#so many things are happening so many things hurt and i have no body to talk to

[emeraldborealis]

Grotesque

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FEM!reader

TW//CW: DARK FIC, stalking, vibes of somnophilia ish, sexual harassment, nonconsensual touching, threats, mention of cannibalism but no cannibalism, threatened necrophilia, a creep calls reader a whore, murder, graphic depictions of gore, blood, shock induced mania, talk of human taxidermy, no use of y/n. Dead dove do not eat. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

Words: 4,641

A/N: Now you may be wondering, Emerald, what the actual hell is this? Well, I wanted to know if I could still write dark fics. And I thought it was time to remind everyone this started as a horror writing blog.

STOP! Have you heeded the warnings on this fic?

People say something special happens when you fall in love, that suddenly everything else doesn't matter. That there's a warmth and gentleness that grows inside of you towards the other person.

But not for Ghost.

Ghost doesn't deal in warm gentleness. Simon did, but Simon is dead and buried in Mexico.

When Ghost saw you he did feel something sudden, an urge to keep everyone else away from you, an urge to protect, an urge to keep and shepherd. 

So he did.

From a distance he kept his eye on you, watched you go through your days, completely unsuspecting. Or so he thought.

You knew he was there, you knew from day one. Knowing he was there was more of a comfort than a fear, so when the sound of your front door opening in the middle of the night came to your ears you were more than content to pretend you were still asleep.

Keeping your breathing even and deep, keeping your expression neutral, letting nothing tip him off to the fact you were awake was a skill you learned in your youth, one you needed to survive the house you grew up in.

You were lonely, and you were alright with him taking advantage of that. You wanted him in your life because there was nothing else in your life. A phantom, a ghost willing to watch over you. Something that stayed in the dark, content with silent control.

His footsteps were light coming down the hall, almost silent, if you weren't listening for him you wouldn't have heard him. You wondered how many times he'd come and you hadn't woken up.

Hearing him pause in the hallway you imagined him looking at your photos, committing them all to memory, each one of their locations and if they were perfectly level or not. You knew he'd take in every detail before moving on, he just seemed like the type.

Your door used to make noise when it opened, but a month back it suddenly stopped. A reminder of his silent presence ever lingering, you often wondered if he'd fixed other things for the convenience of his watching, of his sneaking.

Nothing was allowed to jeopardize his stalking, nothing was allowed to tip you off to his presence. Nothing was allowed to give you evidence to stop him.

Listening, you heard him move silently through your room, coming to stand beside your bed, your acting was imperceivable, especially when you weren't looking for it.

You didn't react when the soft feeling of a gloved hand trailed over your face, the glove was rough, but he used it gently, kept his touch featherlight, barely even there.

His hand went from your face down your exposed arm, feeling the lovely skin of your appendage sticking out of the blankets for the sake of regulating your body temperature. The feeling nearly made gooseflesh blossom on your skin, nearly made you shudder. Do sleeping people shudder? Looking into that could be good for future visits from your stalker.

You felt his figure lean over you, breathing you in like a bad habit, when he was satisfied he moved from your side of the bed to the other side. Gently, he laid himself down, stiff as a board laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. You were familiar with this routine by now.

He laid like a corpse, his hands clasped together over his chest. He never did more than this, never touched, never hurt. He just laid beside you for a few hours before leaving just as silently as he came, always making sure to whisper 'sweet dreams' to you before leaving hours before your alarm for work would blare into your room.

Every once and a while you would dare to put your arm over him, sometimes he moved your arm gently off of him, sometimes he let it stay.

Sometimes he watches you sleep, either facing you in bed or sitting in your desk chair.

You wished you understood him, understood why he does the things he does. Wish you understood why he didn't do certain things.

He really was a ghost, your Ghost. A mystery you weren't sure you'd ever figure out.

Rolling onto your back you flopped your arm on him, not holding him, just touching him, testing him. He didn't remove your arm this night, he let it stay, resting right above where his hands were.

You had no clue what he looked like, not really. The few times you dared a peak he was wearing a balaclava with a skull on it. But you'd grown familiar with how he breathed, the rise and fall of his large chest. That was what mattered to you, not his face. Not who he was under the skull.

Feeling him beside you didn't feel wrong, it didn't feel nauseating or dangerous. He had the capability to do harm, but he'd never left any indication that was his intention. He just seemed interested in watching you live your life. Why? You didn't know.

Sometimes you thought about what would happen if he decided to have malicious intent, how far he might go. What he might do. He was a strange man stalking you, and you were letting him. 

You were just asking to be an episode on a true crime podcast, solved or unsolved? What would it be? You suspected unsolved, even if you lived.

If he killed you how would he do it? It was interesting to think about. Would he hack you into pieces? String you apart, pull at your nervous system. Dissect you like a frog. Maybe he'd fillet you, hang you up and eat you. Or perhaps he'd take it slower, break your ankles and watch you starve to death helpless on the floor, he did like to watch you.

If he hurt you, if he touched you, he'd want to watch you as he did it. He'd want to see your face as it contorted into pain.

Really at the end of the day he was a man, no different from any other, you were risking just as much being around him as any other man. At least you believed if he witnessed another man trying to attack you he'd intervene, protect his territory.

His belongings.

Did he see himself as your keeper? Or more like a guard dog? What were his intentions here? Why was he this little shadow in your life? It seemed like he was always there, a force that lingered around you.

Your Ghost, something that was becoming a more common name for him in your mind. It seemed fitting.

To say you weren't attached to him would be a lie, he's grown on you, something consistent, something you could make yourself believe was there to be good for you. You were becoming just as infatuated with him as he seemed to be with you.

You were comfortable falling asleep beside him, letting him stay as long as he wanted before leaving. He always locked the door on his way out, after all, he was the only one allowed to creep into your home.

Shifting in bed you got more comfortable, you needed to let yourself fall back asleep if you wanted to be able to function well at work tomorrow. Your Ghost paid no mind to your shifting, he's watched you sleep in actuality and faking it enough to believe he'll never get caught. Not knowing he already has been.

At some point in the night you vaguely feel the bed shift, faintly hear his deep voice whisper something in your ear, and his soft footsteps as he leaves.

In the morning there was no trace of him, nothing tipping you off to the fact he was ever even there, nothing but your memory.

You dreaded your arrival at work, dreaded seeing him. 

Brian.

A creep in HR, you would have reported him by now but he was who you would file those reports to. You didn't know who else to file a report to, nothing was serious enough for police intervention. 

At least there was no evidence serious enough for police intervention.

Sometimes you hoped your Ghost knew about him, that he was watching your back, though you doubted he watched you at work. Still, the thought of him handling this was not unwelcome. You took a strange comfort in it actually.

Brian was not welcome in your life, he was pushy, touchy, didn't understand boundaries. Something about him gave you the heebie-jeebies, like he was doing all sorts of nefarious things to you in his mind, planning them out, waiting to execute them.

You hated how he watched you, he was doing more than just undressing you with his eyes. Something about the way he looked at you made you feel like he wanted to do more to your skin than just molest it. Do more than possess and sink under your surface.

He looked to covet. Your Ghost looked to encroach and observe.

You liked how your Ghost watched you, like a guard dog willing to be sicked on anyone, to be your defense, to get them off of you, to keep them away from you.

"Come on, doll. When are you going to agree to come over? Let me pour you a drink, I promise I can mix you up something you'll like. Or at least let me drive you home sometime, there's no need to take the train when it's raining. Don't want you catching a cold." Brian cooed to you, walking with you as you made your way to the elevator, he always waited for you.

You'd only step into the elevator with him when it was crowded, otherwise you'd wait, make an excuse and talk to the lady at the front desk until you saw someone you knew would go up to your floor or above.

You refused to be alone with him. Not even for a second.

"I don't drink. And I like the rain." You shot him down, trying to step around him, but his arm caught your waist, stopping you.

"Okay, how about we watch a movie? Play a game?" He gave your waist a squeeze, testing your patience. He was a persistent man who believed he would get what he wanted. You wondered how many times he had. How many girls came before you.

