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kalevalakryze · 7 months

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Follow Orders

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Ahsoka Series Pairings: Hera Syndulla & Ezra Bridger, Ezra Bridger & Jacen Syndulla Characters: Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger, Jacen Syndulla, Leia Organa, C-3PO, Chopper Warnings: Mentions of Loss, References to Depression, Exhaustion, Comfort Notes: For Whumptober Day 12 This one is also going to be very short, since I; like Hera, have not been sleeping Prompt: “I haven’t slept in days, but who’s counting?” | “I’m up, I’m up.” | Insomnia Word Count: 1,317 AO3 Link: Here!

Hopelessness was not something that had ever been able to sink itself wholly into Hera Syndulla; Ever since she was a child, she’d known of war, sacrifice, and loss; Even the loss of Kanan, while life altering and heart shattering, she still got up in the morning, put one foot in front of the other. Had raised her son and fought in the Rebellion, had balanced being a mother and a leader so smoothly for decades.

Hopelessness’s icy tendrils had found her heart at the mention of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s return, but there’d been a spark of hope with his name. That Ezra Bridger would return to them, that the empty chair in the ghost would be filled again by the boy’s laughter and antics that had never failed to make her smile.

Jacen was so much like him, the older brother he’d never got to meet, reflected in whole smiles and brilliant thoughts, in the force and it’s thrum so intricately tied into their beings (She didn’t know much about it, but General Skywalker had assured her that even if Jacen did not know Ezra, he would know enough of the Hero in the stories she shared, and in the memory of the force, if the boy would reach on his own).

When Ezra pulled the bucket off of his head, Hera hadn’t known what she was going to do. He’d grown up so much, a near perfect resemblance of the man in the pictures he’d shown them of his parents. But he’d smiled at her with the awkward easiness of a boy who’d stolen a TIE fighter.

She was torn between meeting him halfway as her blaster was stowed numbly, from watching him, and watching the ramp of the ship.

He’d gotten tall, she could make out that much as he finally got within arms reach. No one came from the ship. “Where…?” Hera’s voice trailed off, and his smile faltered.

“They’re okay,” He promised, his hand hovering hesitantly in the space between them, like touching Hera would break the illusion. “They’ll come home,” He promised, surprise cutting him off as the General through her arms around him, plastoid creaking as strong arms encompassed him.

“Ezra,” She breathed again, fingers burying in dark, curly hair as his head tucked into her neck, arms wrapping just as tight around her as the New Republic soldiers around them started to lower their guard. “I’m so glad you’re home,” She had to focus on the good, and had to believe that Ahsoka would keep herself alive long enough to fulfill her promise. She’d promised to bring home both of her surrogate kids, and that included herself, Hera had to cling to that hope.

The Republic became a rush of activity following Ezra’s return, full of meetings, planning, organizing scouts to Dathomir, and finding some semblance of an old normal in having a tangible enemy once more.

The nightmares came after the relief of the first night, after Hera had introduced Ezra and Jacen, and had been granted the relief of watching her family finally form this last, gaping connection. She hadn’t been able to know Ezra when he was Jacen’s age, but seeing the two talk, and Ezra not so subtly passing a lightsaber to the boy; she knew that their similarities had been a strong point in her life to keeping together through it all.

Falling back into habits from the Rebellion was easy, without Kanan, and without Ahsoka around, she found days slipping past without sleep, forcing herself to make time to play with Jacen, to walk around with Ezra and talk about anything but the upcoming war, and to avoid the dreams of heat on her face and a Jedi’s force pressing her back into the Ghost.

It was on the fifth day of sluggish work, restless naps at her desk, and dozing even while she was watching Ezra and Jacen playing, that she finally found sleep; Head lolled back onto the couch with the sound of Ezra telling Jacen a story and Chopper’s insistent beeps about how the Jedi must have messed something up, that eased her off to a blissfully calm dream.

Weight dropped into her side; The engines were blown, the durasteel siding of the speeder was crushing into her side, flames licking away paint and at the arms of her jumpsuit, she needed to get- Small arms wrapped around her middle as Jacen snuggled into her, getting comfortable as Ezra’s head dropped onto her shoulder. “I’m up, I’m up-” She promised, voice thick with sleep as she rubbed her eyes with one hand, carding her fingers through Jacen’s hair while a yawn split her lips.

