He stopped in his tracks, twisting his torso to look back at her. “L-lemme just get—”

“Come here, Mario,” Peach repeated, firm but not cold, patting the empty space on the bed beside her. He eyed that spot reluctantly, but he relented quickly enough; in half a minute’s time he settled in beside her, body angled towards hers, close but not quite touching.

A small noise of surprise slipped his throat as she pulled him into her arms, forcing him to lean forward or else collapse against her.

Trying to talk sense into Mario was as effective as trying to eat a brick. He didn’t need a lecture. He needed safety. He needed to know he could be vulnerable, even when his every last sense told him otherwise.

“Talk to me,” Peach whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. He remained rigid in her arms, but she could hear his breath quicken, and she laid heavily against the headboard to encourage him to relax as well.

At long last, after several tense seconds, he melted into her. He carefully slotted himself against her side, burying his face into her sternum, encircling his arms around her so that not a single centimeter of space remained between their bodies, and for the first time since the previous evening, everything truly felt okay.

For a while, Mario didn’t say anything. He held onto her and breathed in her scent in silence, though his breath was uneven, and Peach suspected that at any point she’d feel hot tears seep into her nightgown’s fabric. For better or worse, this never came to pass, but eventually he did break the silence.

“I have to protect you,” he said.

“I know.” Peach rubbed small circles over his spine, and he responded not by relaxing further, but by tightening his grasp on her.

“No, Peach, I…” He gathered handfuls of her nightgown tightly enough to constrict the garment around her chest — tightly enough that his arms began to shake from the strain of his muscles. “I have to— I have to keep you safe,” he continued, unable to even raise his voice above a whisper. “Both of you. I-I have to. I have to, don’t you get it?”

Peach continued with her ministrations in silence as she processed his words. He wasn’t talking about any literal obligation, his duty as her guard and her king, her husband and the father of her child. The need he spoke of was pathological. 

Mario had always taken the safety of those he loved upon himself. That innate need to protect had predictably escalated tenfold in the past months, and normally Peach found it terribly endearing, the pains he took to ensure that she faced nothing worse than achy muscles and mood swings for the duration of her pregnancy. But he feared for far more than her comfort or even her health, didn’t he?

Already Peach had deduced that his psychological state was in far worse shape than he’d let on. Now he trembled in her arms, silent once more, and the question of what had triggered his breaking point was answered in full. 

He hadn’t just dreamed about losing his wife and daughter. He’d dreamed that he had tried to protect them and failed. He’d dreamed that they were dead, and it was all his fault. And Peach would stake every last coin in the royal treasury that he had seen it happen, in graphic, all-too-realistic detail.

“Oh, sweetie,” she sighed, and she felt useless to say anything beyond that. She could try to match his fears with facts — that the one entity with any plans for her downfall had pointedly steered clear of the kingdom’s borders for years now, with spies confirming no plans existed for retaliation or ambush, that she also had the protection of the full Royal Guard, stronger and more courageous than any Guard before them with Mario as their commander-in-chief, that anywho who could get through the Guard or even Mario would still have to get past Toadsworth, and no one got past Toadsworth — but she knew it would make little difference, if any.

Facts rarely quelled fear, especially a fear with its barbs sunk deep into an overworked, horrifically stressed, sleep deprived mind. 

“Oh sweetie,” she repeated softly, sinking lower against the headboard so she could cradle Mario’s head against her chest. He went with her easily, sighing shakily beneath her touch, his death grip on her gown easing up. 

A feeble kick nudged against Peach’s side, and then she felt a puff of air against her clavicle, Mario’s lips curling into a small smile against her. Seeing the opportunity for a diversion of her own, Peach suddenly felt a bit lighter.

“She doesn’t like hearing you so sad,” she said, her right hand fishing for Mario’s left and bringing it to the point of movement. “She wants her papa to be happy.” 

Another puff of air. “Pretty sure she’s trying to beat me up, actually.” He laced their fingers together over that spot, and where Peach expected him to grip her hand for dear life, he gently squeezed it instead. “We didn’t have storytime last night.”

Peach hummed in consideration. He was being lighthearted about it, but she knew he genuinely felt bad, and that would be one more weight he’d have to carry through the day. Knowing now just how greatly he toiled to keep himself together, she couldn’t help but fear even that small burden might be too much. If only she could take that weight from him, every last bit of it…

Maybe she couldn’t take it from him, but she could at least convince him to let go of it all for a while.

“I’m sure she can find it in her little heart to forgive you,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You tell Toadsworth you’re taking the day off. Ask him to move as many of today’s tasks as he can to tomorrow and to take care of the rest himself.”

Mario pulled back at this, just far enough to look her in the face. Was that relief she saw, hidden half-heartedly beneath weary concern? “But—”

“You did say we should leave the worrying to him,” Peach teased, returning his earlier squeeze of their conjoined hands. Toadsworth knew as well as Peach how willingly Mario would run himself into the ground before ever considering a day off. He would know the request was at Peach’s behest, and he’d be all too happy to comply, as much for Mario’s sake as for hers.

And if he wasn’t happy, well, he could take that up with Peach. The old Toad may well have been her father. She was hardly intimidated.

Mario drew in a deep breath and blew it slowly through his lips, and that was most certainly relief she saw in his features. “Alright. I, uh… I’ll get presentable.”

A similar relief flooded Peach’s chest, relief mixed with pride, and she rewarded her husband with a kiss to the nose. Accepting a break when there was work to be done was one of the few challenges he couldn’t face easily. “Hurry back,” she said. “I think we both deserve to sleep in.”

The tired contentment Mario wore lightened into something more upbeat, a familiar wide grin spreading beneath his mustache. “Ah! And you know what sleep means, yeah?” He pulled away fully now, letting go of her hand so he could rest his palm against her belly. “Papà ti darà due storie, oggi! Che te ne pare?”

Peach giggled as he leaned over to kiss her bump. A chance to relax and a chance to make amends for a missed bonding session. Today would be a therapeutic day for Mario indeed.

“...and I’ll grab something from the kitchens for you to eat,” he added as he climbed off the bed, and only then did Peach remember the immaculate-looking pancakes she’d abandoned on the nightstand, now cold and likely going stale.

“Don’t even think about it.” She brought the platter to herself once more, because now that she wasn’t bogged down with worry, her cravings were already rearing their head once more. “You put too much work into these for them to go to waste.” And they were still really good, she discovered and divulged after her first forkful, even at room temperature.

By the time Mario was dressed and gave Peach her parting kiss (after taking her plate into the kitchen, because she had demolished the pancakes with a speed and passion one might consider embarrassing), he looked so much more like the Mario he had tried and failed to emulate an hour ago: the Mario who was truly happy, truly unbothered by even the worst of his problems, because the joy and love he felt for his life and those within it outweighed all else. Her Mario.

Yet once he left and the room fell back into silence, that creeping uneasiness settled over Peach again.

In the end, this was little more than a distraction. Maybe Mario would feel refreshed after today, and maybe he would be more willing, however slightly, to lean on his wife for support. But he would still carry everything that got them to this point in the first place: all of his traumas, all of his duties, all of his fears, his insatiable need to remain a beacon of stability even when he himself was on the verge of collapse.

Maybe he would hold their baby in his arms in a month’s time and remember the images he’d seen in his nightmare. The thought struck Peach with such force that it caused her physical pain, like a dagger plunging into her heart. She took in a sharp breath and forced it from her mind at once.

But even if today was merely a distraction… it was still a distraction. A chance to regroup. A much-needed reminder that, in the end, it would all be okay, somehow. The best they could do was take it day by day. Tomorrow could throw out any challenge it wanted; just for today, they could put their worries on hold. Everything would be okay, even if only for a short time.

And maybe, for now, that was good enough.

[just-jordie-things]

perhaps... #17 with megumi? 😳

threw in another bc someone requested them both and honestly they're perfect together <3

17: Needing To Kiss To Hide From The Bad Guys 38: Awkward Teenage Crush Kiss ___

there had been many times where megumi found himself wondering what it was like to kiss you.

were your lips as soft as they looked? did they taste like the strawberry chapstick you always picked up at the convenience store? do you lean completely into someone when you kiss them? would your hands hold onto him? would they touch his hair? if he were to kiss you, would he find a blush on your cheeks after?

yeah, he'd thought about it more than he should have, seeing as you were his friend, and nothing more.

but somehow he found himself in this situation.

the closet you find yourselves trapped in is a very small space, and he briefly wonders what the hell is supposed to be stored in here, and thinks you're lucky there's only a few coats on the rack because there's no way you could both hide in this space if there was anything more substantial in size.

it wasn't until you were closing the door behind you, bringing you chest to chest with him in the confined space that megumi is made properly aware of the situation.

