#which leads me to my full night insomnia

[smittenskitten]

I wish there were more hours in the day for me to watch everything I want, obsess over the new show I am watching, work full time and get through a full sleeping cycle

[postmortamore]

vent time. cw for abuse, bugs, self harm, blah blah blah blah

[lick-me-lennon22]

Beatles X ADHD!Reader Headcanons

(Hello, everyone!! I apologize for the short hiatus, I've been going through a lot following my 21st birthday as well as some family/work troubles. I also want to give a happy, happy 84th birthday full of peace and love to the one and only Richard Starkey!!! ☮️💞☮️💞☮️💞 As always, please let me know if anything in this post comes across as offensive or insensitive, and take what resonates with you :) I'm glad to be back and hope you all enjoy this post!!)

John

John is intrigued by your unique perspective and view of the world

He admires your creativity and often finds inspiration in your spontaneous ideas

He encourages you to channel your energy into your passions - whether it's music, art, or any other creative pursuit

John understands that you may struggle with focus at times and offers gentle reminders or helps you create strategies to stay organized

He'll support you through restless nights by staying up and chatting with you, plagued by his own insomnia, and helps you get your energy out

He also understands that you may thrive in an environment that may seem chaotic to others, but embraces the unpredictability and encourages you to express yourself freely without fear of judgement

John greatly values your honesty and openness about your challenges

He shares his own vulnerabilities and struggles with you, creating a bond built on mutual understanding and support

He enjoys engaging in deep conversations with you, exploring different topics and learning from your point of view

You two often have late-night chats that range from philosophical discussions to whimsical flights of fancy

He appreciates your ability to jump from topic to topic, finding it refreshing and inspiring

John absolutely loves to collaborate with you on creative projects, whether it's writing songs together or brainstorming ideas for new ventures

Your spontaneous and unique ideas often lead to innovative and unexpected song lyrics or artistic projects

During times when you feel overwhelmed or distracted, John offers a supportive presence

Whether it's through gentle reminders, offering reassurance, or simply listening as you ramble about your latest hyperfixation, he provides unwavering comfort and understanding

Paul

Paul is naturally a very supportive and nurturing partner

He is exceptionally patient and understanding during times when you become distracted or overwhelmed

He also thrives on creating structure and routine, which helps you manage your symptoms effectively

He'll collaborate with you to create adaptive routines and to-do lists that accommodate you, designing schedules that provide flexibility while ensuring important tasks are completed without stress

Paul helps you channel your creative energy into organized projects

He enjoys planning songwriting sessions or artistic endeavors that allow you to streamline your enthusiasm and ideas

Paul listens attentively when you ramble and infodump about your hyperfixations

His optimism and positivity uplift you, helping you feel more confident and capable in managing your ADHD

He always makes it a point to celebrate your achievements, big and small, recognizing the effort and determination it takes to accomplish tasks despite your ADHD-related challenges

Paul is very attuned to your emotional needs, offering comfort and support during moments of frustration or overwhelm

During periods of self-doubt, Paul makes sure to emphasize his belief in your abilities and resilience

He will also take the liberty of decluttering your work and living spaces, as well as locating items you may have misplaced, wanting to keep you from experiencing additional stress

He will often pick up your medication for you (if applicable), and always reminds you to take your meds

Paul helps you set clear goals and prioritize your tasks

He suggests therapies and coping mechanisms, helping you to make informed decisions to improve your daily life

George

George appreciates your spontaneity and creativity, and feels it aligns well with his laid-back personality

He encourages you to explore different hobbies and interests, recognizing your potential to excel in various creative endeavors

He values your insight and often seeks your perspective on music, philosophy, and art

George appreciates your ability to share your experiences openly with him, even when your thoughts are racing or your emotions are intense

You bond over using music as a form of therapy, playing acoustic guitars together or listening to soothing melodies that help calm your mind and enhance your focus

George enjoys spending quiet moments with you - whether it's meditating, enjoying nature, or simply existing and decompressing together

He loves to escape with you to peaceful, natural settings where you can both unwind, connect with one another, and find inspiration in the beauty of your surroundings

He provides a calming presence for you, helping you feel grounded and supported in moments of overwhelm or distraction

George notices small details about your behavior and mood, which helps him recognize when you need gentle reminders or space to recharge

He always respects your need for personal space and quiet moments

George, of course, introduces you to and walks you through mindfulness practices and meditation techniques that help you center yourself and manage your ADHD symptoms more effectively

He supports you in setting boundaries and encourages you to prioritize self-care

George shares his passion for health and wellbeing with you, encouraging activities like yoga, journaling, and nutritious cooking, which promote physical and mental balance

Ringo

Ringo embraces your spontaneity, finding joy and solace in your playful and creative nature

He values your unique talents and perspectives, always taking genuine interest in your hyperfixations

Ringo encourages you to express yourself freely and to always embrace your quirks and unique strengths

His humor and warmth create a positive atmosphere where you feel accepted and cherished for who you are

His lighthearted approach helps alleviate day-to-day stress and pressure

Ringo finds great pleasure in making you laugh, and appreciates your own playful sense of humor and view of things

Ringo is naturally flexible and adaptable, which helps him to navigate your changing moods and interests with ease

He recognizes that your ADHD may lead to shifts in your interests or priorities and remains supportive and understanding in these moments

Ringo enjoys planning outings and activities that cater to your interests, making sure you're both engaged and having fun

He savors moments of comfortable silence and parallel play with you, where you can simply be together without constant need for stimulation or conversation

He deeply appreciates the peace and connection found in these quiet moments

Ringo creates a safe space for you to express yourself creatively however you see fit - whether it be through doodling, writing, or other forms of artistic expression

Empathy is a huge aspect of his support, as he also struggles with ADHD symptoms and navigates his challenges alongside yours

He provides a comforting and understanding presence during times where you feel frustrated or overstimulated

Ringo offers a calming and positive demeanor, as well as unconditional support, reassuring you that you are not alone in managing your ADHD

[wheeboo]

insomniac | lee jihoon

SYNOPSIS. in which jihoon has trouble falling asleep. PAIRING. lee jihoon x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship WARNINGS. mentions of insomnia WORD COUNT. 1.2k

notes: just a random jihoon comfort drabble because he works so hard for us and deserves everything in the world <3

Jihoon can’t fall asleep.

It was nothing out of the ordinary for him, as he finds his days filled with exhausting schedules that easily wears him out, yet he spends his nights specifically to produce new music for the group. But as the rest of the world around him settled into deep slumber, Jihoon remained wide awake in those ungodly hours, fueled by nothing but the intensity of his creative passion.

He couldn’t tell if there was any reasoning behind it𑁋if there was a reason why his brain is so full of ideas that it can’t seem to just shut up and be quiet for once, so he feels the need to put it all down first until the wee hours of the night before having to force himself to sleep, which in itself doesn’t really do his body well. 

The cycle had started over a month ago𑁋that’s what he told you at least𑁋but time seemed to lose all meaning when he was in the zone. The days blurred together, punctuated only by the occasional meeting or performance. Jihoon couldn't remember the last time he had a good night's rest. His mind resembled a galaxy of inspiration, and he was just a mere person trying to capture its brilliance in sound.

Jihoon finds himself staring at his computer in front of him, eyes dry and a bit heavy, yet his mind is completely awake. It’s around three in the morning and he’s probably gotten up once or twice in the last few hours. He knows himself that whatever he was doing was unhealthy; you nagged him about it just an hour ago, and now you were coming over.

His phone vibrates and he takes it in his hands, reading through your short text.

[my y/n 🤍] can you let me inside?

Jihoon’s heart twinges with guilt as he reads your message. He knows he should have listened to you and taken better care of himself, but the allure of his music and the pressure of his work had consumed him. He had become a slave to his insomnia, unable to break free from its grasp.

[my jihoon ❤️] door is unlocked. be careful

The moment he sends the text he hears some footsteps outside his door. He stands up from his chair, releasing a groan from the slight ache in his step, and heads his way to greet you. 

Immediately once he opens the door, he frowns at how disheveled and tired you look when taking off your shoes, knowing that you made the effort to come to his studio for him. You carried a bag from what he presumes is food from the convenience store at your side. Gosh, what time did he last eat?

“You didn’t have to come here, Y/N.” Jihoon reaches a hand out to help steady you as you chuck your shoes off to the side. 

“I had to, honey.” The term of endearment sends something through his heart. “I can’t stop thinking about you continuously pushing yourself these days. I miss having you at home.”

Before he could respond, you take his hand in yours and lead him to the couch, placing down the plastic bag on the table. Jihoon helps you unpack the contents inside. It was just two bowls of ramen and a pack of microwaveable rice. 

“Here, I’ll warm this up for us. Just wait on the couch.” Jihoon takes lead and grabs the two bowls of ramen and rice, bringing it to the little kitchen area to the side and filling the bowls up with preprepared hot water. 

You find yourself sprawled on top of the couch, watching your boyfriend quietly hum his way through the studio. Even though you were tired yourself, you made an objective to not fall asleep right on the spot. You wanted him to be with you. You wanted him to try and fall asleep with you, and maybe just maybe help him get some decent sleep even for one night. 

And if you had to keep showing up to his studio to coax him out of work, then that’s what you were going to do. Nothing was going to stop you. 

Once Jihoon finishes warming up the rice and letting the ramen cool down, he brings the food back to where you are and sits himself down on the couch right next to you.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, though there was a bit of lingering tension in the air knowing that the elephant in the room had to be addressed at some point. For now you both just cherish the time together since a lot of Jihoon’s work had interfered the two of you from fbeing able to spend time with each other. 

Once you finish eating, you glance over at him, pushing back some of his dark loose strands in his face behind his ear so that you could see his side-profile better. You see his lips curve up in small appreciation, but he can’t seem to get himself to make eye contact with you. The guilt coursing through him felt as if he was a bit more distant than usual.

“You know you deserve a break sometimes, right?” You ask him, watching him take in your words so heavily that it makes him momentarily pause.

Jihoon nods his head, a small sigh leaving his lips. “I know. But ever since we discussed our comeback preparations, I... I can’t help myself, you know? I need to make everything perfect.”

You listen to him carefully, taking in his words like the gentle melody he has the art in making. Jihoon had always been aware of the immense pressure on his shoulder over the years and it just now began to take an obvious toll on his health both mentally and physically. 

“I just can’t rest knowing I have all these ideas, all these words for lyrics...” Jihoon scrunches his face up together, exhaling a deep breath. “But I do wish I can just sleep and rest.”

That’s when your face lights up just a bit. “That’s why I’m here. You’re going to take a rest with me, whether you like it or not.”

Jihoon peers at you as if you were crazy. “Y/N𑁋”

“Jihoon, honey, please rest with me. One night is all I ask for,” You practically beg him. “At least lay here with me until morning. I know your work is important to you, but... I miss you. I miss holding you and when you hold me.”

You stare at him with pleading eyes and Jihoon can never get himself to resist you. Though he has a lot of trouble expressing how he feels, he can never deny just how vulnerable and sensitive you make him sometimes. You always found the smallest ways to take care of him, even if it meant sacrificing yourself in a way. He’s always been grateful for that, and he knows that someday he will repay you. He has to.

Jihoon glances between you and his open computer in the background, finally letting his shoulders relax. 

“Okay.” He stands up, motioning to his computer. “Let me just turn all this off and then I can hold you.”

You shake your head amusedly. “I’d rather hold you this time if that’s okay with you.”

Jihoon feels a smile creep on his face as he walks to turn off his computer and soundboard. He’s not against that idea either.