“And I’m Jabba the Hutt,” Ezra replied sarcastically, a smile on his lips as he shook his head, pressing his weight back so Hera couldn’t try to get up.

“Is it working?” Jacen whispered to Ezra as Hera tiredly slinked back into the couch, fingers scraping gently against her son’s scalp as her eyes dropped closed again.

“Shhh,” Ezra put a finger to his lips, though he smiled at the young force sensitive as his eyes flickered to the Twi’lek.

“I’m being ganged up on, huh?” Hera grumbled to the ceiling as her hand fell to Jacen’s back, tugging him closer as he snuggled closer.

“Mom, shh, you’re s’posed to be sleeping,” “Mmm, Thank you, Commander, I’ll get on it,”

The next time Hera’s eyes blinked open, she was curled up on her side on the couch, a blanket tucked carefully over her and a pillow settled under her head. Artificial light flooded in from the kitchen in the quarters, allowing the woman to catch a glimpse of a golden droid and the back of Ezra’s head.

“We have hope,” Ezra was saying to someone further in the kitchen as his arms crossed his chest. “That’s enough to defeat Thrawn,”

“Thank you, Ezra Bridger,” Leia’s voice was soft, toned down for the sleeping woman in the living room. “It is good to have you back, your experience with Thrawn will be invaluable… but Hera’s needed it too,” The Twi’lek started to sit up, blanket rustling as she forced her body to move. “Our galaxy had a severe Jabba shortage, lately, it seems,”

A quiet laugh was shared between the two rebels, though the view was blocked out as another yawn and a sight came from the General as she stretched; When her eyes reopened, a golden head and glowing eyes startled her. “Good morning, General Syndulla;” Threepeio started, drawing the attention of the others in the apartment.

Jacen ran out of the kitchen with the remains of an ice pop sticking to his cheek, throwing himself into Hera’s arms happily. “Mission completed, General Mom!” He started, giggling as Hera chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I always get the job done, Commander,” The woman promised, offering a mock salute when he pulled back.

“Oh this is true, you know,” Ezra started with a smile, “unless-”

“Don’t you dare, young man.”

“Unless a Jedi is involved, it seems, then you go and create your own orders?” Leia poked her head through the doorway, a spatula in her hand as she rested her other hand on her hip.

“Listen,”

“Ah, nope, no work talk till everyone eats!” Jacen interjected, rushing past Leia and snatching the spatula from her hand before disappearing into the kitchen. Chopper beeped dangerously from further inside, which in turn had Ezra rushing back in to stop the boys from setting anything on fire.

“When this ship goes down, I just know it’s going to be because of them,” Leia shook her head as she moved to join Hera on the couch, sinking into a cushion and shoving the blanket aside.

“It… runs in the family,” Hera said sheepishly, enunciated by Choppers whirring and bionic laughter.

“Tell me about it,”

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ofdieus · 1 month

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‘ madeleine madden, cis woman, she/her, 27 (200), fae ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems ARWEN STRAIN has finally made it to the capital, the SEER from the SUMMER COURT is said to be ELOQUENT and is said to describe themselves with LIGHTING A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS, ALWAYS A FEW STEPS AHEAD AS THOUGH BEING CHASED BY GHOSTS, THE DRIVE FOR PERFECTION, SPLINTER OF YOUR SOUL CUTTING THROUGH YOUR SKIN & SILK GLOVES HIDING SILVER SCARS and with all of this in mind their RETICENT nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

GENERAL DETAILS.

full name: arwen celest strain nickname(s): ari (anyone can call her this) date of birth: july 10 zodiac: cancer sun, gemini moon, pisces rising gender & pronouns: cis woman ( she / her ) species: fae (seer) place of birth: day court orientation: bisexual, biromantic occupation: seer for the high lady of the summer court

PHYSICAL, ETC.

faceclaim: madeleine madden hair colour & style: here clothing style: here distinguishing characteristics: scars across her hands and wrists she covers with gloves piercing(s) & tattoo(s): lobes

PERSONALITY.

positive trait(s): eloquent, affable, conscientious negative trait(s): reticent, brazen, finicky like(s): swimming, sun-bathing, walking/hiking, music dislike(s): cold weather, sailing/boats, birds hobbie(s): tarot reading, researching, baking, singing/playing violin character inspiration: gwyn berdara (acotar), elain archeron (acotar), bonnie bennet (vampire diaries), willow rosenberg (buffy the vampire slayer)

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

mother: iris strain (estranged) father: alaric strain (estranged) sibling(s): n/a significant other: n/a

BACKGROUND.

biography trigger(s): abandonment, mentions of depression, mention of an accident/burning/self harm, insomnia

Arwen didn't imagine her life would be like this. She was a happy child, she had parents who loved her and she loved learning. She was sure she would become an priestess in her home court but that's not how things played out.

