#insomnia writing

[d1sc0-1nfern0]

Enderian has resting bitch face and you cannot convince me otherwise.

[clockwayswrites]

It turned out that when you befriend the local ghost population, they ended being obsessively committed to making sure that you stayed alive. Or at least that's what Jamie Brant learned in his first year at Our Lady of the Lake Finishing School, Maine branch.

He rather wished he hadn't.

In fact, Jamie wished he had never come into his powers at all. He was perfectly satisfied being average. He was a solid B student with one and a half extracurriculars. He had a little sister who hated to love him, two parents who (mostly) tried their best, and a solid half-dozen friends. He had brown hair, hazel eyes, freckles, and was right in the middle of his class height wise.

In other words he was perfectly average... if you ignored the ghosts, that is.

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Featured

People magazine does an article on queer firefighters across the US and Buck and Tommy are asked to be featured in it.

***

"So, what do you think? Should we do it?" Buck asked, his voice a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know I sound cynical, but I'm really hesitant. What's their angle? What are they trying to prove? I just want to do my job well and then come home to my handsome boyfriend. I'm not interested in being some kind of gay firefighter poster child."

Buck nodded, understanding Tommy's concerns. "I mean, I get that, but this is huge, Tommy. This is People magazine, and they're only featuring ten firefighters in the whole country!"

Tommy massaged his temples, feeling the weight of the decision. After a moment, he looked up at Buck. "What does Hen say about it?"

Buck leaned against the kitchen counter, his expression thoughtful. "She's torn too, but she also feels like it's her duty to say yes. She told me it would have meant a lot to her during her probie days to see a proud Black lesbian firefighter featured in People magazine." He paused, his voice softening. "Think about little Tommy. How would it have affected him?"

Tommy's eyes met Buck's, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "I hadn't thought about it like that," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Seeing someone like me in a magazine... it might have made a difference."

Buck nodded, moving closer to Tommy. "It's not just about us anymore. It's about all the kids out there who might see themselves in us, you know?"

Tommy took a deep breath,considering. "You're right. But I'm still worried about the attention. Are we ready for that?"

Buck squeezed Tommy's shoulder. "We'll face it together, whatever we decide.

Tommy nodded. "Let's sleep on it and talk more tomorrow."

"Sounds perfect," Buck said, kissing Tommy's forehead. "No rush. We're in this together."

Read the rest on AO3 🙂

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57165475

[justlikeawartimenovelty]

For @carter-burke !

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Floch Forster/Jean Kirstein Characters: Floch Forster, Jean Kirstein Additional Tags: Warning: Floch Forster, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cheating Summary:

Floch was forbidden, a challenge, and something exciting.

Floch was never gentle and loving. His tone always held a bitter sting to it. He was aggressive; he fought for dominance, and he didn't take kindly to being bossed around. This, of course, was the exact opposite of Jean's mate, Marco.

[redheadosity]

Had insomnia and wrote 2 chapters last night. Which means I’ve officially hit the climax of my story! Excited for this, but not so excited for how exhausted I’ve been this Monday at work! 😩

[idknikkip]

As a server I believe it is my god given right to guilt trip customers into acting right. my current favorite is when a couple sit down at the ~only 8 top~ in our restaurant while there are multiple 2 and 4 tops available. While dropping their waters I hit ‘em with a “im gonna go grab the rest of the waters 😊 how many more were you guys waiting on?😇” said like it’s almost an after thought - they look at each other, sitting at the end of this big long table (couples always sit at the end, almost like they subconsciously know it’s bad form for them to use up the whole table!!!) trying to figure out the way to say “it’s just us” that doesn’t make them look like the assholes. I prompt them with a doting smile, I do NOT speak first (huge key, you say your piece and do NOT talk, make them break the awkward silence). When they finally say no one else, I let my face fall, steal a quick glance at the numerous empty tables, quickly but visibly compose myself, deflated “oh, ok 😔Got it” a lil nod, and then usuuuuuually by this point they offer to move. I brighten up, smile big, positively reinforce this choice with excited & open body language, I ask “are you sure? I mean you really don’t have to” and at this point they turn to reassure me, “oh we’re happy to save the day by moving!” They pick up their glasses, I grab the carafe of water they’ve forgotten, “I really appreciate you guys helping me out! 🥹🥹This is our ~only~ big table, you guys know how it is haha” they’re in on the joke, obviously, a mix up that they’ve sat here!

