#i haven't had more than 4 hours of sleep a night for the past 2 weeks. i feel like i might start seeing the hat man soon

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 23

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 23

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: In the aftermath of the wedding chaos, you and the rest of the Shelby's take shelter. As the night drags on, you begin to learn more about Luca Changretta.

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language

A/N: omg I haven't updated in way too long, sorry everyone. this is sort of a filler chapter, but more angst and action coming soon :)

--

For once, you woke before Tommy.

The room was still dim, the pale light of dawn just beginning to filter through the curtains in soft, silvery strands. Everything was quiet, the kind of hush that only existed in those early morning hours before the world stirred.

And beside you, Tommy slept. His face was turned slightly toward you, the muscles of his jaw slack, his breathing slow and even. The furrow that so often carved itself between his brows had softened, gone entirely, like the weight of everything he carried had, just for a moment, let him rest.

You didn’t move. Instead, you watched him, your cheek nestled against the pillow, heart aching with something you couldn’t quite name.

He looked younger like this. Softer. Like the boy he must’ve once been, long before the war, before the business, before everything.

You let your eyes trace the familiar lines of his face, the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his lashes rested gently against his cheekbones. He looked so peaceful it almost made your throat tighten.

How many nights had you fallen asleep to the sound of him pacing the floor below, cigarette glowing in the dark? How many mornings had you woken to find the space beside you already cold, already empty?

But not today.

Today, he was here. Safe. Breathing slow beside you.

For a while, you didn’t move. You just watched him, trying to memorize the way the morning painted him in gold. The soft rise and fall of his chest. The way his arm had draped across your waist sometime during the night, still resting there like even in sleep he needed to know you were close.

Your thumb brushed over his wedding band, worn for less than a day, and something inside you twisted. Not out of fear, exactly. But the kind of aching love that came with knowing peace like this never lasted long. Not in his world. And not in yours, anymore. 

Carefully, you let your fingers drift up, skimming the line of his jaw, the faint stubble there. You traced the scar just beneath his cheekbone, the soft dip above his brow, the lashes so dark against his skin. Your touch was featherlight, reverent. Like if you pressed too hard, he’d vanish.

He stirred. A quiet grunt escaped him, and his brow furrowed ever so slightly, the beginnings of a frown tugging at his mouth.

“‘S too early,” he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

You smiled, the sound of him like honey in your chest. “Go back to sleep, then.”

He didn’t answer, just shifted, catching your wrist in his hand before you could pull away. Without opening his eyes, he brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them, soft and slow, then pulled you down into him.

You went willingly, melting into his chest, into the heat of him. His arm looped around your waist, strong and sure, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then your mouth.

Lazy and warm and just a little bit greedy.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were open, half-lidded but focused on you. 

A slow smile tugged at his lips, still heavy with sleep. “Think I’m going to spend the whole morning right here,” he murmured, voice rough. “In bed. With my wife.”

You raised a brow, teasing. “Didn't realize you were such a romantic.”

“I know better than to leave a warm bed and a beautiful woman without good reason.” he said simply, brushing his nose against yours. 

Before you could reply, he rolled you gently onto your back, his weight settling over you, not heavy, just enough to remind you of his strength, his presence.

His eyes searched yours, dark and hungry now, but still quiet and unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world.

Your breath hitched as his lips found the hollow beneath your ear, as his hand slipped beneath the sheets, dragging slow over your waist, your hip.

“Tommy…” you warned, though it didn’t sound like a protest.

He hummed, the sound deep and satisfied, before pressing a kiss to your throat. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because in that moment, wrapped in linen and morning light and him, there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

…

Tommy left later that day.

He pressed a kiss to your temple and made a promise to be back before dinner. A quiet apology hidden in the way his hand lingered at the small of your back before the door closed behind him, Arthur, and John.

Now, the house felt both too big and too full.

“You’d think,” Ada said from behind you, her tone brittle, “after his wedding ends in gunfire, maybe the groom would take a day off.”

Esme snorted from where she sat cross-legged on the edge of the hearth, flipping a playing card between her fingers. “Please. That man probably counts bullets the way most people count wedding gifts.”

“Enough, both of you,” Polly said sharply, though her voice was calmer than her eyes. She didn’t even look up, just cradled her teacup in both hands, her rings catching the firelight, gaze fixed on the flicker of flames like she was trying to read omens in the ash.

You turned, taking in the room fully for the first time. 

Ada was pacing along the length of the rug, arms folded tight across her chest, her jaw set. She’d already burned through half a cigarette without noticing, the ash curling dangerously close to her fingers. 

Polly sat in her usual chair, spine straight, elegance untouched by the weight pressing on the house. Her tea sat cooling in her lap, untouched. 

Esme, ever the wildcard, looked like she could either laugh or start a fire, depending on who spoke next. Her foot bounced idly, knee jostling as she flicked the card again—King of Hearts this time. 

You leaned a shoulder against the wall, your gaze drifting. “At least he slept,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Didn’t think he would. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Ada flopped onto the arm of the couch. “Must’ve been exhausted.”

“That or getting married really wore him out,” Esme said. 

You snorted. “Probably both.”

“How’s Finn?” Ada asked, glancing toward Polly.

Polly leaned back in her chair with a quiet sigh, her hands resting over her cup like she was weighing the question. “Also exhausted,” she said. “I checked on him earlier. He was still dead to the world. Didn’t so much as twitch when I called his name.”

Your stomach fluttered, equal parts concern and relief.

“He looked better than yesterday,” Polly added after a moment. “Color’s back in his face.”

You let out a slow breath through your nose and nodded. “Good.”

Ada tucked her legs up underneath her on the couch and gave you a look. “So, how’s married life treating you? One full day in. Any regrets yet?”

You smirked. “Ask me after my next near-death experience.”

Esme chuckled into her tea. “That’s the true Shelby spirit.”

“Do you remember your wedding?” you asked Polly, more curious than anything.

Polly raised a brow, as if deciding whether to share. “I do.”

Esme snorted. “John told me there was a fistfight at the reception.”

“Two, actually,” Polly said primly, taking a sip of tea. “Only one was justified, though.”

You laughed, and Ada leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, I half-expected Arthur to give some drunken, weepy speech about the meaning of love last night.”

“He tried,” Polly said dryly. “I stopped him.”

Before you could respond, the sharp buzz of the doorbell cut through the laughter.

The four of you froze, eyes flicking toward the hallway.

Ada was the first to move, slowly setting her cigarette in the ashtray. “Who’d be coming around at this hour?”

Polly stood, setting her teacup down with practiced care. “Stay here,” she said.

You were already rising. “Polly—”

“I said stay.”

Her tone left no room for argument. She moved swiftly, her footsteps quiet as she disappeared down the hall. You, Ada, and Esme all exchanged a glance, the ease from moments before replaced by a slow, creeping tension.

Esme exhaled through her nose. “Fucking hell,” she muttered. “Nothing good ever happens in this house, does it?”

You tried to smile, but your pulse had picked up. You strained to hear—anything. Voices. Footsteps. But all you caught was the soft patter of rain and the faint groan of the floorboards.

A minute passed. Then another.

Finally, Polly returned, her expression unreadable.

She didn’t speak right away, just walked into the room and placed something on the coffee table between you. A box wrapped neatly in cream-colored paper. It was tied with a red ribbon with a card tucked beneath the bow.

Your name written across it in looping black ink.

You stared at it, unease prickling beneath your skin. “What is that?”

Polly didn’t look away from you. “There was no one at the door. It was just sitting there.”

Ada reached over slowly and plucked the card from the top. She flipped it open, eyes scanning the message inside. Her brow furrowed.

“What does it say?” Esme asked.

Ada hesitated. “It says, ‘For the bride. May your days be long and your nights quiet—while they last.’”

No one moved. Silence fell between you all, slow and suffocating.

Ada stared at the card for a second longer, then set it down beside the box like it might burn her fingers. Her jaw tightened. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You hadn’t touched the box, hadn’t even moved. It sat there on the table like it was waiting.

“Ada,” Polly said quietly and firmly. “Call Tommy.”

Ada looked up. “Is that really necessary Pol?”

“Now.”

Ada looked at Polly for only a moment before pushing off the sofa. She strode toward the hall, already pulling a cigarette from behind her ear with one hand and reaching for the phone with the other. You stayed rooted where you were, your eyes fixed on the neat red bow, now seeming almost cruel in its precision.

Polly stepped between you and the box. “Don’t touch it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you murmured, though your voice sounded far away. “Do you think it’s—”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But until we do, no one goes near it.”

In the hallway, you could hear Ada’s voice rising slightly, sharp and clipped. “I don’t care where he is—get him. Tell him it’s important— Christ, just put him on the bloody line—”

Your mouth went dry as you turned to Polly. “Is it… from him?”

Polly nodded once. “Luca Changretta.”

…

The box hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

Polly sat across from it, arms folded tight, her expression carved from stone. She hadn’t touched her tea in over an hour. Her eyes stayed fixed on the neat red ribbon as if sheer will could keep it from doing something unspeakable.

Ada paced the hallway like a caged animal, smoke curling from the cigarette clenched between her fingers, her boots echoing softly on the floorboards. Every few minutes, she’d glance toward the front door—sharp, impatient, waiting for the sound of Tommy’s return.

Esme sat sprawled on the rug near the hearth, legs stretched out in front of her. She was rolling a cigarette with practiced ease, her fingers quick and precise even as her eyes flicked up, again and again, to the box. She hadn’t said much since it arrived, just muttered a few things under her breath in Romani now and then, like she was warding something off.

The silence was thick, the kind that hummed behind your ears. No one had touched the box. No one wanted to.

Then, soft footsteps from the stairs.

You turned just as Finn appeared, blinking against the low light. He wore a crumpled shirt and a dazed expression, his hair sticking up on one side like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Why’s everyone so quiet?” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep. 

Ada turned toward him, visibly relaxing for the first time in hours. “You’re up. We thought you might be hibernating for a minute, there.”

Finn rubbed a hand over his face and yawned. He glanced around, eyes landing on the box on the table. “What’s that?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Polly said gently.

You moved toward him instinctively, scanning him from head to toe. He looked pale, but alright. 

“How do you feel?” you asked.

Finn shrugged one shoulder, his eyes still flicking uneasily toward the box. “Okay. Kind of weird. My ears won’t stop ringing.”

You knelt beside the sofa, your hand resting lightly on his knee. “That’s normal. After something like that… your body is just trying to catch up.”

He glanced at you then, properly, and for just a moment, the little boy slipped through the cracks.

Then, the front door slammed open, hinges groaning in protest.

You heard footsteps. Fast. Heavy.

“Where is it?” Tommy’s voice cut through the house like a blade.

You turned just as he appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, rain clinging to his coat, eyes already scanning the space until they landed on the box. On you.

“Where is it?” he repeated, more to Polly now, breath ragged like he hadn’t stopped moving since Ada called.

Polly nodded toward the table. "There."

Tommy didn’t hesitate. He stalked forward, coat dripping, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping beneath his cheek.

“Did anyone touch it?” he barked.

“Just me,” Polly said. “But only the box. We haven’t opened it.”

You rose slowly, the back of your knees aching from how long you’d sat. “It had my name on it.”

“I know,” he said without looking at you, eyes fixed on the neat red ribbon like it personally insulted him.

He crouched low, inspecting it—silent for a moment that stretched like wire. You could see his mind working, grinding through possibilities, calculating every angle.

No one moved. The only sound was the quiet tick of the clock on the mantel. Then Tommy exhaled through his nose and reached into his coat, pulling out a pocketknife. He flicked it open, then crouched beside the table.

You watched as he slid the blade under the red ribbon and sliced it cleanly in one motion.

No giant explosion. No trick. Just silence.

He lifted the lid carefully.

Tommy’s jaw ticked once, then twice, before he reached inside and drew out a delicate silver necklace. The chain glinted faintly in the low light, and at the end of it hung a single small charm: a teardrop pearl set in filigree.

Polly peered over his shoulder, frowning. “Why would he send a piece of jewelry?”