"we'll die if they catch us, right?"

your words are panicked, but your voice is smoothly calm as you whisper to him.

being sent on a little espionage mission to the zen'in estate had seemed like an honor at first. gojo satoru trusted you two more than anyone else to try and sniff out the mole that had been consorting with curse users- the same curse users who's launched an attack at jujutsu tech during the exchange event.

now, you're cursing your teacher for sending you on this death mission.

you and megumi had arrived under the guise of meeting his cousin, mai. something about feigning interest in transferring, and then something about taking a walk around the gardens.

well you certainly hadn't found yourself in the gardens when you both ransacked every room you could for any kind of clue about this mole. you had been certain one of the staff had seen you in an office you certainly weren't permitted to be in, and long story short this closet was the first place you could find to hide you both.

and you hadn't even found a scrap of evidence that the zen'in clan had any ties to a mole or the curse users. they seemed just as in the dark as you were.

"we're not going to die" megumi mumbled back, but it was hard to speak with the lump in his throat.

you were so close he could smell your perfume, and he swore it was some sort of poisoned concoction, because every time he'd catch a whiff his mind went foggy along with all of his senses. including common sense. he once almost toppled into a koi pond after walking too close to you and breathing in that heavenly mix of roses and vanilla.

"we will if we don't have some kind of story," you whisper back, your worried eyes meeting his. "and quick. we'll have to think of some way to explain ourselves. we can't hide in here forever"

because that would just be.... awful... megumi's eyes are flying around the small space, desperate to look anywhere but at how close you are to him.

"we got lost" he suggests.

you roll your eyes.

"we were outside," you hiss. "do better"

but he can't. he's going to blow this whole silly operative because he can't focus. he's lucky he's even breathing.

speaking of breathing, yours noticeably quickens suddenly, your head turning to watch the crack of light under the door.

"footsteps," you mumble, before turning back to look at him with wild eyes.

megumi doesn't think he's seen you look afraid before, and it makes him panic, as well.

"they'll find us fast," you're whispering so quietly that he's reading your lips more than listening to you, and his focus is drifting out once again. "we have to-"

before you can finish speaking, another thought comes to mind, and to his surprise you're raising your hands and grabbing the few coats around you, sliding them along the rack until they're covering you. megumi's brow furrows at your poor attempt at concealing yourself.

"(y/n) that's never going to-"

"kiss me"

your eyes are wide as megumi's flicker between them in shock. at first he was certain he'd heard you wrong, but seeing the serious look on your face, he assumes you've just lost it.

when he doesn't respond right away, your hands reach up to the collar of his jacket, gripping onto it in fists, but you don't move an inch closer to him.

the footsteps are growing closer, and you can faintly hear voices. concerned voices. investigating voices.

"we'll act like we snuck off to find somewhere private," your voice grows shaky as the reality of your half assed plan plays out in your mind. "so just- just kiss me"

megumi blinks, his eyes as wide as yours with uncertainty. he glances down to your lips curiously, and he thinks about all the times he'd fantasized kissing them before.

sure, you could be the one to seal the deal and kiss him yourself, but admittedly you were too shy. even in the face of being caught and severely reprimanded for what you've done, even when presented a pretty decent excuse to kiss the boy you'd been crushing on for months, you're too anxious to bring yourself to move.

"they have no business traipsing around this home as if it were their own!" a voice booms from the hallway, loud and clear.

it's now or never.

just as your brows pinch together and you're certain you're going to get caught with no excuse, megumi surprises you.

his hands are on your waist, pulling you closer against him, and his lips are on yours before you can take in a breath of anticipation.

his lips are soft as he kisses you tenderly at first, as though testing the waters. but then his grip on your waist tightens in the slightest and his nose is prodding against yours as he quickly deepens the kiss.

he's putting his all into it. he supposes if this is his only chance to kiss you, he may as well kiss you good.

and good it is, you almost forget what you're doing until there's a jostle of the doorknob behind you.

you let out a panicked gasp, but megumi silences it with his mouth, one of his hands raising to the nape of your neck, keeping you firmly in place. you can tell he's trying to tell you to relax, and go with it.

this was your last ditch effort of a plan after all.

when the door finally opens the light that pours in has you both squinting when you pull away from one another. there's a brief second where you look at each other, both trying to take in each other's reaction before you're inevitably shamed by the zen'in clan.

and shamed you are. you're invited to never return, and promptly escorted off the property. it's embarrassing, especially when you hear mai cackling as you make haste in walking down the street. you don't even bother calling for a manager to pick you up. figuring out another way back to campus would give you the time to clear your heads, and hopefully move on from the embarrassment of the entire ordeal.

"well that was... regrettable" you shake your head and let out a huff. megumi looks over at you as you shove your hands deep into your pockets.

"it was?" he asks dejectedly, feeling another layer of embarrassment being added to his shoulders.

you stop walking as you turn to him with wide eyes, and you're shaking your head again, but this time with fervor.

"not the kiss!" the words fall out of your mouth before you can find the right way to say them. "the kiss was fine- good! it was great, the kiss was great. perfect even, actually, you're- you're good. you're good at kissing. you're a good kisser"

you're rambling so fast megumi nearly misses the way your cheeks bloom with a rosy blush, but luckily he's able to enjoy every second of your awkward display. his embarrassment is effectively washed away, and he finds himself smiling with pride.

"you're a good kisser too. great. perfect even"

in the moment he earns himself a smack to the arm for his teasing, but later he earns answers to his many questions about kissing you. you're eager to have the answers to his questions, of course.

___

a/n: ik the plot kinda doesn't make sense but i wanted it to be as different from the gojo drabble with this prompt as i could so i hope it was still good.

xoxo ~ jordie

[doodle-pops]

Lairelótë

Finrod x fem! reader

Request: Can I request a soft moment with Finrod x fem! reader fic? Him and his wife recently welcomed their firstborn, a girl perhaps and he's all gushing and soft with his baby. Constantly wanting to hold her and such and maybe mummy has to beg I'm to hold her baby 😂. Excited dad Finrod is sweet and I love him. - Anon

A/N: I decided to give you anxious dad Finrod in the mix. He's just so soft and precious being a first-time dad.

Warning: fluff, breastfeeding, Celegorm makes an appearance, reader being in pain because of childbirth (it’s not described), Finrod being a nervous and excited dad, he's so soft

Word: 2.1k

Synopsis: First-time dad to his baby girl, Finrod is beyond anxious to meet his bundle of joy.

Pacing the corridor like a madman, the golden-haired King tugged at his no longer neatly adorned curls and circlet. His ringlets were sticking out in every direction and his crown was long removed from his head after his accidental attempt at raking a hand through his hair and tossing the delicate object against the wall. The poor, younger nurses who were tasked with keeping the King calm and preventing him from breaking through the gold and cream doors were finding their mission growing more difficult with each passing minute. The more you moaned and groaned from behind the doors, the more panicked looks the nurses sent to the guards to lend a hand at restraining their exceedingly strong King.

Once he was pacing the corridor, creating tracks and trenches in the deep, rich red carpet, now he was standing before the door with his men and the last visitor he would expect to appear at such a family moment, Celegorm. The silver-hair prince learnt of the guards' weak attempts at restraining his formidable cousin and decided to kindly lend his hands— anything to have a little moment to be rough with the King. The nurses had taken a step back to rub their hands after tediously restraining their King. While the guards stood on either side of the double doors, Celegorm stood behind Finrod with one hand interwoven in his sunflower gold robes and a grimace look on his face. The sounds of your groans were a bit unpleasant to his ear and gave him the impression you were not having an enjoyable delivery.

From Celegorm’s point of view, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the dreadful look on his cousin’s face. Any moment now, he swore Finrod would rip his way out of his grasp and break down those doors. Was he not accustomed to child delivery by now? His mother did give birth three times after him, he should be familiar to the process. Unfortunately, Finrod was far from familiar with the process since this was you and his first child. Busy in a meeting when you immediately went into labour, Finrod dropped his papers and raced out of the courtroom without a dismissal to his court. By the time he reached, you were already admitted, and he wasn’t permitted to enter during delivery.

Another cry went off from you and Finrod attempted to wiggle out of his cousin’s grasp but was stopped when it was followed by another. This one was softer despite its loud pitch. He could hear the quiet coos and the cheers from the midwives and no longer any of your groans. For a moment in time, Finrod’s struggling ceased and he stood still at the dawn of realisation. His eyes widened as he stared at the cream and gold coloured doors, straining his ears to listen for more coos from the tiny guest that entered the world. He knew what those sounds represented having heard them three times before, but his heart and mind weren’t functioning correctly to process the recognition. He simply kept staring at the door, attempting to rotate the cogs in his mind to comprehend the completion of the situation.

“Congratulations cousin,” a rough, yet softer voice resonated from behind. Finrod still made no movement to acknowledge the well-wishes his cousin gave to him for he was still waiting to hear the final say from the midwives.