I’m not spending my time explaining to you how restaurants work, pleading with you to move, or just putting up with you fucjing up my seating. In 2 sentences I’m gonna make you think about your actions & give you the clear opportunity to make better decisions this time; & usually, they’ll take the better choice with a smile on their face.

[novelistdaviswrit3s]

Reflections of My Emotions

I have to say that working in this shadow work journal and dealing with my personal life is hard as fudge. I can’t understand why these things happened the way they are for me at this point in my life. Sometimes, being a Cancer can feel like your going crazy because when you have past trauma and self doubt you tend to stay in your head a lot. Being me isn’t easy. I am trying to sort through the…

[crippledpunks]

my heart goes out to you if you're a disabled person who has a complicated or negative relationship with sleep. if you need to sleep a lot but can't due to life circumstances, or sleeping extra causing other symptoms to flare up. if you can't sleep enough due to pain, or nightmares, or psychosis, or bipolar, or depression. if you sleep way too much and find it hard to stay awake. if you can't fall or stay asleep. if you need medication in order to be able to sleep. if you don't feel rested from sleep. if you wake up a lot in the night. if you have bladder or bowel accidents while asleep. if you twitch or convulse or move too or get injured in your sleep. if you can't control your sleep schedule no matter what. if you can't sleep during "normal" sleeping hours. if you can't sleep for 8+ hours straight but can sleep for shorter amounts of time. if sleep is what you need but for one reason or another you just can't or refuse to do it.

i care about you. your disabilities deserve to be seen and acknowledged

[mushroomsoupofficial]

It's 2:48am on 2.2.23 now, it took me a few minutes to collect myself before I could write this all out

There was a busy intersection that people often set up stalls on, it was pretty busy with vehicle traffic, double turn lane type beat but I knew some of the people who sold there and it was really early or really late, no sun, so it wasn't super busy.

A younger woman who I recognized came up to my car, her mother was selling (cookies?) And she asked if I was interested, I said yes. She went to get her mother and she did not speak English (Spanish maybe?) like her daughter, but I could catch enough of what she was saying to answer in yes or no's. "Do you speak language" and "can you understand" were the two questions asked. The light changed, so she told me to pull into the Shell gas station on the opposite corner since I was turning left. I did, I remember parking and getting out to exchange details with the daughter before placing the order with the mother.

The next thing I knew I was sitting in the back row of my own car. It's darker now, I'm shaking and I feel like I'm drunk but I haven't had anything to drink, I know that much. I can recall everything that happened above, but I can't stop shaking. My breath isn't coming easily, and now I start to freak out in earnest. I have my purse on, before it had been in the front passenger seat but now it's slung across my body and when I open it I find a lighter and a nearly empty pack of cigarettes. It's my brand, I can smell them, but I stopped smoking years ago and this pack looks really new despite the number missing. I pull out two, I put one in my mouth and hold it there, lighter in hand but not taking that final step. My motions are mechanical in a way that looks intentional, but I am simply watching from inside.

My head is still full of static, anxiety pulling at my chest, and I think maybe I just got really tired and pulled into the gas station to sleep for a bit? I can't make sense of why I'm sitting in the third row of my car. I decide to climb toward the front, and despite my head feeling incredibly dazed and drunken I am able to move easily, climbing over the middle row.

I notice that the driver's seat has been moved forward against the steering wheel, which doesn't make sense because there are doors on both sides of the back that open into the second row, why was the driver's seat collapsed against the steering wheel? I move it back and sit down. I still have an unlit cigarette hanging from my lips and another in my hand along with a lighter. I don't smoke anymore. Pulling the cigarette from my lips I drop both and the lighter into the center console.