After she turned twenty, she started to experience vivid dreams. She would wake up in a sweat, screaming out nothings. Her parents were so scared of her that after the first few months, they stopped checking on her. After six months, they decided to seek help regarding her dreams and her visions. Arwen knew her parents wanted the best for her but the truth was, the help was masked in fear. They offered her up to the priestesses and the ruling family of the day court, all who was curious about her abilities and how far they could go.

For the next one hundred years, Arwen honed her practice and was able to really advance her abilities as a seer. Although she worked in her home court with the priestesses and the ruling family, she was incredibly lonely. She started to slip into a depression due to feeling like she was only of value for her abilities. Especially with the estranged relationship with her parents, Arwen started to really feel the pressure and the slight feeling of resentment towards the entire court.

she started to attempt to draw attention to herself, just so she could feel something other than the negative emotions that were overtaking her mind. Arwen started to wander at night when she couldn't sleep, carrying a candle with her.

One night after two weeks of not sleeping, she must have misstepped in the hallway, attempting to grab onto the open flame. The burns were horrible and she could still hear her screams when she went to sleep. She knew then that it was time for her to leave the day court.

After realizing that her abilities were rare, Arwen set off to one of the seasonal courts. Summer was her first choice and she was immediately met with an immense amount of joy when she moved. The time she spent outside were some of her most cherished moments. Additionally, Arwen started to make friends not just who saw her as a seer but as a person.

HEADCANONS.

arwen loves her time in the summer court and since she moved her 90ish years ago and feels like she could live the rest of her life in this court

she appreciates the down time she gets but she knows she has responsibility as the seer for the high lady

arwen loves music but doesnt tell a lot of people because she likes to keep that hobby to herself mostly

arwen knows that the high lady relies on her a great amount and instead of feeling a high level of pressure she used to feel in her home court, arwen feels a great deal of pride since she had to make it here on her own

#ofcourtfables:intro #tw depression #depression tw #tw insomnia #insomnia tw #self harm tw #tw self harm #arwen — biography

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papermccn · 9 months

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closed starter for will <3 !! @empathiie

in usual malcolm fashion; he found himself sleeping around only 12 hours these past 4 days; and in sleep deprivation fashion; his mind was in shambles.. he was dealing with depictions of his childhood; and the sight of an old friend.. he struggled to comprehend that he might be real -" will? -you're real right?" he couldn't help but to ask; as his heart was pounding.

#( malcolm;replies)#( malcolm & will)#mental illness tw #insomnia tw

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akindplace · 2 years

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Okay I am still not sleepy but I am going to try to rest because I am starting to feel physically sick.

Queue is on.

Lots of love,

Liv

#insomnia tw #tw sickness

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jofms · 10 months

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@conkniving

josette had never looked so unwell out in public. while she appreciated heejin moving in with her, she'd suddenly felt smothered and had just left to walk, with no intention of a destination, just a walk despite her being exhausted. the lack of sleep was causing her to shut down, being unable to process things or react in a logical way. the woman had already felt at an all time low and then this had happened - it was all for nothing and not only did she fail in keeping amelia safe but she felt like she was the reason she was dead. however, once she caught sight of fallon, that changed. "who let you out?" josette wasn't up to date on the happenings, only skimming the news for hints of justice that weren't there. stepping frantically in front of the other, eyes were welling up but with anger. "why did you kill her? she was still young, so why did you kill her?" the woman's voice was getting louder and louder, not caring if she made a scene. "did you hold her down as she bled out?" an injury like that had occurred before she had been face down - why? this couldn't continue, her accosting people in the street with this aggressive energy and a heavy accusation but she couldn't stop herself. she wanted her back.

