i'm not losing sleep over you

How to tell that it's getting bad again:

- I sleep to much or not at all
-I eat too much or too little
-I sound disinterested in everything
-Be spaced out a lot
- I will ramble a lot or not talk at all
-I lose track of time
- I make cynical comments, usually about myself
-I push people away
-I tend to rub my eyes and head a lot
-I avoid eye contact
-I am always shakey
-I will avoid certain conversations

anonymous asked:

I really liked the line 'the dark side of the king' from your question about enforcers. would you maybe be willing to talk some more about Gavin and Ryan being terrible doing Geoff's dirty work??

The Fake’s might joke that Geoff is a pushover, too adoring of his crew-mates to really lay down the law as boss, but in reality there are few men more feared than Ramsey. Few legends with more ruthless reputations, more stories of heartless brutality; for those outside his limited family Ramsey is nothing less than an unmitigated horror.

Still, there are certain things Geoff can’t be seen to be involved in, things he must stay above, be diplomatic about. Times when an issue needs to be taken care of without the blowback, when there must be violence without inevitable retribution; ferreting out moles, persuading recalcitrant informants, dealing with a problem who belongs to a gang the FAHC are supposed to be allied with.

It’s easy enough to think that in a crew with a reputation as terrible as the FAHC there is little need for a designated ‘bad guy’. They’re all the bad guys, just ask the citizens of Los Santos, just look at the bodies in the morgue, track down the ruins of all who have thought to oppose them. There isn’t a single member with clean hands, isn’t one who didn’t choose this, who isn’t having the time of their life every singe day morality be damned. And yet there are still jobs Geoff wouldn’t push any of them into, deeds too dark to be forced onto even the most loyal. In those cases that call for abhorrent action Geoff can’t take on himself there is one pair he tends to turn to.

Few would truly be surprised to hear that Ryan is one of the two who tick this box, but that his partner in absolute depravity is Gavin would catch some unaware. There are, of course, members of the crew more suited to being paired with Ryan for all out violence, and those more apt to accompany Gavin for subtlety, but together the pair of them are unrivalled in their gruesome innovation, their unflinching dedication.  

There is being willing to do the dirty work, and then there is enjoying it. Excelling at it. Relishing in the snap of bones and panicked pleading, in the creativity of cruelty, the intricate art of fear. They are violent and terrible, all wrath and retribution like the stories of old, they are a reckoning. Unlike most others there isn’t even a moment when either of them regret. Not a single hesitation before doing whatever must be done, no matter how terrible, how brutally unforgivable. No threat is too dark, no act is too far, no reaction too extreme. In this there are no lines to cross, no moral code to offend or gods to obey. And worst of all, they enjoy it. They have fun, entertain each other, safe in the knowledge that out of sight of the rest of the crew, with none but Geoff really knowing what exactly they are up to, there is no judgement. No one who matters will think differently of them for unapologetic iniquity when they are each other’s only witness and their ruin matches up oh so well.

Gavin is delightfully petty, can whip out flippant comments and passing jokes from months or even years ago in his monologue, twist them into some pithy one liner on the fly, like a hollywood villain without any cheesy dialogue to detract from the menace. He knows just how to frame their attack, laying out exactly what infraction has brought on Ramsey’s ire and building an awful sense of suspense as he delightedly meanders around what they are going to do about it.

It’s not something that should be appealing, it’s awful really, bitterly cruel, but it makes Ryan’s sense of melodrama sing. Ryan who could have chosen any mask in the world but went directly for a blackened skull. Who drops his already deep voice two octaves when he purrs out threats and has a terrible habit of laying wait in dark corners until he spots the perfect moment to loom in sight. Ryan who’s never crumbled in the face of desperate begging, never seen grovelling as anything but undignified, who can’t help but appreciate the way it merely makes Gavin turn up his nose, roll his eyes, toss Ryan increasingly incredulous looks; Christ isn’t this one pathetic?