[sealofarchives]

Could you do a headcanon of the Rottmnt Leo of how he would react when he realizes he is in love with the reader? (neutral gender)

Headcanon/Oneshot: The slow realization of Leo falling in love with the reader. (Requested prompt)

A/N: Accidentally went with a slight oneshot but, hopefully this has what the request is looking for.

Insomnia won another night as Leo gave up trying to stick to a normal sleep schedule. Now scrolling on his phone bored from the lack of funny videos on youtube. And decided to try and organize the photos he saved on his device. Until he found a few photos of you two together.

Going backward from the most recent picture and then eventually. Seeing the first photo of you with him.

You weren't really one for photos so... Your face had a bit of trying to smile like what you usually do at awkward family gatherings. But, still had fun around this self confident red slider turtle.

A digital memento of the white lie of

"I was supposed to check out this place ahead of time but..."

"Naaaah, where's the fun in that!"

"Might as well hang out with (Y/N) for a bit so it doesn't seem like a boring escort mission."

His focus now taking mental notes at the later pictures where.

You felt comfortable enough to speak up about your personal space and sometimes not in the mood for a hug. Which he, Raph, and Mikey are guilty of giving surprise affection and very much took the issue in a serious manner.

Resulting in you sometimes out of your comfort zone and taking the lead when something has your full attention. The pictures almost being subtle examples where you can finally be yourself.

Memories of a safe and mutual trust built between you and the turtles' small friend group.

Even joining in on some goofy poses that he can't help but, tease you about it on some random night out.

His heartbeat almost stopped at a past video where he surprised you with a plushie of your favorite character for your birthday.

.

..

...

He saw himself blushing being pulled into your bear hug that almost choked him out of breath. While Donnie recorded the said video as the softshell turtle snickered at his brother's obvious sign of a crush. Leo gave a light glare at his brother until seeing the sweetest smile on your face. The video ending just as the blush deepen close to spreading acrossing his light blue mask.

He remembered how Donnie immediately went with a dating survey. The what type of person you date icebreaker. And a bit of payback of Leo stealing the second slice of your birthday cake.

"Totally not taking notes for your potential future spouse."

Leo facepalmed how much he had to hide any bit of jealousy to avoid ruining your special day. But, it stung hearing you laugh at Donnie's idea and going along with it. Thinking of it as a fun what if game.

Since you almost give the same attention to him. His snarky attitude is rarely at you with how often you're never bored by his routine techno babble. Along with how much patience you have. Dealing with two turtles who deny having some ego problems.

Leo lazily put his phone away on top of his bed.

With a slow sigh to relax his nerves, he replaces his sleep mask with a fresh light blue mask and stood up to wear a dull blue hoodie.

Holding one of this signature swords as he opens up a light blue portal.

("Sorry Donnie but, I'm not into the idea of sharing (Y/N) with you.")

("I feel more at ease with them by my side...")

("Even if I don't have the words for a proper heartfelt confession...")

("I know they can help with me with that.")

Leo held onto to his phone staring at the new phone wallpaper.

Just the two of you. Almost posed together like a couple while attempting to stay focus for a boring grocery shopping list.

He shook off the embarrassing feeling and will pick a different one later but, for now.

The instant text message reply of you still being awake at these late hours gave him another push to ask you out on an actual date. As he jumped through the portal to your room with no hesitation.

[thisismeracing]

Midnight rider | MS47 (patreon)

read the full piece here

read the smau version for free here

* part of the 'college!mick' universe

― Pairing: college!mick x reader (she/her) ― Warning: curse words; mentions of insomnia and a brief mention of drug addiction (song context); 1k words. ― Summary: When you're in the middle of an insomnia night and text Mike, you weren't expecting him to show up at your dorm suggesting a ride on his bike.

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preview

Everything was perfect for a great night’s sleep. The weather was pleasant. Your comforter was warm enough. For the first time in forever, the girls from your building weren’t playing loud music or throwing a random party. There was no pending assignment from those typical hard classes. And you were done with all the extra readings – not that this was unusual. The point was: you should be sleeping. Any person in these temperatures, pressures, and conditions would be asleep. But as it happens, you had insomnia. It would visit you every once in a while. Depending on your grades, it could stay with you most of the semester, or show up only twice. 

And the thing about insomnia, and late-night thoughts was that they usually lead you to do things that in other conditions you would not – such as text your classmate who started to give you rides whenever you found each other late at night in the library. 

The worst thing was: you were tired! You wanted to sleep. So maybe that’s the reason why your brain couldn’t function properly and made you type a message that sounded more like a booty call especially considering the time. 

“So…mmh…you up?”

Mick, however, answered quickly and with humor.

“Is that a booty call?No way! Lol” and then, “Jokes aside, what are you doing up this late?”

He knew how to be funny in a discreet way. It was as if he was whispering his jokes only twice daily and you spent the whole time waiting for it. Maybe that was his nightly personality – funnier than during the day. 

You giggled and answered the text with a new thread of your own.

LOL stop!!!!

It’s my insomnia

What about you? Don’t you have any early classes?

It took him less than a minute to confirm that he did have an early class, and explain that he was studying, to which you apologized for interrupting, but Mick shot back:

Nah, dw

You wanna ride around town? It usually helps me relax when I can’t sleep

And just like that, he was at your door, honking his bike to tell you to hurry up, which led to you leaving your dorm wearing pajama pants and a random hoodie.

��───── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I'm finally back for good this time (fingers crossed). I'm going through a lot family/personally-wise so feel free to reach out, request, interact, or whatever, I'm all in to distract myself with scenarios and fics <3 hopefully, this will help you guys as well. I hope you guys liked this lil sneak peek! Make sure to like and reblog if you did *mwah*

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[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Siúil a Rún (Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader, Modern AU)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader

Word count: 5.5K

Warnings: Allusions to past violence & trauma, talk of the IRA, mild swearing

Summary: On a day you're not feeling your best, fighting yet another hard battle with your greatest enemy, your mind, Alfie has a little surprise prepared for you. After all, all he wants is to see you smile.

And make a lasting promise to his Irish queen.

Author's Note: Gods above, it's finally here! At long last I had the energy and time to finish this piece, which is partially inspired by my recent moods. Ah dinnae ken what it is, but don't you worry about my head or how I'll fix it. Instead, enjoy this piece.

TH Masterlist

Tag list: @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @zablife @vir-tual @liliac-dreamer @dreamlandcreations @mollybegger-blog @babaohhhriley @hoodeddreams13 @rose-like-the-phoenix

Alfie's POV

I’m no fan of the Irish, who can’t even remember what they had for fucking breakfast. However, right, they can perfectly recall their great-great-however many times- grandfather’s best friend’s cousin’s name and the unjust treatment he got from Oliver Cromwell if not the Black and Tan if they have a particularly clear check in with reality.

Yet here I am.

Engaged to my Irish queen, come all the way from Belfast. Raised in a family that supports the IRA, a bunch of hooligans that’ll do well to be tossed in the lock and left to drown.

But not her.

No.

She cut ties to home the moment she set foot ashore in Liverpool and boarded the train to London. She ain’t English, doesn’t particularly like them. So fancy the shock me ticker got when it turned out she liked me.

Or I her, as she likes to remind me, bringing up the time I asked her to taste the Irish sourdough I made her. She’d just arrived in town, wandered into my bakery looking like a parched twig on a stormy day, and sat by the window with an awfully glum face. Curious about this darling little dove who flew in, I lumbered over to see what had her caught up in her phone and laptop. One look at the screens told the whole story behind the erratic fingers flying over the keyboard or tapping away.

A place to stay, to call home.

In a land that had oppressed hers for centuries, still sees her as an outsider.

In the very capital of the cyclops, king of northern giants.

Now I, yeah, saw an opportunity to earn a little extra cash on the side. Sure, Margate is about two hours outside London by train so I couldn’t charge the full price for the room I had left over.

I didn’t.

For when those dove eyes turned to me, haunted and scared to death, whether it be due to her circumstances or me as a man I still do not know nor want to, I hadn’t the guts to ask her for a single penny.

Only a sliver of trust.

Though my rings, my kingdom, are covered in blood, I fortunately pleased Yahweh enough to have her put her trust in me. It’s a fragile thing, built over various meals, starting with silent breakfasts which gradually have filled with drowsy small talk. Normally I loathe small talk because if someone wants to say something and wants me to understand, they should talk. Nonetheless, Y/N doesn’t have to. Her voice is like an angel’s song, pleasant to wake up with.

And to fall asleep to on the nights the insomnia hits hard again. You get that, living a life of violence. Yet, even gods can’t simply forget.

I can only hide my crimes, spin a pretty yarn for an excuse, and pretend.

Pretend I’m a good man.

For her. 

If only because my midnight baking episodes have reduced since we met. Because I don’t, no, can’t do without those small hands leading me out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to what is now our bedroom. Pathetic, innit, how I also can’t live without those pretty fingers running through my beard until I can breathe normally. Close my eyes without ghosts creeping from the darkest shadows of my mind. To not feel the rage simmering beneath my skin.

For the first time in years, I can sleep again.

And if neither of us can find peace in slumber, we’ll slip into the old habit of having coffee or tea in the living room until the sun rises. No matter if we have an outing planned the next day or not.

It was on an outing like that, to Oxford, after a brief visit to that shithole called Birmingham, she first held my finger.

Two weeks later, when we popped by Hastings, she held my hand.

A month passed before she hugged me, in Cecil Court, during our first book and antiques shop hopping trip. I had bought her a vintage bound copy of one of her favourite books, Gods and Fighting Men by Lady Gregory.

However, it was in Camden, right outside me own bakery, on a bloody rotten autumn day, we first kissed. Cinnamon sugar and pumpkin spice, that’s what she tasted like.

My Irish queen.

Y/N will always claim it’s me who first confessed. Regardless of whether that’s true or not, in my opinion, right, and through genuine testimony, it was her wistful smile and timid ‘thank you’ as I served her a ham sandwich made with the sourdough I learned during one of my visits from a lovely old lady in Donegal and O’Neills ham which makes her the first to confess. Little did I know the brooding sadness around her could get much worse.

Since there are days she gets like this, reluctant to interact with the world. She’ll go out with Cyril, a barely mustered smile on her gentle face. 

It does her good. Our big bugger takes me on walks that are manageable even when my leg’s bad and her on those long enough to let her mind wander and forget about the desire to stay home. Like yesterday, they are again sitting side by side on the shore.

Y/N wrapped in my coat and scarf.

Cyril at her side.

Watching the waves.

Funny, innit, how a man of many words absolutely can’t stand the silence of his own house. Tragic, too, because it means he can’t live with himself. Perhaps that’s why I always bury myself in work, the bakery.

Our bakery.

Look, Y/N was the one who insisted on helping out. I was ready to give her board and room for free, though I was also desperate for help since business had taken a hit. Too cold, manly, rough. In need of a woman’s touch.

It was only when she told me it ain’t right to accept the offer without repaying the debt she never had and called me mister Solomons I took her on.

Mostly because she’d call me Alfie right from the start, wouldn’t see me as her boss or landlord. I never was nor am a fan of formalities, polite behaviour or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. You only get to know a person and their intentions once you place them in an informal environment, lull them into a sense of safety. Or, in her case, a sense of friendship too.

After a few more moments of watching them from the balcony, I head back inside to busy myself in the kitchen. Now, normally, yeah, on my rare day off, I love to bake. Gets the mind off things since you only have to focus on what your hands are doing and you get the ingredients right. Alleviates some of the stress the bakery saddles me up with, but those involved with the business need discipline so I can’t take a break. Would leave it to the dogs. Regardless, Ollie, the bloody bastard I hired as an assistant branch manager, forbade me to come into work. It’s my fucking bakery! Yet, though I’m loath to admit it, I am thankful he did this particular day. Must’ve felt Y/N had been different these past days, always has been good at dealing with people and emotions despite his panicky disposition. Better than me.