#shes out here accusing everyone (':#fallon.#murder tw #grief tw #insomnia tw

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mischiefxmuses · 11 months

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@flyaboveitall asked: ❝ i didn’t realize how late it was. ❞ {carina to bones}

Bones had been at the hospital for nearly 72 hours straight now, sleeping in his office and eating cafeteria food. Dealing with injuries, grieving individuals but a lot of pain and fear. He was doing his best but he couldn't bring people back to life. He didn't have the technology that he did on the enterprise and even then he believed it was a one time thing. "Oh wow neither did I..." He rubbed his face. "Why are you at the hospital again?" As the chief of medicine here at this hospital he wasn't expected to do one to ones but he did prefer the more hands on approach.

#carinareply #carinaxbonesthread01 #bones & interactions #hwevent15 #death tw #insomnia tw #murder tw #violence tw #hospital tw

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flameleads · 1 year

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He trapped himself in his room most nights. No, he didn’t want to bother anyone with his restlessness, how the insomnia made his mind wander down the halls and straight out of Wonderland. It wasn’t fair. His body stayed trapped within these four walls while his mind… it got to be free.

This room didn’t have many of his belongings in it. Why would it? Like his tent on the front lines, this room served a single purpose: to temporarily protect him from the elements until he received his next set of orders. Admittedly, the bed here was more comfortable, and he didn’t miss how the sand found its way into his blankets, socks, hair, or everything else in existence. He also did not feel the stinging cold at night nor the overbearing heat during the day. For better or worse, he was safe here. His body suffered nary a scratch since he arrived weeks ago.

“I’m almost surprised you’re not trying to know everything about this place.”

His mind, though…

“Then again, you were always mopey without me, Roy.”

He let out a sigh. This wasn’t real. Hughes, donned in the white cloak all of them wore in Ishval, wasn’t standing in his room. He wasn’t really there, and he didn’t have a bandage covering his cheek. The last time they saw each other, he was fine. Perfect. Why was he appearing to him like they were still in the desert? They weren’t. This was Wonderland, not Amestris.

“You know why. C’mon, use that head of yours.”

Right. Another sigh left his lips, and Hughes shook his head as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Sigh all you want. That’s not gonna get me to leave. I’m just as stubborn as you, maybe more. Here’s an idea, though: you could try talking to me.”

“Why? You’re not here.” The words came out muttered as he let his hands rest on his lap. “Besides, you always talked enough for the both of us.”

“Because you let me. Look at it this way.” Hughes moved to sit down next to him on the bed, inches away from Roy as hazel eyes stared directly at him. “You can either talk to me, or you can keep thinking about how this world is like Ishval. All you need is the white cloak. You still have it back in Amestris, don’t you.”

“I do. And it was heavy.”

“You’re telling me. I know they designed it for the nights too, but they really expected us to wear it with the uniform every day?”

“I sure as hell didn’t.”

“Of course not. And like anyone was about to tell the Flame Alchemist to wear his uniform properly.”

“You would’ve.”

“Just to see what you’d do.”

Both of them started laughing. Small chuckles, nothing like the loud guffaws they let out when one or both of them had too much alcohol at Madame Christmas’s—usually on Roy’s dime because he could afford it. After all, he was the one with the larger salary. But, right now? After God knew how long without any humor between the two of them, the laughter was a welcome change. After a minute, Roy looked up again into those hazel eyes, and he let out another sigh.

“I wish you were here. You’d be figuring this world out better than me. Faster than me too.”

“I was always faster than you.”

“No need to rub it in.” His smile faded as his eyes traveled to the floor. “I… I miss you.”

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the call you missed. Don’t think about the phone booth. Don’t think about Elicia and Gracia. Don’t think about—

Too late.

“I miss you, Maes.”

Silence answered him back. As Roy brought his gaze back to his side, he saw nothing there. His right-hand man was nowhere to be found. In his typical insomniac state, he talked to a ghost instead of the real thing. The real thing hadn’t been here for months now. Almost a year.

Roy closed his eyes as his hands covered his face. He never fell asleep. Why did he still have nightmares when he hadn’t even slept? At least if he had a nightmare, he would have a good reason for weeping. This? The streams pouring out of his eyes made no sense. Talking to ghosts made no sense.

The answer was simple: the nightmares never stopped.