"I'm not interested." Spinning out of his hold you continued walking towards the elevator, a good group of people already waiting.

"Come on, doll. I'll make it worth your time." He trailed after you.

You didn't like the thought that he had access to your address, that he might know where you lived, that all he'd have to do to figure it out is look at your personal records.

"I have a boyfriend. We're serious, he stays the night almost every night. I'm not interested." A small lie, laced with truth, you did have a man who stays the night. Your Ghost. You needed him to know you weren't alone at night.

There was a warning light in your brain that was starting to predict something. Something was coming. How does the quote go? 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.'

Something was coming, something you were not sure how to stop. You were in terrible danger, you could feel it in the way his hands defiled you with their touch. Scorching and burning with how atrocious it was.

"That's alright, I just want to spend time with you. Nothing serious." Everyday he grew more bold. A predator closing in on their prey.

You were not going to be a boiled frog, you knew when this started, and you know the temperature is rising to dangerous peaks.

How many girls has he done this to?

How many.

"I don't think my boyfriend would like that, he's protective." Joining the others waiting on the elevator you watched the floor indicator, nearly holding your breath waiting for it to reach ground level.

"Protective? I'm no danger." Leaning in closer he whispered in your ear, careful now that you were surrounded by people. No witnesses. No one else could hear his persistence, it might one day arise suspicion.

"I like to spend time with him when I'm off work. I'm a busy person." You took a breath as the elevator doors opened, stepping inside with everyone else.

"We'll talk more about this later. I just want to get to know the next employee of the month better." His voice was sickeningly charming, his words derailing your train of thought.

"What?" You hadn't heard anything about that, you weren't even super important in your department. He was baiting you with reward. Setting himself up as innocent, someone who was rooting for you. A devastated work friend when he hears of your inevitable disappearance.

He played this game too well.

How many girls came before?

How many times has he gotten away with this?

"I pulled some strings, got you some well earned recognition. We need to celebrate it." His smile was all teeth, unnatural. It was a threat.

You really couldn't tell anyone about this now, not after he's painted himself as the good guy. Just trying to get employee's recognition. You'd sound like an ungrateful asshole. No one would listen.

No one would listen.

"Today, we will celebrate today." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. 

Whatever he was planning, whatever he was going to do to you, he was going to do it today. Nothing was going to stop him or get in his way. He was coming for you, going for the throat. 

You worked in paranoia and unease, took an early lunch just to avoid any possibility of running into him and completely left the building, went to a very public place for lunch. Didn't even pay attention to what you ordered, not even sure you paid before walking away. You got your food though, so someone paid.

In your panicked state you were struggling to pay any attention to the people around you, only looking for one person in the crowds of people. But he wasn't there. Brian wasn't there. Not that you could see.

Running into someone on your way to the door out of the restaurant you apologize, catching his eyes, they were brown. He was tall, well built. Dirty blonde. He oozed an energy that settled you, like your body knew him. Of course it didn't, you'd never seen this man in your life. There was just something about him.

"No worries, love." You couldn't shake your feeling of deja vu hearing his voice. "Keep your head on straight, no ones goin' to get you."

What an odd thing to say to a stranger.

"Um, thanks." You didn't know what else to say. How else to respond. You stand in front of him a moment more, awkwardly looking at him. There was just something about him you couldn't place. 

Checking the time you turned to walk away, you were going over your thirty minute lunch break. You needed to get back to work. Even if you'd rather have your eyes gouged out than have the possibility to run into Brian ever again. 

You were jumpy the rest of the work day, hypervigilant to everything around you. It wasn't atypical for Brian to interrupt your work, but he didn't come to bother you today. 

You tried to leave work early to avoid him, but he was already waiting for you when you reached the main floor. 

"I missed you at lunch today." There was something sinister in his eyes, something that didn't match his tone of forced pleasantry. "No matter. We'll go to that new pub tonight. We can meet there or I will pick you up." It was a threat, a subtle way to make sure you knew he knew where you lived. That he would come for you if you tried to skip out on him.

You'd rather he come to your house. Maybe your faithful watchdog would step in, maybe he'd help you. Maybe he'd stop him. Protect what's his. 

If not, you'd rather have whatever's going to happen, happen somewhere you know. Somewhere you've once felt safe. You'd rather die surrounded by your memories than wherever he'd take you, somewhere probably cold and unfeeling. 

"Okay." You had nothing else to say, rejection wouldn't work. This wasn't ever going to be a date, this was always going to be an assault. 

You were scared. A cornered animal with no way out. Despite your best efforts the water was starting to boil, and you had let it happen. 

Getting home didn't calm your nerves, it almost made them worse. Waiting for the arrival of the beast, waiting to be devoured, bones and all. 

Is this how the spring lambs feel? Screaming as they go down the line to the slaughter. All just to satisfy a man's hunger. 

Is that all women are good for? Satisfying men's hunger, lust, need for violence. Has it always been this way? Women are fucked and murdered. Will they ask what you were wearing? Blame the victim like they always do. 

Like they always do.

Maybe this would have eventually happened with your Ghost too, maybe this was just how the world works. Maybe men just have that right.

It was inevitable, unpreventable. 

It was late when the knock finally came, the sun long gone. There was nothing, no one who would shine a light on what was about to happen. Only the women with their podcasts will ever wonder what really happened to you. What led to this. 

Making eye contact with your front door only death stared back. Wicked wasn't coming. Wicked was here upon you, waiting for you to open the door for it to come in and take you. 

The knock came again, like the toll of a bell. Ringing through your ears like a sick mantra. There was no way out of this. There was nothing you could do.

Your feet shuffled towards the door, it was like walking down death row. 

The bell tolls for you. 

There was a hope inside of you that you'd open the door to your Ghost, that he's come to save you. That you could let in your stalker rather than your murderer. 

Grasping your doorknob felt like grabbing red hot metal, scorching and branding your skin, the last thing that would probably ever have your full set of fingerprints. 

You wondered if you'd fight, if you'd fight to survive or if you'd let him kill you.

It's a strange feeling, coming face to face with your mortality. 

Slowly you twisted the doorknob, letting the devil in. 

"I knew you'd let me in." The door was pushed open, pushing you back, removing your last barrier. Bringing you face to face with Brian. "A whore like you was probably just waiting for a guy like me to come along. You wanted this. Didn't you? You want me to ravage you, don't you? So needy."

He was clutching his stomach, he was bleeding. He'd been stabbed. 

You couldn't make sense of it. Was it your Ghost? Where was he now? Was he dead? Did he try to stop this? 

Brian reached for you, making you stumble back, out of his grasp. 

"Don't." Your feet wouldn't take you farther, they wouldn't let you run away. They'd take you right where he couldn't reach you, but they wouldn't let you get away. 

Maybe you did want this. Maybe every girl wanted this. Maybe that's why men thought it was okay.

"Come on, don't be like that. I know I kept you waiting but I got held up." He took a step closer, stalking towards you. "You'll look so good with the others."

No.

You didn't want this. You never wanted this. No one ever wanted this. 

This wasn't right.

He didn't have the right.

Your mind was flittering, it was hard to make it work, hard to force yourself to stay present. It's always been hard to make it work in situations like this, it hurts less when you just let yourself get hurt. But you didn't want to be hurt anymore. 

"Don't touch me." You took another step back, he was blocking the front door, but you could get out the back. Maybe someone will help you, maybe your neighbors will let you in.

"Come on, you knew it'd always come to this. I'm taking you home." You should have done more, should have opened the door with a knife. Should have been ready for him.

"No. You're not." Turning you ran, struggling with the backdoor for a moment in your adrenaline and panic, but you got it open. Slipping out you held down a scream, it wouldn't help you right now to lose your mind screaming. You needed to get away.

You didn't get far before he was on you.