At least leaves her with one person to understand her entirely whereas I still grasp at straws at times.

Godhood comes with its complications, but I’ll do my best for Y/N.

For Mrs Solomons.

It’s worth the tightening in my chest, the battle for air while the same concerns keep milling in my noggin like some damned ever-turning grinding stone. I ain’t afraid of anything.

Anything except this mood.

It’s like Yahweh has established the terrifying truth of what she might be like when me health finally wins the battle, granting me a vision of a future in which we’re separated. Or perhaps it is an alternate reality in which I don’t exist or we’ve even never met. This morning, as Y/N stood by the door, her vacant gaze saw right through me as I draped my scarf around her neck. I kept rambling, not nagging, no, rambling on about how she’d catch a cold if she didn’t dress warmly despite knowing she wasn’t paying attention. As I placed a kiss on her forehead she likely didn’t feel, the comforting sense of normalcy shattered, turned into dust along with the little bit of sanity I had established by acting like everything was fine. Thankfully she felt warm in my arms because we might as well have been spectres moving past each other. Then she sauntered out the door, slow and ghostly.

My beautiful Irish queen.

When this mood strikes her, it takes away her voice. She won’t talk, reluctant to participate in any sort of conversation. Although, I think she hopes her quietness proves enough of a hint to not want to be surrounded by any voices at all. Not even mine. Now, any other man, right, any other sod who’s too self-obsessed to understand his girl, would go mad. I, on the other hand, the very image of an understanding and wise man who cares about his girl, his wife, speak less if at all to accommodate her. Instead, in the fleeting moments she’s here, Y/N communicates via small gestures.

A tug on my sleeve when she wants attention.

A brush over my fingers, a silent request for guidance.

We don’t go out in London on days like this. We tried once and while everything went fine, all things considered, the thought something happens in the split second I don’t pay attention breaks my already damaged nerves. Trafalgar Square is tricky enough as is to navigate with the fucking awful traffic, but when she’s barely here and we don’t cross the street in time or our hands let go of each other…

Eyes squeezed shut, I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly to remedy the tightening in my chest. To burn the claws crushing my ribs to ashes and let them take the nauseating vision in my banged up nogging with them. Blown away on the briny wind outside, past the lonely beach.

Left to drown in the sea across the road.

Right in front of her, vanishing beneath the waves. Cyril will make sure she won’t notice, keeps an eye on her when I can’t.

Especially when I’m too caught up in my own head, engulfed by something very, very grim. 

Eyes closed, I breathe in and exhale deeply as I repeat the thought like the verses in the Torah, embedding it further and further into my entire tainted being with each repetition. Only when my breathing has evened out and me ticker beats at regular intervals do I carry on.

I quit drinking after we met. Y/N needed a safe home and with an old drunk brute you ain’t going to find that. So I poured the rum, beer, and wine down the drain the very same evening and a drop hasn’t entered my house since. The day she first put her suitcase across the threshold, I’d been sober for a week.

We’re now a year further.

For all the bloody good he does me by banning me from my own business, Ollie makes for a fine lifestyle coach. I’ll admit that if it hadn’t been for him, his incessant texts and the brave efforts to pluck a glass from my hands, I might have lost her. Fuck, she might have hated me.

Or we might never have even met.

The house now finally knows silence.

No violent words. 

No drunk ravings going nowhere and anywhere.

True, genuine, silence.

I put the kettle on and pull the sourdough from the bread box. Bought it on our last trip abroad, to Amsterdam. It’s one of the things in this house which makes it ours because I used to plonk bread in a zipper bag and toss it on the counter. Not anymore. It goes in the box.

The mixed fruit blend I used for the dough we recently bought at Borough Market. Y/N was staring at it with a tender look on her face.

“Those special, love?” I hugged her from behind, my head on her shoulder. That morning, she had washed her hair and granted me the intense honour of brushing it. A smile grew on her lips in tandem with mine as I worked the brush through her strands. Nonetheless, while I was flattered and delighted beyond imagination, for being thus allowed in her space is a rare gift every man should know how to appreciate properly, she was amused with my attitude. But it’s alright. I don’t mind her laughing at me. 

Eyes closed, I drank in her presence. The sounds of the food stalls and crowd faded into a background hum, each sense overtaken by her frame in my arms and the scent of Argan oil and Shea butter in my nose. In that single moment, I didn’t have to think, to scheme. Just be.

With her, I can just be.

And I like that, makes me love her all the more.

Y/N regularly gives me an earful, but there are times when I truly listen and not only enjoy the sound of her voice. So when she gave me a piece of her story, I immediately snapped out of my reverie. “Nan used a blend of these when making brack.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of bread with sultanas and raisins. Officially, that is. But she added currants and other dried fruits when we had it and it wasn’t Samhain.”

“Tell me about the tradition. What does bread ‘ave to do with it?”

“We’d put items in the brack. A pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and a bean. Each of these items had a special meaning, applicable to the person who got them.”

“Which were?”

Occasionally, right, I enjoy teasing her because I adore the way her frown naturally flows into a bright smile as her distrust melts away. However, the calculating coldness in her stare even gave me the chills. Terrible, it was, and I don’t say that lightly. “Alfie, where’s this coming from? I thought you hated the Irish.”

I thought you hated me.

She didn’t say it, but the words were there, precariously dancing on the tip of her tongue. The shopkeeper gave me a warning look, ready to beat me with her cane if I didn’t watch my mouth.

“It’s your culture, innit, love?��’ I said, quick to placate both women lest we had more than a simple situation on our hands. Moreover, dangerous as it normally is, curiosity genuinely got the better of me. There’s little I know of her previous life so I am overjoyed when my Irish queen, obviously unintentionally, indulges me like this. ‘‘I know the past hurts you, but this clearly means a lot to you. Your Nan’s obviously important to you too.”

“She practically raised me. Didn’t want me involved in politics, give me a normal life. Well, for as far as that’s possible when…” she froze in my embrace, paler than a ghost at midnight in Highgate. Bit by bit, I could feel her fade in the chaos she had kept firmly under lock and key. We’re rather alike in that, keeping the mess in our fucked up noggins hidden until we choose to open up.

Or come across a trigger. 

I scanned the surroundings for hers. Men conversing as they’re hauling boxes. Tourists and locals squeezing together as they navigate the narrow spaces between the stalls, leaving no room to breathe without doing so down someone’s neck. The sizzling of oil on a hot surface.

Like a lit fuse.

“When…” She flinched when one of the other shopkeepers dropped a couple of crates.

I remember how my heart dropped into my stomach as her knees gave way. Her nails dug into my skin as I gently coaxed her to the ground, though she relaxed her grip a bit as a vague inkling of recognition made her realise it was me holding her. “Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Alfie, your boyfriend. You’re in London. Safe. There ain’t no guns ‘ere. Just a couple crates. Just crates. That’s all.” 

I glared at the bastard who reduced my queen to a shivering husk of herself, breathing way too fast as the current of grim things swooped her along. Once he noticed I was looking at him, he quickly scurried to the back. After cursing him under my breath, I held her tight against my chest, cradled her lovely head and the funny mind in it as I gently rocked back and forth like me mum used to do when I was a child. “No guns. No bullets. No fighting. Just us, dove.”

For a few moments we sat like that on the cold paving stones. The shopkeeper fetched Y/N a glass of water which she managed to make her drink. Perhaps it’s only because the subconscious ego of my Irish queen saw her Nan in the woman. Do not misunderstand, right, I was grateful for her kindness. Nonetheless, what Y/N needed was space, fresh air. So I picked her up and carried her bridal-style to the central seating area. One day, I hope to carry her the same way across the threshold of our home.

Colour began to return to her face the longer we sat on a bench removed from everyone in a quieter area of the market. With each passing minute, I saw the demons causing those awful vacant eyes and suffocating her with every breath leave her body. The best I could do was wait and do my damn best to not let my own fear and impatience get the better of me. After all, I was not a god at that moment.

Only a man praying for the better. 

A man overjoyed when an angel gave her back her voice.

“My brothers were killed in shootings.” Slowly, Y/N sought my gaze. She blinked a few times like she woke up a second ago and did not really know whether she was still dreaming or awake. “Cillian was shot in March. Seàn the month after. They rather died than be tried by law.”

It was easier to phrase it as such than tell the truth.

They killed themselves.

Died for the ideal that had left her with a broken family. Although, perhaps it’s better to say she never had a family to begin with.

“And the man who I was meant to marry to get our family higher up the ranks, Patrick McHugh, a man I loathed, was ready to shoot me when the Gardaí had us cornered during a car bomb attack. We were meant to go on a date, so he told me, but… we stopped in the street. Alfie, he- he-’’ I put my arm around her shoulders, pulled her against me, and rested my head on hers. She didn’t owe me an explanation for her behaviour, but before I could tell her it was alright to stop, she continued. “He took me hostage. Was ready to burn me alive with him.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to-”

“Rory turned on him. His second in command, the only person he trusted. I pulled Patrick’s gun in the same moment I freed myself from his grip. Shot him in the head. In cold blood.” She bit her lip to fight the ugly sob which made her shoulders heave. “I have blood on my hands, don’t you see? Rory didn’t make it either. Stayed behind after he negotiated safe passage for me. Later I heard he saved me because he loved me. Had been crushing on me for years. Never said a word, Alfie. Never.” The fight with self-control lost, Y/N’s voice cracked with the tears yet unshed. “And now he’s gone. Everyone’s gone.”

‘‘No, not everyone. I’m ‘ere and I ain’t going anywhere. You and I, yeah, we’re gonna build something fucking biblical. A ‘ome, right, in Margate. You and I. And it’s gonna be safe. No violence. I’ll even get rid of me gun if that makes you feel better.”

“No, keep it. Still, thank you.”

I pulled a tissue from my pocket to clean up her mascara, which had stained her cheeks with little black rivulets. “If there’s anything I can do to make you feel safer, you tell me, yeah? If need be, I’ll build a fucking wall that’ll put Daedalus to shame. With me own ‘ands. Anything.”

“Thank you. I think I should repay that kindness with a clean shirt.’’ She sighed as she surveyed the damage done to my clothes. ‘‘Sorry for the stains. I know you got it fresh out of the closet.”

“Nah, it’s just a shirt. No worries. But, knowing you and your bloody adorable stubbornness, you won’t let this go. So, instead of beating yourself up over nothing because you got nothing to be sorry for, yeah, can you tell me more about the bar- barm- the… thing. Bread.”

“Barmbrack. Brack, for short.”

“Barmbrack,” I repeated. “Brack. Gonna try and remember. The items in it. You said they have special meaning.”

“Right. The… pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and… something else.”

“A bean.”

“Yes, a bean. A future without money. Anyway, so, now, the pea meant the person would not marry that year. The stick meant they would have an unhappy marriage or continually be in disputes. Now, the cloth or rag no one wanted to find because it meant bad luck, though it was also regarded as an omen of poverty. In contrast, and perhaps very bloody obvious, the coin meant good fortune or riches were coming for the person. If you got the ring, you’d be wed within the year.”

Say what you will of the Irish, but they are bloody creative.

We went back to the stall, got a full bag of dried fruit and went on our merry way. Y/N fortunately hasn’t noticed I’ve used some of the contents for a little surprise. For once her adorable drowsy noggin in the morning comes in handy, when she’s too sleepy to notice nor doesn’t check the bag’s contents before she puts a little in her yoghurt.