#i wrote my way out | writing #arc; amestris no more | group ua #death tw #character death tw #grief tw #insomnia tw

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amore-hudson · 2 years

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🌦 « richard madden. cismale. he/him/his. 36. » was that BECK HUDSON walking through the doors of amorelux ? i heard they just moved in to apartment 604 from SALEM, OREGON and work as a fisherman, former marine. they seem staunch & authentic but don’t get on their bad side ! they can be confrontational & temperamental which makes sense since they’re an ARIES. you know they’re home when you see a flash of a deep-rooted frown etched into harsh features, a faint waft of salt water and fish, the pronounced steps of an irregular gait, and loud sounds at all hours of the night.

trigger warning: ptsd, insomnia, marine service, death/near death, (leg) amputation, body image, therapy, survivor’s guilt, pain meds addiction

it’s hudson. just hudson.

legitimately, the worst neighbor. he’ll play loud music or tv at all hours of the day and night, if he’s home. there’s always random sounds or banging going on. why? because insomnia and ptsd can keep him up and active and he’s’ got to do something to exhaust himself. does he care what the neighbor’s think? absolutely not. it could be 2:41am and hudson will be up, his apartment a mess, because he decided now was the time to create a new bench for the kitchen island. and if you complain? he’ll just be worse, because he’s a petty dick.

as you can imagine, hudson isn’t a peach of a person. he’s rude, uncouth, and extremely bitter. ‘grumpy’ is an understatement. it’s like this man has no joy, or like he’s never heard of a smile. there’s just some black cloud that follows him around and he��s not here to make friends. in fact, he’d rather you just leave him the heck alone. will he leave you alone? hard to say. but nobody ever said he wasn’t a hypocrite.

no, he wasn’t always this way. life started out in what became normal to him, as a military brat. about every two years, they’d be in a new environment, his parents stationed somewhere new. because of this, he never really formed any connections with others and grew to understand the only person he could rely on, was himself. everyone else either got taken away or waved goodbye. he just got sick of thinking maybe this time would be different.

since the military life was already everything he knew, it was only natural he followed in their footsteps. hudson enlisted in the marines and served three tours, each one harder than the last. he barely started the 4th before everything that could go wrong, did. his unit was taken by surprise -- some of the men and women he’d finally had some form of relationship with, were gone. he nearly died, too. people said he was lucky to be alive, and hudson? well, he wasn’t exactly the same anymore. they had to take his left leg from the knee down and it’s been difficult to get over since.

hudson spent over a year in the hospital to recover and go through therapy. physical therapy, as well. he struggled with the memories, with sleepless nights. he struggled to accept himself as he was now, because he couldn’t change it. it was hard not to be resentful and bitter, all the while knowing he was as lucky as they said. he could have died. he’s not proud for the thoughts he’s had. there’s a lot of survivor’s guilt to unpack and yeah, he struggles to talk about that too. because he was never raised to feel like it was okay to be vulnerable.

he moved in here after it opened, as a favor from his father’s wealthy friend. a connection of him knowing someone who felt sorry and wanted to give him a chance to be on his own feet again. since he’s been honorably discharged, hudson has since gotten into the fisherman’s business because it’s hard, physically grueling work. some days, if he’s lucky, he’ll pass out the second he gets home and actually get a few hours sleep. but he definitely pays for it physically. in the past year, his reliance on pain medication has kicked up.

so yeah, he’s open for any and all connections. basically he’s not a very happy man and wears that, obviously. he’s likely going to be moody and rude, but deep down, i promise there is a decent person in there that just takes a lot of patience and digging to get to. ultimately, he’s just struggling to accept everything that’s changed and scared to form attachments because, well, he’s used to losing them and getting the short-end of the stick. very much a pessimist and realist.

would love to have connections with his surrounding neighbors (above and below, too!) where they’re subject to his terrible commotions at all hours of the day. he still goes to physical therapy and the occasional re-fitting for new prosthetics. but you’ll probably spot him at the gym or around the apartments doing something, because he still tries to behave like he can still do it all. even if it comes at risk of himself.

please feel free to hit me up on discord or messages! <3 @amoreluxintro

#ahq:intro #ptsd tw #amputee tw #insomnia tw #body image tw #addiction tw #death mention tw #military service tw

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icecoldwilliams · 2 years

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|| 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 💜 ✲・*:･ﾟ✲･ﾟ:* ˚ₓ

! Tw for discussion of PTSD, scars and insomnia. !