Hands pushed you down to the ground, flipping you on your back, his hands found purchase on your neck, pulling you up before bashing you down, knocking the wind out of you. "A pretty doll like you would be better stuffed, skin perfectly preserved and taxidermied. Of course it would be better if I could have killed you without leaving damage, your bastard friend made sure that couldn't be a possibility. He got his, and you'll get yours."

Hands squeezed at your throat, the pressure in your head overwhelming, your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your skull. Maybe that would help with the pressure.

"I'll separate your head from your body, that will take care of these marks. I'll figure something out for the rest of the damage. But don't worry, I'll turn you into a work of art. You'll be the prettiest out of them all." 

Wrestling with your panicking body he slotted himself between your legs to continue to choke you, pressing uncomfortably into you. A promise of what would come once you stopped moving.

You were going to die. He was going to kill you.

You were going to die.

Your hands desperately reached out, searching. Searching for anything that could help you. This couldn't be it, he couldn't do this. You couldn't die.

Finding a large rock you took hold of it with all your might, bashing it against his head, making him fall limp on top of you, blood from his head soaking into your hair, his face partially on yours.

His open mouth wreaked of Benson & Hedges cigarettes and tooth rot, saliva leaking onto your cheek. Pushing with all your might you shoved him off, adrenaline didn't allow for your hand to relax enough to drop your rock, the veins in your arms rising to the surface.

When his face scrunched and his body twitched you could hear a scream. Was that you? You didn't know anymore. Your body moved without prompt, bashing him again. And again, and again.

You hardly flinched as the blood peppered your skin, drops of crimson spraying your face. You bashed to the symphony of bones cracking, it was the only thing you could hear, the only thing filling your ears, and yet you continued, bashing until the rock in your hands was hard to hold, slippery and covered in red and grey matter.

You bashed until you felt the rock connect with the damp grass through where his face once was, nothing recognizable left of his head, nothing but the skull fragments and brain matter. Everything else was unidentifiable.

Horror and shock filled you at the sight, he wasn't dead was he? He couldn't be. He can't be dead. He wasn't a person who was dead, so he couldn't be dead.

Desperately you felt for a pulse on his neck. You didn't find one. As a last ditch effort you checked the hole of his stab wound in his stomach. It was warm. He was still warm.

He was okay. He was alright. Dead people aren't warm.

But that warmth meant he wasn't done, he wasn't done killing you, he hadn't succeeded yet. The thought made you scream. He wasn't done with you.

He hadn't succeeded yet, and he was supposed to succeed, that was his goal wasn't it? He couldn't fail. You couldn't have stopped him, you weren't capable of that. You were just a girl. You didn't have that right.

You needed more of his warmth, needed it coating you. Needed him to finish his task. His warmth was proof he would.

Searching for more you pressed your fingers inside, warmth squishing around your fingers, it felt good. Familiar almost. A familiar squelch. 

It was what you needed. More. More. More.

Wriggling your fingers inside you tested the limits of the wound, it wouldn't stretch farther, you couldn't get to more of his warmth.

But you needed more.

Getting fingers in from both hands you searched for grip through the unending amounts of red liquid around your hands.

Finding it you pulled, tearing it apart, the feeling of ripping flesh a rewarding feeling.

You were getting more, getting to the warmth. 

Your digits were digging now, puncturing into his gut, ripping and tearing, pulling out viscera and entrails. Blood perfectly coated the scene, coated you, painting an elegant picture in rouge, and most importantly, warmth.

There was a need, a desire, this couldn't be over yet, he couldn't be done yet. He wasn't done yet. You weren't dead yet, so he wasn't done.

Something pulled tight around your neck, a scarf of the small intestine, wrapping, suffocating. Pulled this tight it almost felt like his hands lovingly around your neck once more, crushing your windpipe. This was that beautiful feeling you were looking for, this was what you needed.

He wasn't done, he hadn't finished yet. You weren't dead yet, but now he could finish, now his slick warmth could finish the job.

Pulling tighter on the two ends of the thin warm viscera that same pressure in your skull was building again, a fuzziness in your vision. You couldn't breathe. It was perfect.

You needed more.

Pulling harder the scarf tightened, it wasn't enough yet, you needed to pull tighter, harder.

With the grotesque sound of tearing the pressure around your neck was gone. Air now filling your lungs in gasps, a burning feeling accompanying each inhale.

Looking down you were still holding the intestine, now in two pieces, the fluids from inside of it making your skin irritated and itchy.

He'd failed. Again.

Hearing a sound from behind you didn't startle you, turning your head your eyes met the hollow eyes of your Ghost, the white of his skull balaclava nearly glowing in the dark. "I broke him." You mumbled, disappointed, presenting the two ends of his guts to him. "You would have finished the job, right? You wouldn't have broke?"

"Of course, love." Crouching beside you he wiped the blood on your check. "I wouldn't break on you like 'e did."

"He wasn't done. He was supposed to kill me. And now he's just a mess. A useless mess. And I'm covered in him." Tears fell from your eyes, your voice whining out of your sore throat.

"Don't cry, you're perfect." Your Ghost pulled the intestine from your hands, letting it fall onto the heap of Brian's unidentifiable carcass. "Come on now, let's get you cleaned up."

The feeling of his arms slipping around your back and under your knees wasn't repulsive like it was when Brian would touch you, your Ghost's touch wasn't nauseating.

Hoisting you up your Ghost carried you away from the scene. "But what about the mess here?"

"I've called people who will come take care of it, I 'ave connections. The police will get involved, 'is victims families deserve to know what 'appened to them. But nothin' bad will happen to you. You'll be just fine. I'll make sure of it. I'm takin' care of you now, love. There's nothin' to worry about." His voice was soothing, the nose of his skull balaclava pressing against your temple. "I've got you now."

#x reader #oneshot #reader insert #cod fandom #cod #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley call of duty #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #ghost cod #simon ghost fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #dark fic

[icyg4l]

PAC: How to Heal Your Broken Heart

Hello beautiful people! If you are currently going through a romantic break-up, I send my love to you. 🫶 But here, I will give advice on how you can deal with your grief. I am not a therapist so if you feel like you need to contact one, I would highly encourage that you do that. If you resonate with this reading and would like a more personalized reading, please read my guidelines and message me privately so you can receive one. Without further ado, please select your pile!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: You need to acknowledge that this was meant for you to happen! There is nothing wrong with being single, lovely. Sometimes things just don’t work out and that’s okay. Right now, it’s time for you to focus on bigger and better things without someone by your side. You could have been with your partner for years and one day things just ended. It happens. But the best for you to do right now is to get your hair and nails done. Get to know yourself as a person, not as a partner. You have so much personality, Pile One. You need to take up more space on your own. You don’t need someone to conquer the world with you. I feel like you honestly just have to get used to being by yourself so find literally anything to do by yourself. Read, go for a walk, buy yourself flowers, take yourself on dates. Spend more time making yourself the main character instead of finding ways to antagonize your ex.

Cards Used: Ace of Cups (RX), Four of Wands, Judgment, 7 of Discs, 9 of Swords, 9 of Cups.

extras: fancy dates. peach smoothie. alice in wonderland. benedict cumberbatch. “lumberyard.”

Pile Two: You got a lot of cards, which means that you need to listen up. Pile Two, when was the last time you’ve been outside with your friends? You may have spent a lot of time in isolation in your previous relationship. You don’t have to do that anymore. Your girls are waiting on you. It is best that you go to as many parties that you can find to avoid going back because you don’t need to be with a manipulative liar anymore. I would also suggest that you go to a jewelry store and go spoil yourself. The codependency in your last relationship was abnormal and it’s time that you realize it. I feel like this person took the light away from you and you’re slowly but surely gaining your power back. Your energy is similar to Pile One but I feel like the focus for you is to empower yourself. Adopt the mindset that things will work out for you. Assuming the worst possible outcome is going to work for you. You have to let yourself shine because no one is dimming your light anymore. Surround yourself with positivity and please please please make sure you’re around people that make you feel comfortable and like yourself. Right now is a crucial time for you. Treat it as such.