The kettle goes off. The steam creates a thin layer of condensation on the tiles and warms my face when I pour the water in a mug. There’s nothing like a cup of char regardless of the time of day.

I wager they’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Until they are, I sit on the chaise longue in the living room. It’s a gorgeous thing, a real beauty we found while antique shopping in London. I had my doubts about the red velvet, but Y/N convinced me to get it regardless because “it fits the house’s aesthetic” whatever the fuck that means. It’s a sturdy piece of furniture, definitely worth every penny.

We tested it thoroughly.

Multiple times.

Nipping the gingerbread tea we bought yesterday at M&S, when I barely managed to prevent Y/N from buying three boxes on top of the three boxes of Christmas spice tea already in our basket, I watch my family. A low chuckle tickles in my throat, proud and amused. Who’d ever thought I, Alfie Solomons, the Divine King of Camden, would stop wandering, settle down, become a family man? Tommy, the self-proclaimed head of the Shelby family though they’re all bad people, would have a bubble if he heard that. 

I ain’t like him. I’d marry my wife, the lovely and downright bloody gorgeous goddess currently down on the beach, the one and only true Mrs Solomons, out of love. A love based on loyalty, right, and not out of convenience or business. No whoring when she ain’t about, no secrets, no dirty business.

No more blood on my rings.

We’d raise our children together, perhaps spoil them rotten. Y/N would chastise me for it, I already know, but I want the best for my girls. Maybe two or three, though I’m not opposed to having a son, yeah, but he’d have to be born before my princesses so he can protect them when their good old man can’t. Hopefully, one of them would like to take over the bakery, keep the business in the family. 

I might have to be on my best behaviour, be more of a father rather than a boss if I don’t want to have her tell me over dinner one night “Papa, I’m not taking over. None of us wants to, least of all Seraphina. She’s more one for painting.”

Yes, they’d be artisans in their own right. But if one of my girls wants to paint, no way she’d learn it from Arthur Shelby, who’s head is like a broken vase what is glued together badly. Nah, I wager she’d be clever enough to teach herself. All of them would be talented like their mother.

The sound of the front door opening resonates in the hallway, followed by Cyril’s happy padding, merrily trodding past me on his way to his bed in front of the hearth. We never should’ve gotten him that pillow, has made him lazy.

But how could I tell her no?

Not that she’d have listened anyway. Y/N would’ve used her own card at the till. However, being a proper gentleman, right, and maybe because I wanted to gain extra what they call ‘brownie points’, which is a stupid phrase in and of itself, a show of being too incapable to use one’s speech properly, I paid.

Y/N follows the happy bugger, head hung low and eyes cast towards the ground. Headphones in her ears.

It’s one of those days.

I step in front of her when she makes for the living room. For a moment, she stays still, like a ghost puzzled by why it can’t move forward. Nevertheless, our eyes meet for a second when my hands touch her shoulders.

“No need to wear a coat inside, is there, darling?” I doubt she hears me, my voice drowned out with the rest of the world.

Perhaps, no, no perhaps.

I am sometimes too loud for her as well.

Although she always tries to play it off afterwards, me intestines tie themselves into a pretty tight and suffocating bow tie when it happens. When the world gets to her.

When I, the real me, The Mad Baker of Camden, get to her.

From the corner of my eye, I’ve seen her flinch when disciplining my staff or stiffen when removing rude customers. I especially hate those who bother her, how they make her freeze in their presence and how she’ll avoid my touch afterwards. Breathing is an art in and of it-bloody-self when I watch her from a distance, headphones blasting music as she sits bowed over a cup of coffee which will grow cold.

Yet, when she’s ready for contact again, those earbuds leave her ears. I don’t fucking care what my men say at this point, but I rush over as fast as I can what with my me fucking leg. I can bear that pain, incomparable to what I unwillingly inflict on her or its effect on me.

Her fingers only take my palm, mapped out from a distance, if she sees no violent lines in it. Some days it trembles, those days when her breath is shivery and I feel tears roll down the good, to her trustworthy, lines as she presses them to her cheek.

Although she doesn’t know it, then again my clever little dove likely does, I’m proud of her for trying to go without headphones nowadays. Recently, it’s only one she’ll keep in, in the ear opposite of the side I’m on. Left if I’m on her right, right if I'm on her left. On really good days, those splendid days which make you wonder whether Yahweh wants to give back to humanity, she’ll go without completely. Fortunately, most of the time this doesn’t result in situations like Borough Market.

Nevertheless, today is a day she needs them.

While Y/N moves to the living room, I head to the kitchen to finish setting up the little surprise I prepared for her. By the looks of things, she needs it. It’s hypocritical, innit, that I’m doing this despite hating when it’s done to me? Still, a good man, a proper man, yeah, a proper fucking gentleman, a bloody king, will try his damned best to surprise the woman he loves whenever and however he can.

Because she deserves it.

These acts of love.

If only because words have a tendency to fail.

As mine do.

A lot.

Tray in hand, I make for the living room. Exactly as I envisioned, Y/N has curled up on the sofa, headphones in while she’s doing that funny yarn thing her Nan taught her. She’s good at it, has made me a very nice scarf and beanie for Hanukkah last year. 

Recently, after our little getaway to the Scottish Highlands, where they speak some form of English she fortunately seemed to understand, worse than the Irish except for her, she made a blanket with a deer’s head. Got inspired by our surroundings, she said. I think it’s the show she watched on her phone every night or in the car.

I put the tray on the coffee table and sit down next to her, a little distance between us. “Hard day, dove?”

“Yeah.” She glances from the slices of sweet soda bread to the glass of whiskey and then to me, her fingers expertly holding up the yarn wrapped around them. “That for me?”

I nod, trying to contain the excitement ignited by hearing her voice. One decibel too loud and I’ll lose her again. Gotta play me cards right, so I speak as evenly as I can without showing her the precarious edge I’m balancing on. “‘Cause you look awful homesick.”

“Thank you, mhuirnin.”

For a few moments I watch her nibble on a slice, vacant gaze cast towards the cold hearth. “We can go on a trip to-’’

“No.”

“Y/N, we don’t have to go to the place your people live. We can go to, fuck, I don’t know, the Republic. It’s safe there, innit? Cork? Enjoy the sea. Waterford? Dublin for an urban-’’

“Alfie, I said no.”

“It’ll do you good.”

“I left Ireland for a reason.” Finally she meets my gaze and me ticker almost sinks through the floor once those pretty eyes shimmering with tears meet mine. “The whole fucking island. Don’t make me return.”

“Alright. We’ll go somewhere else.” I open my arms in invitation. Fortunately, it seems she’s in the mood for contact with me. Face buried in my sweater, her small fist clutching some of the fabric, I wrap her up on my arms. “Or nowhere. We can stay ‘ere.”

As an answer I’m given muffled mumbling, worse than me own.

“What was that?”

“Hotel night.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. London?”

“We already know the town well. What about the Lake District, hm? Nice and quiet. Lots of green. We can rent a cottage or a nice B&B. Cyril would like it too, right, lots of places to explore. Makes for nice walks, yeah.”

As in agreement, Cyril lets out an excited though low bark, sensitive to what she gets like when her mood’s as it is now.

“See?” I say, pulling her a bit closer. “‘E likes the idea.”

In acknowledgement of our shared sentiments, she hums.

“We’ll figure it out later. For now, ‘ave another slice, drink some whiskey, crochet. But lean on me, eh? Lean on Papa Solomons.”

She grabs another piece of bread and starts nibbling on it, occasionally nipping on her glass.

For a while we sit in silence as she crochets and I simply watch her eat, occasionally shutting my eyes to drink in the moment.

Until my plan comes to fruition.

Feigning innocence, I lift an eyebrow when Y/N pulls a difficult face and spits something into her hand.

She once told me that according to Celtic philosophy, all things come in three.

Third slice of bread.

A ring, of course not the one I mean to present to her properly.

Her head snaps up at me, so fast I’m both glad and impressed she hasn’t broken a vertebrae.

“Yeah, this ain’t a joke.” I kiss her forehead. “Within the year.”

On a better day.

[reidsmuse01]

"Please talk to me"

Pairing: Luca x Fem Reader

Warnings: Mention of struggling with mental health, suicide, self harm. If any of these issues trigger you, please don't read.

Summary: You had been struggling with your mental health for a while now. When you take it too far one night, Luca finds you and saves you.

______________________________________________________________

Part One

There it was again. That familiar dull pain in your stomach. You knew what it meant. Your anxiety was getting bad again. You tried self-care days and all the other bullshit therapists tell you to do like talking a walk or making a cup of tea like that’s supposed to help. Nevertheless, you got up in the morning, your head felt like it was made of lead. You hadn’t slept properly in weeks, hell maybe even months, but how could you tell anyone. How could you tell anyone that you were so weak to let yourself fall down into that dark hole again. You let yourself slip back into that place that you fought so hard to get out of, but here you were.

You plastered on the best fake smile you could and washed you tear stained cheeks before your daily morning facetime with Luca. When the phone rang you almost considered not answering just in case he would ask how you are and what were you supposed to say to the man you loved. Oh you know I’m good apart from the insomnia, stomach aches, chest pains, loss of appetite, daily meltdowns, tears, suicidal  thoughts, anxiety- of course you couldn’t. You’d break his heart which in turn would make you feel even more shitty about yourself, if it was even possible.

“Hey Baby”, he smiled waiting for you to respond.

“Hey”, you responded in a rough, husky voice.

“Whatcha up to today”, he quizzed his lover.

“The usual, work”, you responded while mustering up the energy to apply moisturiser to your face.

“Oh”, he looked disappointed in your lack of interest in the conversation.

“Are you ok Y/N?”, he asked looking concerned.

SHIT- what were you supposed to say, Luca knew you like the back of his hand and he knew when you were lying.

“Yeah babe, I’m good, just a headache, think I’m coming down with something”, you smiled weekly at him through the phone.

“Aw, will you still be able to come for dinner and drinks with me and the team after work this evening?”, he asked hopeful that you would still come.

“Oh, I don’t know babe. If I still feel shitty I might not, I’ll let you know”, you answered, knowing full well there was no way in hell you were going.

“Ok, I gotta get going my buzzer just went off, we got a case, hopefully I’ll see you this evening, love you” he said and then ended the call.

You stood in the bathroom, looking in the mirror taking a mental note of all the ways you were ugly, disgusting, horrible, a waste of space, the list is endless.

You got ready for work and left early, knowing there was only one way to make you feel any slight bit better today.

You stopped at the gas station before work. A slight smiled crept onto your face as you walked back out to your car with your “depression meal “of mint chewing gum, a 20 pack of cigarettes and a very large can of redbull. You drove the rest of the way to work, inhaling the smoke, feeling the familiar burn from the cigarettes in the back of your throat and liking it- God what was wrong with you.

Your work day went quick, you spent the day in the office catching up on emails, filing and making appointments that your boss requested. On your lunch break Luca sent you a text.

It read “ Hey babe, we finished the case early, call me on your lunch please, I wanna check in and make sure you’re ok x”, but you choose to ignore it. You sat in your car and finished off the pack of cigarettes that you only bought a few hours ago. A couple of co-workers asked if you were ok as you were rather quiet and had been for a few weeks. But again you used the same excuse you had used with Luca earlier that morning and they bought it – thank fuck.