“It’s not just jewelry,” Tommy said, rising to his feet. 

He held it out, the necklace dangling from his fist like a noose. “It’s him saying he knows who you are. And what would suit your neck.”

Your stomach turned. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold.

Tommy’s gaze found yours then, sharp and dark and protective. “Someone was close enough to leave this at our door without being seen.”

Polly’s face was pale, hardening. “You think he’s threatening with proximity?”

Tommy’s grip tightened on the chain. “This is him saying he knows where to find us.”

Tommy stared at the necklace for another beat before turning to Polly. “Stay with her,” he said, low and firm. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Polly gave a single nod, already understanding.

“Tommy.” You stepped forward, eyes searching his face. “Where are you going? You just got here—”

His jaw shifted. “I need to make sure he doesn’t get closer.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He looked at you then, and for a brief moment, the fury faded, replaced by something rawer. Something tired. “I need to go figure out if anyone knew about this.” 

Ada blinked. “What if no one talks?” 

“I can be persuasive,” Tommy said, jaw ticking. His tone was cold now. “John and Arthur are already on their way to the Black Lion to lean on a few men we’ve had eyes on. I sent Johnny Dogs up to Digbeth to ask around the betting shops—see who’s been talking. Charlie went with him.”

You felt a chill run through you, not from the words, but the way he said them. Flat. Certain. Like violence was already a given.

“Tommy—” you pleaded. 

He crossed the space between you and pressed his hands gently to your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You’re safe here with Polly. Just don’t open the door. Don’t leave the house.”

You blinked at him. “I don’t want you to go.”

His hands stayed on your face, steady despite everything. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I have to.”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t. Not right now. We could wait. We could—”

“We can’t wait,” he cut in, voice low but firm. “He sent this today. Tomorrow it could be something worse.”

You shook your head, pressing your palms against his chest like you could anchor him there. “I don’t care about necklances or cards or fucking threats—I care about you coming back.”

He didn’t speak right away. He just covered your hands with his own, holding them in place over his heart.

“I married you to protect you,” he said. “Not let you be threatened in your own home. Not to bring a war to your doorstep.”

You stared up at him, heart aching. “Here I was thinking you married me because you loved me.”

His eyes softened. “That too.”

You wanted to kiss him. To beg him to stay. But you knew better. Tommy Shelby didn’t run. Not from anything. 

So instead, you said the only thing you could. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “I will. I always do.”

Then he kissed you—deep and certain, like it might have to last you both for a while.

When he pulled away, he turned without looking back.

And this time, when the door closed behind him, it felt like the whole house exhaled with it.

…

The hours passed slowly, stretched thin by the waiting.

Tommy didn’t call—not like you had really expected him to this soon. The quiet had its own kind of weight. Every creak in the house felt louder. Every car engine from the street set your nerves on edge.

Still, you did what you could to fill the silence.

Polly brewed another pot of tea, stronger this time. She moved with the same grace she always did, but her eyes were sharper, constantly flicking toward the window. Watching.

Ada had taken up residence on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she flipped through the paper, occasionally snorting at headlines and offering running commentary whether anyone responded or not.

“They described it as eventful,” she muttered, puffing on a cigarette. “Birmingham’s bloody standards, I suppose.” 

You offered a small, dry smile, but the silence that followed felt like it had weight—like the walls themselves were listening.

Still, you did what you could to fill it.

Across the room, Esme sat cross-legged on the floor, her skirt bunched around her and her dark braid swinging over one shoulder. She was carving something small from a scrap of wood, the shavings collecting in a soft pile beside her like snow. The little figure looked like it might become a horse, or maybe a wolf—it was hard to tell.

Every few minutes, she’d glance up at the fireplace or the box still sitting tucked beneath the sideboard, her eyes narrowing.

Finn was curled up in the armchair near the window, a heavy knit blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He wasn’t reading the book open in his lap so much as staring through it, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the door.

You weren’t sure he even realized he was chewing on his thumbnail until Polly gently reached over and tugged his hand away, replacing it with a warm teacup.

“Drink,” she murmured. 

He didn’t argue. Just nodded once, quiet as ever, and took a sip.

You watched him for a moment—how small he looked in that big chair, how tightly he gripped the cup in both hands like it might keep him grounded.

Later, Ada convinced everyone to help her bake something—though "bake" might’ve been generous. It was more her ordering Finn around the kitchen while you tried not to burn your fingers on the dishcloth.

“Better learn how to run the house if you’re going to be Mrs. Shelby,” Ada teased, hip-bumping you aside as she took over your attempt at sifting flour. 

Polly made a noise in her throat. “Like any man in this family could run anything without us.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head as the oven clanked and groaned to life.

There was a moment where things almost felt normal. Like you were just five people in a house with too much time on your hands, not waiting for word from a man in the midst of waging war in the streets.

As dusk settled outside, casting long shadows over the floorboards, Polly poured a glass of sherry for each of you and lit the lamps one by one.

“I used to hate nights like this,” she said suddenly. “All the waiting. Reminded me too much of the war. Sitting and staring at walls.”

You glanced at her, something aching in your chest. Your fingers curled around the stem of the glass, the sherry untouched. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, throwing flickering light across the sitting room, and for a moment, you weren't in Small Heath anymore.

You were standing in a narrow hallway that smelled of iodine and burning wool. Your apron stiff with blood. The quiet in between waves louder than the screaming ever was.

"I used to wait, too," you murmured, eyes unfocused. "Back at the aid station. We'd hear the shelling in the distance, and we'd wait. For trucks. For stretchers. For whoever came through the door next.”

No one said anything. 

You took a slow breath. “Sometimes… It was hours. Just silence. And the longer it went on, the more unbearable it got. Because I knew it meant something worse was coming. Something big.”

The image came back too easily—white bandages stained red, the tin cup of tea someone had tried to offer you with shaking hands, the endless shuffle of boots in corridors.

“And then,” you continued, voice low, “someone would come in missing half their face. Or screaming. Or already dead. And I’d move. I’d do my job. I’d stitch and clean and calm and talk and hope they made it until morning. But in those hours before?”

You looked down at your hands, flexing them like you could still feel the sting of alcohol and the way gloves would stick to your skin.

“In those hours, I felt so useless. Like a ghost in my own body.”

Ada reached out, wordlessly placing her hand over yours.

You didn’t look up, but you gripped her fingers tightly. “I’ve never heard you talk much about the war,” she said quietly. 

You let out a huff. “It’s not something I like to remember.”

Polly, quiet as ever, just nodded. 

You sat back in your chair, the warmth of the fire barely reaching your skin.

And as the clock ticked on, you waited again. Only this time, it wasn’t for the wounded to come through the door. It was for the man you loved to walk back through it in one piece.

…

The windows had gone dark.

Outside, the streetlamps buzzed to life one by one, casting long, fractured streaks of light across the living room floor. The day had slipped quietly into night, unnoticed until the shadows began to stretch.

Someone had drawn the curtains halfway earlier, but the wind kept nudging them open, making them flutter like restless ghosts. The fire had burned down to embers. The room was warm, but the silence made it feel colder than it was.

You sat curled in one of the armchairs, mug in hand, long gone cold. The others had grown quiet, too. Even Ada, who’d been talking just minutes before, was now staring blankly at the wall, a cigarette burning low between her fingers.

And then, finally, the phone rang.

Everyone froze.

No one moved to answer it at first. Polly was the one who finally rose from her chair, smooth and composed as ever, though you could see the tension in the set of her shoulders. She disappeared into the hall, footsteps light but brisk, the ringing still echoing in your ears.

No one spoke while she was gone.

Finn lay beside you on the couch, his head nearly resting in your lap and his blanket bunched up at his waist. He’d drifted in and out of sleep for the last hour, the tension finally wearing down into exhaustion. Now, his eyes were open again, watching the dancing glow of the firelight with a distant, heavy-lidded stare.

Your hand rested lightly against his shoulder, thumb brushing absently back and forth. He didn’t say anything, but he leaned into the touch like it grounded him.

“He’s gonna find the man who's doing all of this, right?” Finn murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

You glanced down at him. “Of course. Tommy always does.”

Finn nodded, but it was a quiet, solemn sort of nod. Not a child’s blind faith—something closer to a weary kind of knowing. Like he understood, even at twelve, that when Tommy Shelby went looking for someone, he found them.

“I wish I could help,” he murmured, voice barely above the fire’s crackle. “I’m a Shelby, too.”

You looked at the flicker of frustration in his young face, and the way his fists curled beneath the blanket. He was so young. Too young to be carrying that name like a burden instead of a legacy.

He stared into the flames, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Everyone else is doing something. Aunt Polly, Arthur, John… even Ada sometimes. I just get told to stay out of the way.”

Your fingers smoothed down the back of his hair, gentle, slow. “That’s not a punishment, you know. That’s protection. Because you’re important to all of them.”

He stayed quiet after that, eyes locked on the fire, jaw set in that stubborn Shelby way.

Polly’s voice rose faintly in the hall, sharper now. You couldn’t make out the words, but the tension in them cut clear through the wall.

Finn blinked slowly. “He’s mad.”

You didn’t answer.

Because yes—yes, he was.

But more than that, he was afraid. And that was always worse.

The call ended a minute later, and Polly returned to the room, her face composed but pale. You felt Finn tense as he shifted, pretending to still be asleep as Polly’s eyes swept the room.

“He’s alright,” she said, voice carefully measured. “Following a lead. John and Arthur are with him. Says he’ll be back late.”

Esme made a sound in the back of her throat and rose to her feet, brushing shavings from her skirt. “That calls for a drink.”

Without waiting for agreement, she crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle—deep amber, expensive enough to be reserved for more than casual sipping. She popped the cork with a practiced twist and set a handful of glasses down on the table.

“No arguments,” she added, already pouring. “I’m not sitting here sober while we all wait for another ghost to knock.”

Ada stretched her legs out on the couch, accepting a glass with a shrug. 

Polly raised a brow as she took hers. 

You hesitated for half a second before accepting the drink Esme handed you. The liquid warmed your palm instantly, and you welcomed the sting of it when you took a sip.

Finn still lay beside you on the couch, quiet, still bundled under his blanket. His eyes were closed now, lashes brushing pale cheeks, his face slack with something close to real sleep. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his small fingers curled slightly around the edge of the cushion.

The hours slipped by slowly, thick with silence and flickering firelight.

No one said much anymore. The whisky had mostly been forgotten. Polly kept her seat near the front window, arms folded tightly, eyes fixed on the darkened street like she could will headlights to appear. Ada sat curled up in the armchair, chin resting on her fist, her cigarette burned down to the filter without her noticing. Esme stretched out on the rug, head tilted back, fingers tapping idly on the floor in a steady rhythm.

You were still on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, staring into the fire but seeing very little.

Finn had fallen asleep again, his breathing slow and even. You brushed hair from his forehead, pulling the blanket higher. He never stirred.

The house felt like it was holding its breath.

Finally—sometime past one—a car pulled up out front.

Everyone jolted upright.

The front door opened a moment later, and in stepped John, then Arthur. Both looked exhausted. Rumpled. John’s knuckles were scraped raw, and Arthur’s coat was soaked through at the shoulders.

But neither of them were bleeding. And neither of them were Tommy.

“What happened?” Polly stood immediately. “Where’s Tommy?”

Arthur let out a long breath as he peeled off his coat. “Still out.”

“He sent us back,” John added, voice low. “Said he needed to follow something up on his own.”

Polly’s jaw tightened. “Of course he did.”

Ada stood now too, eyes narrowed. “And he didn’t say where?”

“Said he’d be back before sunrise,” Arthur muttered, running a hand through his wet hair. “Said not to wait up.”

“Like hell,” Polly snapped. “What did he find out?”

John glanced toward Finn’s sleeping form, then back at you. “Someone who helped the Italians get close. Name came up in a backroom at The Barrel. Tommy wants to make sure it was real before he tells anyone.”

Arthur, still drying rain from his face with his sleeve, shrugged like it was out of his hands. “He said it had to be quiet. If word gets out that we know, this bastard’ll disappear.”