Cards Used: 6 of Discs, 9 of Discs, King of Discs, Princess of Wands, 8 of Wands, 4 of Cups, The Magician (RX), The Hanged Man, The World, The Emperor, Ace of Wands, 3 of Cups.

extras: “party hard.” tiger print. mr rogers. sofia the first. birthday pin. red dot.

Pile Three: I feel like this pile has to get their body in check. Have you been having physical health problems as of lately? I feel like you need to see a doctor. I am getting the image of someone with a fever getting their temperature checked. It’s almost summertime, this shouldn’t be happening! So first things first, take your Vitamin C. Once you take care of your physical health, you should affirm that everything will be okay. Expose yourself to new places, people and things. Take a getaway trip for the weekend, maybe longer. I think you should also write affirmations on post-its and put them up around your house. I feel like this pile went through a mutual break up but it still hurts. This will sound weird but you’ve been through worse so this shouldn’t break you, lol. I think that’s your spirit guides way of saying to stay optimistic about your situation. There’s an advantage in your situation. You will find more things to laugh about when it comes to your situation. Another thing that I suggest that you do is remove your ex’s energy; their clothes, pictures of them, any and everything. Get it out!

Cards Used: 4 of Discs, Temperance, Queen of Cups, Princess of Swords, 2 of Swords, 5 of Swords (RX), The Sun, 6 of Discs, The Star, Ten of Cups, Queen of Discs

extras: cameras flashing. candied yams. apples and oranges. dominoes pizza. hot flashes. quince.

Pile Four: I’m not going to lie, it may be time for you to consider taking the extra step to getting your mental health in check. If you have been feeling like ending it all, then please talk to a psychiatrist. They may prescribe you with medication. I feel like you need that extra boost. Shit feels stagnant with this group. It’s all about personal accountability with you guys. Yes, it sucks to have your heart broken but how will you fix it? How will you recover? I think you should get in touch with your family. It’s been a minute since you talked to them, hasn’t it? You might feel like they will mock you for going through it or say “I told you so” but they won’t. They’ll be angry about the fact that you were cheated on & manipulated. You were too good and too pretty for your ex, Pile Four. Any plans that you had with them are gone and it’s time to accept that. You may have a hard time moving on but it’s best that you are supported by those who have your best interest at heart. You absolutely can do it. Turn your pain into art. Make music, write poetry, draw something. Do anything to keep your energy moving and flowing. You should also get physical. I channeled Dua Lipa’s song for you as well. So get in the gym & build your physique, begin a cardio routine, just do it!!!

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, Ten of Discs, King of Wands (RX), The Empress, The Star, Death, 9 of Discs (RX), Ten of Swords, The Chariot (RX).

extras: agent of chaos. black ops. nike. “that’s not my forte.” acting. self-righteous. fake smile. eye bend.

#law of assumption #manifesting #neville goddard #hoodoo #tarot #tarotreading #astro notes #pick a card #pick a pile #divination #tarot community #tarot tumblr #tarot witch #free tarot #daily tarot #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot deck #tarotcommunity #spirituality #tarotblr #kpop tarot #tarot pac #pick a reading #tarot pick a card #pac reading #tarot pull #intuitive readings #black tarot readers #channeled reading

[lixielovess]

"and i still dont care, i only care about you and how you feel. if it meant that I'd have to kill everyone in the world except for you and then myself just to prove that i love you, then I'll do so."

hyunjin x fem!chubby!reader

warnings: reader is insecure about her body, implied ED, swearing

genre: angst, fluff

hyunjin was a childhood friend of yours, you always hung out with him and you enjoyed being around him. but you were always considered the 'ugly' friend by your other friends, sometimes your family and you yourself agreed sometimes.. ofcourse he never did, he thought you were absolutely beautiful, tough he never said it.

when you were in junior high school, you could never be friends with anyone without someone shipping you two, but with you.. everyone always considered it as a joke. like you were a joke, people kept teasing hyunjin about liking you and he always denied it, and you believed him. he was never harsh about it he was genuinely nice, he was always polite with it but it always seemed to hurt you. you loved him, and deep down he knew he liked you aswell.

he was the handsome popular guy and you were just another one of his fangirls who just happened to be one of his friends. though you did have girl friends alot of girls seemed to hate you because you were friends with hyunjin, saying that you only hung out with him to distract yourself from how fugly you actually are. and honestly you thought the same, it was to the point you starved yourself and had to go to the hospital because you didn't eat the normal amount of food a healthy person should eat for about a month, but despite not eating almost anything at all you still looked like that.

and suddenly when you were in highschool in senior year when in the schools garden, he stood infront of you, bouquet in hand looking straight into your eyes "y/n y/l/n i-... i loved you.. i always have.. so please-" you cut him off. "is this some sort of joke..?" he froze up, confused, time seemed to stop as he just stared at you completely confused "what?"

"did one of your friends force you to do this? did you lose a bet? do you think its funny 'confessing' to the ugly chubby girl?" you we're used to it, guys confessing to you, going out with you because it was a dare or a jokey joke. but its happened to you over and over again for too many times to the point where you couldn't tell the difference between that and the real thing... and when someone actually had feelings, that someone being hyunjin, you turned him down because you didn't trust anyone that said they liked you, either way if it was true or not.

"Y/n-" "save it." angry tears welled up in your eyes as he just stared at you in disbelief "listen! please- im not joking! i genuinely do-" you grit your teeth, holding in your tears as you try not to break down sobbing "i thought you were my friend, hyunjin."

"i am! and i want us to be more than that-"

"Liar! you don't like me, i know you don't. you denied it since we were 10 and even until now you still do. feelings don't change overnight. i cant believe i thought you were my friend, never talk to me again you piece of shit" you ran off into somewhere, you dont know where you just walked. a few hours later you somehow arrived home, you waltzed into your room and just locked yourself in there.

days go by and you return to school completely ignoring him, everytime he came to talk to you, you just brushed him off like he was nothing.

your friends still hung out with him, and they brought you along when they hung out with him, but what else could you do? not hang out with your friends who've known you for years..? no. eventually you forgave him and tolerated him, and started hanging out with eachother more and more.

it wasn't until recently when you guys were alone, he took your hand and looked straight into your eyes when he confessed, again. "i.. i just wanted you to know that it wasnt a joke, i genuinely did love you back then and i didn't care about how you looked you were absolutely beautiful regardless. and i still dont care, i only care about you and how you feel. if it meant that I'd have to kill everyone in the world except for you and then myself just to prove that i love you, then I'll do so."

#stray kids #hwang hyunjin #stray kids angst #hyunjin x reader #skz x you #writing

[writing-whump]

Would loveeee to see hector super sick and feverish with a stomach bug where all he wants is to be comforted by Isaiah/Arnie/both- just love his softer side- pretty sure he’s a softie deep down 🤭

Hey nonny! Thank you for the request!! Found a good way to insert it. This will have a part 2 for another request hehe.

Something serious

Hector burst through the door, heading straight for the kitchen without a word of greeting.

Arnie was not taking it personally, but he was curious about what kind of hunger spree made Hector so desperate.

He got up from the couch to check. "Did you skip lunch or-?

Except Hector wasn't riding their fridge. He was braced over the kitchen sink and retching loudly.

"Oi. Okay," Arnie said with a wince as a huge gush of puke hit the bottom of the granite. "What happened to you?"

"Ate-uuurp-too fast." Hector burped up another mouthful before spitting and letting the faucet run over the mess.

"Really? Wasn't something off about the food?" Hector's speed and capacity were way too impressive for this to happen easily.

Hector swiped his wrist over his mouth, sweaty all over.

Arnie tore off a handful of kitchen towels and handed it to him.

Hector took it gratefully, mopping his face and mouth. "I was so hungry at lunch that my stomach hurt. Must have eaten too quick, cause I got queasy on the way." Hector put a hand on his belly as it whined loudly. For puking just a minute ago, his stomach looked distended, as if he was still full.

"Sure it was hunger? Maybe you were getting down with something and ate lunch on top," Arnie sighed, grabbing Hector by the elbow to steer him towards the living room. "How many times do I have to say that you shouldn't eat, when your stomach is hurting?"