After work you changed into your pyjamas. You went straight to bed. You felt numb. A wave of nausea come over you and you ran to the bathroom. You physically puked from the anxiety. You broke down, you were a mess. Your life wasn’t worth living. Everyone would be better off without you- at least that’s what your brain told you and you listened. You hadn’t self-harmed in two years, but you found everything build you and you found yourself craving the sweet release. Without thinking, you took a razor and smashed it on the bathroom counter. You were sat on your bathroom floor, tears rolling down your face, blurring your vision, as you let out a sob. You were never going to get better this was your life and you refused to ruin anyone else’s with your baggage. You had been battling with BPD, Depression, Anxiety and self-harm for as long as you could remember and you were tired. You couldn’t do it anymore.

You took the blade and sliced the skin on your wrist. The familiar sting was a comfort. The pain, you deserved it. The feeling of the warm, crimson liquid cascading down your fingers and dripping to the floor in droplets- it felt like home. It felt like this was what you were supposed to do. The tears were flowing as was the blood out of both of your wrists now as you re reopened ancient scars. You were so tired. You lay down on the bathroom floor, not realising that the bleeding should be stopping by now. Fuck, you cut too deep, was it an accident, did you mean to do it, did it matter?

Your eyes grew heavy and you slipped into the darkness. You felt happy.

What you didn’t realise however is how long you were in the bathroom. You were there for hours and Luca began to worry as he hadn’t heard from you. He didn’t believe that bullshit story you’d fed him this morning. He knew you were hiding something, but he just didn’t expect this.

He didn’t expect to use his key, that you gave him, and find your apartment in darkness. He didn’t expect to find your  phone throw against your bedroom wall, screen smashed. He could see all the missed calls and texts on your phone- you hadn’t even looked at them. He defiantly didn’t expect to have to kick in your bathroom door to find you slumped on the ground, blood everywhere, blade still in your hand.

A scream erupted from the pit of his stomach and his knees buckled. He turned you over checking for a pulse, it was there - barely. He tried to wake you up to no avail. He used his radio to call for a medic. The team heard the call over the radio and exchanged worrying looks as they were about to leave locker room and head to dinner. They quickly bolted to black betty, Tan taking the wheel. The raced to your apartment and were horrified with the sight they saw. There was Luca, covered in your blood, holding your limp hand as the medics loaded you into the back of an ambulance. Luca couldn’t make out exactly who was in front of him from the shock and from the amount of tears falling from his eyes. The team were quick to comfort him but he brushed past them the jumped into the ambulance beside you, not even acknowledging their presence. He couldn’t. All he could do was look at you, the woman he loved barley hanging on, wrists butchered and he was unsure if he would ever hear your voice again.

“Hey, what hospital are you taking her to?”, Hondo asked, his voice threatening to break.

“Los Angeles General”, the medic replied as he ran to the drivers side of the ambulance, jumped in and sped off at great speed, lights and sirens signalling their urgency.

The team raced after the ambulance in black betty. They watched as you were unloaded and rushed to resus. Luca was left in the family room, going out of his mind, as the doctors needed room to work on you. The team entered the family room.

Chris immediately pulled Luca in for a hug. “It’s ok, she’ll be ok”, Chris whispered, trying to be hopeful for Luca.

“But what if she’s not”, Luca sobbed, his voiced barely above a whisper.

What would he do without you if you didn’t pull though.

[sequinsmile-x]

Achene

It felt almost cruel that the world carried on, as if hers hadn’t shifted with the loss of a baby she never got to meet.

Emily and Aaron try to move forward together.

-x-

Hi friends,

My insomnia is back in full swing, which means the hurt/comfort is also back in full swing.

Couldn't say where the idea for this one came from, but it wouldn't leave me alone and writing it kept me from accidentally napping on the couch after work and making my sleep pattern even worse.

As always, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.8k

Warning: Miscarriage

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

When he wakes up alone, he knows where he’ll find her. 

It was a pattern they’d fallen into over the last couple of weeks. Usually, he’d be the one who woke up first, Emily’s face still pressed into his chest, a tiny patch of drool on his shirt underneath her open mouth. He’d always wake her gently, running his hand up and down her back in a way he had done on their first night together, a habit that had carried them through from boyfriend and girlfriend, to fiances to now husband and wife. He liked it, enjoyed the predictability of how much she hated the mornings and waking up, the way she’d grumble as she slowly opened her eyes, never quite able to fight a smile as their eyes met. 

The last two weeks had been different. She’d woken up before him every morning, the sheets on her side already cool to the touch. It made him worry she was barely sleeping, if she was sleeping at all, and it only added to the concern already pooling deep in his gut, seeds that had been planted days ago blooming and taking up all the space in his chest. He blows out a steady breath and stands up, rolling his neck as he steps towards the ensuite, the light streaming out from under the door confirming what he already knew.

He doesn’t say anything as he steps into the room. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest, giving his wife the lead in how they move forward. It was a grim pattern they’d fallen into, one he didn’t know how to get out of, and it broke his heart. 

“It’s already fading,” she says, the only indication she’d noticed him walking into the room. She turns to look at him, a positive pregnancy test in her hand, a tight forced smile on her face, “I have to tilt it in a certain way to see the result now,” she clenches her teeth and sighs, shaking her head at herself as she places the test back in the draw she had taken to keeping it in, “Soon there won’t be anything…” 

She trails off, but he already knows what she’s going to say, and he steps forward, his hands on her hips as he tugs her into a hug. She wraps her arms around him tightly, her hands in fists in the back of his shirt as she buries her face in his neck, anchoring herself to him as if he was the only thing keeping her upright. 

They’d been trying. Meticulously planning to have a baby that they’d both wanted for a long time. There was a box of ovulation tests in the cabinet that Emily started her days with to keep track, and a thermometer in her nightstand that she used to track her basal body temperature. It was something they’d wanted desperately, and when after a few months they got a positive result from a pregnancy test Emily had taken because she felt a little off they were overjoyed. Aaron had run into the bathroom the moment he heard her crying through the door, ready to comfort her but she’d beamed at him, the very same test he’d just found her holding clutched in her hand. 

Their joy was short-lived. 

The scan Emily had excitedly scheduled that morning, the only one they ended up having for that pregnancy revealed two things. Emily had been a week further along than she’d calculated, closer to 9 weeks than the 8 she’d estimated, and there was no heartbeat. The air had been sucked out of the room when the doctor told them, Emily’s hand slack in his as she nodded along when she was given instructions on what came next. It was a conversation she’d had once before in wildly different circumstances when she was a child herself. 

When they made it home from the hospital she’d finally broken down, cried the tears she refused to shed in front of anyone other than him. She’d deleted the app on her phone that was tracking her cycles, the one she’d only just switched to ‘pregnant’ mode, and tearfully told him the fruit for 9 weeks, a gimmick they’d both unexpectedly loved, would have been a strawberry. 

The pregnancy test was the only evidence they had that the baby had existed, and watching it slowly fade was devastating, another type of loss he hadn’t anticipated. 

“We should get ready for work,” she mutters against him, not loosening her grip, and he sighs, taking a moment to press a kiss to the top of her head before he pulls back, his hands on her lower back as he smiles encouragingly at her. 

She hadn’t been back to work since the miscarriage, but today was supposed to be her first day back. None of the team knew what had happened, something Emily had been insistent on, and they thought she’d been sick with the flu. The lie had worked, and it also gave them a good reason why Aaron wasn’t currently going away on cases. Whilst the reason their friends had for her absence wasn’t true, his desire not to leave her alone was. 

“You don’t have to go back today if you don’t feel ready for it,” he says, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “The boss has a bit of a thing for you so I think you’d get away with more time off.” 

She chuckles sadly and turns her head to kiss his palm, pressing her grateful love into his skin, “I do have to go back,” she says softly, reaching for his hand and linking their fingers together, “I can’t just keep sitting here thinking about everything that could have been,” she shrugs half-heartedly, “Plus, I’m not sure how much longer the others will buy the flu excuse.” 

He nods and runs his hand up and down her back, “If you want to come home at any time-”

“I just have to tell you,” she says, leaning forward to stamp her lips against his, “Thank you. For being…well you I guess.” 

He pulls her into a hug and kisses the side of her head, “You never have to thank me for loving you, sweetheart.” 

___

She feels tired in just about every possible way. 

She’d been back at work for a couple of weeks and it felt like she’d never been away at all. The team didn’t ask many questions beyond asking if she was okay on her first day back. Life carried on much like it always had for her and Aaron. They went away on cases, they spent their weekends with Jack, they loved each other. But there were moments when she felt stuck, when the grief would be overwhelming and make her breath catch in her chest. 

It felt almost cruel that the world carried on, as if hers hadn’t shifted with the loss of a baby she never got to meet. She knew they’d try again, the doctor's soft assurances that they could at her recent appointment ringing around her head, but it didn’t help. Especially since she knew if she was still pregnant they’d be getting ready to share the news with their friends, their chosen family, and the thought of it made her ache. 

She sighs as she settles into the couch, relieved to be home after a long couple of days away. She hears Aaron’s familiar footsteps on the hardwood floor and she smiles as she looks at him, gratefully accepting the glass of red wine that he hands to her. 

“Thanks, honey,” she says softly, shifting so she’s facing him when he joins her on the couch, “It’s nice to be home.” 

He hums as he sips his wine, “You’re telling me. That mattress in that motel did a real number on my neck,” he complains. She places her wine down and puts her hand on the back of his neck, pressing her thumb and forefinger into his skin, massaging the area she knew he carried the most tension, “God that feels good.” 

She chuckles and leans in to kiss his cheek, “When we’re in bed I’ll massage your back if you want.” 

“I’d love that,” he says as he turns his head to capture her lips in a kiss and smiles into it. He’s glad to see her more like herself, the sadness that had permeated everything in recent weeks still there, but not as overwhelming as it had been. He’d missed her smile, missed the sound of her laugh, and more than anything he wanted to protect her from being hurt anymore. It’s why he suddenly feels nervous, worried that what he’d been planning for a few weeks might set her back. He decides to go ahead anyway and he blows out a slow breath before he reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket, “I got you something.” 

She smiles curiously at him and tilts her head as he pulls a square box out of his pocket. Her curiosity suddenly turns to panic as she furrows her brows and tries to think of what the date is, if she’d somehow forgotten something important as she waded through her grief. 

“It’s not our anniversary is it?” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, reaching out and pressing the box into her hand, “No, Em. It’s not. This is just…” he doesn’t know how to say it, how to put it into words, so he clears his throat, “I think you’ll understand when you open it.” 

She hums, “Oh, that’s mysterious…”

She drifts off as she opens the box, her words caught in her chest along with her breath, making her feel like she could burst with emotions she can’t name. In the box is a necklace, a delicate silver chain with a tiny pendant on it, the detail of which, the seeds and the ridges, were only visible up close

It was a strawberry. 

She huffs out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she covers her mouth with the hand not clasping the jewellery box. She can’t do anything other than stare at the necklace, at the pendant she knows Aaron would have painstakingly chosen because of a comment she’d made the day they found out about the miscarriage. 

“I ordered it a few weeks ago,” he says, clearing his throat again, hating that he can’t read her expression, that he can’t tell what she’s thinking, “It took a little while because it was custom made. Dave gave me the name of a guy.” He adds, his smile fading as his wife still doesn’t react. Dave had made a joke, one Aaron knows he wouldn’t have made if he knew the circumstances, about Aaron enjoying the finer things in life now he had married into money. “I thought it would be good for you to have something-”

“To remember the baby by,” she says, finally finding her voice and looking up at him, tearing her gaze away from the necklace. Her chest feels hollowed out, like all the love she has for him is forcing its way up her throat, “Aaron…” 

He only feels more worried when she trails off again, her eyes shining as she trails her finger over the small pendant, and he swallows thickly, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea, I just wanted to do something to help-”

This time she cuts him off by kissing him, her lips stamped against his as she grabs his chin, holding him in place as she rests her forehead against his, the jewellery box pressed between them. 