The grip on his robe eased up, as did the tension between him and his guards when they noticed he was no longer attempting to tear through them. Sensing a presence to his left followed by a slap to his shoulder and a rough, friendly shake, he snapped out of his trance with the door and turned his head robotically to face his beaming cousin. “You’re an atya now. To what, boy or girl?” Celegorm quizzed.

Blinking and flapping his lips to find the right words to respond, he sputtered, “Um…uh…a boy? Maybe a girl? I don’t know, w-…we wanted to wait until b-birth.” His eyes were distant while he spoke to Celegorm, though the latter found his younger cousin’s reaction hilarious. Clapping him on his back once more, he tugged him to have a seat on the chair while they cleaned you and the baby. “Relax cousin, they’re probably cleaning her up so she can feel a little more comfortable. The midwives would come for you shortly.”

“How do you know all this?” Finrod questioned puzzled at the knowledge Celegorm displayed.

Casting the King a confounded look, he snorted his response, “Whenever ammë gave birth, we were all there outside waiting. Did this not occur with your ammë when she was…”

It was as if a light went off in Finrod’s head at the mention of this process occurring numerous times before.  Slowly nodding his head before breaking into a vigorous shake, he hummed, “Uh, yes, yes. I—uh, I forgot for a moment. Forgive me, it's all of this…” He waved his hand through the air and towards the door to explain the reason for his memory shortage. Celegorm couldn’t help but release another peal of laughter. This was the loopiest he had ever seen his cousin aside from his drunken state.

It wasn’t long before the King needed to wait before the sound of approaching footsteps was heard and the door swung open to reveal the midwife. After an hour of biting his nails and tugging at his hair, his patience wore off. “Your Majesty, your wife and your…little one request your presence at once,” she spoke with a bow off her head before stepping aside and allowing him to fly into the room.

Once the door was shut, he stood at the centre with his hands beside him stiffly as he peered into your arms. Craning his neck and slightly tipping on his toes, he watched as you cooed and held up the tiny finger to your lips before giving it a little kiss and nibble. A face filled with wonder and awe at the little bundle of creation you held in your arms, Finrod couldn’t believe his eyes. After twelve months of impatient waiting, she was here. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face the longer he observed and twisted his neck to have a better view. Had it not been for the midwife who gave him a gentle push towards the bed, Finrod would have remained standing at the centre all day.

Approaching you on the tip of his toes, he clasped his hands before him and peered into the swaddle of blankets at a round chubby face with his blue–green eyes and sunflower golden curls, staring at you. The breathless inhale he took at the reflection of himself prompted tears to sprout from the corners of his eyes. A choked sob fell from his lips as he knelt on the carpeted floor and cradled your body— face burying into your shoulder and thanking you for making his life complete. His golden curls fell around him majestically as he expressed his happiness at the new life you brought into this world.

“It would be wrong of me to not say thank you, wouldn’t it?” You paused to twist your neck to land a kiss on his head. “Why don’t you say hello to her, and you can thank me later with some food,” you giggled into his hair.

Peeking at you through his lashes, his face broke into a blinding smile before he cast his gaze upon his little one who was busy feeding away. Her little mouth formed an ‘o’ as she latched onto your breast and drowned herself in her first batch of food in the real world. The tiny coos she emitted while she drank away urged the newfound father to stretch his left hand out and allow her to wrap those tiny fingers around his giant finger. Not even sparing him a glance as she fed herself, she managed to apply her already famous Arafinwean grip that made him gleam with excellence. “She’s strong! My babygirl is strong!” he exclaimed.

His daughter was already showing signs of being mighty like her father which made his heart swell with pride. His gaze at her was filled with immense joy the longer he looked on. Cautiously, his right hand rose to brush the blanket off and cradled her head; it was then her gaze shifted from your breast to him. “Hello little one…w-wait, what are we going to call her? Have we a name decided?” Panic and excitement rose in his voice once he realised that all he could call his daughter was little one and no real name. At the shift in his aura, her grip on his finger tightened and she released a gurgle. “Hm, it seems that she’s eager to learn of her name as well darling. What shall we call her?”

Sitting quietly as your thoughts ran off to ponder at the question, the air was light and fresh, filled with the scent of primrose and lavender, along with other healing herbs and cleaning liquids. The intense iron was no longer staining the air with its pungent and nauseating odour; you were able to breathe the clean air once again. Filling your lungs with the sweet fragrance of relaxing herbs and basking in the melodious songs of the birds, joyously singing about new life entering the world and praising them, you glowed even brighter. Perhaps it was the after-effect of bringing life into the world or the revelation of being a mother after all these years of being without a child. Either way, you were brimming with sunshine— as though the literal sun was not sitting in your arms.

The longer you pondered, the deeper your mind travelled, and your foresight struck. “I was thinking about how she’s so bright like the sun, why not call her sun…sunshine…summer?” you whispered while you stroked her curls.

“Summer…summer…” he repeated while looking around to complete the name, it felt like it was missing something to make it perfect for his daughter. Casting a glance through the window, his eyes landed on the pink bloom causing a grin to appear. “Summer flower! Lairelótё for my little sunshine.” Her little hand that gripped his finger applied greater pressure in rejoicing at the selection of her name. She couldn’t help but slip a small smile at the corners of her mouth while she fed.

“It appears that she approves of her name.”

“So it seems, isn’t that right my little Lairelótё?”

Finding the voice of her father comforting and entertaining, she managed to pull away from your breast and cast her gaze upon him. Little gurgles and grunts slipped from her lips as she engaged in conversation with her father. Her eyes twinkled with the same glee that his eyes shone with the more they conversed. Sweet names flowed from his lips in her direction and all she responded with were toothless grins and her typical baby noises, but in Finrod’s heart, he knew she adored them. Every call from him was filled with the utmost love and affection a father’s love for his daughter could possibly contain.

“Why don’t you hold her, I’d like to have some rest. That way you two can continue your conversation,” you chimed in, cutting their discussion off.

“Sure.” He glowed. Carefully rising to his feet and planting a kiss on your forehead, Finrod reached down to pry the swaddled baby out of your arms and into his. She rested perfectly in the crook of his elbow like it was made to hold her from the start. “She’s so tiny! Thank you for bringing her into this world and giving me the opportunity to be a father,” he gushed as he looked down at her angelic features and rubbed his nose against her button one.

Through hooded eyes, you gazed at him wearily and drowning with sleep as you looked at their interaction, warmness crept into your bosom and filled you with mirth. It was a memory to cherish for a lifetime. “Hm, you are welcome, but if you’ll excuse me, I have some rest to catch up on. You two can continue to converse…I’ll be sleeping.”

Lifting his head from their mini interaction, Finrod nodded his head and bid you peaceful rest, “Sleep well, my love, and thank you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @floraroselaughter @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365

[lets-try-some-writing]

can you write something where optimus is in a car crash

my brain needs something like that lol

Oh this should be good. I have wanted to write something like this for months.

Optimus's First Car Crash

Optimus has always taken every precaution when on the road with human drivers. Driving laws on Cybertron were seen as guidelines at best. No one could really stop a bot from driving or flying where they wanted, it would have been like herding cats (although by primus the cops did certainly try). As such Optimus and his team were used to having to push their way through just about everything, not caring about speed limits or traffic laws. Of course arriving on earth changed that for them and Optimus spent an enormous amount of time boggling over the many many rules regarding driving around the world.

Ratchet and the team ended up seeing the earth driving laws as a suggestion more than anything else. The Autobot medic has been forbidden from driving in city landscapes due to his blatant disregard for anything resembling a traffic light or a stop sign. The rest of the team are barely permitted and only because Agent Fowler forced them to go through rigorous driving lessons. This left Optimus, ever the gentle giant, as the only member of the team who actually gave a frag about driving properly. He has always taken driving among the humans very seriously and with extreme caution, never daring to stray from any laws. One wrong move on his part could lead to a crash, one that he would walk out of unscathed but would likely kill whoever he crashed into.

He has always been paranoid about driving among the humans, and so when his biggest fear regarding the roads became reality, he very nearly broke down. It wasn't his fault in the slightest, but being in the middle of the busy highway, one human driver got a little too eager to get ahead and ended up skidding directly into Optimus before he could even register what was happening properly. His first instinct was to try and blast the driver into oblivion, assuming it was an attacker. He was only barely able to stop himself and come to a steady stop on the edge of the highway alongside the car that had hit him.

The human driver got out immediately and started swearing up a storm and screaming at Optimus to "get out and talk". While Optimus had learned what he was supposed to do in such a situation, he still ended up freezing for a hot minute as the human driver continued to swear and call up police. It took around fifteen minutes of the driver demanding that Optimus get out before the police arrived, leaving Optimus in a bit of a panic. As the officers spoke with the driver who was exclaiming something about Optimus's unwillingness to exit his vehicle, Optimus hastily began creating a holoform. Having never done it before on such short notice, Optimus hurriedly threw together the only holoform he could conceive at the time and stay as calm as possible as he rolled down his window and spoke.