Your gaze drifted to the window. The rain had picked up again, tapping against the glass in a steady rhythm. You could just make out the reflection of the firelight behind you, but the street beyond was a blur of shadows.

Polly stood by the door for another minute before finally locking it with a quiet click, her jaw still tight. The echo of it seemed to settle something, if only on the surface.

She stayed there for a moment longer, her hand resting on the doorknob, eyes scanning the dark street beyond the frosted glass. The house behind her had fallen into a heavy, worn kind of silence—the kind that clings after too many hours of bad news and not enough rest.

John rubbed a hand over his face, rolling his shoulders with a grunt as he turned back toward the room. “I’m calling it,” he said, voice low but firm. “If he’s not back yet, he’s not coming until morning.”

No one argued.

It was the kind of resignation that didn’t need discussion anymore.

Arthur gave a small nod, already slipping off his coat, and Esme pulled the curtains tighter as she passed, muttering something under her breath about the cold seeping in through the floorboards.

No one made a move to leave the house. Not tonight.

Without a word, John and Esme drifted toward the back room they’d shared the night before, boots scuffing quietly against the floorboards.

Arthur bent down at the couch, brushing Finn’s hair back before lifting him carefully into his arms. The boy barely stirred, his head falling against Arthur’s shoulder, small fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Little bugger’s a deadweight,” Arthur muttered softly, but there was affection in it, deep and worn.

He carried Finn up the stairs, his footsteps slow and deliberate, while Ada trailed behind. 

And just like that, one by one, the rest of the house began to dim. Floorboards creaked overhead. A door clicked shut. A blanket rustled into place.

Only the fire remained—low and steady, casting warm shadows against the walls.

Polly returned to her chair. And you stayed beside her, both of you facing the quiet like it was something alive.

Neither of you spoke for a long while.

The fire popped gently, and somewhere above, the faintest creak of someone turning in their sleep.

You didn’t say anything. Just stared into the fire until the shapes in the flames started to blur.

After a while, you asked, “Was it always like this? Before me?”

Polly huffed a quiet laugh. “You think this is new?”

You smiled faintly. “No. I guess I just thought… maybe it wasn’t this constant.”

Polly leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. “The only thing constant in this family is that someone always thinks they can end it. And they always underestimate how far we’ll go to keep it standing.”

The fire crackled again, louder this time. You watched the embers pulse and fade, over and over.

The room fell quiet after that. 

Your body grew heavier with each passing minute. The weight of the night, the fear, the warmth of the fire—it all tugged at your limbs.

You meant to stay awake, meant to be there when the door finally opened, and when Tommy returned.

But your eyes fluttered shut sometime after two, and the last thing you felt was the soft dip of the cushion beside you, the fire painting the backs of your eyelids in flickering gold.

And then there was nothing but sleep.

…

You stirred at the sensation of fingers brushing lightly across your forehead, the touch feather-light, careful. Gentle fingertips swept a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, then lingered for a breath too long, like the hand didn’t want to leave.

A voice followed, low and warm, barely above a whisper. It reached you through the haze of sleep like something half-dreamed:

“Sweetheart.”

Your brows knit slightly as your body slowly remembered where you were—the couch, the fire, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your bones. But it was the voice that pulled you further awake. Familiar. Rough around the edges. His.

Your eyes fluttered open, lashes heavy, the dim glow of the dying fire casting him in soft shadow.

Tommy was crouched beside you, still in his coat, the collar damp from rain. His eyes looked darker in the low light, tired, rimmed with something too raw to name, but they softened the moment they met yours.

His hand stayed on your cheek now, thumb sweeping slowly across your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were real. Still here. Still safe.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding trembled out of you.

And without a word, you reached for him.

Your fingers barely curled around the lapel of his coat before he moved, leaning in and slipping one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back. You let out a small, unsteady breath as he lifted you from the couch, holding you close like something precious.

Your head dropped against his shoulder, your face nestling instinctively into the curve of his neck. He was warm beneath the damp chill of his coat, smelling of rain, smoke, and the faint trace of whiskey. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your cheek.

He said nothing, and just held you tighter.

The house was silent as he carried you upstairs, every step slow, careful, deliberate. His boots creaked against the old wood floor, the faint sound of the fire still crackling somewhere below.

At the top of the stairs, he hesitated only long enough to shoulder open the bedroom door, the familiar scent of the space you’d shared the night before welcoming you like an exhale.

He crossed to the bed and lowered you gently onto the mattress, his hands never leaving you, not even as he pulled the blankets over your legs and brushed a final kiss to your forehead.

You blinked up at him, only half-awake now. “You came back,” you whispered. 

He shed his coat, tossing it on the chair in the corner, before loosening his collar.

“I always come back,” he murmured. 

Your voice was quiet. Barely a whisper against the hush of the room. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just worked at the buttons of his shirt for a moment, each one slow, deliberate, like even that required more energy than he had left.

“I followed a name,” he said finally, voice rough with fatigue. “It was someone who’s been close to us for years.”

You watched him in the low lamplight, your cheek still pressed to the pillow. His hands moved with tired precision, sliding the shirt from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a second glance.

He had a bruise on his side—like a shadow blooming on his ribs. He ran a hand through his hair, then let out a long breath and turned toward the bed.

You shifted to make space, lifting the blanket as he eased in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The chill of the room clung to his skin, but he was warm beneath it—his body radiating heat, his breathing still uneven.

Neither of you spoke as he pulled you gently into him, one arm wrapping around your waist, his other hand sliding beneath the pillow.

You curled instinctively against him, your forehead brushing his chest, your palm resting just over his heart.

“Did they talk?” you asked quietly. 

Tommy’s jaw ticked. “Eventually.”

The word settled heavy between you.

You studied him in the quiet—how tired he looked, how far away his eyes had gone. Like some part of him was still in that back room, still in the moment he’d gotten the truth he’d gone looking for.

You swallowed, hesitant. “Who was it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the ceiling, his fingers absently tracing a line across your hip beneath the blanket. The touch was thoughtless, gentle—something to keep his hands busy while his mind worked through the damage.

“His name is O’Dolan,” he said finally. “Used to run messages for us. He helps with small jobs. He sold some information,” Tommy continued, voice flat. “Didn’t even ask who it was going to. Said he needed the money. Said he didn’t think it would lead to blood.”

Tommy’s jaw worked as he stared at the ceiling, like he couldn’t quite unclench it.

“He told them everything. Which doors we’d use. What time the guests would arrive. Which men were watching the grounds. Even mentioned you—”

His arm tightened around you as if he’d said too much, like the words themselves made the danger real all over again.

You felt it in the way his body tensed, the way his breath hitched just slightly before he kissed your forehead, soft, lingering. Like a promise, or maybe an apology.

You stayed still for a moment, soaking in the warmth of him, the smell of rain and smoke clinging faintly to his skin. But the question had already lodged in your throat, and it burned too much to hold back.

“What does Luca Changretta even want, Tommy?”

He stilled beside you, his hand frozen against your hip. You felt him inhale through his nose, slow and sharp.

“Revenge,” he said finally. “For his father. His name was Vicente Changretta. For so long, we were bleeding territory. Changretta was playing both sides—taking money from us and from them. Passing messages. Selling lies. We warned him twice. There’s been a lot of bad blood.”

His eyes flicked toward the ceiling, gaze far away now.

“Not long ago, John shot Luca’s brother—and it started a chain reaction. They tried to retaliate. Nearly put a bullet in Arthur. It escalated fast.”

You felt your breath catch. 

“So I made the decision,” he said. “Vicente was handed over to us.”

There was no pride in his voice. No bravado. Just the blunt weight of a man who’d lived long enough with the choices he made.

“You killed him?”

Tommy shook his head. “Arthur pulled the trigger. But I tied him to a chair in a butcher’s shop. And now, Luca wants me to feel what he felt.”

You rested your head against him, heart pounding.

“He wants us to bleed,” he said quietly. “One by one. And he wants me last.”

You closed your eyes, your hand fisting in the fabric of the blanket.

“You weren’t supposed to be part of this,” he said, voice rough.

You looked up at him. “Too late for that.”

His jaw flexed. “I will protect you. I promise you.”

“I know.”

He met your eyes, and something shifted there—just for a second. The sharpness dulled. The weight settled.

You reached up and touched his face, your thumb brushing beneath his eye. 

He caught your wrist gently, pressing a kiss to your palm like a silent promise. Then he tucked you back against his chest, his chin resting against your hair.

And in the quiet, with the storm still circling outside, the two of you held on to each other, because there was nothing left to say, and nowhere else either of you wanted to be.

<< Previous Chapter

Next Chapter >>

[sevgilimsatoru]

Error: 410 (Self Aware!AU Caleb Edition) Part 12

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 A/N

Summary: A self aware!AU with Caleb and NonMC! reader.

Tags: Caleb x reader, Caleb x NonMC! reader, Caleb x fem!reader, angst, fluff, Stressedout!reader, Hypersexual!reader.

Word count: 902

Inspired by: @ittybittyfanblog

A/N: Sorry, this isn't really a good chapter but I'm kind of sick and I have an important exam in a week. I haven't studied anything at all so I'm nervous about that too. It'll be fine. Take care ya'll. Have a good day!

 "If you bled, I'll bleed the same if you're scared, I'm on my way

Did you run away? Did you run away? I don't need to know. If you ran away, if you ran away; Come back home

Just come home"

Caleb sat in his office, looking through reports. It was way past midnight; he should've gone home long ago but he couldn't. He was unable to find a way back to you.

He groaned, his gloved hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose, closing the file. Nothing—nothing at all. He had looked through every restricted piece of information he could find in the logs of the fleet.

He could recite the words in his sleep, considering how many times he had read the same reports trying to find something.

Caleb needed to look elsewhere. Linkon City, DAA records, N109 zone, Onychinus, aether cores… deep space… whatever it took. No matter how long he'll keep searching.

But he'll have to be careful in using his influence. He couldn't gamble with the possibility of Ever finding out about his intentions. Caleb rolled his neck as he stood up, picking up the few files that might be of some importance.

He'll need to meet with a few old friends.

Returning to his apartment, Caleb booked the first flight to Lincoln City. He changed out of his colonel uniform, laying down on his bed. Putting on a song that you both used to listen to, he hoped that it would lull him to sleep and he'll dream of you tonight.

Caleb had gotten MC's new address; he had apologized and let her go, soon after he started realizing that keeping her with him wasn't doing either of them any favors.

Caleb stepped into the elevator, and a guy followed behind him. Pressing the button of the floor above MC's. Caleb's lilac eyes flickered down to look at him.

Silver hair, blue eyes, a few inches shorter than himself, fit. Wearing a white sweater and dark pants.

The guy seemed tired.

Caleb sighed, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes, leaning back against the elevator wall, and putting his hands inside his pockets. "Late night?" He asked, waiting for the guy to reply.

It took a moment for him to reply, shrugging. "You could call it that." He said, making Caleb smile slightly.

"Not the kind you are thinking of. I was working."

"Ahh… right. What do you do"? Caleb asked, silence falling between them.

"I'm a hunter." He replied, letting out a sigh. As if this conversation was making him exhausted. Caleb could feel his eyes on him, expecting an answer in return.

"I'm a DAA pilot," Caleb said, the lie slipping out as easily as breathing. The other guy didn't reply. Caleb didn't mind stepping out when the elevator dinged and the door opened.

Caleb walked over to MC's apartment, knocking on the door as he waited for her to open the door. MC was surprised when she saw Caleb; she knew he was going to visit, but not so soon.

She welcomes him inside, closing the door behind him. "I need a few favors." Caleb said, looking back at MC.

"What is this about? We haven't talked for months, and the first thing you ask of me is a favor? Really, Caleb?" She said with a scoff, walking up to him.

"It's a long story, I'll tell you. Just listen, Pipsqueak." Caleb said, watching as MC reluctantly sat down.

It took Caleb over an hour to recite almost everything. He didn't tell her a lot of things; that was for the best, and by the end of it. MC wasn't sure if she was more confused or concerned.