“No, it’s perfect,” she pulls back and looks at him, chuckling wryly as tears fall onto her cheeks, “You’re perfect.” 

He smiles and wipes her tears away, his touch soft against her skin, “You want me to help you put it on?” 

She nods and passes him the box, watching intently as he carefully picks the necklace up and undoes the clasp. She turns and pulls her hair to the side and she breathes shakily as he puts the necklace around her neck, his touch gentle as he does the clasp up and adjusts the chain. She touches the strawberry pendant, holding it between her thumb and forefinger and she sighs, closing her eyes as Aaron tugs her back into his embrace until her back meets his chest. He wraps his arms tightly around her and kisses her cheek, and she rests her hands over his. 

“I love you,” she says, grateful when he ignores the shake of her voice, “So fucking much.” 

He kisses her temple and pulls her impossibly closer, “I love you too.” 

___

One Year Later

Emily hums contentedly as she rocks back and forth in the armchair, the nameless melody turning into a yawn as she looks at the time.

3.20 am

She tilts her head down to look at the three-week-old lying on her chest, his eyes wide open as he refused to fall asleep. She chuckles to herself and kisses the top of her son’s head, taking a moment to breathe him in. 

“You really do get your hate of sleep from your Daddy, sweet boy,” she says softly, kissing his head again. 

“I don’t hate sleep,” Aaron says, smiling when she turns to see him standing in the nursery doorway, “I just get up early.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “Sounds like the same thing to me,” she says as he walks across the room and joins them, perching on the arm of the armchair, “Did we wake you up?” 

“No,” he assures her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and smiling at the sight of his youngest fighting sleep in her embrace, “I woke up and you weren’t there so I came to see how you were doing.” 

“We’re okay,” she says, turning her attention back to the baby, “We’re okay, huh? We’re just trying to get back to sleep after a diaper change and a 3 am snack.” 

Aaron watches contentedly as Emily runs her hand up and down the infant's back, lulling him to sleep against her. He wishes he could go back and tell his wife that they’d make it to this, that the clouds had parted and they’d found happiness after the storm. 

“He gets the need for a 3 am snack from you,” he says and she playfully narrows her eyes at him before she looks back down at her son. 

She strokes her fingers over his cheek, smiling as he twitches, the corner of his mouth turning up into something that resembles a smile. His eyes finally drift shut, his fight against sleep a battle he had lost, and he relaxes against her. The only thing that hadn’t relaxed was his fist, tight even in his sleep around the chain of her necklace, his little fingers next to the strawberry pendant that symbolised the loss they’d had before him. It was a complicated kind of grief, one she thinks she’ll never get used to. The acknowledgement that if she hadn’t lost that baby she wouldn’t have her son was hard to accept, a bittersweet taste left on her tongue whenever she thought about it. 

“You want me to take him?” Aaron asks quietly, drawing her from her thoughts, and she smiles and nods, taking a second to kiss her son’s forehead. 

“Mommy loves you, sweet boy,” she says, kissing him again, “I’ll see you in a little while.” 

She watches as Aaron carefully lifts the baby and carries him back towards their bedroom. She follows them, her fingers automatically reaching for her necklace, something she now wore at all times. She rubs the pendant back and forth between her finger and thumb, a movement she had found comfort in ever since Aaron had first put the necklace around her neck, and she smiles as Aaron gently lowers the baby into the bassinet, simultaneously treating the newborn like he was something precious and a bomb that could go off at any moment. He turns to smile at her once he’s done, his smile curious as he catches her staring at him. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” she says, letting go of the pendant and letting it fall back into place against her skin. She walks across the room and climbs into bed, her exhaustion returning in full force as soon as she’s under the comforter, “I just love you, thats all.” 

He smiles and gets into bed with her, tugging her against him as they settle down, both facing the direction of the bassinet where their son was sleeping, “I love you too.” 

They fall asleep in tandem, and when they are woken up just an hour later by the baby crying, they are still tangled up around each other, not sure where the other ended and where they began. 

-x-

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[vatnalilja]

Anxious Nights | Berrien Cliane

Sleepless souls take comfort in each other's company.

Short fluff. No smut. 1,265 words.

I wrote this with a feminine reader in mind, but it is gender-neutral. POV 2nd person, present tense.

Part 1 | Part 2 »

Restless, you get out of bed and wander the mansion's halls. This is a now-familiar ritual, one which you're bound to do again. Your mind often races at night, full of worry about life in your own world and what's to become of these men you've grown so fond of. Your heart aches for them since you have no easy solution to their problems. They carry so much pain—a pain so profound that it qualified them to be powerful angel hunters.

Your feet carry you to the first floor, where you flip through things in the kitchen for a while. A cup of hot herbal tea will be the perfect remedy for your insomnia. After putting the kettle on, you follow the halls to the staircase leading to Berrien's basement study. Through the cracks around the door, you can see light. He must be doing his research.

You return to the kitchen and steep enough for several cups, then return to the staircase and creep down the steps. If Berrien is in deep thought, it's impossible to interrupt him, but you prefer to be polite. You stop when you reach the bottom, your heart warming at the sight of him. He's fallen asleep on his desk with his head nestled in his arms atop his journal.

You clear away the empty teacup next to him and set down the pot, then lean your hip against his desk and admire his gentle features. Every man in the house is handsome, but Berrien has a graceful beauty unique to your two worlds. You sweep his bangs from his face and tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear.

"My Lord," he mumbles, still asleep.

This isn't new, though you were surprised when he admitted so openly he dreams of you at night and does everything he can to make you appear in those dreams. The revelation embarrassed you for a while, but the more time you spent in the mansion, the better you understood him. Besides, if you can bring him solace, you don't mind the form it takes.

After pulling another chair beside him, you sit and pluck the quill dangling in his fingers free. He stirs with a faint smile. Whatever dream he's having must be a nice one. You'd like to let him sleep, but he ought to do it in bed, not at his desk.

With your hand in his hair, you whisper his name, and he murmurs. You tuck your second hand into his and squeeze it as you caress his knuckles with your thumb. He stirs, and his soft pink eyes, obscured by long black eyelashes, drift open. He draws your hand to his face and nuzzles it.

"Berrien, you shouldn't sleep like this," you say.

"You're right, of course, but indulge me and let me stay this way for a moment longer," he says, pleasantly drowsy.

"I brought some herbal tea, but I don't think you need any," you say.

"I only need the presence of the Lord. Your hand is so warm, so calming."

"Hold it as long as you like," you say.

"I was lonely here in my study. I wanted to see your face, but . . . "

"I was asleep."

"My Lord appeared in my dreams to comfort me, and now you're here." He sits up and rests his back against his chair, still holding your hand. "I'm sorry for saying such things. I don't mean to burden you."

"Berrien."

You tug him by his hand into an embrace. He stiffens, and you feel his initial instinct to fight you, but after a beat, he relaxes into your arms with a sigh instead. His warm breath washes across your neck, tickling your skin as he leans heavily into you. You'd do anything to fill the emptiness inside him, to free him from the melancholy caused by the memories of lost comrades. He says your presence and affection help, but you can't undo all those years of loneliness in mere months. You tighten your hold on him.

"My Lord," he whispers.

"If seeing my face would make you feel better, you have my permission to let yourself in and hold my hand as I sleep," you say.

"I don't think that's appropriate—"

"I'm insisting."

"Then I can hardly argue," he says with a quiet laugh. "Let me pour that tea before it gets cold, since you went to the trouble of brewing it."

He releases you and turns his attention to the teapot. Once he finds a clean cup among his things, he wipes out his own and fills them both. He hands you the drink, and steam curls from the brim, bringing with it a grassy, lemony aroma. You relish the tea's flavor as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence.

Without asking, he retakes your free hand and closes his eyes as he drinks. Occasionally, he clutches your hand to make sure you're still there with him. The reassurance brings joy and relief to his face each time.

He breaks the silence, his eyes shining with emotion. "These are the happiest moments for me, when I can spend time with my Lord."

"You can have as much of my time as you want," you say.

"Then stay here with us as long as possible. I know I can't keep you, but . . . when you're not here, I reflect on my inadequacies. No, you don't need to hear about that." He forces a smile.

You set down your tea and grasp his other hand. "We depend on each other, Berrien. You can share things with me."

A delicate flush of pink spreads across his porcelain cheeks. "I can't help but compare myself to the other butlers and wonder if I'm worthy of serving you. I must do more to protect those I love with my own hands."

"This place would fall apart without you. Give yourself more credit."

He takes a deep breath as he weaves his fingers with yours. "I will. Please watch over me."

The moment stretches on longer than you expect, and there's something more than warm gratitude and admiration in his eyes. His hands twitch as his hold on you tightens. It's easy to see he wants more. He's a man like any other, regardless of how many years he's been alive, but as long as there are angels in this world, he will constrain himself to his servant role.

"Always. My affection is yours. Be as greedy as you like, preferably before I get too old."

"My Lord . . . "

You release his hands as you stretch with a yawn. He stammers, beside himself with surprise. The faint blush in his cheeks turns crimson. You stand and pat his shoulder, enjoying his flustered state. You didn't mean to tease him—everything you said was true. If it gave him hope or encouraged him to be bolder, then all the better.

"Back to bed for me," you say.

"Yes, of course." He gets to his feet as he regains his composure.

As you reach the first step, you give him a pointed look.

"Yes, Lord?" he asks.

"Please don't sleep at your desk," you say. "It's bad for your back."

"Of course. I'll put my things away and go to bed myself," he says.

"Good." You grin, then climb the steps. When you reach the top, you call down to him. "I mean it."

The sound of his soothing laugh floats up to you. "Yes, my Lord. I hope you have pleasant dreams."

"You too, Berrien."

You're confident he'll return to dreaming of you.

[meowmeowriley]

Hi costume anon here! I love goth Soap and tech Gaz so much!!!!!!!

Do I have ideas about the effects of repeated and long term exposure to ghostly energy?why yes, yes I do >:3c

Okay Ghost isn’t a full Ghost (ha!) which means he operates on a plain/wavelength (or what have you) closer to humans then a regular goulie would, close enough that a little bit of the extra energy the run off starts to affect the mortals around him… (you can use this for horror or comedy depending on how far you want to take it (I don’t think it would lead to death though))

At first there’s a bit of lethargy and a feeling of lingering cold slight numbness and or tingling on fingers and toes easily ignore or brushed off

Insomnia would hit after that and if they were early birds they’d slowly become night owls but again given what the guys have been through they don’t think much about it

It isn’t until they get sick and they start leaking a little ecto that things start dawning on them (queue the angst (Ghost sulks and tries to avoid them ( this does not work)))

After a while their colds (he he) settle down but if they remain paler then before and their canines are a little sharper, they can see a little better in the darkness and have a feeling of general otherness about them who’s to say?

Itty-bitty baby cores they can’t replenish on their own so when soap gets angry people get static shocks if they touch him and it’s a little easer for Gaz to hack tech when he can speak tech. I’d also wager they’d build a tolerance to Ghost abilities so the ghostly wail and cold glare wouldn’t effect them much maybe they could even sense him.

The speed with which the changes happen would be determined by length and rate of exposure

I hope this isn’t to much rambling my autistic arse would not stop thinking about this even when I had things to do today lol

I hope you have a great day!