Hector was feeling crappy enough to follow Arnie's guidance, flopping down on the couch and curling his hands protectively around his middle. "Ugh. Thought it would help."

Arnie rolled his eyes. "It's always the same with you—no restraint. Listening to your body's signals could have spared you from all this puking."

Hector huffed. "Stop lecturing, snotnose, and get me some water."

Arnie stuck his tongue at him, but obeyed, getting some cold water from the kitchen, checking if the sink was clean on the way.

Hector gulped down the water greedily, even as Arnie patted his hand. "Slow down, you'll make yourself sick again."

To be fair, Hector tried to slow the tempo before it picked up again. Arnie sat down next to him with a grimace. No helping that.

"You want to watch something and take it easy?" Arnie asked, putting the back of his hand to Hector's forehead. He was a little warm. "I think you should rest. Looks like a flu to me."

Hector, feeling evidently better, swatted his hand away. "And whose fault is that? You're the only flu spreader around. Damn human germs."

Arnie gave him another eye roll. "Your immunity needs some work then, if you catch things that I don't even have symptoms for."

Arnie put on a rerun of Big Bang Theory, which was usually so foreign and boring to Hector that it put him to sleep. And he was right, his older brother was snoring away, head lolling to the armrest, in a few minutes.

After two episodes, Hector stirred though, grimacing with a moan.

"You want a blanket?" Arnie asked quietly as Hector curled into himself, although he could see some more sweat beading on his neck.

"Nah. Think I'm just going to sleep this off in the bed," Hector said, not bothering to muffle a burp as he got up clumsily. His hand shot up to cradle the top of his belly like it was about to fall open.

"You sure you didn't eat something spicy at lunch?" Arnie said, watching him stumble out with another burp. "You get disgusting like that every time."

Hector gave him an angry glare. "I do not. I can handle spicy food."

Arnie snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Tell that to someone who doesn't have to live with you and hear all the consequences."

Hector grunted something crude on his way, which caused Arnie to chuckle.

It wouldn't be unusual in the slightest if he did eat something spicy and then played it off as a flu just to not feel embarrassed.

It would be fine. Hector was a grumpy patient, even if it was the flu, but as long as he stopped eating and took a day off, he would be fine.

Wolves were so senstive to pain. Just a bit of discomfort, and they were all dramatic and moaning. Hector more than most. Physical injuries he got rid of with his shadow, so any sickness, cold, or flu that wouldn't heal had him up in arms and whiny. Arnie had gotten used to not taking it too seriously.

Arnie watched a few more episodes, checking his phone and dozed off on the couch himself.

He went to check on Hector, but he looked peacefully asleep in the bed.

Arnie prepared him a glass of water and a bucket, just in case. Leaving the door open and satisfied with his precautions, he went to his own room, catching the sleeping wave before it was worse off.

...

Arnie woke up to the harsh sounds of throaty retches. Scrambling up a little slow from sleep, he braced himself on the doorframe in Hector's room, switching the small bedside table lamp on.

Hector didn't even get up, hunched over the bed and heaving over the bucket.

What did, however, get up was his shadow. It was sprawling across the wall behind the bed and wiggling uneasily across the floor.

Arnie stepped around it gingerly. Hector's shadow wouldn't hurt him, he knew, but it was a scary big thing to crawl around his feet.

Despite Hector's best efforts, the bucket was basically empty, only spits of yellow bile inside.

Arnie sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed sleepily. Always so dramatic with Hector.

"Hex, you got nothing inside you, you are empty," he said, patting his back.

"Doesn't-doesn't feel like it-" Hector coughed between heaves.

He moaned, clutching the side of his belly as he lay back down, breathing harshly. "That freaking hurt."

"Flu it is," Arnie said with a yawn. "You are heaving even when running on empty."

"Then why the hell does it hurt?" Hector complained, sniffling. Arnie admonished himself for not bringing some more paper towels, too.

"It's normal to get cramps during the flu-"

"No, not crampy" Hector protested through gritted teeth. "It fucking hurts. And the pain travels."

Arnie frowned. "Travels? What?"

"The spot," Hector said, clutching at the right side of his stomach. It was still bloated, even though he had nothing to vomit. Arnie's eyebrows scrunched even more. This was starting to get weird.

"It was in the middle and now it's freaking here and it feels like someone stabbed me," Hector said angrily, just a breath away from whining. His shadow made an aggressive, wavy motion above their heads.

Arnie rubbed at his eyes, much more alert now. "So to sum it up - you felt sick during lunch, thought it was hunger, threw up at home and you were in pain since then?"

"I - I felt kind of off yesterday too, but like...just sluggish? Thought I was tired." Hector rolled onto his back, hands sliding lower on his right side.

Arnie leaned in closer. "Show me." He gently pried Hector's hands away, lifting up his shirt. His stomach was still so blown up, but he could see nothing on the spot. It seemed too specific for a place though, lower right abdomen...he pushed his hands around, trying to find some kind of physical proof, a bump or swell. Hector didn't protest his poking, eyes closed and pinched.

Arnie was the one with any basic knowledge of human anatomy and complications, since Hector always insisted that were human weaknesses that had nothing to do with him.

Arnie retracted his hands with a sigh, considering writing it off as a cramp lasting too long, when Hector whimpered. Like a real little whimper. He locked his limbs together, arms around his stomach again, tears leaking out. His shadow all but flooded the damn room, swinging angrily from one side to the other at Hector's pain.

"What, what did I do?" Arnie asked in panic, falling to his knees on the floor and taking Hector's forearm in both hands. "Hex? Hex, what-"

Hector twitched under his hands, twisting his face into the sheets as a trickle of bile came out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry!" Arnie said, pressing his forehead to Hector's as his older brother rode the pain out.

Hector said nothing, another little whimper coming up.

Arnie got up as quickly as he could to grab his phone. He dialed up the ambulance and called as he returned, not wanting to leave Hector alone.

"Noooo, no hospital," Hector whined pitifully.

"Yes, we have to," Arnie said in a strangled noise, putting his free hand on Hector's shoulder. "Please. Trust me. This is something serious."

With great effort, Hector pulled a hand away from his stomach and clutched Arnie's forearm, breathing raggedly as they both waited for the medics.

#sickfic #emeto #vomting #fever #hurt/comfort #bromance #brothers #werewolf wip #my writing #Hector

[satureja13]

The Boys got up early. Today is Ji Ho's first Therapy Game session. Ji Ho still supports Jack with his yoga and meditation practice to ease his pain and they convinced Saiwa to join them this morning. It will do him good too.

And while Jack explains the asanas to Sai, Ji Ho is lost in thought. He worries it will hurt Vlad if he marries Caleb ingame. Vlad doesn't deserve this after all he went through because of him.

Ji Ho has to talk about this before he enters the game for the first time. And so he told Sai and Jack about his worries. But Jack reassures him: "Vlad told me to tell you that whatever you do in your therapy is ok for him. Don't worry."

Saiwa: "Even though it is made up as a game, we all have to keep our end goals in mind. All of us. Always. The journey will be the reward. Whatever helps you to - safely - get your feelings back, will also help Vlad. When you're able to overcome your trauma, you will finally be able to love Vlad. And Vlad knows that. So don't hold back because of him."

Saiwa is right. All this madness has to end so Vlad and he can finally be together. Jack: "What happens in the game, stays in the game. Ok?" Haha, Jack is obviously also thinking of Lou and him ^^' Ji Ho: "Ok." But they all agreed that Vlad won't attend when Ji Ho is in his Therapy Game. For his own good.

It's still early and they decided to go for a swim before breakfast and Ji Ho's session. So Ji Ho can relax a bit.

They changed into their swim wear and when Jack turned around, Ji Ho and Saiwa couldn't believe their eyes. The rash on Jack's lower back is gone! Saiwa: "Omg Jack!"