They share enough languages to communicate in privacy no matter the situation but even without planning they are synchronised enough to work in tandem, playing into each others proclivities, teasing chatter as much for their own genuine amusement as it is for taunting their prey. There are no hard and fast rules to their partnership- sometimes Ryan’s feeling particularly chatty and sometimes Gavin’s itching to pull out his lovely gold knives- but more often than not Gavin wheedles his way into the mind of their victim before Ryan quite literally pulls them apart. Just as Gavin strokes Ryan’s ego when he leans in and pleasantly explains all the horrific things the Vagabond has done, Ryan pander’s to Gavin’s ever vicious whim; drags things out, slows them down, get’s disgustingly creative.

There’s always been something distinctly animalistic in Gavin, the way he slinks like a predator, grins wide enough to bare his teeth, the way he can’t help toying with his food, but in this he isn’t Gavin Free, the Fake’s happy-go-lucky wrecking ball of chaos, isn’t the Golden Boy, Ramsey’s unbelievably persuasive frontman; this is another creature all together. On these jobs Gavin is no less the showman, still all insidious cunning and attention-grabbing flash, but for once he does nothing to disguise his own decay. Doesn’t inject false emotion where none exists, doesn’t manufacture empathy, won’t even pretend to give a solitary shit about anything outside his own world, his life, his people. Amusement as chilling as it is cold-blooded, crushing any hope that he might be the tempering force, that the presence of the glittering Golden Boy will reign in the Vagabond.

And Ryan, good grief Ryan. The Vagabond already has so very many tortured tales attached to his name, already inspires so much fear, but people do like to hope his reputation is inflated. Like to think the man behind the mask can’t truly be as terrible as they say, must suffer the same bouts of  guilt and mercy as anyone else. Think the Vagabond’s greatest secret is the fact that at the end of the day he is just a man. The look in their eyes when they realise they are wrong, realise that while the skull may be a mask Ryan has always been the monster, is the stuff nightmares are made of. The Vagabond isn’t soft on a good day, but in this role he is ruthless. It would, perhaps, be a relief if he were cold, detached. Would be an easier pill to swallow if he acted with his usual air of professionalism, but this? This is Ryan in his element. This is the Vagabond having fun.

It’s a tossup who’s better off; the victims who die slow and painful or the ones who get to live. The ones who spill their secrets, who suffer their punishments, and in the end are left to crawl free. Those who never really stop thinking about bloodstained teeth and razor-blade smirks, distressingly fond banter and cold flat eyes. None of them come back right, none of them return the same way they left, have suffered terror beyond words, experienced horrors they will never be capable of explaining. Most wind up leaving the city, even a passing mention of the Fake AH Crew enough to send them shaking, the possibility of another run in utterly intolerable, but those who stay only serve to further boost the duos reputation.

It’s one thing for anyone with half a brain to fear the Vagabond, it’s quite another for well-known crooks to literally flee when he appears, spike classic fear-mongering rumours with far more truthful tales of vicious depravity, go to absurd lengths to steer clear of the FAHC at any cost. In the same vein the denizens of Los Santos can only say Gavin’s name with increased reverence after  a mere wink tossed at some thug playing muscle in the background of a meeting has the man throwing up all over himself. Can only be more impressed when a slow smile and whispered comment has another back-peddling so fast the Fake’s make off with way more than they were owed.

Which, of course, suits Geoff just fine, reaping the boons of the pet horrors he keeps in his pocket for a rainy day; rare, but undeniably memorable. To see the three of them at work is a sight to behold, Ramsey strolling along flanked by his most wicked miscreants, one the darkened menace of death incarnate, the other almost alight with his own glittering hubris, not a scrap of restraint or morality between them. They are apocalypse, are inevitable disaster, the end of all things good and holy and with an unseen signal they peel off, leave their grinning king to walk alone as they melt back into the night, set free once more to hunt.

Stony Prompt #48

Anonymous sent: “You’ve seen civil war right? If not, please don’t read this prompt until you do, cause spoilers. So that part of the movie where Steve raises his shield and Tony covers his face because he thinks Steve is going to kill him. Imagine some time later, Tony is sleeping in a bed, with Steve and he has a nightmare about that, about Steve being about to kill him with his shield. And it’s Steve who wakes him up and when Tony sees Steve over him he loses his shit and kinda panics.”