"So, you mean to tell me that you fell in love with a girl from some other universe and you want to find a way to go to her world so you can spend your life with her?" MC said, rubbing the back of her neck. She honestly wanted nothing more than to call Zayne and put Caleb in a psychiatric hospital.

She was sure he had lost his mind, but he seemed so sincere, to the point he came to her for help.

The Caleb she grew up with, who never cried, never needed help, and always had everything under control, was practically begging her for help.

It was weird and unsettling. The only person who was never swayed by anything looked like death trying to find some girl who didn't even exist.

"You'll do anything to find her?"

"Anything."

"I'll help you. If she makes you happy, then I'll help you go to her. I can't stand to see you like this. It's off-putting."

Caleb couldn't believe her words. She'll actually help him after all that he had done.

"Thanks, pips. I'll be in your debt for this."

"There is no need for that. Just go and get some sleep. And take care of yourself. You look like a walking corpse." MC said, picking up her phone. "There are a few people that I can ask..." she said, trailing off.

"Hello, Sylus?" Caleb heard her say into the phone. He just grunted, walking over to the couch and falling back on it. Things like these will take time, he knew.

But he can wait—he can wait for an eternity and more if it means he'll get to see you again, feel your warmth, and feel your heartbeat instead of just watching you and dreaming about you.

Caleb closed his eyes, watching MC look at him, her conversation on the phone blurring into a distant hum. Soon enough, he felt the warm embrace of sleep.

Tag list: @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @aneertawrites @etsuniiru @demon-master-zero @angstylittleb1tch @mcdepressed290 @ittybittyfanblog @winwinwrites @alifyairl @huhleighna @calebsbeanpeeler @bookworrm1999 @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @babyx91 @multisstuff @beomluvrr @sunnylittleapple @lunia-likes-pomegranet @imhere2dosomething @lostpsycho13 @april-likes-smut @calebsbabyapple @mephisto-with-a-knife @wooasecret @anatherone

[voltronthelostlion]

I got 3 hours of sleep cause I went to bed at 5 in the morning and woke up at 8:30 for church, so if this makes no sense, I apologize. I'm currently drinking a Strawberry Lemon Poppi (i prefer Olipop, but Aldi's been having a ton of Poppi in stock soooo) and a whole lot of water.

I'm feeling out of sorts.

And I'd like to drone on about Chapter 32 cause I can 😵‍💫 Status below the cut (i should probably just call it a day and go to bed lololol).

status as of 04/08/2025 + my braindump from there:

I started writing Lotacxa stuff on and off since mid February 2025 and sure, perhaps 8k (I dunno) words are copy pasted from the VLD transcripts of the final episodes (and they’ll get cut cause, well, Lotor’s barely in the official episodes), but that’s still 2/3 of this chapter being written not pertaining to official episodes.

These words are taking my blood, sweat, and tears. I dunno where we’re going with this because frankly, I’m over it. But I’m also not over it and am determined to make this chapter an amazing one.

I wanted to split it into chapters because I fear it’ll get too long and I don’t want anyone to get reader fatigue, but to combat that, I’ve split it into 4 parts. It genuinely reads as a novella.

Maybe I’ll push back the update to end of May rather than beginning of May because I like how I’ve been able to take my time 😭 Like reading audiobooks again made me realize I need to do a better job unpacking and setting the scenes up because I don’t want there to be white room syndrome. And it gets tricky for me because I do watch the episodes while writing so sometimes I forget to do that. I feel like chapter 31 was pretty good in terms of descriptions and stuff, but it could be better. I’m kinda scared for chapter 33 because how on earth am I supposed to describe the rift between realities?? It’s literally just white space with nothing there 😭

Anyway I’m really excited for this chapter. It’s gotten significantly away from me but oh well. What chapter hasn’t gotten away from me at this point AHAHA

You know what, I’m gonna blame it on the fact that it’s in third person. Third person POV gives me more liberty to describe anything and everything 😼

present steph now; status as of 04/27/2025:

well, we're not at 4 parts anymore.

i'm going for quality, not quantity, but somehow, i'm nearing 40k words. i'm so over this. i don't even know when it got so long, and it's not done or even close to done, cause i'm stubborn and neeeeeeed it to turn out how i want it to.

i know i keep complaining about chapter 32, but i think i'm just frustrated with myself because of how much pressure i've put. like, all the VTLL readers are so, so sweet and supportive and i feel like if i don't do a good enough job, i'll be letting them down. i dunno.

it is taking every ounce of self-control not to just call it a day and publish part by part. part 1 isn't even completely done cause i decided i need to lock in and be descriptive. i'm on page 12 of rereading/rewriting/editing and i love it so far, but i feel so guilty for not having it done. i feel guilty for being on an updating hiatus and for not writing that much for VTLL.

i know i shouldn't feel this way because writing takes a lot of brainpower, but i'm not listening to the logical part of me 🧍🏻‍♀️ i still have 3 papers and 2 finals, but my brain's already on summer mode.

last night (the reason i stayed up so late) i finally had a spark of creativity and the words flew through me. i haven't written with that mindset since chapter 26 (i wrote that one all in one day. i don't know how that happened LOL). i've been in a writing slump for a few months now—probably due to uni—and i was addicted to the dopamine rush of finally putting words onto a document without constantly second-guessing myself in a steady stream. my fingers on the keys and brain were one, and i'm genuinely so excited because i thought i'd lost all my creative juices.

i didn't—they were just momentarily depleted. this fatigue is only temporary. i gotta keep reminding myself of this.

anyway, whenever chapter 32 does get completed and published, i'll be a happy, happy gal.

[angryschnauzer]

I realised two months have gone by since i last updated you all, i'm not even sure if anyone is interested anymore. I know i haven't been on much, perhaps sporadically coming on and mindlessly reblogging Henry stuff just for a little escape, but its intermittent at best. I had hoped to be back to writing by now, but life is still a huge pile of shit.

I'm run ragged trying to pay the bills. My wedding decorations business is halfway between slow and dead; the cost of living crisis means weddings aren't really happening, and if they are most of the items i do people are making themselves. My side gig in ebay flipping is quiet too but at least its trickling by. I don't mention this much as people get a lot of abuse over 'thrift store flippers' (Charity Shop resellers here in the UK), but right now its what's keeping my family fed. I buy clothing for £1 from the stinky dregs bin in a charity shop, wash it, mend it, resell it for £4. I'm not making millions or even thousands. I'm lucky if i'm bringing in £150 a week which barely covers our weekly food shop. Its draining that when i do eventually mention this to my friends they immediately start moaning at me that i'm the one 'ruining' charity shops and why its pushing the prices up. But when i calmly tell them its that or i don't eat they go quiet. I'm not the one pushing a 2nd hand coat for £25 which was only £20 brand new which most high street charity shops are doing. Do i like doing this? No. Do i have to? Yes. Because i sure as ain't cute enough for onlyfans.

But the majority of my time over the last couple of months has been spent caring for our son. He's 8 and has type 1 diabetes, and since school started back in September one little shit in his class has spent every waking moment bullying him. This little shit has been stabbing my son with pencils, poking him in the kidneys with whatever he has to hand, laughing and sneering at him at every opportunity even when he's just walking past. Having the adrenaline and cortisol in my son's bloodstream affects how his insulin works, and he builds up an insulin resistance because of all the other hormones in his bloodstream. I've had so many meetings with the school, and have had to get the board of governors involved because when your 8 year old kid says quietly to you "It would be better if i wasn't alive as then *Little Shit* wouldn't be able to bully me" your heart breaks into pieces.

He needs my support more than anything, so every single other thing has been put by the wayside. And its tough. He acts out at home, messes around with his dinner because he feels he needs to be able to control something, but that in turn messes up insulin dosing so i'm spending half the night dealing with highs and lows for his blood sugars. I get at most 5 hours sleep a night.

I have no more energy left. I'm not eating, because i just can't stomach it. I'm 43 and hitting menopause, but my doctor doesn't want to know because "You just need to loose some weight" (don't get be started on fat bias from the NHS).

So i'm filling my time with volunteering at school so i can be 'around' for my Little Dude. He knows that if he's having an awful day, he will find me in the office sorting through paperwork for our next fundraiser. Its not what i want to be doing, but its what i need to be doing.

One day i hope to get back to my writing. I miss being creative and i hate that i have so many stories part written/published. As the months tick by i actually end up seeing stories written by others that have the same characters/plotlines. This is no-ones fault that two stories exist on the same synopsis, it would just seem that they and I have taken the same inspiration from media at some point. But it makes me scared that if i now publish a story i started 2 years ago, i'll be accused of stealing an idea. I don't know what to do. So i just leave my WIP folder abandoned.

For everyone that has stayed with me thank you. For those that have moved onto pastures new, i wish you well and hold no malice.

I do love you all

Mama Schnauz

x

[bumpin-thatbeat]

2/5/2025

hi my love

it's another day where you're sleeping past noon and i'm watching your call ID count the seconds we've been together. i didn't sleep much after you went to bed. which is probably why i'm in this weird writing state. it's not weird in the sense that it's bad. more weird in the sense that it's... fuzzy. dissociate-y. but i don't mind being like this for now, just as long as i get to bed at some point.

as you know, we woke up at 2AM. it might've been 3 or 4 hours of sleep. we called and watched a creepcast video together. it didn't feel like anything special in the moment but i think it's one of those nights that you think back years later. like, yeah, we did do that together. and we had fun. more fun that i comprehend right now.

i feel like your love for us is complex while ours is so simple. i don't know if any kind of love is either. it doesn't feel that way but surprisingly there's things i don't know how to describe. i can put things into words easily but if you asked me how to describe my love for you... i feel like it's only three words. i love you. there's no other way about it. we've never fully discussed it but i've noticed that we say it first when you're asleep and when we go down for bed at night, you say it last. i dunno what else to say other than that's so us.

it just overfills, i guess. like my heart is ready to burst. like i could cry from how much i love you guys. i haven't felt this way in a long while. it's a lot. but not in a bad way. sometimes i wanna rip out my heart out of my chest and just place it somewhere else. somewhere where it can be forgotten and maybe displayed. more as a decoration, you know? but with you, i remember that it's beating. that i'm alive and my heart is beating hard and that i have feelings and love to give. i dunno if i'm ready to feel that fully, but is anyone ever?

i love you guys.

to: @thepaddock

[zealouscanonindeer]

Little love

Post OH. Fluffy Angst. I never could resist a happy ending.

Synopsis: Ethan and Aspen's tiff affects a third individual more than they could ever fathom.

*******

Last night had been absolutely crazy. Ethan was on a day shift which ended up becoming a night shift only because Bloom suddenly decided to start a new policy and the administration board was in splits so now Ethan had to find middle ground with all of them never once losing sight of his patients. So no matter how much the 2 and a half year old human, pressed against my chest wailed for her daddy, it was not to be.

"Nooo, I. Want. Daddy. "

"I know, baby. "

I only sighed, knowing there was nothing I could do to quench Jade's crying fit, the only person who could was too far away to provide comfort.

Her hazel eyes were overflowing with tears, her rosy cheeks flushed, tiny hiccups alternating between her sobs. Feeling absolutely helpless, I simply held her, rubbing her back comfortingly as she continued.

After almost half an hour, which felt like eternity, she finally tired herself out and snuggled into me on the king sized bed in our room. Her tiny whimpers subsided, as she breathing slowly calmed and steadied itself, tiny snores surfaced as the remnants of her tears stained her cheeks, running down her jaw and neck. I quickly wiped them out with my thumb, heart breaking at the sight of my daughter. I closed my eyes, exhaustion catching up with me.

I woke with a headache and ringing in my ears to the sound of the bell , Jade was still pressed against me but the 6'2 figure keeping the sheets warm was still amiss. I slowly pulled away from Jade's grip and wandered to the front door.

"Yes? " I spoke into the intercom.

"Sweetheart, it's me, It seems I've forgotten my keys. "

"Come on up, E. " I said, letting him in.