RAAAAAAHHHHH YOU'VE SOLD ME ON IT

Nobody would notice them being tired or testy, because they're in the military, everyone's tired and testy. They have caffeine addictions, but so does every soldier. They bark orders at recruits, but come onnnn they're sergeants. It's literally their job to be tough on lower ranks.

Ghost would sulk thinking he's hurting his friends, meanwhile-

Gaz: "who needs wifi when you ARE the wifi?!" Happily tip-tapping away on a laptop that absolutely should not be getting signal where they are, and yet he's getting better signal and faster internet than anyone else does on fucking base. Suddenly he's got controll of all the electronics the enemies have. Drones self destruct, turrets open fire, every door simultaneously locks, trapping men. The enemy base is in chaos.

Soap: "AHAHAHAHAHA! Zippity zap, pippity pop! And yer transformers all go BOOM!!!" His eyes shine brightly and electricity crackles and dances through his mohawk. Distant explosions as the every transformer and junction box gets overloaded simultaneously. There's fire everywhere.

Through their constant proximity to Ghost, and constant use of their powers, it doesn't take long for them to both become powerhouses in their own right.

Tbh, I fucking love electricity powers for Soap. I know we all headcanon him as a pyro, a firy little demon man, but I really think electricity suits him. Ever seen an outlet shoot sparks? They're blue! Not all the time, but still. Blue's always been his color, to me at least. Ever seen a transformer exploded? Big ol' fireball. And he'd cause constant electrical fires if he could.

Anyhow! Fuck I love this AU 🥰 And you! You're brilliant!

[edgessunflower]

At sunrise

Pairing: Test x Fem reader

Description: Test helps you back to sleep when your insomnia kicks in

You had managed to get three hours of sleep at most before you were wide awake trying to go back to sleep but despite your attempts nothing worked leading to the next four hours from 2:00 to 6:00 of being awake staying quiet as you can so you didn't wake your boyfriend Test until he had woken up when he didn't feel you next to him. He wakes up looking around before getting up to find you sitting next to the window with dark circles under your eyes, your eyes bloodshot, and definitely would have fallen over had he not been beside you in the second he saw you leaning away from the window "How long have you been awake baby? It's 6:15" you look at the clock before remembering what time it was when you woke up "Since 2...I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn't" he knew you had insomnia especially when your anxiety was bad which it had been for the past few weeks of being on and off the road, grueling matches, barely eating throughout the day, working out early in the morning and late at night, and training you were pretty much willing yourself to get through the day despite the full on exhaustion of not sleeping over the course of the past 51 hours using coffee and even small sips of soda to keep energy for matches. "Honey you could have woken me up" he pulls you in his arms after the two of you walk on the front porch being held as the two of you watch the sun rise "I love you Drew" he smiles at the nickname for short use of his real name sharing a kiss before the sun was now up thankfully the two of you had the next couple of weeks off so you could catch up on sleep "I love you my dear" he smiles more seeing you asleep in his arms carrying you back inside and tucking you in bed holding you in his arms sleeping in until you wake up to find him shirtless in the kitchen cooking putting a sweet smile on your face wrapping your arma around his waist as you slowly get awake peeking under his arm to see alfredo being cooked in a pan before the two of you were eating outside enjoying the warm sun shining enjoying more time tangled together on the couch before the two of you were back asleep.

[vael]

2024 Annual Review

My 36th year on Earth, as always, did not go as expected. I learned in September that we are with child. My son is due mid-May. He was a surprise for us. :}

I lived the same lifestyle that I did in 2023: I wake up, get both girls ready (now 2, Olivia and freshly 4, Violet), eat breakfast, play for around 30 minutes, then sit down at my computer to work remotely. They get TV while I start my work day and then they do whatever for a while. Olivia was great about taking her first nap until around her second birthday. I make us lunch. My wife wakes up in the afternoon. I get both girls to bed.

The time my wife wakes varies depending on how severe her insomnia was that night, whether or not the kids needed her overnight, and/or if she especially suffered from pregnancy symptoms. She has trouble with insomnia and her other cocktail of diagnoses that keep her from being around in the morning. She takes care of the children overnight if they stir. I should disclaim that she is not lazy or depressed but rather just unhealthy, and every time she tries to course-correct, things get in the way. Further disclaimer that anyone who knows me knows that I would not marry nor love a lazy wastrel, so please understand this lifestyle is an inevitable struggle for all of us.

What went well this year?

Parenting

"Some people are worth melting for." -- Olaf, Frozen

Raising my two girls has been incredibly fulfilling and rewarding. They bring me such joy every day. It's hard for me, at least succinctly, to articulate quite how good it is. I suspect this is the case for many enthusiastic parents. The banter between all three children, their mispronunciations of words, surprising me with newly learned words, it's all just great.

Violet. Fully potty trained (diaper at night) and meeting all milestones. Violet is sweet, quirky, loves her family, and just being a girl.

This year I totally accepted and confirmed that my little girl is higher on the neuroticism scale than most children. This means she's more sensitive to negative emotion. This is worrying because it will affect her ability to be resilient, which is critical on the path to greatness, but as long as we're aware of it, we may be able to turn her neuroticism into a positive.

Olivia. Truly all is good with Olivia. ♥ I'm not exaggerating when I say I'm having full conversations with her. She's sharp as hell, well-mannered, loves cuddles, loves Miss Rachel, she's really just an outstanding toddler that we're privileged to be raising.

Baby...? Well, I'm really happy to have a son who I can imbue all my masculine ambition into. I'm not happy that he'll likely end up as short as me -- 5'3 is a real struggle for dating, but I got lucky -- but in life, attitude and ability are more important than stature. So far so good on his health, and he's very active in my wife's tummy. :}

Work

Game development. So much was done this year that I can't even believe we did it. It's surreal. When Raigen joined work on the engine in March, it revolutionized everything for me. He's taken on something like 150-200 tasks and many of them were things I simply couldn't have justified doing for years, such as accessibility (a11y).

So surely I released a title? No. Black Crown:

The game is fully imported and playable, and some work has been done to make it present better. I missed the Halloween release by a large margin due to Hurricane Helene and a still-faulty import, but it likely wouldn't have been in such a good place that I would have been comfortable releasing anyway. What remains for gameplay is converting Failbetter's "Living Story" mechanics to GAM3's instance-based quality management and some playtesting to make sure every story path functions properly.

Bean Grower:

Development was to be in two phases: the necessary technical side, then gameplay improvements which would lead to a V2. I could only justify time spent on the technical improvements, and I'm sorry to say it's unlikely that Bean Grower will see a V2 this decade.

Engine licensing. Made my first contract, spun up a new server, and licensed the engine out for someone to start making their own game! Starting at $25/mo. Even if this first contract doesn't work out, I have confidence that I can get a few licensees under me by mid-2026. Once I'm making a few hundred a month, I can start to invest that back into Tinydark and do some proper marketing. The plan is still to bring in most of my income through actual games.

My workplace. Remains stable, and we started Version 3 of our software this year, guaranteeing another few years of stability at the company. We brought on a new guy to help and things are just dandy. The boss did worry that I wasn't going to be able to commit the hours needed for the project, given "Daddy Daycare" as we call it, but I proved myself.

Other

Made a new friend. Nice guy. He also sponsored Tinydark's new server for 15 months. Separately, something I consider positive is that I distanced myself from another, one-sided relationship but am still friendly with the person.

Spanish. In-line with expectations. Found it hard to show up at times; truth is I don't really need the extra burden in my life but I must reignite my cognition wherever possible.

We got three new cats. For a total of six. Objectively a mistake, but one thing lead to another, and here we are.

What didn't go so well?

Sleep. A mix of self-discipline and the reality of raising small children, but it's largely my own fault. It's a recurring theme: I'll say I have (eg.) 150 minutes before bed, and I can fit in [x] and [y] minutes of recreation time to be in bed no later than 11:15. Then I inevitably fail discipline, or ADHD myself out of those minutes and I'm left with something like 120 minutes of actionable time. Even if I'm doing well, I'll often just continue working "because I have only have 15 minutes for games."

Well, it is my own failure and I will try to get better this year. I'm really not more productive for it. I'm thriving only when caffeinated, and it's pathetic. I need more sleep and I think I'll just have to forget the gaming meme because the truth is that sleep is stress relief.

Caffeine. My only vice. The abuse, and dependence, worsened this year. I'm often "double caffeinating," but it's hard to gauge how much caffeine I'm consuming given it's all instant coffee mix. One win is this mushroom coffee, which lights my neurons up like no other with less caffeine than a typical cup of coffee.

My body. Forward neck posture is still a problem. I did see a(n expensive) physical therapist to help determine how messed up I am, and the verdict was: not very. So that was nice, but I'm forgetful or even lazy about the exercises sometimes.

I end the year just as physically fit as I did the last; I sacrifice workout time in order to make progress in game development. Typically if I have a protein-heavy day, I'll try to at least lift dumbbells.

My focus. Can only have worsened. There isn't a lot to do here; exhaustion exacerbates ADHD symptoms and I cannot use my desired Forest (focus app) solution with kids running around or people needing me. I context switch constantly.

Hurricane Helene. We lost power for 7½ days, and all the dining out + food replacement + emergency supplies totaled somewhere around $1,500. Thankfully we had a family friend send us some money to help or we'd be even deeper in the financial hole...

Finances. We're pretty deep in debt and we haven't even had to pay much for the baby yet. I thought we'd see some progress due to switching primarily to Costco for our grocery needs, and it really was a boon, but it wasn't enough. Kids, lifestyle inflation, inflation; it's all too much, and my brilliant idea of taking out a loan to pay our credit card debt wasn't very effective. With a new baby and a necessary new car on the way, it ain't lookin' pretty.

My son. A few years ago I just stopped mentioning my son Abel because I had nothing good to report. Our relationship, his role in the family, and he as a whole, have only gotten worse. We need him now the most, and he has now gotten to the point where he sometimes won't join us for dinner. I allow it because I'm tired of chasing him to participate with us. It's completely averse to the family focus we have, and we've talked, done so much, and there seems to be nothing we can do but wait and see who he becomes. Where I am excited for my other children's' future, I am worried for his.

What did I learn?

Wisdom. This year, I listened to more Meaningwave than I ever have. I also listened to a greater variety of it. It might sound weird that just listening to music improves you as a person, but Meaningwave is a genre of music that samples or speaks the words of the greatest thinkers in human history. Marcus Aurelius, Jordan Peterson, Jocko Willink, David Goggins, and Naval Ravikant are my favorite speakers.

If you do check it out, most people's complaint is that it's repetitive: yes, sort of the point, and it's mostly Akira's older work that suffers from excessive repetition.

Business. Especially in Q4 of 2024 I really got into studying business and entrepreneurship, largely due to my exposure to Naval Ravikant through Meaningwave. Naval has an amazing compilation of his podcast episodes here that essentially constitute a business course. I've listened to it twice and it gives me hope that I'm on the right path. It's been a long time without making profit, and I have my reasons that I can defend, but the fact is it's been a long time.

Personal growth. I feel great about myself because I'm doing everything I set out to do. I'm actively trying to "give people energy," understand what's ailing people, being a great man and father, absorbing the aforementioned wisdom and reflecting on it. I feel like when I see people failing and making excuses, or just struggling in avoidable ways, I have a framework to recognize the problem and offer solutions in the same way I'd solve a technical problem with code.

This all said, I'm growing impatient with weak people. I'm tired of sensitivity, excuse making, tribalism, self-centeredness. So many problems people face stem from just not trying hard enough, not being lifelong learners, or being closeminded. People have noticed I'm a bit strong when speaking lately; maybe it's a temporary thing, but I'm actively trying to not sugarcoat my thoughts nor be especially politically correct.