If Nina would ever bother to visit a therapist, she would 100% be diagnosed with PTSD and PTSD related anxiety over both the cryosleep situation and being brainwashed by Ogre. – She does her best to keep every so called "weakness" in her book below that glacial mask, but she still has her unwilling moments where that fear manages to pry itself to the surface. One example being she ironically can't stand even semi-harsh cold temperatures without her anxiety getting to her in little ways. Said ways becoming more obvious the longer she sticks around the frigid air. It's near torture for her. (in my devil verse for her this is actually a method of getting her devil side to wakey wakey ;; but I'll go more into that another time~)

^ She would also be diagnosed with episodes of insomnia. Specifically the informal term sleep maintenance insomnia would describe what she deals with the best. The main issue being she often has difficulty with staying asleep during the night due to persistent nightmares and her own hyper vigilance. – She would take medication to help her sleep through the night, but unfortunately her career comes with the risk of intruders seeking to kill her 24/7 😔

Based off of how she's depicted in an old T2 comic, Nina's body is ripped and practically riddled with scars. Most small nicks here and there from stray bullets or her sisters knives, but she does have one along her abdomen that stands out. Likely around or slightly under 16 stitches. – She has no recollection of what caused it or when she got it, whether before the cryosleep or during one of the Zaibatsu's experiments. But it is particularly sensitive, leading her to be extra protective of the area in and outside of fights. She's also all but mastered the art of covering it and the others up with makeup.

Nina is a through and through chaotic neutral at heart. For the most part she doesn't do anything unless it benefits her or someone / something she cares about, and on the surface she's a cold blooded murderer who views the world through a cynical jaded lens. But officially she is still inclined towards fighting for the good of the world. – Check her extensive list of victims, her favorite targets are actually either scum of the earth guilty of more heinous crimes than her, or corrupt politicians, business leaders and their associates.

In tweets Harada listed Anna as the best chef on the Tekken roster, saying in another it was because she learned how to impress Richard growing up and outdo Nina in one skill, he told her "what's the point in learning a useless skill? The only thing that matters is contributing to the family business." — Meanwhile, he listed Nina under "doesn't cook / unknown". So I absolutely headcanon Nina almost never cooks, but when she does - while she's not the worst on the roster - she is prone to under or overcooking *cough* burning *cough* food. She's good with a knife, but otherwise she has no idea what she's doing, and has too much pride to ask for help. Thus more often than not, eating what she makes is akin to ingesting poison 🙃

^ She'll never admit she's a bad cook though. She avoids cooking when she can, when she has to her go to excuse is always "the oven / stove / microwave is faulty."

Thanks to her job, and her sister, her son, and who knows who else always on her heels, before and after her time at the Zaibatsu, Nina spends most of her time globetrotting. New country almost every week. – But even she needs time to rest. When she needs a place to lie low, she owns a few high rise condos around the globe. Paid in full via blackmailing some of her loyalist and richest customers, all elegant and sleek in design with a mix of art deco and modern contemporary themes, filled with shades of grey, black and purple, and all typically used with rich privilege as a place to store weapons, clothes and occasionally crash.

She has a secret passion for expensive cars and motorcycles. She's also a fan of breaking almost every road law there is so, the faster the better, use caution when riding with her if you get road sick easily. Otherwise, catch her pulling up to the tournaments in a purple Hennessy Venom F5 or a MTT Turbine Superbike Y2K 🏍💜

#⁺˚*𝐹𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓉*˚⁺ - 𝕋𝕎 #⁺˚*𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝒿𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔.*˚⁺ - Headcanons #tw: ptsd #tw: insomnia #ptsd tw #insomnia tw #scar tw #tw: scars

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cagesings · 2 years

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also if you call johanna out on the things she probably shouldn't do that she is doing ( not eating , not sleep , etc. ) , she will punish you by making you talk about your trauma

#someone: did you sleep last night?#johanna: hahahaha but tell me about your sad childhood #her strategy for life is dodging talking about her trauma & making other people talk about theirs #❈ ‘ﾟ‣ ( ooc. ) — ❝ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ꜱɪʟʟʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɴɪɴɴʏɴᴏᴏᴅʟᴇ ❞#eating disorder tw #sleep disorder tw #insomnia tw

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euphor1a · 2 years

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Why is it always insomnia kicking my ass and not the opposite 😕

#🌺; aleyna rambles #put me to sleep i beg you #ugh #i might collapse if this goes on #insomnia tw

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papermccn · 11 months

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continued from ‘ when was the last time you slept? ’ ( faye and eric ) / pre u know :( @vcndetta

"hm, what does it make it now, 72 hours? but sleep doesn't matter- not right now. as long as there's psychopaths and wannabe killers on the loose- I need to keep an eye on you. though i got to say- they're methods are rather bland and outdated- " he scoffed; walking closer to his girlfriend.. using his hand to place hair away from her face, "-even if they're methods suck- if anything were to happen to you- i'd have to cause my own blood bath."