The officers heard and came over, only to immediately scream in terror and hold up their weapons. Poor Optimus being far too stressed to understand what the issue was, panicked at the possibility of being attacked and took off down the highway. It did not take long for the police to begin tailing him, lights and sirens blaring as they chased him. This only prompted Optimus to panic even more as humans are WAY out of the realm of his expertise. And assuming they had somehow figured out that he wasn't human, he drove for his life while hastily calling Ratchet.

Optimus: *in a panic* I need a ground bridge, quickly!

Ratchet: *looking a little shocked at Optimus's tone* I am locking onto your coordinates. What is going on over there?

Optimus: I got into a collision and now human police officers are in hot pursuit!

Ratchet: Alright, hold on.

Thankfully Optimus managed to turn around a corner and drove straight through the ground bridge before the cops could catch up to him. But upon entering base, he was met with many confused stares and an incredibly displeased agent Folwer who muttered something along the lines of "now we need to change your license plates". Once Optimus calmed and was asked about the situation and just what triggered the violent reaction from the police, everything became clear. It took him a moment, but as he winced as reproduced his holoform, there was no denying that any normal human being would have found the abomination terrifying.

In his panicked state Optimus had thrown together the most uncanny valley looking thing known to mankind. It was a strange mess of male and female proportions, it had blotchy discolored skin, an extra limb, and a terrifying smile. Not to mention the thing was huge compared to the average human due to just how unsettled Optimus was at the time. It was no surprise the humans were terrified. Even the team looked at the holoform with mild horror.

Fowler: *chocking on his coffee* What the hell is that!

Miko: *looking at the holoform in mixed fear and awe* It looks like a zombie!

Jack: *trying not to gag* How is that even supposed to be human?!

Rafael: *taking off his glasses and cleaning them again just to be sure that he is seeing correctly* How did you even make something like that?!

The Team: *looks at Optimus judgmentally*

Optimus: ...

Optimus: I may have panicked.

Optimus didn't go driving in any cities or highways for a while after that, too paranoid of dealing with the same situation again. He was also given a very stern lesson by June on what human anatomy should look like. And since then he has a prepared holoform ready to go and several scripts to read from in case he ever gets pulled over again. Still, he can't help the slight nervousness that pokes at his mind every time a cop passes by.

[lumiereandcogsworth]

this is kinda vague cause I don’t have any specific question in mind but can you talk about lumiere and adam’s relationship? just ,, anything about them? cause lemme tell youuuuuuuu something 🫵🏻 I think about that fic where he performs a magic trick for little adam all the time

SCREAM!!! the fact that you think about that fic so much makes me SO HAPPY😭 i ADORE adam & lumi’s relationship so YES LET’S GET INTO IT BABEY!

for starters, i headcanon that they’re 11 years apart. i did this because dan stevens and ewan mcgregor are 11 years apart, lmao. but i also think it makes sense! so i didn’t feel like altering that.

they met when adam was 4, and lumiere was hired as a 15-year-old footman. i think they liked each other instantly. lumiere’s jovial/loud/playful personality perfectly filled in all the gaps of adam’s terrible shyness. queen renée liked him, (she was only like. 6-7 years older than him) and he reminded her of her own younger brothers, whom she dearly missed. this helped adam trust lumiere quicker, as lumiere ended up spending extra time with him.

like in the fic you’re referring to, lumiere quickly picked up on how regularly adam needed to be rescued. mrs. potts filled him in on the severity of the situation here, and how it’s been like this since he was born, so lumiere became pretty protective of adam. he’d try to distract him and pull him out of reality as much as he could. cogsworth was always on the fence about it, because on the one hand, he wants to follow the rules and obey the king’s orders that servants aren’t supposed to be friendly with the family. but on the other hand, he cared about little adam too, and he was glad, in THIS case, that lumiere was so good at being sneaky

a couple years later, plumette joined the crew as a young maid. lumi fell for her INSTANTLY, and they became besties very quickly. she, too, of course, felt so badly for the little prince. she also became trusted by queen renée (who was alwaaysss rooting for those two — she’d get their schedules rearranged so they could work together or get days off together, and even find secret rooms to allow them alone time. she’s the OG plumiere shipper😤)

ANYWAY, my point there is that lumi and plumette very much became the big brother & sister that adam very much needed. they both played with him as much as they could. they’d go for walks with him in the garden when his mother was occupied, they’d race boats across the pond. lumiere would give him piggy back rides around the castle and adam would actually laugh sometimes!! he was so,., not very expressive as a kid. especially not happy emotions. so it always melted their hearts when they could hear his precious little giggle🥹

i’ve mentioned this before i think, but for birthdays and christmas and such, queen renée would send lum and plum to paris to get gifts for adam, since she was often not permitted to leave without the king🙃

lumiere also taught adam how to play chess!!!!! he also taught him some “special moves” (cheating) that guarantee (he’s cheating) victory every time😎 (he taught him how to cheat because beating cogsworth is funny). but he still knows (and never forgets!!!) the basics!!

when the queen got sick… ough. everyone was just trying to take care of adam as much as they could. which wasn’t enough At All, but it was all they could do. and when she died? OUGHDKFJSKJ!!!!!!!! adam was 9 (and a half), lumiere was 20. everyone (except the king 🤬🔪) is very very very sad.

adam would have really really awful nightmares, following her death. he’d wake up screaming and sweating and panicking. he’d cry and just entirely be unable to calm down. lumiere soon learned about this and started sneaking to the west wing at night and sleeping in the hallway outside of his room. and then when he’d hear adam wake up, he’d come in and try to soothe him best he could. he’d climb onto the bed and sit beside him and hold him tight until the crying turned to whimpering. adam would mumble “where is she? where’s mama? i want mama” and lumiere would shush him gently and try to keep him calm and pet his hair, telling him to go back to sleep.

the king soon found out about this (he had too many RATS working for him😤) and forbade it, putting a guard outside adam’s room so no one was allowed in during the night. (and sometimes louis would force him to stay in there during the day too! if he was being particularly difficult (having autistic meltdowns or just in general Being An Autistic And Depressed Child) and no one could control him🙃)

anywaaayyyyyy this is the beginning of the many cracks and fractures that would come to their friendship. adam is sent to boarding school in the fall and he just gets more closed off, angry, sad, you name it! from here. it’s not a 180 flip though. the first few years when he comes home for breaks, he’s still drawn to lumi & plum and still leans on them. i have a sweet fic from when he was 11 that’s 🥹🤧 a precious moment amidst the terribleness. and it’s more lumi doing card tricks!! hehe!! he’s an entertainer, what can i say?🤩

by the time he’s a teenager though there’s basically nothing between them. his father beat him enough times to Stop Talking To Them that he just finally gave up trying. and when his father dies just before adam turned 16, it’s all a mess. adam’s completely cold with all of them. he’s been away most of the time the last 6 years because of school so when he does come back and Stay at the castle, he just really makes it his domain. he invites all the awful friends he’s made in the cities, he creates his corrupt and awful court, he indulges and drowns in his self-loathing. all that good stuff 🙃

and where does it leave lumiere? heartbroken with the rest of the gang. feeling like they failed him. which is so hard because it’s like!!! they did as much as they COULD. if they did any more, if they were less sneaky, less careful, they’d have lost their livelihoods! and they couldn’t risk losing their work OR leaving adam to truly fend for himself. so they settled for the brief moments they could each spend with him, desperately hoping it would be enough for him to turn out like his mother, instead of his father😭

but of course. we know how the story goes. during the curse it’s interesting because he’s just stuck with them. like there’s no other people he could distract himself with. he’s stuck with them!!! and he clearly still listens to them, at least to a degree. i really love the scene where he sees a place setting for belle at the table and he gets PISSED and yells “LUMIERE!!!!!!!!!” and goes to talk to him. and he’s all pissy and grumpy but he’s still talking to him!! and cogsworth!! and mrs. potts!! it’s just so complicated!!!! like it’s not like he’s FORGOTTEN how much they meant to him, it’s just that his mind and heart are so DEEPLY clouded by the trauma of growing up with his father and the anger that he still feels for him, and himself! because of him! AGHGHH!!!