A/N: Please note that for this, Tony and Steve have been in a relationship before Civil War happened. Also, JARVIS is still here and Tony still has the ARC reactor.

This doesn’t have a very happy end, either. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS for a panick attack: Proceed with caution!

Tony hasn’t been sleeping well for a while. It’s not surprising, given his long list of emotional trauma. There are plenty of things that have happened that cause him terrible nightmares, bad enough to wake him up screaming, or crying, or both.

Before the Sokovia Accords, there was always Steve next to him, comforting him. And while it took them some time to find back together again, they managed it. So Tony is no longer alone when the nightmares come to poison his dreams.

The nightmares used to be about Afghanistan.

The cave, cold and dark and the car battery in his chest shocking him, the guards shouting at him while they push his head underwater. Yinsen, who told him not to waste his life before dying.  

They used to be about Obi.

Obi, whom he had thought of as the caring father he never had and who had ordered to kill him, who had tried to kill him with his own hands, who had wanted to hurt Pepper.

It used to be the Palladium, a constant pain in his chest, slowly killing him.

It used to be New York and the wormhole, Killian and AIM, it used to be Ultron.

It used to be.

Now, though…

Lately, Tony has been dreaming about the war they have fought, against each other, the team ripped apart. He sees Rhodey falling from the sky, hears the terrible noise when his best friend crashed into the ground. He feels the panic, the paralyzing fear from when he’d checked for Rhodey’s pulse.

He dreams about Siberia.

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To lose sleep

Cas rolled over restlessly in the dark, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and balling his fists in his comforter of his bed. He released all the tension with a quick, weary sigh and let his eyes fall open. He fumbled around on his nightstand for his phone, finding it and squinting at the harsh brightness of it as he opened and unlocked it.

He knew Dean was still awake. About half an hour ago, Cas had told him that he was going to sleep, and they had said goodnight to each other, the “I love you”s they had exchanged, still bright in Cas’s memories. But he couldn’t fall asleep.

This thing with Dean… it was something he had never dreamed possible, for so long, but a few months ago, everything about his world had shifted, changed, made room for the most amazing person that Cas had ever known.

He’d loved Dean first. That was true. And every time that Dean said he loved him too, it was a whole new little feeling of wonder that ran through Castiel. It would never get old. At least, Cas hoped it wouldn’t. Sometimes he still found himself doubting those words, that “I love you too.” There was no reason to, and he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help it. It was still so hard to believe that anyone could love him back like that.

But they didn’t get to see each other that often, busy schedules and school stuff and some strict parent policies and such. And, well that was particularly painful. Especially on nights like this, where the whole world ached, and his chest burned and all he wanted was to wrap himself up in Dean’s arms and fall asleep with him like that. The thought of it was both beautiful and painful.

Hey, Cas sent, and watched the message say read, and that Dean was replying.

Hey, why are you up?

Couldn’t sleep.

That sucks. Anything you wanna talk about?

Cas sighed and rolled over onto his stomach, letting his face be momentarily buried in his pillow, before he pulled himself out of it and just said what he wanted to say.

I wish you were here.

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I’m sorry you had to curl up on your bed alone tonight. I’m sorry you had to cry yourself to sleep and force some courage into your worn-out bones to overcome whatever it is. I’m sorry that you’re losing your sanity over it. I’m sorry that in the midst of all these loving, caring people you still feel like you’re stranded on an island of radioactive waste. I know you don’t mean to, I know; because I don’t mean to either. I’m also sorry you feel like a ghost in your own narrative but as gut wrenching as it may seem in this moment, don’t give up.
Don’t give up because, even though I will not make false promises about how life is a wondrous gift, it’s got to get better some time, right?
—  the-gloomy-cat / I’m sorry, you don’t deserve the hand you’ve been dealt.

Wow.  It’s… over.  My final thoughts AND the sneak peek to my new multi-chap Nalu fic are in the AN at the end of the epilogue.  Thank you all for your support throughout this story… I can’t thank you enough.  Ever.  Here it is: the epilogue of The Keys of Fire.