#blood tw #murder tw #insomnia tw #( eric;replies)#( eric & faye )#:( pre death

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blam-marie · 2 days

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Four Liars (in space)

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If I go to sleep right now, I’ll have four hours of rest before I need to be up.

The ventilation was making that noise again. A sort of metallic VWOOMP VWOOMP VWOOMP reminiscent of one of these big helicopters that had ferried Chuck around in basic training. He remembered being sick in one of those helicopters. Good times.

Nearby, Johnson was snoring loudly. Chuck could hear him straight through his thirty-decibel noise reduction custom earplugs, as if the other man was laying right next to him and not two whole bunks away. But at least Johnson’s snoring was constant, and somewhat on a rhythm. On a good night, Chuck could almost manage to ignore it. He just had to pretend hard enough that it was just… the soothing sound of waves on the sea or something. If the sea sounded a little bit like a rusted lawnmower.

Which, you know, maybe it did! It wasn’t like Chuck had ever seen the sea in person. Any sea. Did different seas sound differently? He should ask Bee. She would probably know. Or he could even go and seek out the answer in person one day. Maybe. It was something to consider for the bucket list.

Anyway, Johnson’s snoring was fine. It was fine! A little annoying, maybe, but Chuck could handle it.

Bouchard, on the other hand, kept taking deep, irregular whistling breaths. He would stop breathing for a few seconds, then release all of his air with a short, disgusting, wet nose-cough sound that drove Chuck straight up the wall. Bouchard had the bunk right on top of his, and sometimes, he fantasized about climbing up there and smothering him with his own military-standard crappy pillow. With the noises he made at night, no one would suspect Chuck, right? They might think that Bouchard had just finally given up the ghost on his own. Well, one could hope.

Although a suspicious, night-time death in the dormitories would create a lot of paperwork and presumably Chuck would be the one who would have to deal with it, so that might not be such a good idea after all.

In the middle of the room, Evans tossed and turned, as usual. The three rows of bunk beds were barely an arm length apart, and the man was so tall that he’d once managed to actually spin 90 degrees and kick Chuck in his sleep. The only silver lining of that incident was that it had given Chuck a good reason to show up to work sleep deprived the following morning. Everyone figured that Evans’ baby skin was probably sensitive to something in the fabric of the sheets and that’s why he wiggled around so much, but command was yet to do anything about it. Past evidence suggested that they probably never would. It wasn’t like comfort was of any great importance here.

Chuck checked his watch then clenched his eyes shut in despair. The tiny glow in the dark screen indicated that it was some time past one AM, which meant that if he got to sleep right then he might still get four hours of sleep before the morning shift. Then the day crowd would rotate into the room and someone else would be using his assigned bunk for the next eight hours, followed by someone else until it was his turn again.

Maybe he should just stop thinking so hard about sleep — maybe if he thought about literally anything else, sleep would just magically come, like it seemed to do for other people. His best friend, Bee, kept telling him that she just laid down at night and closed her eyes and sleep came within five minutes for her. In his opinion, she was probably lying. There was no way that sleep just ‘came’ within five minutes. There must have been a trick. She said she just stopped thinking. Who just stops thinking? Thinking was a constant background process in the machine that he called his brain and sure, there were tricks to make that process take less energy or attention but there wasn’t a way to stop it. So either Bee was trying to describe something else (likely), or she really was programmed differently than he was (also likely). Or she just straight-up temporarily died every night (not very likely, although she would make one terrifying vampire).

Chuck flipped his pillow to the cold side and started thinking about filling forms. That was a safe and boring topic, right? Boring was good, boring meant that his brain might slow down.

Forty excruciating minutes later, Chuck checked his watch again and almost screamed. He was still not sleeping, and now he’d reminded himself of how annoyed he was that the ventilation filters were listed on the equipment request form and not the maintenance order, even though changing them was part of the maintenance team’s duties. Which meant that every time they needed new filters they would have to ask him to edit the equipment forms for them, and then the equipment supervisor would be pissed that Chuck had messed with his files. Which Chuck wouldn’t have to do if that asshole just picked up his goddamn comm every once in a while and updated his files himself!