but you know what scene kicks so much ass??? THE ADAM & LUMIERE HUG!!!!!!!!!!! i’ve already perfectly elaborated on it here, and idk if i’ll ever be able to elaborate on it again because it usually just makes me go GJSKFHWKDHWKDHSKSJ!!!!!!!!!!! but that hug is just. CRAZY. “HELLO OLD FRIEND” ??????? i’m gonna throw myself into the sun. adam calling lumiere his old friend is genuinely one of the reasons i fell so FREAKING hard for this film seven years ago. what a line. what a scene. THE IMPLICATIONS OF IT ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! adam’s cold heart is thawed and is full of LOVE and he HUGS HIS OLD FRIEND, THE ONE WHO WAS LIKE A BROTHER TO HIM, THE ONE WHO PLAYED WITH HIM AND WIPED HIS TEARS AND HELD HIM WHEN HE JUST WANTED THE WORLD TO SWALLOW HIM WHOLE. THATS HIS OLD FRIEND!!!! ADAM LOVES LUMIERE SO SO SO MUCH 😭😭😭

gosh… anyway, as a last, lovely, note. they of course become such best friends. after the curse, they have a couple deep talks that are so Good for them both, but especially adam. and adam learns how to confide in him, how to trust him again. they play billiards and pass the time! they play chess and adam “wins” and lumiere’s like hey dude i thought we AGREED we were only gonna use those moves on COGSWORTH!!! also lumiere becomes his valet for many years, so they’re just always chattin about one thing or another. (it’s usually court gossip though. lumiere being a servant has ALL THE TEA☕️).

they become fathers together, their children grow up together. heck! they become fathers-in-LAW together!! juliette ends up marrying lumiere & plumette’s eldest son, sebastian!!! :”) (and reecy & their younger child xavier are BEST FRIENDS😤 which is also VERY IMPORTANT‼️) their families are just forever intertwined. even before the marriage, they really are family. in a modern suburban au, i just KNOW they’d be neighbors having barbecues at each other’s houses all summer 🤧 anyway it’s just so beautiful man!! adam and lumiere just have such an important bond. they’ve Truly been through thick and thin. it’s such a sweet love, to have a friend as wonderful as they have in each other 🥹

[sickficideas]

understood || higuchi & akutagawa sickfic

ao3! 2.7k emeto/graphic depictions of illness sicktember 2023, day 4: hiding an illness (unintentionally)

Ichiyo has a very difficult time differentiating between the side effects of her stress and oncoming illness, but regardless, it's something she has to keep to herself at work.

"You're going, nee-san? Damn, we didn't even get invited," Tachihara huffs as Ichiyo checks her makeup in the bathroom mirror.

"You're a commander of a hit squad. You don't have any business attending something like this," she groans. Really, it's just an excuse to mess with Tachihara. It would have been a different story if Gin had said something about it. "Why are you in here, again? This is the girl's restroom."

Tachihara's busy digging some dirt from underneath his nails. "Yeah, yeah. You know you'd be bored out of your mind without me here, but whatever."

"Bored?" she scoffs. In reality, she's running off of a half hour of sleep.

Akutagawa told her about this banquet they have to attend last night before they parted ways. It's something he's known about for months and really has no interest in whatsoever, but apparently, the boss requested his presence there several times.

Akutagawa didn't mean any harm by telling her last minute. Surely, it's not a big deal to him, but to her, it's insane. In any situation she's in, she's a direct representation of Akutagawa. Her appearance, her behavior, everything that can be seen. She would personally rather die than make him look bad.

"Aww, you wish I was comin' with?" Tachihara snickers.

Ichiyo doesn't deny it. Really, the idea of going there as the only one representing Akutagawa makes her feel nauseous. She’s been nauseous all day because of it, and thinking about it more makes her gut churn. "Can you?"

"I'm just a lowly commander of the Port Mafia's most elite hit squad, remember? I don't belong in fancy places like that. I might just go crazy and kill everybody, who knows?" Tachihara teases.

Ichiyo frowns. "I did not mean it like that."

"Good, 'cause if you did, you'd be talkin' smack about Akutagawa, too. You know he'd be the first to do something crazy like that."

Ichiyo glares at him. "Tachihara, that is -"

"So inappropriate! Don't talk about your superior like that when he isn't here to defend himself!" Tachihara says in a mocking, high-pitch tone that does not sound like her at all, and he ends it with a stupid mischievous grin, like he’s proud of himself. He definitely said what she was going to say.

Ichiyo remembers why Tachihara goes on her nerves so much.

"Just messin' with you,” he says, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter. “Bet it’d be more fun with me there, though.”

“How many times are you going to tell me you’re jealous, Tachihara?” Ichiyo huffs. She feels her stomach churn again and she can’t hold back a groan back that time. She drops her mascara and overlaps her hands to press against her tummy with a pained moan.

Tachihara tilts his head, a brow raised.

“I don’t feel good,” she whines, a little panicked by how suddenly it’s come on. She drops one hand to brace the counter and presses a little harder with the other, worried she’s going to throw up right now. She lets up a watery burp into her closed mouth before she breathes out. “I’m nervous, I…”

“Hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Tachihara says, hopping off the counter and laying a hand on her back. It’s comforting. She expected Tachihara to sit there and laugh at her nearly puking from her anxiety, but it’s nice to know he’d rather comfort her. She feels a little better. She tries to swallow back the taste of stomach acid in her mouth. “You don’t need me there. It’ll be quick and easy.”

“Yeah…quick and easy…”

…

She really wishes Tachihara were here right now.

There’s hundreds of people here. Hundreds of people so high up in the Port Mafia’s ranks that she’s never been permitted to meet them. People with so much money that Ichiyo could never possibly see them in public. She has a duty to represent her superior here, and any slip-up would be reflected back on Akutagawa. To the mafia, Ichiyo is not Ichiyo. Ichiyo is an extension of Akutagawa.

“Are you alright?” Akutagawa asks her quietly, his eyes darting over in her direction as the enter the banquet hall. He’s wearing clothes he looks rather uncomfortable in, and he looks nervous himself, but she thinks it’s because he was asked to remove his coat.

“Oh, I’m fine. Yes,” she answers awkwardly. She’s definitely not alright. She’s overwhelmed as all hell and her stomach hurts a lot more than it should. Concerningly so. She sneaks a hand over her side and presses into her stomach for a moment, wondering if some pressure would help relieve it, but it doesn’t. It feels the same way it did in the bathroom earlier, and she nearly threw up in that sink.

“We won’t be here long. I’ll see who I need to see and then we’ll leave,” he tells her as he starts to walk off. She’s very lucky that her superior doesn’t like these sort of things either, but she can’t seem to convince herself that that’s fast enough. As she starts to walk with him, her stomach turns, and she resists the urge to groan from the discomfort. She hates dealing with anxiety like this, but this seems even worse than usual.

She feels her stomach roll as Akutagawa starts up the grand staircase, and she realizes that this isn't just anxiety. She's actually going to throw up.

A hand flies up over her mouth and she's already on her way to the nearest exit, which has to be the balcony of the floor they’re on right now. It's really not an ideal place to get sick at all, but it's far better than it happening inside here, with all of these people. She has to hope with everything in her that Akutagawa doesn’t notice. She’d die if he followed her.

Her free arm is pressed against her stomach as she darts away from the banquet hall, and she feels something splash up into the back of her throat that she has to swallow back, which only makes her feel worse faster. It’s hot and thick, but she’s not too worried. This already made an appearance in her throat on their way over in the car, but she swallowed it back before it ended up in her lap. Maybe she’ll be able to keep it down. She just needs some fresh air.

She leans against the outside wall with a desperate sigh, trying to take in some deep breaths in a last-ditch effort to calm her very upset stomach, but she realizes it’s no use. She feels it splatter in her mouth and tries to swallow it back, but that only makes it worse.

“Urgh…hhUURP - ”

With her next exhale, a torrent of vomit spills down her front before there's anything she can do about it. A hand flies up to her mouth far too late to make a difference, but she’s so shocked that she’s actually thrown up that she does it without realizing, and the hot liquid bubbles up over her tongue and shoots out, spraying through the spaces between her fingers. It burns, and she can feel it in her nose. Her face feels so hot that it’s making her dizzy. She’s sure she’s getting stares, she hears whispering - she’s thrown up all over herself, she must look absolutely ridiculous.

A wet belch morphs into a desperate hiccup and tears start to flood her eyes. This is nightmarish. The thick, slimy vomit coating her hand starts to cool as it drips down into the puddle beneath her, and her stomach is still twisting and turning, threatening to bring up even more. Saliva pools in her mouth and she leans over the puddle with her mouth slightly agape as another wave of puke comes up, aided by a thick burp. She shouldn’t have eaten before she left, maybe it wouldn’t have all come up like this.

It feels like there’s cotton in her ears, but the clearest thing she hears is Akutagawa’s voice.

Oh god. No. No, him seeing her like this would be worse than this happening in front of everyone else in the banquet hall. She feels her head start to spin and she’s dizzy and lightheaded and even more nauseous than before.

“I - I’m so sorry, sir - hic - ”

The colors around her blended together as they spin and eventually turn black, and she loses her focus on Akutagawa’s voice.

…

When Ichiyo wakes up, her throat burns.

She hates throwing up. She’s trying to stop drinking because of it. That’s her first thought. Was she drinking? She’s not entirely sure, but she knows she’s in the infirmary at headquarters. That can’t be right. She’s always at her apartment when she’s hungover. There’s an IV catheter in her arm.