My keys are not in the ignition but there's air coming out of the vents. I can't feel it so I don't know if it's cool or warm, but I can hear it. Based on my shakiness, it must be cool. My keys are sitting on the steering column, so I grab them and put them in the ignition. I am filled with the sudden urge to run from this place as fast as I can, but my vision is darkening around the edges and my head feels like it's full of sand, too heavy to keep up. I turn the keys in the ignition despite knowing I am not safe to drive, maybe I am drunk? It doesn't matter because the starter isn't catching. Have I been sitting in here with the ac on for hours, killing the battery?

I hear a voice now, it's loud and masculine but a bit distorted. They're speaking English but I can't understand what they're saying. The words aren't catching in my brain. I try the ignition again, still no luck. The voice speaks again, this time I hear "pump three" "will be here soon" "you cannot leave" "please sit tight" I'm filled with panic again. Did they think I was trying to drive drunk and called the police? I look out the window now and see that I'm still as the gas station, pulled haphazardly into the space for pump #3. I didn't recall parking at a pump.

It's too dark though, and there's no way that my window tinting caused the total loss if saturation I see. Maybe my head is way more fucked than I thought? No, the lights aren't on. Normally the awning of the fuel pumps are spectacularly well-lit, but it's dark now and it feels extremely wrong. What kind of 24hour gas station turns their lights off with so many cars at the pumps? I cracked the window open a bit to look out, just to make sure that the world is as dark and colorless as I am seeing from this side of the glass.

I see lights bounce off the cars at the other pumps, but they're just normal headlights not the red and blue of a police car. The flight part of my fight or flight is still triggered, but I have nowhere to run. My car won't start and my vision is getting worse, my eyes as heavy as my head now. I hear a new voice, bold but feminine. My driver's side door is opened and a few seconds pass. I don't know who's there, so I move out to grab the door and close it. Blue latex gloves hands latch onto my arm and I'm being gently pulled from the car.

I panic, thinking it's the cops again and start insisting that I'm not drunk, there's something wrong with me, my head is not okay. There's a soothing pat on my hand from the gloved woman, it's dark but I can see a yellow and blue (bus? Transit van?) With its headlights on that I am being led towards. "Do you know what happened?" No, I'm crying now, my chest is tight and my vision is swimming but no longer fading away around the edges. I insist once more that there is something wrong with me.

The woman made a sound of confirmation and then said, "There was a shooter at the gas station." I'm watching the ground as we walk and I finally recognize the dark puddles all around, the red color of one ahead of us illuminated by the buses headlights. There was blood everywhere. I'm sobbing now, I don't understand still and I'm terrified, but I let her lead me onto this bus where I see several others huddled just within the doors.

People are taking turns touching my hands, and I hear someone else crying too, and the realization sets in, burning through my lungs and settling like a lead weight against my ribs. There was an active shooter, I was bleeding, I had a concussion, and I am in shock.

I wake up.

It's 3:36, my eyes are heavy again and I'm going back to bed.

[concentfortea]

[d1sc0-1nfern0]

it's 2am and these enemies will lover if its the last thing i do.

[pigeon-ponders]

thinking again about the tragedy of the hive. something is changing the tides of your world and it is a god wave that will destroy your civilization. you search to stop it and discover the power to save your species from extinction. but your species never would have been extinct -- the god wave was a lie and the force causing it was a god coming to save your kind, uplift them, extend their lives and bestow knowledge for a golden age. the deal you made was from that god's opposing force. you've doomed your entire race to an endless cycle of violence to survive. you trade ten fragile years of life for immortallity at the cost of killing endlessly. you never learn the truth, not until milleniums later, and far too late.

thinking about the tragedy of the osmium siblings. their desparations turned against them like a knife which they used to carve away anything in existence that challenged them -- because it is a threat against their life, and this all started to save their lives. how ironic it is, then, that at the cost of immortality, they worship death.