Head still pounding, I sat on the couch, curling my legs under me as I waited for Ethan to join me. The door opened very slowly as he walked in, noticing me on the couch, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry I woke you, I apparently had the keys, just couldn't find it." He placed them in the bowl by the door, walking towards me.

"The fuck, Ethan! Ugh. " My outburst startled both him and myself but the slowly rising pounding of my head and the immense exhaustion was enough to turn me into a spiteful bitch. I didn't even realise the tears now flowing down my face.

"Your daughter just cried herself to sleep cause she wanted her cuddles from daddy who wasn't here cause he was stuck in some stupid meeting with the administration board. Ethan it's been 4 years now, you told me you wanted to give this position up, wanted more time with your family. I can't do this on my own, not with another one on the way, I need you. Please. " My voice broke as the words left me, practically begging and I stumbled onto the sofa in the crying mess.

Ethan just stood frozen, unable to find his voice, the silence only filled by my sniffles as I gathered myself.

"You're..? "

"Yes, 5 weeks, you haven't been around to notice the sickness or anything much less find a moment to ourselves so I could tell you. This is not how I wanted it to go. "

"You know we are finding a replacement, it's harder than I thought.. I can't just leave.. "

"Yes you can. You've done it before. " I slightly winced at my impulsive words. That was unnecessary, dredging up the past only brought back the painful memories.

Ethan seemed to think so too, cause his azure eyes only glared at me, not with anger but with something worse..hurt. I wasn't gonna back down, the words were out anyway.

"I'll take the guest room. " I only nodded at his suggestion and waited until he gathered his stuff from our room and walked out, closing the guest room door behind him with a resounding thud.

I made my way back to the bed, where Jade sat up, her eyes blurry with sleep, widening with fear and confusion at the commotion. She had noticed daddy enter the room, waiting for him to cuddle her and give her assuring kisses, instead he had picked up his pyjamas and toothbrush and walked out,like she didn't even exist. She held her arms out but I was too spent to pick her up, I only gathered the covers, pulling them over us as she slowly lowered herself onto the bed next to me, closing her scared eyes.

**********

The next morning, I woke up feeling the light hit my face, waking up before me, usually Ethan would draw the blinds in. I groaned, almost calling out for him when I felt a tiny squirm beside me, consciousness and last night slowly coming back to me.

Groggily, I sat up, Jade was asleep on her stomach, her face pressed against the mattress, her slightly parted mouth causing her drool to stain the sheets.

"Sicko." I snickered, completely enamoured. I quickly kissed her temple before throwing the covers off my legs and making my way to the kitchen. I halted by my Ethan's door, the primal urge to check in on him taking over me as I peered into the guest room, taking in my husbands snoring form, sprawled over the smaller bed, his feet hanging off the edge. I smiled involuntarily at the sight, slowly closing the door.

"That's your daddy. He sleeps like a log. " I gently whispered, cradling my stomach. "He loves you so much."

I made my way to the fridge, pouring myself some orange juice, before settling on the couch, donning my glasses to read the AMC Medical Monthly.

Tiny feet against the tiles pulled by attention away as I looked up to see Jade waddle, monkey plushie in hand towards me. I held my arms out to her and she quickly scrambled up my lap, leaning her entire weight against me, settling against my chest. We stayed like that in silence, I gently rocked us back and forth.

"Mama? " She mumbled against me.

"Yes, doll? "

She sat up to look me in the eye, her gaze fille with emotions. concern etched in them, her tiny brow which mimicked Ethan's furrowed as I gently ran my hand over it to relax her.

"Tell me you love me. "

"What? Oh doll, of course. I love you a million percent. I'll always love you, forever and always. Never doubt that, not once. So does daddy ,I promise."

" He didn't give me goodnight cuddles when he came. He was real mad. And so were you, you said stupid." She looked down, her fingers fidgeting with my nightgown. She sounded lost, and it was my fault completely.

I waited for her to continue, her next words sending my heart into splinters.

"Why don't you love daddy anymore? "

" I love him , this big. " I stretched my arms out as far as I could, making a silly face causing her to giggle.

" I'll always love your daddy, always. Because he gave me the best gift there ever was. "

"Was it like my new blocks ? " Her eyes widening in excitement at the thought of the secret gift.

"No, doll. It's you. You're the best thing ever in my life and being your Mama is the most amazing thing that could have happened to me. And you know why it happened? "

"Why? "

"Because of daddy, he's the greatest husband and father but above all he's a good man and I'll never ever stop loving him. "

"He loves you too, dis big. " She leaned back, stretching her arms just like I did.

"Let's say good morning, yeah? " She nodded enthusiastically, her hair falling over her face and eyes. She quickly brushed them away, running over to the guest room, turning to me when she reached the door, too little to reach the handle. I opened it for her as she pushed herself onto the bed with difficulty.

Ethan was still asleep on his side, arms below the pillow and the comforter pushed down to his waist, his legs too long to fit were left bare. He lightly snored, making me realize how tired he'd been.

The love I felt for the man before me flowed through every inch of my body, hell it even resided in me. Jade made her way to him, steadying herself to stand using his back as support.

His snoring stopped as her hands clutched onto his back, one arm moving from under the pillow to Jade's standing form, gently flipping her over his back to his chest, causing a fit of giggles to leave her. Now she rested against his chest, looking into his eyes, her tiny arms caressing his bearded jaw as he smiled, taking one of her arms in his hand and pressing his lips to her palm before repeating the same with the other.

"Morning, daddy." She sat up and he followed suit.

"Morning, Jadie girl."

Her hands flew to his neck as she rested her head against his shoulder, looking sideways at me, smiling. I smiled back at her before moving my gaze to Ethan, only to find the stormy ocean already staring back at me.

"We need to talk. " I mouthed. He only nodded.

"Baby, you forgot monkey outside. " Jade mouth twisted into a O as she ran out to her beloved plushie.

"That's the best you could come up with? "

"I didn't see you try. " Before he could retort I walked over, adjusting myself in his lap, pushing my finger against his lips.

"Ethan, what I said last night was completely out of order and I'm so sorry. I have forgiven you and I meant it, I don't want you to think otherwise, not for a second."

He kissed my finger, grabbing my wrist with his large hand to pull it away. I replaced it with my lips, kissing him deeply as he held on to my shoulder. He broke away for air, resting his forehead against mine.

"Thank you. "

I continued, recounting my earlier conversation with Jade, his face falling as I finished my narration.

" I never want her to see her parents at war. I've seen enough of that with Louise to know what it does to a child. I've also felt like shit when she ignored me after an argument with Dad, like I wasn't worth comforting or even taken into consideration. I'll never want her to feel that. "

"Agreed."

" I found him Mommy!! " Jade runs in, her face scrunched as she gets onto the bed, trying to push me off Ethan's lap.

"I was sitting here, Mama. You sit there. " She pointed to the bed.

Ethan chuckled loudly as I almost felt jealous, not wanting to give up my husbands lap to this adorable human.

"You heard her. " Ethan reminded me, gently pushing me off his lap.

"Are you seriously pushing me off? " I scoffed, suddenly offended.

Jade was already nestled against him, looking up at him with so much adoration in her eyes I couldn't stay mad.

" I'm sorry sweetheart I didn't hug you last night. It just means you get all the more snuggles now. " His hands tickled her sides before he began blowing raspberries on her stomach, peals of laughter escaping from her.

"I love you both so much, Aspie. "

"Three of us. " I quickly corrected.

"Ah yes. " He smirked. "We need to have quite the celebration. Don't you agree, Rookie? "

"I may have a few things that come to mind. " I giggled, leaning in to capture his lips once more.

*********

A special thanks to @jamespotterthefirst @potionsprefect @perriewinklenerdie @rookie-ramsey @liaromancewriter @takemyopenheart @cariantha @jerzwriter @genevievemd @heauxplesslydevoted for inspiring me to write because of their amazing fics. I can never get enough of your writing. 😍

@choicesficwriterscreations

********

I'm thinking of starting a tag list. Let me know if you want to be added. That's it.

[hazard-and-friends]

6 months!

Old. 6 months old. I've only had her for almost-4-months.

Successes:

No accidents since December 21, and the ones in the 2 weeks prior to that were zoomies-induced

Nice walker, can go on the harness and pull gently or (with lots of reinforcement, but she is 6 months) on the collar and not pull at all

Alone in the car up to 75 minutes at a stretch or at home, crated, with Hazard, up to 2 hours

Sit/down/touch all fairly good

Drop it VERY good, 99% of the time she will spit the item out.

Very nice toy skills! Will drop a toy and wait to hear "take it" (tug) or "geddit" (fetch)

Her dog-dog social skills are insane. She is so good at adapting play to different confidence levels, or backing off entirely if the other dog is uninterested. She can navigate weird personal conflicts (like when a BC bitch decided to resource guard me) with ease and draw shy dogs into play. If this holds true, she's going to be an exceptional dog for socializing others.

Work in progress:

She can sleep through the night but only if (a) minimal food in the 2 hours before bed and (b) she poops right before bed. Otherwise we get up around 3 am to poop. This past week she's also had a streak where she decides there's Monsters outside and needs to huff about it. That's been steadily decreasing but we're still working on getting the poop schedule right.

We've graduated from the no-spill bowl. MOSTLY she doesn't go swimming in the water bowl, unless she's overtired in which case all bets are off.

Recall is uh, extant. Usually. Which is very good for 6 months lol

Evening relaxing remains something we need to actively remind her to do. I'm typing this post in the bedroom with her, because she won't wind down most nights in the living room--and she won't usually put herself in the bedroom to sleep. So someone goes into the bedroom with her, closes the door, and just hangs out for the last 1-2 hrs before bed, and that's working okay.

She's not as people-friendly as I (after all of Hazard's issues) would like. She's EAGER to meet people but not eager for them to meet her, head-shy, will flinch away from strangers. Like Hazard once you're in her circle you're in, and you can do whatever, and it's a lot easier to get in her circle, but hmm. More love on this I think.

Cat skills: She LOVELOVELOVES the cat. Penny even loves her back. But if Penny is in an accessible place (ie, 95% of the apartment) K'seil is incessant about bothering her, unless being actively distracted.

Leave it/trash is like, she Wants A Thing In Her Mouth on walks sometimes. So she'll dive at trash and shove it in her mouth--not EAT it, rarely even CHEW it, just Hold In Mouth. Which is why her 'drop it' is so stellar. 95% of the time she'll leave it if I can get the cue out, but the reason this is a WIP is she needs the cue. She doesn't have any sort of default "oh I should ignore this" yet. This goes double for certain trash bins in the apartment--thus far no thefts of anything dangerous, but she likes to chew apart masks and eat clumps of shed hair. I know how to fix this I just haven't put the work in.

Counter surfing is juuuust about a success but I don't wanna jinx it XD Very early on she was very persistent about trying to put feet on the kitchen counter, and through consistently ignoring/redirecting her from that and rewarding a down in the kitchen, we have gone...like a week or so? Without any attempts to get on the counter. So that's very nice, both because I hate counter surfing and because it validates my R+ approach.

Bite inhibition/mouthing I think is a WIP but might be a success, she's still Very Sharp sometimes but that's also when she's aroused, so we might just be having arousal problems (because she is 6 months). On walks about 75% of the time she can take a treat from my fingertips perfectly gently. She's still very mouthy, including with new people which is Ungreat, but it's steadily improving.

Body handling, while SO much better than Hazard, still needs some love. She'll let me brush the dremel against her nails but not hold it there, and rear nails have been a no-go since I quicked her fairly badly there. Brushing is 50/50.

Yikes:

Dogs in complex. She's not really reactive beyond staring at dogs outside the apartment complex, but inside it (how does she know. why does she know.) she is loudly and quickly vocal about There Is A Dog Over There. Think husky noises. We're making progress on this but it is still deeply embarassing.

Home alone without Hazard. I haven't done as much work on this as I should, because she can be in the car alone for an hour, so if he's got a class I can just bring her. But it would be nice. Sigh.