Her stomach feels sore and empty. She lets out a quiet, pained groan.

And then, everything comes back to her.

She has to imagine they gave her something for her far-too-intense nausea, or else, she would likely vomit in her lap just from the memory. She’s lost most of it, but she remembers just how much she threw up at a banquet so important Akutagawa took his coat off for it. She whines, turning her head, horrified to see the man she’s thinking of part the curtain and walk in.

His arms are tucked behind his back, looking as regal as ever, with an unreadable expression. Ichiyo almost bursts into tears on the spot. He must be furious with her. She can't even begin to imagine -

"How are you feeling?" he asks. It lacks most any sign of emotion, but he sounds sincere.

Ichiyo was fully prepared for him to scold her right away for what she’s done, but there’s not even a hint of that in his eyes. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking at all, but she dismisses the idea of getting yelled at, just for a moment. She's frozen for a bit longer than necessary, eyes wide and unsure how to answer. She doesn't want to. She would much rather hide under her blanket and never be seen again.

But Akutagawa doesn't leave. He's still waiting for an answer. He tilts his head, silently asking if she heard him.

"I…I feel a bit better," she says, her voice scratchy. Honestly, she still feels rather nauseous, but not to the point where she’ll vomit. At least, right now. She assumes she was given medicine.

“The nurses told me you have a pretty severe case of the stomach flu," Akutagawa says. "I wasn't aware you weren't feeling well."

Ichiyo is relieved to hear that. It's much easier to accept that it wasn't a result of her anxiety, and rather an illness, because if her anxiety did that to her every time, she might really have to find a different line of work. It's good to know that Tachihara being there probably would have only made things worse.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't…realize I was that sick," she says meekly, her head bowed. Don't cry, she tells herself over and over. Her eyes burn. She gets the impression that he's not upset with her, not at all, really, but she can't shake the shame hanging over her shoulders.

"No one saw anything,” Akutagawa says. Clearly he understands just what’s on her mind. She didn’t see how many people were on the balcony when she ran out there. Could it be that really no one was there? She finds that to be impossible.

"No one?" Ichiyo mumbles. She lays a hand over her stomach as she tries to sit up. The pressure helps a little bit, this time, so she leaves it there, pressing a little harder to soothe herself. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "I'm sure."

"But…you saw, Akutagawa," she murmurs, feeling tears start to prick at her eyes. She doesn’t even want to imagine what happened after she passed out. She’s sure that was even worse than when she was awake. The thought of any of it makes her cringe.

He shrugs his shoulders. Of course, she’s almost in tears, and he’s completely unbothered. "I throw up every other week. It doesn't bother me."

Ichiyo is very aware of that. He seems to vomit so often that sometimes he just continues on like nothing happened, but she knows for a fact that it bothers him because he's so easily nauseous. Seeing someone else throw up almost always sets him off.

Her lip quivers at the idea that he suffered because of her. "I'm…I'm sorry, Akutagawa -"

"No apologizing, Higuchi. Don't waste your breath on pointless things like that," he says. It's really a very Akutagawa thing for him to say, but he's right. She can’t change anything now, no matter how embarrassing it may have been.

"What about the banquet?" she murmurs. Her eyes fail her and a tear slips from one, and she wipes it away with her hand, hoping that she's discreet enough to avoid Akutagawa catching on, but he's observant enough.

“Don’t worry about that. Take some time to rest. And come back whenever you feel well enough. No sooner than that. Understand?" he says. He sounds more like a nagging mother than how he usually sounds when he’s actually upset with her, but she hasn’t heard that particular tone of voice from him ever since that day she rescued him. "The banquet doesn't matter."

It really sounds like he means every word of that, and it almost sounds like that last line might also mean you're more important.

She lowers her gaze with a quiet exhale, her eyes tracing the folds in the blanket over her lap.

"Understood, sir."

…

It's only a few weeks later when Ichiyo finds herself in the reverse of her situation - Akutagawa throwing up into a tall trash can in a hallway at headquarters, on their way back to their break room. She’s not sure what set him off this time, if anything set him off at all. She had no idea he felt nauseous. He seemed completely fine to her before they got here.

It hurts her to listen to, the way his breath hitches and the way he's trying to hold back whimpers as he breathes in, hoping those open breaths will somehow quell his nausea. He grips the sides so hard his knuckles turn white. Usually, when he's suddenly sick like this, it is just that - sudden, and he walks it off. But right now, he's clearly not feeling well. Ichiyo feels even more empathetic than usual, after what happened to her a few weeks ago.

"You should rest for a while when we get back…" Ichiyo says, a gentle hand rubbing his back. She hears him moan from the pain and discomfort before a muffled burp brings up another wad of stomach bile and saliva. He breathes heavily over it for a while, seemingly without any intention of answering her, which isn't surprising.

"I'm okay," he murmurs eventually, despite everything. He tries to stand himself up straight, but he's very obviously light headed. She's surprised he doesn't pass out right away, but her reflexes are ready to catch him in case he does. "We have…we have work to do."

"Please rest for a while. We can continue working when you feel well enough," she says, trying to mirror his advice from a few weeks ago. She hooks his arm into hers, and he doesn't pull away, doesn't even try to object.

He's quiet, and Ichiyo isn't sure what else to say. She thinks maybe she should backtrack. The last thing she wants is to upset him, make him think she views him as weak.

"Alright," he breathes out with a defeated sigh. He still feels tense, but she thinks that maybe he's relaxed just a little bit. These days, he gives into defeat much more easily than he did when she first met him - for better or for worse.

If anything good came out of what happened to her the other week, is that she can indirectly use that to help him, now.

[crypt1d-z]

SCP-131 [EYE PODS]

CONTAINMENT CLASS: SAFE

DISRUPTION CLASS: DARK

RISK CLASS: NOTICE

SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES

No special safety procedures are to be taken with SCP-131-A and SCP-131-B. They are free to travel about Site-19 so long as they do not attempt to enter any restricted areas or attempt to leave the facility. Casual contact with the subjects is permitted, but it is recommended that such contact be kept to a minimum to prevent the creatures from forming an attachment to personnel. Hourly tabs are to be kept on subjects at all times; failure to account for their presence at these times constitutes a level one lockdown situation. Any report of abuse or mistreatment of the subjects will result in a harsh reprimand.

DESCRIPTION

SCP-131-A and SCP-131-B (affectionately nicknamed the "Eye Pods" by personnel) are a pair of teardrop-shaped creatures roughly 30 cm (1 ft) in height, with a single blue eye in the middle of their bodies. SCP-131-A is burnt orange in color while SCP-131-B is mustard yellow. At the base of each creature is a wheel-like protrusion which allows for locomotion, suggesting that the creatures may be biomechanical in origin. The subjects can move surprisingly fast, covering over 60 m (200 ft) in a matter of seconds. The subjects, however, lack a braking system, which has led to some rather spectacular, if not overly amusing, mishaps involving the creatures. The subjects have also shown the ability to climb sheer surfaces, and have gotten lost in the air vents on more than one occasion.

The subjects seem to have the intelligence of common house cats and are insatiably curious. Most of the time they simply roll around the facility, observing personnel at work and catching peeks at other Safe class SCPs. They seem to be able to communicate with each other via an untranslatable high-pitched babbling. The subjects have never been observed to blink, even in laboratories when the subjects have been videotaped for over 18 consecutive hours.

The subjects seem to respond well to any affection given to them and will quickly bond to the giver of said affection, much in the same way a puppy bonds with a human being. They will follow anyone or anything they've made a bond with anywhere, even into normally restricted areas. Although curious, the subjects can sense danger in their general vicinity, and if the object of their bond begins to approach something they register as dangerous (e.g., Euclid or Keter class objects) they will swarm around their bonded companion's feet (or appropriate extremities) while babbling in a panicked tone, as if to warn them. Because of the daily dangers faced by Site-19 staff in dealing with Euclid and Keter class objects, it is recommended that staff avoid making attempts to bond with the subjects, as it can pose a distraction during delicate operations and experiments and may pose a danger to the subjects themselves (see Addendum 131-1). If the subjects are ignored by their bonded target long enough, they will eventually lose interest and return to their normal activities.

It should be noted that the subjects require no real care or maintenance from the site staff. They do not eat, leave droppings, or even sleep. It would seem that the only sustenance they require is visual stimulation (although this requires further study to verify).

Subjects SCP-131-A and SCP-131-B were found in a cornfield outside ████████████ in the year 19██. They were promptly transported to Site-19 via [DATA EXPUNGED] and were then downgraded to Safe class and given free rein across the site once it became clear they were not broadcasting what they saw to any hostile foreign powers.