Goals and Expectations: 2025

Game dev. Releasing Black Crown is my only expectation this year, beyond more open-world support for GAM3. I don't see myself writing documentation for external developers until 2026 and I'm not sure how much attention Black Crown's release will garner. I think it's more than likely that I will at least begin the process of releasing Black Crown to mobile app stores.

Financial recovery. I think we'll get close to being out of debt this year. Perhaps Black Crown's a big hit or I'll finally get some work from my agency.

Web development. We're in a weird place: the job market is shrinking, along with our salaries, and AI is making it hard for good candidates to stand out. But web tech in general is just fantastic and only getting better, and AI makes us much more productive than we previously were. If I were to "read the writing on the wall," it would seem clear that this is the best time for ambitious individuals to work on their side hustles. Good for me, though the games industry isn't in a great spot either.

DOOM. I still believe "something" is coming for the modern world. Whether that's the effects of depopulation, another pandemic, AI replacing knowledge workers, who knows. Will Tarriff Trump solve anything? Who knows. Will DOOM arrive this year or in five? Who knows. Best to just be prepared.

And so wraps up my longest annual review to date. Vael Victus

[callmejudgement]

Judgment’s Detailed Experience #3

It’s been quite a while! I’m just going to drop my unusual experience from this morning. It was NOT a shift but interesting nonetheless.

Last night I fell asleep at 9pm which is unnaturally for me since I have insomnia. However, my head/eyes were hurting because I started doing tarot readings and I guess that just happens to me after doing so many. Anyway, I woke up at 4:30 am, stayed up till the end of 6 (or start of 7 idk) then decided to shift because�� why not. I put on a subliminal and laid there for a while just for nothing to happen. I rolled over and continued to lay because I did not feel like getting up.

Just as I was considering getting up, I heard a voice. It sounded like a commander and he seemed to be shouting orders. It was honestly giving Star Wars but idk because I never watched it. I figured that I was shifting so I decided to just continue and let it happen. The voice grew louder and as it did, I wondered what sort of reality I’d end up in. I figured that I was just in a room and someone was watching tv. However, once it got to a point where I could “see” a world in line with what I heard, I realized that I was deadass in some sort of alien space battle. I'm not going to go over every small detail as I feel like it’s not important, but this experience lasted until 7:25am.

At this point I want to be clear that I did not shift because I was not fully in control and I did not view this experience from a single, first person perspective.

While experiencing this, I was acutely aware of my current body. I felt how I was laying and the position of my jaw, and I was uncomfortable. As I watched the whole space battle unfold, I was just trying to move. I figured that if I managed to move then maybe I would shift, but who knows. This also shows me that I was in sleep paralysis and what I experienced could’ve been a dream or astral projection. I have not AP’d before so I’m unable to tell.

While I did not shift, I still find this to be an interesting experience because of how I felt as I entered this state. Whenever I have a strange experience, I always feel a pressure and thumping between my eyebrows. I felt this same way during my two mini shifts last year which is why I persisted. However, this time the outcome was different compared to last year.

Despite not shifting, I still feel grateful for this experience. A few months ago I was feeling really down because I haven’t been able to experience another mini shift or full shift. However, I’ve had a complete mindset change. While I still want to shift (like really, REALLY bad), a few weeks ago I decided to “surrender” (read my winx club mini shift for more info on this). Yesterday I decided to also “walk forward without looking back,” after doing a tarot reading. This mindset combo has mostly had it so that I don’t fret about time or achievements. I continue to surrender myself to the possibility of shifting in every moment as I continue to walk forward. I don’t dwell on past experiences and only look at the now.

I’ll see where this mindset leads me in the coming weeks.

Thank you for reading this far,

Judgement

[massacr3d]

MASSACR3D - an independent horror oc FOREST BARNETT from the infamous barnett family massacre case.

✝✝✝ exploring themes of - a horror in the holler, survivors guilt, don't go into those woods after dark, satanic panic of the 1990's, the american nightmare, and self discovery in the form of falling apart completely. - includes triggering content such as abuse, violence, gore, and drug use.

established may 2024 - low activity 21+ blog written by nikki she/her 28

this blog is low activity !!!

i work full time and have a busy life, as well as having ADHD that often leads me to go through intense phases with my inspiration and focus to write and focus on other hobbies in my life. so i will disappear sometimes for weeks at a time so please never mistake my lack of replying for a lack of interests in our thread ily!

this is a 21+ blog and will contain triggering content, i will do my best to tag everything as tw trigger but don't hesitate to message me if i miss something

i love plotting, i love shipping, i love platonic relationships pls just give me all of the above!

the rest is simple just don't bring drama here and don't be a dick:)

ABOUT

name: forest barnett date of birth: 3/13 age: 26 place of birth: kentucky zodiac: pisces species: human gender: male, he/him orientation: closeted bisexual occupation: odd jobs current location: drifter height: 6'2 scars: small scar across right eyebrow, large scar down left shoulder and collar bone, right hand missing pinky and knuckle as well as missing most of his ring finger modifications: large amount of random tattoos scattered about, small silver hoop in right ear, tongue piercing hair/eyes: brown, shorter on sides longer in back, blue-grey eyesfaceclaim: harris dickinson

positive traitS: loyal, protective, kind, introverted, intelligent, caring negative traits: withdrawn, cynical, impulsive, quiet, odd, obsessive, angry hobbies/interests: reading, nature, working on cars, playing guitar/banjo, his old film camera dislikes: small spaces, large crowds mental illnesses: ptsd, insomnia, depression traumas : the death of his family, his time spent in prison, the unwanted attention that followed it all vehicle: rusty red 1980's chevy k10 style: really simple, mute colors. jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, most of which have holes or stains education: high school drop out economic status: poor habits: drinking, drugs, and cigarettes

it was a stale night in mid July when Charles Barnett took the family axe and gruesomely murdered his wife and three children. this would become known as the infamous Barnett family massacre. however, two of the five children survived. fifteen year old Finch, and eighteen year old Forest. originally it was believed that Forest was the killer, at the time of police arrival, Finch was missing while Forest lay gravely injured beside his father who was slain to death on the floor. for the corrupt and unprepared police force in the poverty stricken and rural area of that corner of the Appalachians during the height of satanic panic, it appeared to be a cut and dry case. a troublesome tattooed teen who enjoyed listening to metal and whos toxicology report came back positive for oxycodone had a much larger motive than a hardworking and heavily religious father. *or so it seemed*. eight days following the massacre, Finch was finally found, lost in the dense mountain forests surrounding the Barnett family home. she was the final missing piece of the puzzle. however, there was a problem, Finch was in rough shape and subsequently was left with repressed memories of that night and unwilling to talk. and so with no witnesses left to tell the true story, the police built a case against Forest Barnett which would quickly become a topic of heated debate and still is to this day. with pressure building from media all over the country, Forest was charged and sentenced to the death penalty. he would spend the next seven years on death row, waiting his turn for lethal injection until one day everything changed when Finch suddenly came forward with a much different story of that night --- a story of a brother who saved her life and the father who tried to take it from her. this sparked outrage and forced all eyes on the police and the exploitation they had made when gathering evidence. after much deliberation the case was reopened and a new and fresh look at forensics made it clear that Forest Barnett was innocent.

he was set free - but what does freedom mean to someone who is still locked in the cage of their past? countless hours Forest spent obsessing over that night, desperate to find some sort of answers to why his father had done it. this quickly leads him down a rabbit hole of horrors that lurk in those ancient mountains and the sinister secrets their family had been keeping for decades laying hidden just beneath the surface. was this a catalyst for the slaughter that night? --- the weight of this question takes Forest on a bloodstained path in search of truth and redemption.

[ahalal-uralma]

^^ Person above me you have Migraines with auras as I have those very similar symptoms and that condition. You are describing auras. Auras can come in visual/auditory/sensory distortions that warn you of the impending attack. Sometimes they can last into it.

And I’m going to add many of those symptoms vary depending on the type of migraine sufferer one is. There is more than one type of migraine. Some are common (ie. migraines without aura) while others like migraine with aura are rare.

These are a list of them:

- Migraine without aura

- Migraine with aura

- Chronic migraine

- Abdominal migraine

- Acephalgicmigraine

- Migraine with brainstem aura

- Hemiplegic migraine

- Retinal migraine

- Status migrainosus

- Menstrual migraine

- Ophthalmoplegic migraine

- Medication-induced migraine

- Vestibular migraine

- Cyclic vomiting syndrome

With rare types you can be more susceptible to suffer severe symptoms like:

- Loss of appetite

- Dehydration due to uncontrolled vomiting

- Higher risks for sleep walking, insomnia, night terrors, and other sleeping disorder issues

- Loss of consciousness

- Short term memory loss

- Prolonged pain that can last for days straight. General rule is if it goes over 72 hours then you should go to the hospital, however there are other symptoms that can warrant an earlier trip within a 24 hour period.

- Paralysis (partial parts of the body or whole body paralysis). This can vary per person. Some may find their eyes paralyzed from movement, while other sufferers might have half or their entire body paralyzed like a statue.

- Stroke - either symptoms that mimic stroke or that literally lead to it depending on triggers

- Heart palpitations/ Heart attack risk

- Vertigo

- Seizures (these can be a result of the migraine with auras, especially; these may get diagnosed as psychogenic non-epileptic seizures, or can be triggered/coupled with another disorder like epilepsy—more rare, but not impossible)

I’ve been battling slow erosion to my esophagus due to some of my attacks leading to horrible vomiting that won’t stop without injection of Zofran. Thing about erosion to the esophagus is it can be fatal if it fully erodes. It takes about 6 or 7 years to heal this, but I have not been able to since I have migraines all of the time. Medics try to warn me to stop, but I’ve reached a point my esophagus literally rattles and beats against my chest when I vomit. They can hear it and it’s become default protocol when I get that bad to throw me onto fluids and Zofran.

I can’t stress it enough if you’re experiencing anything that disrupts your quality of life it is to your benefit as a migraine sufferer to get full diagnosis and treatment from a Neurologist. I suffer vomiting only once or twice a month now since I’ve begun treatment, which is a huge improvement to 3-4 times a week.

Many of my large list of seizures I was enduring every day (multiple times a day) occur once or twice a week now and are reduced most of the time to “pacing around” episodes (with a few exceptions once in a while).

Before I got the right medication, I was having regular full paralysis, waking nightmare seizures (hallucination type) and had to fear getting ones where I would collapse into unconsciousness so bad my lungs and heart would freeze working for minutes (so far this has happened twice at most to my functioning memory).

Also, have to stress it pain might not be the worst symptom for some people, but that alone can be extremely torture to others. When my pain is kicked in throughout my head and neck at it’s worst it can cause nerves to hurt down to my feet. I have severe muscle tension in my legs all of the time.

Additionally, not to be dramatic but this is how it feels to get this pain—I feel like I’m being broken and amputated but I’m still intact and my nerves are my worst enemy.

While I have a migraine on Christmas Eve let’s talk about other aspects of migraines besides the pain that comes in waves because for me and many others the pain isn’t the worst symptom of migraines.

Migraines may include:

Feeling tired

Your brain feeling like mush

Getting a stuffy/runny nose (why many people think they get sinus headaches when really they are getting migraines)

Before a migraine, hallucinating smells

Nausea

Vomiting

Feeling tired and full of brain fog the next day

Muscle pain in your neck and back

Dull uncomfortable pressure rather than pain

Distorted vision/general sensitivity to light

Sensitivity to sound

Irritability

Scalp tenderness

Lightheadedness/dizziness

And more!