[homestuckdailyweekly]

Homestuck Daily - Week 4/End of Month 1 - 5/11/2024

Today marks the end of the first month of my real time Homestuck reread. If my math is correct (and that is a big if), I have 83 months of reading Homestuck left. Based on some more math, I first read Homestuck roughly 50 months ago. I don't know what point I am making with this, except for the fact that time is long and strange.

If I am being honest, I am finding it a hard time to write this update, because it feels like basically nothing happened this entire week. It probably doesn't help that I've been playing Hades 2, an extremely fun and good game, all week. So everything I have to say about this week of Homestuck is colored by an implicit "And I read this instead of playing Hades 2 in that exact moment." Hell, I could be playing Hades 2 right now, but I am writing this instead.

In case you haven't noticed, dear reader that definitely exists, I don't exactly know what I'm doing with this one here. I know, after I worked so hard on developing a strict and rewarding format these past few weeks, I'm throwing it all away to ramble here and now. The thing you need to know about me, though, is that I make terrible decisions. Always have, always will. I promise I'll get to a point, but we'll get there on my own time.

Where was I. Oh right. 50 months ago. Valentines Day 2020. That was the day I began my first Homestuck read through. My girlfriend at the time- she would break up with me a few months later for non-Homestuck related reasons- was a Homestuck fan, and had tried and failed to convince me to read the comic before. We even spent a date night playing friend sim, which I tried my best not to be confused by. Well, Valentines day came, and I decided I would finally relent to my girlfriend's recommendation, and I spent the day reading Homestuck in my college dorm room. And when I started, I did not stop. Not for a long time. You see, it was a Friday, a Friday very early in the semester, in fact. I had nothing I needed to do and 3 whole days where I did not need to treat myself as a human being. I denied myself food, water, sleep, and human dignity as I read Homestuck, all the while texting my girlfriend my reactions. I think the only time I took a break that weekend was on Saturday, to play in a Vampire the Requiem game I had recently joined. I don't know exactly how far through Homestuck I had gotten when I attended the game- but it was further than a person should be less than 24 hours after starting the webcomic.

Which brings me to my point. How quickly into my binge did I get to the parts of this comic that has now taken me a month to reach? An hour? Less than that? I don't know and am unwilling to do the work to find that out. I don't think I had gone all-in on Homestuck at this point, but I do remember being entertained by the Sylladex fuckery that was going on. I found it intriguing, this little puzzle of mechanics, the audience and John struggling against an unintuitive game mechanic that refused to make things easy. That was 50 months ago. So far on my read through, all I really feel as I get to each new gag about Sylladexes is "Oh, today is just this, huh." A part of me is sad and disappointed these gags aren't landing for me in the way they once had. A part of me is worried what else in this comic will suffer with the addition of time. But then I got to the last page of this week's updates, page 137, a loading animation for SBURB set to Sburban Jungle by Michael Guy Bowman, and that worry melts away.

Sburban Jungle is a song that lights my imagination ablaze with visions of epic machinations. I am the kind of person who listens to music not just because I like a song, but because that song puts images in my head that I can't tear myself from exploring as fully as I can. Even back when I was a kid in highschool, I would spend my bus rides home listing to my ipod, imagining grand adventures and fantastic scenes set to whatever music I was listening to. Sburban Jungle brings me back to those days, I think. That feeling that I find so hard to describe right now is part of why I love Homestuck, I think. It is a story about 4 kids, friends, playing a game together. A game where anything can be possible. A game where music brings actions scenes of epic and mythical scale- like the kind I would think about on the bus ride home- to life. That game hasn't started yet, we are still playing a game I'd like to call "Inventory Management if the Inventory Management hated you". But we'll get there eventually.

I have read Homestuck in realtime for 1 month. I will continue this for 83 more months. There'll be many months where I read nothing, and I'll need to think up something to post during those weeks. There'll be months where I'll struggle to keep everything I want to discuss in individual coherent posts. Homestuck is a land of contrasts, and I am going to experience those contrasts in the fullness of time's length. This is a terrible idea, but those are my favorite kinds.

Now that this is written and done with, time to play some more Hades 2.

[miasmaticinfection]

slept 20 minutes. had five rapid fire dreams. got to see my grandpa who died about a decade ago. im going to do my best to write one down

the last dream i had before i woke up

i was in a room. it was "my room" but not mine. a small fruitless olive tree was growing up the center of the room, wrapped in grape vines that were growing everywhere. my mom had woken me up, and i was telling her how i needed to trim the grapes because they were growing so large over my bed that it made it hard to get up. i got pricked by one of the branches. the grapes were small, and not ready yet but pinkish red. she was laughing and telling me that yes, i did need to trim them back. i also told her how she was lucky she had a daughter with a cool room, one with a tree growing from the floor. she told me that wasn't a good thing. i just blew her off about that.

we walked down a hall, and the place reminded me of my grandparent's house in arizona for some reason, even though it looked nothing like it. just lots of family there. im walking the hall with my mom when this little girl runs up to me, and she tells her mom "look, it's a cutie pie! it's a cutie pie!" like how little girls compliment anyone they think is pretty when they're young, because they're always being complimented. i smiled and looked over at the couch and saw my mom's dad but when he was younger, laughing at her. i'd never seen him laugh that hard. i saw him older, like the last visit i had with him, sitting on a chair, and i sat on his lap and hugged him. he asked me why i couldn't stay longer. and that's when i remembered he's been dead for a decade. so i told him i was sorry, but i couldn't, it wasn't my time. and that someday i'd stay forever. i looked around for my other grandpa, but i just saw my mom's dad's younger self on the couch turned away from me, sobbing, curled up. i looked back and it was someone else, my great grandpa's (? big family, not sure who's who) lap i was sitting on now. and i started crying asking why there was a little girl here. she was maybe seven, why was she in h...i coudn't finish the word in my dream, because i wasn't sure where i was. and then i woke up. i saw faces flashing in front of me for a good 30 seconds. rapid fire. mouths open. and now i can't sleep because im crying.

we used to grow green grapes in my backyard. i wish i'd seen both my grandpas but im glad i saw the one at least. if that's the afterlife i think im okay with it. i miss my family, back before we stopped hanging out with them. i feel pretty isolated now without my grandpas. they were kind of the glue, they saw past all the drama and bullshit. i think im kind of tripping from sleep deprivation rn because it's hard to type, the words are moving off the screen right now. i haven't slept more than 6, maybe 7 hours a night in over a month and im usually getting about 3, maybe 4. sometimes only 2.

my dad's dad died almost exactly one month ago today.

[litterednglitter]

Hey y'all! Back again for yet another update...on well...life!

I do not believe that I had mention this before I was. during the better part of 2023ish to 2024 I was in a relationship with someone by the name of The Ginger Beard Man. That is obviosuly thats not his real name. Believe when I tell you I'm SO happy that it's over! of course during the beginning it was great. He had a job was making a lot of money. Now I know what you are thinking, I wasn't with The Gingerbread Man just beacuse he had money even when he had lost his job I stood with him for the rest of the year. Thats not what broke us up. I had 2 jobs you think I needed his money? NAAAAHHHHHH! It was his Heavy drinking. During his bouts of drunken stupors, he would break up with me, call me dumb, wake me up in the middle of night to disrupt my sleep patterns and tickle me until I pissed myself right before I had to go to work. I had no extra clothes with me, so I had to miss work to go and shower and change my clothes. Ask to borrow money from me when he had lost his job and use it for his drinking habits.

The list can go on...but rethinking about will piss me the fuck off! There is a reason why I don't think about the past to keep the peace that I have already found without this man in my life.

Just recently I had to block him from my phone. He kept on trying to get me back. But at that point I had already moved on. months had passed in 2024 I broke up with his dude in late Feb. I did not find the relationship that I am in now with my Gram Cracker.

It was months before he was trying to figure out why I stopped coming around his place. The very last fight I had with his man was when his father died and about 4 months after that he got really drunk. I had enough of him waking me up every 1 to 2 hours. Working 80-hour weeks and taking on Over Time when I can. You can only imagine how little sleep I have gotten. Complained that i took ALL of his inheritance when I had only made him pay me back from the money, I lent him and not a penny more. He blew thur 90k already.

but somehow that was my fault! all the back and fouth I couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't hold down a job that I went out of my way for him to get. He said something that I will never forget. He said that's it's not his fault that I move my boundaries.

Everything in that moment stopped. It was like a flick of a switch. I could no longer be mad at him. He was right! I picked up my stuff and left. He wanted to argue more, and I let him. I didn't say much I let him do all the talking. At this point, I was done, and I was at peace because of it.

When we broke up, he told me that I will be back. I told him that I knew he was drunk and may not remember much but he'd would remember this. And I walked out. Never said anything else. Never did a grand blow out last hurrah hurrah. I was just done.

Never thought about him again until he started calling asking me where the fuck I was at. I told him I was living life. The way I was supposed to.

Him: Why haven't I been around? Me: You don't break up with someone to see them more, right?

Him: When will I coming back?

Me: Never! at least not like that. You want a friend than sure we can be friends. No more No less.

At this point I could already tell he was drunk either getting drunk or finally coming down from it either way He wasn't him.

i don remember much of the conversation that I had with him. It didn't last long at all. The topic of money came up again and i told him as clear as day.

"You are such a waste! You need help or a woman who has no problem you being drunk all the time. you are one skill away to becoming a millionaire...sobriety!

Before I hung up the phone and blocked him for good. I'm a no Bullshit type person. I'll give you a second chance but that's it only a second chance.

[getittogetherk]

February 9, 2025

sunday morning, 8:06 a.m.

feeling pretty okay.

things have been fine, fairly uneventful after the first few awful weeks of january. the fire danger has settled down, and we've had a few days of light rain in the past couple weeks, which has been nice. the devastation and fear of just a few weeks ago is almost just a dim memory (for me, although i'm very aware that it is still very present for others).

today feels ok. it was an RDO weekend and i was able to do a few things i needed to do, but also rest some. on friday i went to get some blood drawn, and then spent a full 3 hours at mazda buying my mazda cx5. it was fairly straightforward yet somehow took a lot longer than i had anticipated. i naively thought that since i already had the car picked out, and cash and credit in hand, and the price locked down, i'd be out within an hour, but alas i was very wrong.

so friday was oddly exhausting even though it was mostly a lot of sitting.

saturday i got up for a zoom vbas meeting, and i think i ate some pasta, but not having my coffee, i was sleepy all day and then intermittently napped for what felt like hours (unfortunately my fitbit wasn't working and so did not log my sleep). so the whole day was spent lying around, staring at my phone, half watching Suits, and then eventually taking a shower because i could feel myself getting the exact kind of sick i feel when i don't shower. in addition to just my hair feeling greasy, i feel very cold and can't warm up, and then i also get an awful headache. so finally i took my shower, took a tylenol, then went to bed and fell asleep to youtube reviews of movies i didn't watch and would never watch, for some reason, just to hear the analysis of why a movie didn't work. i suppose it's a slight improvement from police cam videos, but now it's mostly review of bad movies, why meghan markle is awful, and in general the downfall of this and that youtube/viral sensation. i want to get back in the habit of watching healthy, affirming, productive things, like minimalism and self-help. how to get out of ruts. how to actually achieve one's dreams. although i also know in a very real way that the first step is to not watch youtube about it.

i think one thing i will do is limit the amount of screen time i have, and so that when i'm sort of "running out of time", I am forced to do something other than stare at my phone. so if i give myself 6 hours a day, which though is really high, is still less than the 8 hours a day average of last week. and i think i can spend that time cleaning, or kind of just some sort of maintenance: gardening, de-cluttering, both physical and digital, reading the car manual for the cx5, researching prices on camera equipment so i can get ride of the two large bags of camera equipment that have been sitting in my bedroom for months, etc. there is a lot i can do. i can also probably volunteer at the shelter more as i haven't been now for two consecutive weeks. i mean, there's a lot i can do if i get back 1-2 hours of my day. and i don't even really want to think about what i would do if i got back 3-4 hours of my day. i mean, ok so i hadn't really thought about it. but that's 3-4 hours of exercise, of clean eating and new recipes and meal prep, of probably a couple books a week, etc. i could really transform with that much more time dedicated to productivity.

oh another update i should include. a couple weeks ago my psychiatrist finally listened when i told her about the constant physical anxiety in my body. the inability to relax my shoulders. the clenching of my jaw. and she upped my lexapro 10 mg from 20 to 30 mg saying that it would work on my anxiety. for the first couple weeks i found myself craving sweets and carbs (although this could be attributed to other things), but even worse, my sleep became awful. i would wake up several times a night, and go to the restroom a few times a night, and i'd have single digit REM percentages. but starting from just 2-3 nights ago, i've felt a noticeable improvement. i feel more rested when i wake up. i feel less anxious and a dash more peaceful. i'm hoping this means that it's working.

i always forget how much i enjoy this particular activity. it is light out. the sun is shining, dimly, diffused by the big ass oak tree out front. there is a slight whir of traffic and the chirping of birds. the coffee is good. i feel myself slowly emptying out onto the words on the screen. i feel like this would be a part of a "perfect day" for me. good coffee, journaling while looking out at some nice scenery. a brisk walk or hike. i think some conversation would be nice. and then some productivity. i think that's why some vacations feel ... incomplete to me. i know i shouldn't need to feel productive, but sometimes i do. and when i'm home i can work on certain things, better my personal environment, focus on health, etc., but when i'm out, especially abroad, it's just eating out and no real exercise besides strenuous urban walking. i wish there was a way that i could appreciate everyday life everyday, and new experiences when i'm out. instead of neither.