ADDENDUM 131-1

During an incident that took place on ██/██/████, the subjects followed one of the cleaning staff on the routine cleaning of the container of SCP-173. After their normal attempts to warn the cleaner of the danger were ignored, the creatures rushed into the container in front of him and the other two personnel on duty. Once inside, the staff members observed the subjects sitting in front of SCP-173 and watching it intently, as if aware that it could only move if unobserved. The cleaners ignored the presence of the subjects and continued with the bi-weekly cleaning as per standard procedures. When the cleaning crew left, the subjects did as well, rolling backward slowly and never taking their eyes off of SCP-173. Current applications of SCP-131-A and SCP-131-B as "wardens" for SCP-173 (and perhaps other SCPs which require constant observation, such as SCP-689) are being considered.

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

In The Lonely Hour (5/10)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | A03 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Summary: A collection of canon-compliant(ish) one-shots that provide glimpses of Killian's life based on the album "In the Lonely Hour" by Sam Smith.

I'm Not The Only One Emma's affections are torn in different directions.

In retrospect, it was a bit childish to argue with Baelfire over a flame. Killian had long suspected that Neverland slowly reverted one to an earlier age. Perhaps part of the magic that kept visitors from ageing despite losing years, or centuries, to the cursed land was that it reverted them to an earlier age.

In all honesty, he’d begin to see exactly how this would end; princesses may kiss pirates in the depths of a jungle, but they made lives with more respectable partners in beautiful houses overlooking the sea. Losing Emma before he’d gotten a chance to prove to her that he was more than the villainous captain she knew from the stories had left him feeling unmoored and he panicked. And so, he’d ended up fighting like a fool with Baelfire.

He knew those antics weren’t going to win him Emma’s affections. He needed to find a way to show her that he would not abandon her at the first sign of trouble and that she was truly incredible. When he’d told her that he knew she would succeed in saving her son, she seemed surprised. But he had never seen such a strong and determined person, she would never face a situation that she could not conquer. Still, that did mean that she should do battle alone. He hoped to be able to fight alongside her and to help shoulder the burdens that sometimes clouded her stormy eyes. And to earn that honour, he needed to remember how to be the man Liam had been proud to call his lieutenant and his brother.

The old wound in his chest ached as the image of Liam smiling down at him from the helm of the Jewel filled his mind. The freedom of being in command of such a beautiful vessel was such a rush for two boys who had grown up under the thumb of a cruel captain. As the memory faded, loneliness rushed to fill its place.

Killian’s long years chasing the crocodile suddenly felt hollow. If he could devote centuries of his life to an empty cause, revenge that would not bring back Milah or the love they shared, he could certainly stop focusing his attention on a silly competition with Baelfire and begin chipping away at the stones guarding Emma’s heart.

——

The diner was packed with the townspeople welcoming Emma and her family back to Storybrooke. Emma only had eyes for Henry, as if he would cease being healthy and whole the moment she looked away. Watching them together reminded Killian of the soft songs his mother once hummed in his ear and the wistful longing in Milah’s eyes when she spoke of reuniting with Baelfire. Henry and Emma had the chance at being a family. And, Killian realised that he had the opportunity to give Milah’s boy the family she always wished for him. He could be there for Swan and care for her without coming between her and Baelfire; if she would even allow the boy a second chance at breaking her trust.

In Killian’s experience, absent fathers did not wake up one day and become involved in their children’s lives. No, such men were selfish children themselves; if they ever did breeze into the lives of their offspring, they were oft gone before any meaningful connection could be made. Killian suspected that Baelfire was keeping to the shallows with Henry and he knew that Emma would not permit such disappointment in her son’s life. Especially not after surviving the disappointment she’d experienced her own childhood.

But, for now, he would step back from the pursuit to allow Baelfire a fair chance to prove him wrong.

The warm ale did nothing to ease the pang of loss. He had been close enough to feel the heat only to have the fire die down before he could be warmed by it. Once again, love had brushed his fingers tantalisingly before slipping from his grasp.

“I don't think they serve rum at Granny’s.”

Guess it is time to let the man, himself, know.

[starqueensthings]

Tech refuses to let a big deal be a big deal: Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[princedyrewrites]

Rogue AI (Ver. 1): Bloody Secret

Finally got to the fun part of my writing class and wrote a short story based loosely on a few pictures. Teacher said I wouldn't get points knocked off for morbidity, so I've got a few ideas >:)... But this is the first version. Enjoy!

One early morning, nine-year-old Billy Walker goes downstairs to find a temptingly wrapped gift sitting on the table. Mr. and Mrs. Walker trail behind their son, along with Billy’s brother and dog. They all pause when they spot the wrapped box sitting on the table. Billy is overjoyed when he finds the box to be addressed to him, but his parents are wary of the “gift” that suddenly appeared on their table overnight. Begrudgingly, Billy’s parents permit him to open the box. Inside, he finds a sleek, expensive-looking drone with a high-definition camera and advanced range. Billy exclaims in excitement while his brother whines about how he wanted one as well.

Billy rushes outside with his new toy, eager to test it. Knowing that Billy has a reputation for being a dreadful pilot, his family stays inside, watching from the window. Billy attempts to make his drone do a number of tricks – barrel rolls, flips, dodging birds, and spooking the neighborhood pets. Billy’s family grows increasingly anxious as they watch the drone get farther away, moving erratically. Suddenly, the drone freezes, hovering ominously as its lights blink red and the controller in Billy’s hands freezes up.  

The drone rotates slowly, scanning over the neighbourhood before zeroing in on the Walker family. Billy and his brother freeze in terror, while a panicked expression momentarily flashes across their parents’ faces. They realize that the drone was planted in their home as a weapon. Snapping out of his daze, Billy runs for cover in his backyard playhouse as the drone fires upon his beloved home. His family seeks cover inside the house, but they fail to realize the fatal consequences of their decision in time before a missile is fired from the drone, igniting the house and destroying it in minutes.

The drone self-destructs, and after the dust clears, Billy emerges slowly from his hiding place. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Because of the sudden and tragic nature of the situation, the young boy was too shaken to even know how to react to the sudden calamity that had just occurred. The drone’s video monitor lay in the grass, cracked but still operational. A message blinked across the screen in big blue letters: “AGENTS HAL & SUE WALKER – ELIMINATED.”

Sorry if this isn't all that good. It's been a while since I've written. ADHD paralysis in real, and it's a horrible pain in the ass. I've gone at least four months without making any real progress on anything. I'm kind of proud though, because today I suffered through a mild mental breakdown during my classes, but still managed to write something like this. Progress!

©Prince 2024. All rights reserved.

[cupcake-complains]

I know cringe culture is dead. I know. However, it is taking me real genuine effort to type this out because of idk, feeling embarrassed that I watch this? Feeling like an idiot because I happen to watch a “bad” cartoon. I think adults watching kid’s shows is somewhat normalized on this website, but only the “right” cartoons with deep messages and cancelled by their big networks for being too gay. I feel like I’ll be shamed for liking something that was probably made as just a cash grab.

How dare I find my own, silly, headcanon meaning to the obviously trashy, dumpster fire writing /s.

But, alas, I need my thoughts to be known.

The reveal of Dez’s face in Boss Baby: Back in the Crib, season 2 episode 3? It shook me to my core. Was not expecting that at all. I have not stopped thinking about it all day. I have so many thoughts.

I don’t think you understand. He’s been hiding this whole time, constantly announcing his disguises. We all thought this was a bit. We were blind to the truth.

He seemed honestly unaware he was a baby. He was unaware of his identity. In fact, he didn’t even reach that conclusion by himself. It was in a moment of desperation. A moment of trying any answer, anxiety rising beyond belief, the popping of the balloons clouding his thinking. A word slipped his lips. Four letters, two syllables. The door swung open.

He did not know who he was. He didn’t know WHAT he was. His mind was so foggy, it seemed like he had almost forgotten his name.

Did he never look at himself, when switching between disguises? Did he not wonder if there was anything more than a voice inside an object?

Was he always like this? Was he forced into the role?

As a trans person, I related to that moment, strangely. Knowing something’s wrong, not being able to figure out who or what you are, panicking at not having an answer to the question, constant disruptions and torments that are out of your control, and then-

Then you know. You hear it or read it or whatever, but it suddenly clicks. At least, that’s how it was for me.

But there’s nothing afterwards. You can drop the disguise, if the outside world permits it, but no one is there to tell you what next. No one is there to explain what just happened. You’re just by yourself, not having a single thing to go off of expect one word. One single thing you know to be true about your identity.

And even then. Even then, you might try to deny it. You might try to return to the disguises until someone is there to pull you out. Some one is there to recognize that there’s a person inside of there. A real person, not just a front.

Your friends are there, but they don’t recognize you. You’ve changed in inconceivable ways. You’re different now, and they see that, and then there’s no going back. They have SEEN you. You can’t hide again. It won’t work this time. They’ve already realized that this strange face in front of them is someone they know. They know it’s you, even if you don’t know it’s you.

You may try to hide again, though. You’ll remember how much comfort it gave you, not because it was actually comfortable, but because it’s familiar. It’s the only thing you’ve know your entire life. Even though it isn’t correct anymore, it’s hard to rebuild and find what is.