It's still painful as hell when he's not ingame, but his whole body hurts so Jack didn't even notice since when because he doesn't see it! So does the therapy work already or is it because of his steady yoga and meditation practice or because he's apart from Kiyoshi? (Oh my, I know this so well! I try a lot of stuff which is supposed to help me with my condition and when I finally suceed on sth, I have no idea what exactly it was that helped!) He twists and turns but he can't see it ^^' Jack, the puppy chasing his own tail hahaha.

Jack: "I take this as a sign to go for it should Lou hit on me!" Of course he does...

Ji Ho and Saiwa sighed. But they also take it as a good sign: that the Therapy Game will help them. And Sai is determined to enter the game after Ji Ho is back safe and sound. They have to move on. And they'll have to return back home to the others and fix their relationships.

Saiwa and Ji Ho go back to the house to prepare breakfast. And lazy Jack stayed in the water.

Saiwa: "The last one by the house is cleaning the yoga mats!" Jack: "Hey!"

'I really want to see you Really want to be with you Really want to see you, Lord But it takes so long, my Lord

Hare Rama, Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare'

My sweet Lord - George Harrison

I had this song in my head when I edited this episode and when I looked for it on youtube, I found this short film: 'Official Music Video for George Harrison “My Sweet Lord” In celebration of the 50th anniversary of George Harrison's classic solo album, All Things Must Pass.' It starts with Mark Hamill (Luke Skywalker!) and there are so many other actors I know. Plus Ringo!

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest Current Chapter: 🕹️ 'The One' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

#therapy game #The White Lily #underwater love #saiwa #jack callahan #The One #woo ji ho #giga byte #the game #koh sahpa #Spotify #tomarang #sims 4 vanilla #sims #sims 4 for rent #ts4 #sims 4 story #simlit #simblr #sims 4 #puppy strategy

[snugglyducklingbrewhouse]

we play with fire because we like the way it burns

a mob boss!Nico x nurse!fem!reader au

Movie night, ruined

Warnings: blood, Luke injured, mentions of guns and gunshot wounds, some swearing and calling someone a dumbass, this is a mob au. Please tell me if I missed something

A/n: it’s here! The first installment. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Word count: 1.2k

You were worried.

Luke Hughes was not known to be the most punctual, but he was never this late.

As far as you knew, this was his only plan for the night. So why hasn’t he called or texted?

It was just supposed to be a routine movie night. You, Luke, and a movie you’ve seen so many times. Tonight’s pick was Valentine’s Day since you saw New Year’s Eve around the new year, and it just made sense. To you two, anyway.

Luke was hours late. You were about to start getting ready for bed, tired of waiting on the couch. He could just apologize in the morning once you got sleep.

As you were collecting the snacks off the coffee table, there was a knock on your door.

Who was knocking on your door at this hour?

You quickly put the things in your hands back down so you could answer the door.

As Luke always insisted, you looked through the peephole. He hated that your building didn’t have a doorman, so he got you in the habit of checking the peephole.

You were not prepared to see Luke slung around the shoulders of Jack and another guy, barely able to stand up himself.

You swung the door open rapidly, ushering the three men to come inside before the neighbors started asking questions. God forbid Nancy saw anything and spread the news like wildfire.

Once you got a better look at the three, you realized Nico was the other man holding up Luke.

“What the fuck happened?!?” You practically shouted at them.

“Do you really want to know? Or do you just want to fix him?” Jack spoke up before his boss could say anything.

You rolled your eyes in a huff, but gestured to the couch. “Sit him up on the couch and make sure he doesn’t lose consciousness. Jack, get water from the kitchen. You, make sure Luke stays upright. He can’t fall asleep. Not yet.”

Jack had a nervous look on his face because you bossed around the most feared man in the city, but he rushed to get water despite not having gone that far into your apartment before.

“I’ll be right back,” you told Nico before rushing to get your primary first aid kit.

When you returned, you had to speak up and say the one thing you were dreading. “What happened and how did he get hurt?”

Nico was about to answer, but Jack spoke up from the kitchen instead. “Where the fuck are your cups and why are they this hard to find?”

Yet another eye roll from you. “Just grab a bottle from the fridge,” you yelled back.

“Dumbass,” you muttered under your breath. You loved Luke like a brother but that didn’t mean you felt the same way about his brother.

You turned back to Luke to assess the damage. Multiple cuts on his face and body. Luckily, no gunshots. You honestly weren’t sure you would be able to help if he had gotten shot.

Jack came back to the living room and set the bottle on the table and proceeded to stay out of your way while still looking out for his little brother. Their mother would kill him if she found out just how injured the baby Hughes was.

You grabbed the iodine and some cotton pads, mentally preparing to make your best friend endure more discomfort than he already was.

“Luke, I’m sorry that this is going to sting, but I need to clean your wounds,” you said gently.

Luke just grumbled, so you proceeded after telling Nico to make sure to hold Luke still.

“I’ll start with your arms and work my way to your face. Please don’t hate me for this,” you said gently, using your nurse voice reserved for telling people that something bad has happened.

Luke flinched a little once you started cleaning his wounds. It proceeded to get worse, and your patience also got progressively worse.

“Luke if you do not stop squirming, I swear to god I will duct tape you to a chair and tell your mother about your weekend in Atlantic City,” you said in a very angry tone, sick of Luke’s shit.

Nico looked slightly confused, while Luke and Jack both had looks of “oh shit” on their faces.

Jack proceeded to sit on Luke’s other side to make sure he stayed still.

“We do not need mom knowing about what happened,” Jack said as Luke nodded as best as he could.

You proceeded to finish disinfecting every wound on your best friend’s body and add antibiotic cream to each one, finishing the worse wounds with bandages and letting the smaller ones breathe.

“Luke, I’m gonna grab you one of your spare outfits for you to wear so you can sleep comfortably. Couch or guest room?” You asked him, honestly not knowing if he would make it to the guest room.

“Couch,” he mumbled.

You scurried off to grab some sweats and a shirt for Luke from his designated drawer in your room.

You tossed the clothes at Jack once you made it back to the living room, “make sure he gets into these. I’ll clean up.”

You proceeded to gather up the first said kit while Jack helped Luke change and Nico just sat, not knowing what to do.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” Nico finally spoke to you, and if you weren’t so concerned with Luke, you may have had more time to admire him.

“Uh. No. I think I’m good. I’ve dealt with worse messes,” you said, not stopping what you were doing.

You put all the supplies back and slipped into the kitchen to get yourself your own bottle of water, giving Jack time to get Luke dressed.

As you finally had a moment to breathe and think, you realized you wouldn’t be able to handle seeing Luke hurt and not do anything about it.

After some time passed, Jack called out that Luke was successfully changed.

Walking back to the living room, you spoke up. “Call me immediately the next time he or someone else gets injured. I’ve seen enough questionable injuries at the hospital to know that I am your best option to avoid police questioning. Jack, you have my number. And please, for the love of all that is holy, stop doing dumb shit.”

You barely gave Jack time to respond before you spoke up again. “Now leave so Luke can rest. I’ll give you an update in the morning.”

Nico and Jack got up from their spots on your couch and proceeded to leave, you locking the door behind him.

You turned back to Luke and were worried about how the night was going to go.

“Can I have my blanket?” He asked weakly.

“Of course,” you said as you moved to grab it from its spot in your blanket basket.

You helped Luke lay down and get comfortable with the blanket tucked around him.

“Yell for me if you need anything, my door will be open,” you said before getting up to go back to your room. “Goodnight, Luke.”

“Goodnight, y/n,” Luke said with his eyes already closed.

You got ready for bed and were finally able to lay down and relax.

So why couldn’t you stop thinking about Nico?

#m writes #mob boss Nico au #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier au #nico hischier x reader

[cjrights]

Ight then here we go. And dw I promise I’m not feral like aloras anons. (Btw I made this while eating Mac n cheese at like 10:30 at night).

This could be really bad so read at your own risk (I’ve never written x reader)

Paige Bueckers x Softball! Player reader! (Hcs)

Content: mentions of an injury/description of one happening, Overall just fluffy stuff.