[dumpingmythoughtsonlife]

the past 4 years of my life tw//just really sad venting stuff

I'm writing this because writing is one of the only things I'm good at, or so I remember.

In truth, I haven't written anything that wasn't asked of me since I still had my spark, around 4 years ago. I honestly have no idea what exactly went wrong - whether it was an individual event or just an accumulation of mental stress that cracked me over time I can't remember.

What I do remember is how vivid my mind was when I still had my spark. My mind was always firing and making new ideas, and I was exceptionally good at many of the subjects I despise now. This earned me the praise of "gifted" and "intelligent", and the title of Aspbergers syndrome.

This diagnosis of Aspbergers syndrome has hindered how my family views me: I am constantly handled in a manner, by my family, that would befit a toddler (or more fittingly, a circus animal). By this, I don't mean that they "dumb stuff down" for me, but rather they don't believe me fit to make my own decisions, or to come to my own conclusions about life and my condition. Most frustratingly of all, they interpret what I think to be normal as a joke, which brings to mind the aforementioned circus animal comparison. This has always reared its head in minor matters, but has bubbled over in recent events as I banked all my hopes on another diagnosis, one that I thought was sure to help me: ADHD. I will explain why.

I cannot concentrate on tasks, even if they are integral to my dream of making music. My mind has constantly tortured me by dragging my itself to unimportant matters, which is what I blame on my life remaining essentially stagnant for the past 4 years. I have a passion for piano, but I still play at a beginner level despite my best efforts over these 4 years. I also have a passion for art, but it is the same situation. Being, supposedly, so exceptionally good at writing and mathematics and terrible at the things I would like to pursue pushed me to neglect my talents, and my peers are catching up with me in school through their studying.

Worst of all was being stunted emotionally. I do not feel emotion, and I have not felt closeness or empathy since I lost my spark. This has naturally made forming relationships extremely difficult, as I do not care about them. I regrettably see relationships as something to chase rather than to cherish, and I doubt forming these relationships would bring me any joy.

Consequently, once I lost my spark I searched feverishly for a cure. Adjusting the vitamins and minerals I ingest, stretching my sleep schedule to ridiculous hours, and ultimately taking antidepressant medication to try and regain a piece of myself. Nothing had worked for me, and so I remained stagnant. I did not give up my search though: there needed to be something that I could do to help me regain the version of me that I didn't hate, that could do the things it wanted without being tormented by its own mind. Every single day for the past 4 years has consisted of me looking for "something" to help me - eventually I subconsciously accepted that this journey gave me purpose, despite knowing it was futile.

My last hope was banking on ADHD medication. I convinced myself that all of my suffering would come to an end once I get my hands on Ritalin, or Vyvanse. I expected the clouds to open up when I took that first pill, and to be able to claw back the progress my condition had taken from me. Nights Googling ways to treat apathy, and countless wasted opportunities and relationships would finally pay off. For every time I resolved "I am going to change", and nothing had changed, I convinced myself that this time was different. Surely if I could quiet my mind down I could work on solutions in peace.

I now sit in my room knowing that it was not the case. 10 milligrams of Vyvanse and 2 cups of coffee in the morning gave me a level of clarity long forgotten, and I assumed that once I increased the dose to 30mg (the recommended dose), I would regain my spark. After increasing the dose to just 20mg, I noticed extreme thirst and discomfort that counteracted any clarity that the medication might have given me, even without the coffee. Even now, after taking my 3rd cup of water in the past 2 hours, and consuming electrolyte drink, I feel thirsty and disjoint.

I have been knocked on my ass so many times before that I convinced myself that the failure of the solution I had bet my entire life on was just another minor obstacle. I convinced myself that Vyvanse was not the right medication for me, and Ritalin would surely be the solution.

If I was not completely emotionally apathetic up to this point, this ordeal, and the following ordeal, most likely would have driven me to suicide. I also fear that I will suffer the same reaction once I do regain clarity, for my scattered mind is the only thing preventing the loss of 4 years of my life from dawning on me.

I voiced my concerns to my parents, asking them to contact the one who had prescribed me the medication and request a different medication. They treated me like always, and did not take into account what I was saying. They came up with solutions for the side effects: to suck on hydration cubes to deal with the thirst. They said I was being irrational for only being on the medication for a week and making such a hasty decision, that the doctor who prescribed it to me would turn her back on me. What no one will ever understand though, is my excruciation. Because of my emotional apathy people always view me to be emotionally stable, but I am the exact opposite. Up to that point I was holding on by a thread, and being treated like I was not fit to make my own decisions made me finally give up.

That is my confession: I will continue to live, but I have given up; On my dreams, of regaining my spark. I am a hollow shell of a human being that longs for what could have been, knowing that in my current state I cannot achieve it. Any deviation from this sentiment is only temporary, as I always end up in the same pit that I have lived long enough in to become familiar with.

[venuzwritez]

How to Self-Care

4 January 2024

I wrote this to, once again, fill an opinion essay slot in creative writing year 2 in high school. It’s honestly a very messy piece in retrospect. Not my finest work— but that wasn’t the goal. It was mainly to express what had been on my mind.

Self care is very modernly associated with beauty. It has begun to stray away from its original medicinal definition, like getting enough sleep or eating healthy. The term ‘self-care’ commonly makes people think of sitting inside a hot tub with cucumbers sitting on their eyes, or spending hours in a rose-petal draped bath until their fingers prune. Others can view it as taking themselves on a shopping spree. For some, it is spending the night out with friends. And then there’s the occasional sitting-beside-the-fireplace-reading person. All of these activities are done because the people doing them aim to please themselves, and feel that they deserve it. Self care and love comes in many different forms, but there is a side to self love that often doesn’t get discussed.

Our past selves often get a lot of criticism, mainly from ourselves. We hold a lot of disdain and resentment for things we have done in the past and carry that shame to haunt us as we tread forward into the future. It’s a heavy backpack we refuse to let go of during this long and grueling hike of life. We hold onto this baggage because we know that, from a young age, we learn from our mistakes. The bad decisions we’ve made in the past still have a bit of that learning that we haven't fully wrung out of those experiences. With the belief that these life lessons will get us farther, we tend to hold onto shame so much that it sends us tumbling back down the mountain.

Even when we are young, we wish to be older. Maturity is a cast-iron brand stating that you know what you’re doing. It’s a race to see who can mature before one another until our first wrinkle appears. Then we’re hit with the desire to come crawling back to the starting line. The digital age we live in has an effect on maturity. With smartphones being handed out left and right to children alike, social media and the influencers on them are only a few taps away. Middle scholars and even elementary kids begin following teen trends earlier than ever. Nine year-old girls walk right up to the counter at the nearest Sephora demanding their finest bottle of retinol. Thirteen year-old boys beg their mothers to allow them to get hair perms. On playgrounds we see a group of children dancing in front of a camera instead of going down a slide.

As much as I’d want to shame them, I remember being twelve and begging my mom for a ‘grown up bra’ and a curling iron to be just like the big girls. However, being an early bloomer, maturity is a double-edged sword. When my female peers and I found out what a period was in third grade, we all wanted to get it. It sounded new and exciting, but most importantly, mature. But, when I had gotten mine before everyone else, their opinions had suddenly changed. Suddenly people told me that periods were weird and gross. I had never wanted to go back in time more in my life than when I experienced that.

However, having just turned eighteen (as I am writing this), I often look back on my own habits of wanting to follow the trends of teens older than me and cringe. I had brought this up to my therapist during one of my sessions and he challenged my disdain for my younger self with a pair of questions:

“Well, how did your younger self feel? Was following those trends important to her?”

That question hit me like a ton of bricks. With million-dollar questions like those, I couldn’t provide an answer right then. So, he sent me off with a little bit of homework that was thinking up an answer to them. With a month of time to do so, I ended up with a pretty solid answer.

“Younger Meghan probably just wanted to feel like she belonged. So, following trends alongside her peers must have meant the world to her.”

That changed my perspective quite a bit. Humans find a great sense of comfort in belonging. Fitting into a group makes us feel like we have a definitive sense of self, even when following others may do the opposite. By mid-high school we generally tend to find things that we identify with. For many it is the sport they play and the team they play with. For others it is a different kind of hobby or skill. And for some others it is the job they want to do in the future. There is a wide plethora of things to identify with, but it always seems as though there is more to figure out. The hunt for who we are isn’t over until our lives are. One of the true keys to self love is to love who we are, at that moment in time, and any times that came before and those will come after.

~*~

When was the last time you took a moment to feel your own body? Not to physically feel and touch your body, but to be aware of what each of your individual body parts were feeling. The sensations you are currently experiencing or the sensations you want to experience. At times maybe your fingers feel the need to grab a pencil. Your leg burns with the urge to kick. Your eyes want to close. Your shoulders want to droop. When have you truly known what you want to experience? Only you yourself can know what your body wants and needs. Being in tune with your body physically is a form of self care I hold very dearly to me. All bodies are different, especially in the kinds of sensations they want to feel.

Many people, especially in America, shy away from sex. Sex, of all things. The very thing that jump-starts our existence like a car. The period that ends the sentence that comes right before the beginning of ours. A star exploding to become the supernova that is us. Because of this tendency to shy away from the topic of sex in such crucially developmental years in our lives, when the time comes to do sex, we do not often have the greatest experience. It takes years into adulthood for the average person to be able to confidently look inwards to state what gives them pleasure and what causes discomfort. Our bodies are beautifully unique and respond to many things. When people are able to comfortably state to their partner what they need sexually, it is often seen as being cordial to their partner. Yet, I implore many to see it as a side to loving themselves and their bodies in a way that expresses the innate connection between the body and the mind. It’s a side to self love rarely talked about, but I’d argue that it is the most natural form of self love that humans can perform. Although some may never end up approaching that side to themselves, it’s a light in the back of the stage that is our self love. Loving yourself includes being in tune with your physicality– your sexuality. To look in the mirror and appreciate your curves. To take the time to look at your legs and thank them for carrying you so far. To take the time and thank your hands, the countless times they have been able to pick up a pencil.

There had been a time in my life that my hygiene had gone down the drain due to a sexual traumatic experience I had gone through. I refused to see my naked reflection in the mirror, which prevented me from showering for days on end. It took an incredibly long amount of time until I was comfortable seeing my body again. Although it was a very dark time in my life, it is an experience that taught me that being thankful for our bodies isn’t self-centered. It’s beauty in its most natural state. Loving who you are for what you are is extraordinary. That realization was a large part of my recovery.