And, in a way, you can’t even vilify it. Not really. There may be people who have forced or are trying to force you back into your disguise. Those are villains. But a mask is a mask. It doesn’t know morals. You want to be rid of it, sure, but the situation is not the mask’s fault. It served its purpose, didn’t it? It was a phase. Phases are inherently neutral. And now you’ve moved on, to bigger and brighter things.

And still, sometimes, may it be days later or years, you could find yourself slipping back in without even meaning to.

I’m just very emotional about Dez, okay??

[eddiemunsonjosephquinn]

Test Drive Part 1

Alexis Mitchell, Mavericks daughter has to stay with her uncles, Bradley and Jake for one month. What happens when Alexis decides to take their car on a little test drive?

---------

-------

After my Uncles taught me the basics on how to drive, i knew I was ready to test my acknowledgement. The only problem is that i'm only 14 and don't even have my drivers permit. But is that going to stop me? Of course not! I'm pretty good at test driving stuff and driving a car should be easy.

I know what you're thinking. 'They would never let you drive by yourself' or 'they will kill you if you took their car'. And yes both of them are probably true. They don't have to find out though if i did it at night. They both go to sleep really early, that would give me enough time to escort out the plan.

It was certainly 7:00 at night. I was actually extremely tired, but that isn't going to stop me and my plan. I was watching a movie with my Uncle's. It was called 'Down Gun' a movie about top gun pilots. The same field as my family. Uncle Bradley looked down at me smiling. "Jake, how did we get so lucky with the best niece in the entire world." Jake grinned. "I don't know babe, but she really is the best. It makes me wonder if we will ever have children," He said with an exasperated sigh making Uncle Bradley roll his eyes.

"Babe we just got married. And plus maverick and Ice didn't have her until they were in their mid thirties we still got time." I smiled. It makes me feel almost a little bit bad about what i'm going to do with their car.

"Alright kiddo, I'm going to head up and get ready for bed. We got to go by the station tomorrow so Jake and I can fix up that pilot we've been working on." I gave out a fake yawn. "Okay, I'm going up to my room also, so i can work on my homework that Mr. Cruise gave us to finish over summer break. What a jerk ill tell ya."

-----

I checked the time and it was now 9:00 i was certain they had fallen asleep. And now was my time, to test drive that car. I got up and put my shoes on. I then went downstairs and grabbed the keys off the hook from the kitchen.

I checked to make sure i didn't hear any footsteps and when i didn't hear any, i carefully opened the front door.

I took a deep breath and started the engine. 'Why was this so dang loud' i mumbled under my breath. Okay i got this, just remember what they taught you. Keep your hands on the steering wheel at all times and to always face the road.

I pushed on the gas petal a little so i was only going a little bit fast. All of a sudden i hear sirens behind me. What did i do wrong? I slowly pulled over to the side and rolled down my window. "Mam i just wanted to let you know that one of your head lights is out." He informed me. He then took a quick look at me. "Kid I'm going to need to see your license please," Did i look that young for my age? I swallowed. "About that I forgot to bring it with me." I lied. He gave me 'are you serious look' letting me know he didn't believe me at all.

"I'm going to need you to step out of the car," I internally groaned but did what he said. "How old are you?" He asked, raising his eye brow at me. That's when I panicked. "Look ill be totally honest with you. My two Uncles taught me how to drive a little earlier. I'm 14 and about to be 15. But i wanted to actually drive by myself so I did but then i got caught. Please don't take me to jail! They will kill me." He chuckled slightly. "I would usually arrest you but since you only drove a little bit out of the neighborhood I'll just drive you to them." I let out a slight relief. I nodded thanking him. "Wait are you going to arrest them?" I asked. "No, because they never knew about this. It wouldn't be fair."

"Also don't thank me yet kid. If I was you in this situation I would want to go to jail. My parents would have killed me." I chuckled. He opened the back door and i got in. "Where do you live?" He asked. "Creek hill 590 northwest drive." He nodded. "You don't seem like a type of kid to do this." I shrugged. "Usually i'm not. But my curiosity just got the best of me i guess."

We arrived and i saw my uncles on the porch not looking in the best mood. I swallowed, i was in deep shit. We both got out and headed towards them. Uncle Bradley yanked my wrist. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I whimpered. I looked at Uncle Jake for help but he just shook his head in disappointment and motioned me to go inside.

------

This is my first ever book written on here so i hope you all like it!

[aguilerachristina01]

Unveiling Atari Breakout Mastery: Proven Techniques for Achieving High Scores

Atari Breakout remains as a demonstration of the persevering through allure of exemplary arcade games. Since its origin during the 1970s, it has caught the hearts and brains of gamers around the world. With its basic yet habit-forming interactivity, Atari Breakout keeps on moving players to accomplish ever-higher scores. In this article, we dig into the craft of dominating Atari Breakout, revealing demonstrated procedures and methodologies for achieving high scores that will hoist your ongoing interaction higher than ever.

Grasping the Fundamentals of Atari Breakout

Prior to diving into cutting edge procedures, getting a handle on the essentials of Atari Breakout is pivotal. The game rotates around breaking a mass of blocks utilizing a ball and oar. Players control the oar, moving it on a level plane along the lower part of the screen to divert the ball and keep it from tumbling off the base edge.

Each time the ball strikes a block, the block vanishes, and the player procures focuses. The essential goal is to clean every one of the blocks off of the screen utilizing the least conceivable ball skips. As players progress through levels, the trouble increments, with new block examples and deterrents testing their abilities.

Demonstrated Methods for Accomplishing High Scores

Dominating Oar Control: The way to progress in Atari Breakout lies in exact oar control. Dominating the development of the oar permits players to coordinate the ball with precision, expanding the quantity of blocks they can break with each bob. Work on moving the oar easily and presciently to keep the ball in play and target explicit region of the block facade.

Vital Block Focusing on: Not all blocks are made equivalent. To accomplish high scores, players should focus on their objectives decisively. Hold back nothing close to the highest point of the screen first, as clearing these blocks sets out additional open doors for the ball to bounce back and keep breaking lower blocks. Also, center around getting through regions with various neighboring blocks to make chain responses and augment focuses.

Using Points and Bobs: Understanding the physical science of ball development is fundamental for dominating Atari Breakout. Try different things with various points and skips to control the ball's direction and target hard-to-arrive at blocks. Use bank shots by going for the gold shallow points off the side walls to get to blocks that are clouded or challenging to straightforwardly reach.

Keeping up with Force: Energy is a vital variable in Atari Breakout. Keep the ball moving at a predictable speed to keep up with force and keep it from dialing back. A more slow moving ball makes it simpler for players to respond and change the oar's situation, expanding their possibilities stirring things up around town and keeping it in play. Keep away from unexpected stops or shifts in course, as these can upset the progression of the game and lead to botched open doors.

Expecting Block Examples: As players progress through levels, they experience progressively complex block examples and impediments. Expecting these examples and arranging your methodology likewise is fundamental for progress. Pause for a minute to survey the design of blocks toward the start of each level, distinguishing any examples or groups that might require unique consideration. Foster a blueprint in light of the format of blocks, zeroing in on getting regions with the most noteworthy focus free from blocks first.

Trying to avoid panicking Under Tension: Atari Breakout can be an extraordinary and quick moving game, particularly as players approach more significant levels and experience seriously testing block arrangements. Staying cool and centered under tension, keeping calm even despite adversity is fundamental. Try not to frenzy or settling on rash choices, as these can prompt errors that cost significant focuses.

Gaining from Mix-ups: Slip-ups are unavoidable in Atari Breakout, yet they likewise present significant learning open doors. Rather than harping on mistakes, use them as input to work on your abilities and refine your system. Dissect what turned out badly, whether it was a confused oar development or a misconstrued point, and change your methodology as needs be. By gaining from botches and adjusting your interactivity, you'll turn into a more capable Atari Breakout player after some time.

Rehearsing Tolerance and Industriousness: Dominance of Atari Breakout doesn't come about pretty much by accident. It requires tolerance, tirelessness, and commitment to improving your abilities over the long run. Cheer up by misfortunes or low scores; all things considered, use them as inspiration to continue to drive yourself to move along. Ordinary practice is vital to creating muscle memory and reflexes, permitting you to respond all the more rapidly and precisely to the game's difficulties.

Conclusion

Atari Breakout Dominance is reachable through a blend of expertise, methodology, and tirelessness. By dominating oar control, decisively focusing on blocks, using points and bobs, keeping up with energy, expecting block designs, resisting the urge to panic under tension, gaining from botches, and rehearsing tolerance and perseverance, players can raise their interactivity and accomplish high scores that rival the best. With devotion and practice, you also can turn into an expert of Atari Breakout and experience the excitement of arriving at new levels in this immortal arcade exemplary.