This is my first time ever writing something like this (pls don’t make fun of me 😭 I’ll cry and probably never log back in)

Starting off with a little about yourself:

-You’ve played softball for quite a while (obviously your good if you’ve gotten to UConn) around 14 years

-You’re a catcher- and a damned good one at that. You catch for just about anyone if needed and play quite a bit.

-One thing your most renowned for are your speed and base running abilities. Very few times is someone better or faster than you on base.

-however you are on the smaller side, barely 5’4 (you give yourself an extra inch though). Many players thought your height would impede your abilities and that you were too small to be a catcher.

-but your basically the ballsiest player in the league and hate losing so you don’t go down without a fight.

Ok now that we know about you let’s get into Paige.

1. Prior to the season she likes helping you clean your bag and gear out.

“Babeeee look what I have.”

You look up briefly confused, only to burst into giggles at the sight of Paige in your catchers gear. It obviously didn’t fit- not surprising with you at 5’5 and her at 6’. The white shinguards barely reached 3/4s down her legs and the chest guard left half of her exposed.

“Paige, why are you trying on my gear?” You ask over your shoulder, turning back into your bag to grab your batting gloves and helmet out.

“I gotta make sure my girls safe!” She protested, desperately trying to put on the to small helmet. “Can’t have you getting hurt! And why’s this helmet so small?!”

“Probably cause you’ve got a big head.”

“Who wouldn’t have a big head dating someone as sexy and skilled as you,” she smirks, lightly kissing your neck as your crouched over the bat bag.

“Well I suppose I am quite skilled and sexy…” you agree lifting your head so she can kiss more easily.

“And all mine.”

“And all yours.” You agree happily. “And yours alone. Now back to work bucko!” You state lightly patting her on the chest and nudging her off kisses. “No time for that now.”

Paige resumes trying to put on the helmet, still struggling immensely, as you go through the pockets of your bag. You snicker at her troubles with the helmet, before grabbing it and sticking it on your own head. “I’ll be fine.”

“But what if-“ fine then Paige, you thought. Guess I’ve got no other choice…

She’s abruptly cut off by you smacking your helmeted head into a wall lightly then staring at her, entirely unmoved by the feel of it. The noise of it had been stronger than whatever pain it had caused. She stands there shocked for a moment, staring at you gobsmacked before reluculantly starting to take off the gear.

“Ok fine. You’re safe in this I suppose.”

You turned away from the blonde and resumed your sorting, now satisfied.

“Erm babe? could you help me out? I think I’m stuck.”

2. Her trying to carry your bag and failing miserably.

“Why the hell do you have a body bag?!” Had been her first reaction to it, which admittedly may have been justified.

But you couldn’t help it! All catchers needed a bag this big…even if it was almost your size. But with cleats, bats, gloves, your gear and everything else you needed a bag like this was a must. Even if it was probably twice your body weight.

You just shrugged and said catchers always had big bags, then started dragging it off to the UConn fields.

Now you were getting ready to board the bus for an away game in Ohio and you’d just unpacked the car. Azzi had came along to see you off alongside of Paige. You went to grab your bag, only to have Paige abruptly get in the way.

“Allow me m’lady,” she mimics, grabbing the bag handle before you can stop her.

“Baby, I love you, but you know damn well you’ll drop that.” It was true, she’d tried multiple times, and crushed multiple toes.

“No! I’m big and strong and perfectly capable of lifting my girlfriend’s bag!” She huffs and chuffs determinedly, as she drags it towards the bus, carefully lifting it up into the open back door.

Your teammates give her half weirded out-half amused look, not quite sure if they should intervene or let her learn the hard way.

Even Azzi rolls her eyes and sighs, “should we stop her before she tears another ACL?”

You sigh, Paige was one stubborn motherfucker, as much as you loved her. “Maybe that’s how she’ll finally learn not to lift a catchers bag without help.”

After a long time, filled with much painful wheezing and a red faced girlfriend she manages to get it on the bus. “See…” she wheezes, “I can so lift your bag!”

You laugh and walk over to her, stretching up on your tiptoes to kiss her lips, which she eagerly accepts gently cradling the back of your head.

“My hero,” you tease, resting your forehead against hers, relishing in the warmth of her ice blue gaze.

3. She sees you get trucked defending the plate for the first time and almost has a heart attack.

It started off as a simple play and should’ve remained simple. Then you blew it and missed the block on a wild pitch. The runner on third saw her opportunity and took it.

Thankfully you’d been quicker on your feet than the pitcher and grabbed the ball guarding the plate from the incoming runner. Normally a base runner would get tagged out on a run, or try to veer away at the last moment.

But not the Alabama girl. Nope, she’d already known you were on the smaller side- and that you never backed down. So she did the only sensible thing.

She lowered her shoulder and smashed into you at a full sprint. To your credit you got the tag and kept on your feet, just staggering slightly from the impact. What you weren’t expecting for the lights to go out a few seconds after she collided.

You didn’t remember what happened after that, next thing you knew, three coaches, the athletic trainer, and about nine concerned teammates had formed a protective barrier around you, as if they were animals guarding a hurt cub.

According to your pitcher, the Bama girls helmet had smacked with yours and with the combined effort from the rest of her body, knocked you out. Thankfully it was only for a half minute or so, and nothing was that badly hurt.

you were fine apart from having the wind knocked out of you and a thorough bit of bruising on your shoulders, chest, hips, and neck. The whole incident hadn’t even phased you that badly and after a quick test run, you were cleared to resume catching and hit a double the next inning, directly over the Bama players head, as though to say it would take more then that to bring you down.

Turns out the one more affected was your blonde girlfriend who was sitting in the bleachers

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“What the fuck was that!” The blonde all but screamed at the top of her lungs, unaware of the looks fans from both sides were giving her.

A dad who was sitting next to her gave her a look before chuckling. “That’s called trucking the catcher. Don’t worry though, she’s a tough little thing, she’ll get back up fine in a few seconds.

Paige shot him a look before glaring at the back of the Bama girls helmet, about ready to go out and beat her up herself.

“It’s called downright bad sportsmanship and dangerous! I mean she could’ve been hurt!” Her anxiety fueled the anger she was feeling, especially after seeing you wobble before your body passed out. Had it not been so crowded she would’ve been on the field herself.

The dad glanced over at her. “Seems like you care quite a bit about this catcher.”

“M’course I do. She’s my girlfriend, my baby, and it’s my job to protect her.”

He nods in understanding, glad the blonde was a bit calmer. “Don’t worry about it, she’s tough as nails. Look she’s already up again.”

She looked down and true to his word you were standing on slightly wobbly legs and doing an experimental squat to see how badly the girl had damaged you.

A breathe she didn’t know she’d been holding escaped, “thank god…” she whispered, not taking her eyes off you.

Now with you alright and her new softball dad friend she could watch the game (albeit she still growled under her breathe when the Bama girl came out). She was ready to spoil you rotten by the end of the game.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Baby, I appreciate the gesture but you don’t need to worry this much…that happens quite a lot.”

“Nope! My baby deserves all the spoiling tonight.” She stated walking in with a freshly microwaved heating pad, full bottle of water, ibuprofen, and some chocolate. “Now come on movie time.”

You couldn’t resist smiling as she climbed into bed beside you, gently draping you over her lap.

“I’m getting thrown out for starting a fist fight the next time you play Bama.” Paige mutteres suddenly.

“Paige Madison! You will not!”

“Yes I will, that stupid shortstop deserves it!”

You roll your eyes, your girlfriend was sweet, but overprotective like a damned pitbull.

“No Paigey, no fighting.”

“Fine….”

You end up dozing off before her, but not before feeling her planting gentle “feel better kisses” over every one of your bruises. And that’s why you fall asleep smiling.