Originally posted by glouis-turner


you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

When B.A.P finally returns...do you think they'll let Jong Up not be last in group attractiveness rankings? Like they'll just shove him forward and say, "Most handsome is Moon Jong Up." Imagine his cute shocked face.

I lose sleep over this, okay?

Or they could just line up side by side. “We’re all equal. Bitches have you seen us?”

anonymous asked:

"Wolves don't lose sleep over the opinions of sheep." & Akashi <3 Thank you!!!!! I love your writing!!

Thank you so much! (Every compliment I get seriously makes my day)

It seemed to be an unpopular opinion, but you disliked Akashi Seijuro. 

He always got what he wanted while you fought for every bit of support in the student council. Because he was authoritative, he was a first year captain of the basketball team while you were simply a freshman on the track team. He topped the year in grades, while you were miserably a few marks below him.

It wasn’t fair, but then again life wasn’t.

You knew better than to voice your opinion of Akashi Seijuro though (even to your closest friends), because you would probably find your titles stripped and the majority of the female population against you. So you kept your mouth shut, drowning you and your frustrations.

“________.” The commanding voice of Akashi interrupted you from your thoughts, making your eyes flicker up. “Are you alright?”

You wanted to snap, no, you were obviously not alright because you were stuck in a room with him sorting papers for student council, but you bit your tongue. “I’m alright, thank you.”

His slight smile could draw shivers from the student body, but you force your gaze down and ruffle the papers into a stack.

“I noticed you weren’t at the basketball tournament earlier this week. Is there something about our playing not to your satisfaction?”

You cursed internally. Of course he would notice that you, out of thousands of his fans, were not there and screaming his praises. Not only did you now dislike basketball, but a male friend had been thoroughly thrashed in middle school by a group called the Generation of Miracles–which you knew was headed by none other than the famous Akashi Seijuro.

“I dislike basketball; I find it…” You trail off, unable to find the right words.


“Frivolous.” You answer curtly, lying through your teeth. You once loved the sport. A long time ago. 

“I find your opinion incorrect. Maybe you should come to the next game so the team can prove you otherwise.”

Your finger twitches slightly, and you hope that he can’t pick up on your irritation. Of course he would find an opinion to be wrong.

You simply smile and shrug, tucking hair behind your ear, “I’ll see if I can make it.” You take a swig from your water bottle.

“Perhaps dinner afterwards with me would convince you?”

Before you realize it, you spit out your water to the side, choking on the liquid that was ironically supposed to support life. Right now, you were simply struggling to breathe.

He pats your back, making you cough even harder as your eyes stream.

“I apologize. That was very straightforward.”

“Just unexpected,” you wheeze, mind whirring in ways to politely turn him down and leave him none the wiser.

Half of you wanted to spit out every single opinion you had of him: how you hated his privileged self for gaining rights that no one else had, for being better than you at everything. The rational part of you struggled to stay in check, realizing that no matter how you turned him down, he would know. that you disliked him. Girls were jumping at the opportunity to date Akashi Seijuro, but you couldn’t leap farther away. 

“Ah, I am afraid I will have to look after my brother during and after the game,” you make something up, hoping Akashi wouldn’t ask why you would have to do that if he was a freshman in middle school.

His eyes narrow slightly, processing what you said. You can tell even with the unfaltering smile, something about him got much colder. He looks down at the stack of papers again, shuffling through them, “Very well, then.”

He knew. You just committed social suicide, and he was probably hurt because nobody, especially no girl, had told him no before.

But wolves don’t, or at least shouldn’t, lose sleep over opinions of sheep. And that’s what you were at Rakuzan. If he was the wolf, manipulating the livestock, then you were undoubtedly one of the sheep. Forever at the wolf’s mercy.

if you think rick and michonne have a brother/sister relationship then i’m pretty sure you need to think good and hard about all that internalized racism you probably got built up all inside of you instead of saying “it’s offensive” that you’re being accused of racism for it.

You know, I think I’m always going to low key be on team “Beth Greene is Alive” until she either comes back or tptb finally give us a solid answer that she’s dead. But until that day, I’m just gonna continue thinking she’s alive lol.