thinking of xivu's stubborness, her steel chitin and flaming heart, twisted into a blinding hatred of anything that goes against her beliefs -- her brother's will. "I’ll beat the world until it changes! I’ll kill anything in the way!"

thinking of oryx's thirst for knowledge, for answers, because what you know can't harm you. of his love for his sisters, which he would do anything for. "Let us go down, down, where we may discover truth, some power to avenge ourselves upon our betrayers, some hope of survival."

thinking of how love is violence is love is violence to the hive. it is a circle. "I love mighty Xivu more than a moon loves the tide. I'll kill her for this. Over and over, forever and ever."

thinking.

[feral-ballad]

Craig Morgan Teicher, from To Keep Love Blurry; “On his bed and no longer among the living”

[harmonictechnicality]

Steve wakes up around three or four in the morning almost every night. He’s always careful getting out of bed. Small movements, slow footsteps. Minimal bones cracking. Doesn’t want to wake Eddie. Not that he needs to be this careful because his boyfriend could sleep through several natural disasters (and if someone bothered to wake him in this scenario, he’d put an impotency curse on them or some equally fucked-up shit). 

But that’s one of the reasons why they work. Not because of the sad-dick curse thing. They just exist on different sides of the scale. The raging insomniac and the deepest sleeper known to mankind. It balances out in the weirdest possible way.

Still… he’s always careful. Can never be too careful.

Steve doesn’t really do much when he wakes up at this ungodly hour. He sort of walks around their duplex, drinks a glass of water, opens a window to breathe in that pre-sunrise air. It fills his lungs up differently than normal air. At least, it feels like it does.

Like less people are breathing it in. Like he can take up space without feeling selfish. The logic doesn’t really add up but whatever. Concepts like logic and science are overrated at four in the morning.

After another lap around the place, he slides back into the covers, drapes an arm over Eddie’s waist. His t-shirt is rumpled up to his chest, so Steve is met with linen-warm skin. His fingers curve into Eddie’s sides, pulling himself closer. 

Steve yawns, breathing out all of his pre-sunrise air. Inhales the scent of his boyfriend instead. Smiles like an idiot into the pillow because it’s totally a fair trade.

And Eddie… well, he doesn’t even budge - doesn’t even stir when Steve settles in next to him. He just continues to wheeze through his nose, mouth slightly open. Not quite a snore, but Steve will probably tease him about it in the morning regardless. 

This right here. This makes Steve’s shitty sleep cycle worth it.

The sun pokes through the window blinds. Eddie pokes Steve’s cheek. Too much poking going on for Steve who definitely didn’t get enough sleep, per usual.

“You got up last night.” Eddie mumbles, still lazily poking him. 

“How’d you know?”

“Bed felt different.”

Oh. The way Eddie says it. A crash of honesty. His voice sounds weathered, unused from sleeping. Barely awake. It sort of hits Steve’s heart like a crime he didn’t even know he was capable of committing. 

Honestly, he doesn’t get why last night would be any different. Steve gets up most nights, not just last night. But Eddie looks particularly wounded by this (new) realization, so Steve probably shouldn’t point that out right now. Maybe in the afternoon when Eddie is more alert. Less… offended.

“Well, I’m back now.” Steve grabs Eddie’s index finger, the one poking him, and places it over his own lips. Bites at it gently till Eddie pulls away in protest. He’s smiling as he swears. Lets out a string of half-hearted threats about how he’s gonna pour Steve’s hair supplies down the sink for such a vicious attack. 

It’s a little irresistible when Eddie gets like this. When he’s the pouty one instead of Steve. All he can think to do is reach out, curl his hand underneath Eddie’s chin and pull him in. Eddie moves so easily, gives up his one-sided fight long enough to kiss Steve. Hands running up his back, legs hooking around Steve’s thighs.

Drowsy, morning kisses are so good. So, so good. Their lips feel heavier, their motions feel thicker. Every touch is guided by pure need. Steve fucking needs this, to feel Eddie curving into him, arms framing his own, groaning every damn time they break away. It all makes Steve feel needed too. Needed by the guy who changed the trajectory of his life by asking Steve to ‘hang out or something’ two years ago. 