Blasted ventilation. Blasted maintenance team. Blasted god damned bunker and blasted god damned cold war.

Chuck flipped his pillow again and turned to face the wall, pulling his scratchy woollen blanket up to his face. He very sternly told himself to not think about the war, because that was a sure way to stay awake for the rest of the night and he did not need that. Besides, he wasn’t worried about the war. He wasn’t!

Worrying about the war was a responsibility for other people. For all the good that did, since the cold war wasn’t even about Castula. Their neighbour, The Free Radiant Empire of Elunar (F.R.E.E.), had somehow managed to piss off New Vakalos, and now the two giant powers were threatening each other with world-destroying weapons. What did that have to do with Castula? Chuck didn’t know, but somehow by virtue of being allied with FREE, they were now also in danger of dying via rocket to the face. It was kind of unfair. Still, not exactly a problem that he, specifically, could do anything about. And he didn’t like worrying about stuff that he had no impact on.

His problems were more in the range of filling badly designed forms about ventilation filters. He had suggested a change to the forms, but everything took months to be processed around here, and also no one was very inclined to listen to a lone sergeant that looked like death warmed over. Chuck knew that it would considerably help his career if he was less sleep-deprived, but that wouldn’t happen as long as he had to sleep in a bunker dorm room with five other soldiers that snored, farted, and / or had undiagnosed sleep apnea.

Chuck glared at the bottom of Bouchard’s bunk as the seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly. The ventilation clanged again. That was new.

When he had first seen this bunk room, it had seemed to him like a silent tomb. Eighty feet underground, on the lowest floor of a state-of-the-art military facility, it was a room about the same size as his grandmother’s bathroom in which someone had shoved enough beds for six people. The walls felt heavy, the ceiling was low, and it was pretty much impossible to forget all of the tens of thousands of pounds of rock, steel and concrete sitting right on top of his head. Back then, the ventilation had run smoothly, and the corridors were still empty of the beehive of human activity that their sheer size promised. The bunk room was enclosed in a perfectly claustrophobic silence that promised an equal chance of the best sleep of his life or a panic attack.

But then Bouchard, his future personal nemesis, had poked his head into the room behind him. Upon seeing the poster on the wall warning them about “enemy agents subverting them via sexual promiscuity”, he’d let out a noise between a snort and a braying laugh. Chuck had not known peace since.

He’d tried everything. Meditation. Reiki. Over-the-counter sleeping aids. What had come the closer to working was Johnson’s grandmother’s “sleepytime tea”, but while it made Chuck’s body immensely tired and relaxed, his brain still felt like it was hooked up to a car battery. The contrast between a dead-tired body and an overly active mind made for a profoundly unpleasant experience. The obvious next step should have been professional sleeping aids, but the bunker’s heartless on-site doctor refused to prescribe them to him, on the pretext that Chuck might get addicted. Figured. You get one measly footnote on your medical file about a history of substance abuse — not even his own, mind you! A relative getting too enthusiastic about self-medicating their chronic pain, which as far as he was concerned seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do! — and suddenly nobody wanted to prescribe anyone anything for the next three to four generations.

It was all such bull. Getting a bit too reliant on sleeping aids still seemed like a much better solution than hitting his head with a baseball bat just so his brain would stop, which he was four seconds away from doing, but alas. As long as the insomnia didn’t impact his performance, the higher-ups didn’t see it as a problem. And Chuck was too much of a professional to let it impact his performance, so it seemed that he was trapped in a hell of his own making for at least the foreseeable future.

Nearby, one of the sleeping soldiers mumbled something and turned over. Chuck checked his watch. If he fell asleep now, he would get three hours of rest. He could function on three hours, right?

#four liars in space #writing #writing is hard #stories on tapas #scifi romcom #funny scifi romance #scifi romance #insomnia tw #this is probably not going to be the real first chapter in the final manuscript #because I realized its not the right place to start the story #Its actually a really rough chapter to read and absolutely nothing interesting happens in it lol #im probably gonna actually start with the next chapter or even the one after that and just sort of sprinkle in the backstory I need #to fill in the details #but right now its the first chapter on tapas and it has a lot of views so im leaving it up #eventually I will pull the story down from the website to edit and then publish #and it will get polished really really nice at that moment #to be the best possible story it can be

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