~*~

During my middle school years, I grew up around a lot of people who struggled with mental health issues for various reasons. As most of us were raised in front of a screen, there was an unspoken rule that it was a ‘privilege’ if someone told you their mental health struggles. If someone trusted you, then you must fall to your knees at their every word to ensure that they were okay. I lived by this expectation and treated every concerning text I got from any of my peers like a delicate glass ball that would shatter on impact once it hit the ground. To put it in perspective, I’d very often receive a text at around midnight from a friend. It’d usually be a self-harm threat or, in some of the worst scenarios, a suicide threat. Then I’d be up for the next three hours trying to talk them out of it. I have been told that this is not an uncommon experience.

There’s an overlooked problem with this. On paper, this is a very noble and good thing to do for someone else. I had done that very thing various times with other people again and again until I absolutely hated doing it. This turned me into quite an apathetic person, of which in many cases during that kind of event I would simply not respond. I did this knowing, as someone who lived with mental health issues as well, that it would devastate me if someone treated me the same way.

But years later I can confidently say that I hadn’t done anything wrong. Through an adult’s eyes it's obvious that a child wouldn’t be the best candidate to deal with a suicide threat. At the time it had come down to trading valuable sleep to quell worries for my friends’ wellbeings. As much as I would’ve liked to be everyone’s hero, that mindset wasn’t healthy.

If I could step back to the past to tell my younger self one thing, it’d be to recognize limits. Caring for someone else is impossible when you haven’t got any care to give to yourself. It’s another unrecognized form of self care, knowing what you can and can not do.

So, self care is a wide spectrum. While taking bubble baths and going on shopping sprees is a form of self care, there is a deeper meaning behind it as well. One that we should always take the time to explore and learn the parts of ourselves we love, what we like, what our limits are. As being human is being beautiful.

[relapsdcw]

10.17.2024 , 2:30am

tw:// su!cide, s/h mention, bpd, drug use, medical/ bodily fluids?

it's funny i made this account and then lost all motivation to really blog on it, and now after my boyfriend and i watching shows im high and decided to feel my feelings at a minimum intensity so i can write this lol

the last few days have been a blur, really. i woke up friday morning so stressed out i was brushing my teeth and started gagging, which ended up leading to a panic attack, and i called out of work 30 minutes prior to my start time telling my store manager i "couldn't stop throwing up" when in reality i was so anxious and couldn't stop shaking, so i called in and i couldn't get out of bed for the entire day.

then saturday came, and the stress of me calling out and how bad i felt ended up actually making me sick, and i spent the day with a fever and actually throwing up.

it made me feel good, in a way though? because i've been relapsing with my eating disorder so me being sick was a reason for me to avoid eating all together.

sunday was spent the same way- bed rotting, attempting to play video games- and then losing energy for it after an hour and laying back in bed because being awake is unbearable.

monday came; some important context is that i tend to get violently high on my off days / at night to help my anxiety, i wake up in the morning with it worn off and severe panic attacks every. single. morning. i'm unmedicated and haven't gone to receive medical care in almost 3 years. my BPD looks a lot more like A and less like B. so.. the edibles help.--- anyway, i wake up from nocturnal panic attacks every morning and it's been like that since may of 2023.

it originally started because my fp at the time had started being more emotionally distant after i got a girlfriend (i'll talk abt her in another post), and i slept-called with him every night anyway (yes i understand that is cheating kind of and i feel terrible but i would literally have panic attacks if i didn't call him lol) ANYWAY i noticed he started to get distant and he told me he was sleep calling w another girl at the same time but it felt okay because he said he kept her on his pc while he keeps me on the phone... yeah i was- it was bad erm anyway the only other thing that has really helped in the past has been either not having work the next day, or cuddling with someone while i'm asleep & them rubbing my back / holding me back to sleep whenever i wake up from more anxiety. ANYWYAY. It was monday-- i had work.

i went to work, i spent the entire day thinking i had a bladder infection when in reality i was so anxious i couldn't stop peeing (no seriously, i kept apologising to my team because i kept peeing every 40 minutes or so) and i felt SO TERRIBLE because my team was perfect we should've gotten out early anyway, i had to text my mom and tell her i had to go to the clinic in the morning, and she said okay after a few attempts of me trying to reach her. (her and my dad drove somewhere to buy erm.. idk can i say this in tumblr? lol.) anyway, i got home and my shift ended- i ran into my parents and talked about it with my mom who couldn't understand what a uti was and i just had to explain it hurt to pee.. anyway we planned to go at 9:30 on tuesday

that night also my boyfriend and i got into a fight and i ended up freaking out and trying to break up with him (i genuinely don't remember what the fight was about) (idk if it was a split or a i was hangry but i blacked out with anger) ... my boyfriend is more patient than i could ever ask for.

tuesday comes: my mom moves the time from 930 to 1130. for some reason this triggered my bpd and i started to take it as she doesn't care about me because i need to go to the clinic and she's wasting my time and she keeps moving the time to later because she doesn't want to hang out with me because she has flaked on me the last 4 times i asked to go somewhere with her and in that moment i was a little girl who needed her mom to take her to the doctor and i felt abandoned. she ended up walking into my room and giving me her antibiotics but i said i don't even know if i really had one, i didn't want to risk antibiotic resistance by taking her medication and it freaked me out- she got mad at me and we started arguing and the argument got so bad i just left. i started to run. i couldn't think about what i was doing i grabbed my phone and my wallet and just left.

i was so mad. the nausea started to set in and i started to feel sick leaving home. it felt like i was in high school again and i was scared. i just left. i'm 22 and i felt like a scared little kid. my mom and i arguing back and forth- i finally come home a little bit later after my mom and i talked. i walk in the door with her asking to go to the clinic now but i felt so exhausted from the fight i had no energy. i didn't care if i had a bladder infection or not i felt so tired- and then she kept prying. "let's go already" over and over again and it just snapped something. we started yelling-- i started yelling, i kept telling her how i thought she was just like dad, how manipulative she is and how fucked up it is that she's picking an abuser over her kids and how much i hate it when she gets high and how i cant trust her and how i cant even eat her food because its disgusting, she had known i wasn't eating and sick and i said that, and i saw the look on her face while she started to blame herself- she tried to come in and hug me but in the moment i was so scared i started to crawl away from her and told her i couldn't do this. i walked upstairs sobbing and started throwing stuff around my room, i felt like a toddler. i hated it. but i couldn't stop it felt like my emotions controlled me and i couldn't see anything good. i looked at the antibiotics my mom had given me earlier and googled them.

i could overdose on this.

it was all that was going through my mind i started to fantasise about my last moments i was sobbing dreaming about the pain but how i wouldn't have to live like this anymore; how i could finally rest, how tired i am- i felt scared for a second- and texted my boyfriend. he begged me not to do anything and i finally calmed down enough to sit on my carpet. i sat there for an hour just picking around at it trying to avoid getting up or moving because if i did, i would've reached for the bottle. i ended up getting so mad i smashed my glasses into my floor while sitting in my carpet and snapped them in 4 different pieces. that wasn't getting fixed. the rage still wasn't gone. i needed to hurt myself. my razors were within reach but instead i grabbed my hair brush. and started untangling my carpet. and i kept doing it until i felt like it was clean. if it was clean. i can be calm. if i can be calm, i can be done. and i did that for a few hours until i got up and started to clean my room. i got up and showered. my mom and i didn't talk for the rest of the night and i ended up spending the night watching movies on discord with my bf, but i got super sick so i had my face above my tea kettle boiling water so my nose could drain because erm.. i got really sick from going outside.

anyway.

now today- we'll yesterday was wednesday. my mom and i texted. i said i was sorry. i could pee with no pain until the very very end so i am instead trying to drink more water because i read that pee is actually super acidic and if u don't drink water it's super concentrated and i remember i really.. hadn't had any water the entire weekend/prev 5 days... so i've been drinking water and it doesn't bother me as much today? my dad doesn't want my mom doing my laundry because i "don't deserve it" but idk how he's allowed to live here when he's abused tf out of us our entire lives but go off ig idk ✨parental trauma sry✨ anyway my mom and i planned to go do my laundry today at 10:30am so im writing this and passing out.

i feel better today. i think. i cleaned my room more and ordered food and i was actually able to eat it. i'm kind of very broke now because i bought some stuff on amazon related to kink and wow that's expensive and i splurged more because... spending problems when upset.. lots of credit card debt.. (can get more into that too) but yeah. i ate food, my bf n i watched wizards of waverly place. i love him so much. i really do. argh lemme make an entire post abt him i swear

[skinni-girls-eat-books]

Monday, August 12th, 2024!

7:07am: I think the magnesium is giving me so much gas idk what to do. Or it was hummus but I'm pretty sure it wasn't. It's August but it's FL I wish it would hurry up and get cool outside :/ I want fallllll but it normally doesn't really kick in till daylight savings time

7:41am: 192.6..... ok so I guess that pizza weight is just gonna stay on forever, got it 🥴

I haven't really started setting calorie goals yet just because I've been wanting to track my patterns but I think I will start soon. Ok wow I looked at my diet the week and it actually sucked 😂 my biggest downfalls:

1. People buying/bringing me food.

2. Free food/ coupons.

3. Getting takeout in general. (I'm still using takeout as a treat for myself and it sucks)

4. Not prepping literally anything at home.

5. Also just eating one giant (1000 cal) meal a day which I want to stop doing. (Aka that heartburn last night 🥴)

The fact that I ate a whole pizza + snacks on Saturday vs last night when I only ate some cheese and hummus and got extremely full shows that takeout is just hollow food, you can eat so many calories and not even be full nearly as fast as say eating a bag of cucumbers/ carrots + some type of fat/ protein. It's so obvious once you start tracking your diet.

I really think just switching my default foods and getting rid of these bad habits will honestly eliminate the need for calorie restriction bc how tf do you eat 1000 cal of cucumbers ykwim?? That's like 70 baby cucumbers 😂

9:55am: Damn the sleep you get when you are supposed to awake and going things is 🔥🔥 past two hours of sleep cured my exhaustion from last week lol.

11:19am: Had the second half of a cheese block (480 cal) and probiotic soda (45 cal) it's honestly too much. Cheese will be the death of me. +Multivitamin

3:30pm: hummus + cucumber (360 cal)

10:29pm: tempeh 400 cal, 15g fiber, 45g protein, 25% DV of iron freaking yum. I was so craving McDonald's little cheeseburgers but I BEAT THE CRAVINGS now look at me :)

Ok after tasting it and realizing it really is sodium free lol and I used no salt in the seasoning 😂 kinda refreshing :) y'all know I'm a salty mf, might add some cfa sauce to these though :)

HELLO ok these mfs taste like french fries BUT if fries had fiber and protein and iron 😍 ok now I know what to do with these 😂 ketchup>>> CFA sauce

Ketchup and Tempeh !!! Also the butter fried batch was so much better than the olive oil, both are ok, but the butter compliments it very well. I mean it's literally soy so it makes sense, it's already kinda fatty.

Ok so ketchup or pickles or something vinegary, butter fried and slightly thicker slices actually taste good. I might use the bigger pan next time and throw the whole tempeh slab in together, cook with seasoned butter, and slice after cooking. Something kinda bright and vinegary would go very well with it like pickled veggies or kimchi, compliment the fermented flavor and add crunch

Ok I saw recipes for tempeh sloppy joes and Reubens so literally the stinkier/ more fermented (sauerkraut and Swiss cheese hello?) the better. This is gonna be so good, I'm glad I added this to my repertoire :)

[linyyo3o]

me bc I haven't slept more than 6 hours WHILE ON SUMMER BREAK in an entire week because I've been kept awake by:

1. My panic attacks I've had about 4 over the past few nights

2. My sister bc we have to share a bed and she sleep talks, kicks me, and generally just shifts and moves so so much

3. My dad's fucking snorring dude I can't take it anymore

I'm so pissy all the time and I genuinely think it's because I haven't had a good night's sleep in a week, I haven't had more than 30 minutes all by myself all week and nobody seems to get that

I just wanna go home and play league