Or Something turned out to be absolutely everything.

“New rule.” Eddie huffs, drags his lips down Steve’s jaw. “For every hour you spend awake during the night, you owe me.”

Steve laughs. “I owe you, huh?”

“Mhmm. You owe me an extra hour of wallowing in bed together in the morning.”

“What about work?”

“The hours will have to rollover, I guess. Accrue interest.” Eddie lifts up from Steve’s neck, eyebrows raised. Clearly having too much fun with this. “We can hash out the details over coffee and burnt toast.”

Typically, Steve would play along, continue the little comedy routine that Eddie starts up. But he’s so damn tired from the lack of sleep and early fucking wake-up call. So instead, he tugs Eddie back down by his collar and whispers, “Whatever you say, baby.”

Because that’s what it boils down to. He’d do anything for Eddie to kiss him this deep, till their lips blister and their jaws ache. Steve would give every fragment of lovesick happiness in his heart, just to hear the way Eddie says his name all breathy and raw. 

He can’t say that out loud, dear god no. Eddie would mock his ass into next century. So Steve just hums into Eddie’s mouth, twists the collar of his shirt enough to permanently wrinkle it. They’re verging into that gray area between cable-approved makeout sessions and dry humping till the alarm goes off. If there wasn’t an alarm to worry about, Steve would already have Eddie’s boxers already his ankles and moaning his name the way he likes it best.

Whoever invented alarm clocks are the ultimate boner-killer.

Steve ducks his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck, lays a few quick kisses on top of his shoulder. Hopes that translates to, ‘I wanna suck you off till there’s nothing left, but I’m a boring fucking adult with a boring fucking job.’ 

The translation must be clear enough because Eddie rolls off of him and heads to the bathroom. Seems just as grumpy about it as Steve. Good. They can be cranky together.

When he comes back out, they get ready for their respective work shifts. Steve looks over, watches Eddie struggle with a tangled portion of his hair, before giving up.  Accepting defeat way faster than Steve ever would. “Uh, Eddie?” He tries his best to hide his snickering through the question.

“Yeah?”

“Why does it matter if I wake up sometimes?” Okay. Most times.

“You’re gone.” Eddie shrugs. “Simple as that.”

The reaction is too mellow for Eddie though. Shrugging and dismissiveness? Nah. He’s downplaying the shit out of whatever he’s feeling, and Steve’s not having it.

“What do you mean it’s simple?”

“It’s just… I don’t know. Doesn’t seem fair.” Eddie checks the clock, then sighs. “I want more time.”

More time? More time with Steve or more time in general? Either way, it doesn’t add up. They’re young - they have all the fucking time they could ever want. Also, they live together and have all the same friends. It’s not exactly a logical theory.

Then again, neither is Steve’s ‘pre-sunrise air supply’ theory. None of it makes sense. But at least they’re here. Wanting fresh air and each other. That’s enough logic for a lifetime.

“Hey.” Steve walks over and takes Eddie’s hand. He taps over his ring finger, the one that symbolizes something they can’t have. Not now, not in this society. Still. It means something. So he stares intently at it, rubs over the place where a ring might sit. Thinks that Eddie would pick out something bold. Something gaudy and perfectly him.

More time. Steve gets it, he does. He releases Eddie’s hand and nods. Smiles.

“I’ll steal us as much time as I can, Eddie Munson.”

[novelistdaviswrit3s]

Writing Challenge Day 2: "Things that Make You Happy"

Things that Make me happy are truly simple. Spending time with my granddaughter makes me more happy than I have ever been in life. She is a lot to handle for this old body of mine but she gives me the kokd of love that no one on earth can give. I can’t wait to meet my grandson I’m sure he’s going to do the same thing… He’s gonna be so handsome., The next thing that makes me happy is writing.…

[snowyroads]

he’s a sleepy guy