Enjoy! (Also I have many more of these if wanted)

-🦦

hi this is SO cute???? i love????

you did this so well im gagged asf

more more more

#🦦 anon #i love my anons #ask #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x softball player

[miss-celestia13]

An Arsonist’s Anguish

Richy’s Lament - A Duskwood One Shot

A dark, angsty exploration into Richy’s character as he sets the stage for his death. There is no happy ending. Just some hope that another soul made it out of the mine as it burns. Crossposted posted on Ao3.

Trigger Warnings are below the line. Please check them.

TW: Suicide, Self Hatred, Hallucinations, and thoughts/descriptions of Death. Read at your own risk. I tried not to be too graphic, but you will know what’s happening.

Richy would never see the sun rise again.

The ghosts of all the beautiful things he killed to protect his secrets haunted his dragging, stumbling steps as he traversed the mine and ignored the cameras he installed. Gasoline poured and splashed from the canister he held as he wove through tunnels and gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm.

It was nothing compared to the emotional torture he felt inside. His thoughts were a tempest raging with the violence of a cyclone. Every destructive gust ripped through the fragile edifices of his grip on reality.

Within the labyrinth of his mind, self-loathing chewed on his soul like a pack of feral beasts tearing at the tender flesh of their fallen prey. Each bite drew forth burgundy rivers of desolation, self-condemnation, and unyielding fury. Blending with the physical aches until he couldn’t tell them apart

His arm throbbed as he ignored the yelling in his mind. Fucking Dan. Dan, who gave him a gun?! Oh, what an idiot! He scuppered all Richy’s plans and left him scrambling to end it before anyone else got hurt. Ensure nothing remains but ash.

Rivers of cold sweat streamed down his grey face as he held his injured arm over his stomach so he wouldn’t bang it into the rough wall. He wanted to punch the stone to take his mind off it. The bottle of pain meds he stole from his mother rattled in his pocket, but he couldn’t risk taking them yet.

His breathing roasted his throat, but his entire body shivered as though an icy glacier engulfed him. The persistent tremble in his body intensified with every labored step.

The combined weight of his physical and emotional agony was an anchor on his back, dragging his broken spirit beneath tumultuous waves, where the agony of drowning and being hammered from all sides echoed through the depths of himself.

It didn’t feel like any of it was unfair. The thirst was the worst thing. He kept smacking his lips together, attempting to inspire some moisture, but his tongue remained bone dry and coated in the remnants of bitter blood rust.

The blood he’d lost stained his skin and the stone as it dripped through the filthy dressing he tried and failed to use as a tourniquet. Everything felt like it happened to someone else. Something otherworldly piloted his body from the inside.

Like some demon possessed him, guiding him down depraved, treacherous paths, and the priest hadn’t arrived in time to exorcise him.

And he’d done it to himself. Every choice he’d made since kidnapping Hannah, it had felt like suicide in slow motion.

He marooned himself on an island surrounded by vipers of his own creation.

Now, the only option to set himself free was fire. It would hurt, he thought, and his stomach wrenched to the side, almost splitting in two as he dreaded it so strongly.

And death. There was a liberating freedom in death. A broken sob tore through his clenched teeth as he thought of Jessy, the emotions he harbored for her, and everything he had never deserved to have with her.

She was a shot of adrenaline after years of lethargy.

So many of his favorite memories revolved around her and their silly inside jokes. He’d used his closeness to her to torment and stalk her. Terrorized her and her friends. She would never forgive him. Her smiling face, her flaming hair, and desire for a life of adventure had made his miserable existence worth living.

She would forget him one day, but never forgive him. He was a coward. An idiot. He’d let them all believe a masked myth was chasing them.

The only masked freak after them was their own friend.

His megawatt smile, stupid jokes, and constant upbeat attitude despite the shitstorm life rained on him had been the heaviest disguise of his brief life. They’d all bought it.

Hook, line, and fucking sinker. None thought to check beneath that smile. Now, it had twisted and transformed into a permanent snarl. If they paid attention, they would have found the rot and ruin underneath his cheerful demeanor. None of his friends had stopped to think about just how stressed he was. How much he had to carry for his family and Hannah—screw her. She was party to his worst decision.

She caused it.

Her wanting to sacrifice herself, him, and Amy to clear her conscience, betrayal. Betrayal was a dagger Hannah concealed in a cloak of mutual trust and unspoken promises to take their secrets to the grave. That blade had appeared suddenly and without warning, piercing the walls of his shriveled heart.

Half of him wished he’d killed her while he’d had her under his control. End the threat, leave her body to decompose in the mine.

No one came here. He’d made sure of it. Everything might—well, it was too late now. She was safe in the hands of Alan Bloomgate. Hannah, perfect, beautiful fucking Hannah.

He hated her. He blamed Hannah. But it was Amy who he blamed the most. Richy blamed everyone but himself for too long. He knew that. And now he would pay the price for it.

He’d already staged his death. Now he just had to commit.

The cloying scent of gasoline infiltrated his nose, thickening in his raw throat, and the empty metal cannister fell from his weak fingers. The thunderous clanging as it bounced and came to a stop worsened the headache he’d had for the last few weeks.

It pounded in time with his thudding heart. Each pulse pushed yet more blood out of the wound in his heavy, aching arm. It tingled and sparked with fiery pain with every paranoid twitch as he glanced behind him, sure he heard footsteps chasing him down.

He gave himself a shake when only his shadow approached. It looked much bigger to him now. Sinister and spreading to encompass the entirety of him.

It had taken him over long ago, and at last, he accepted it. It was too late to beat it back. He’d embraced it. Its hug was gelid and dragged him down, down, down. The shadow had always been in him; his choices had brought it to life, and it was time to eliminate it so it wouldn’t harm anyone else.

If his last victim was to be himself, it would end on his terms.

His last words had been a confession and an apology. To Jessy, and his friends, to the unwitting stranger he’d dragged into this mess, and to himself. His conscience was far from clear, and his reckoning awaited him amongst the flames he would soon ignite.

The cave in which he’d chosen as his tomb would remain safe from the flames, but the poison smoke would choke him. An intangible noose, as he couldn’t bring himself to tie a rope. He shuffled inside and loosed a long breath that felt more like a death rattle.

His stinging eyes couldn’t penetrate the blackness encroaching him on all sides as he reached into his jacket pocket with his good hand, and pulled out the zippo lighter he’d stuffed inside days before. He’d always suspected.

Deep inside, Richy had expected that this was how it ended. The cold silver metal warmed a little in his clammy hand as his thumb stroked over the Garage’s logo and wished he had said goodbye to his parents before he gave himself to the fire.

It was best they learned with the world. His suicide letter would speak for him and he prayed it would ensure his family didn’t suffer for his actions.

Naïveté had always been his downfall.

Before he set his ultimate act into motion, Richy took his phone out of his jean pocket and flicked the flashlight on. The bright beam of white light assaulted his eyes and created a flurry of moving shadows. The skittering of tiny claws on loose stone racing away from him painted a cruel smirk on his mouth as he cast the light around the small cavern and found what he was looking for.

A grubby black backpack sat against the grey rock wall, covered in dirt, blood, and guilt as he scuttled over to it. He unzipped it and pulled out the almost empty bottle of water he’d been rationing for days.

After fishing the bottle of medication out of his pocket, he struggled to open them both, and cried out as his jerky movements irritated his wounded arm. It took five very long minutes to get the pills out. The light from his phone shuddered as he set it down to count the pills.

He’d chosen the strongest ones his mother had. One knocked her out for half a day, and he wanted to numb himself as much as he could before the smoke smothered or flames devoured him. They were heavy on his tongue as he tossed back a fistful of the chalky tablets and chased them down with the last of his precious water.

For a moment, they got lodged in his throat, his mouth flooded with saliva and his eyes prickled with fresh tears.

He couldn’t even kill himself right. Everything he did just failed in spectacular fashion.

He was a monster of his own making, and only he could slay it. He swallowed, compulsive and dry, ignoring the hot flashes creeping up his neck as the painkillers scraped down his throat and into his hollow stomach.

Richy dropped to his knees and crawled over to the wall, and slumped back onto it. Paper crinkled in his inside coat pocket as he shifted to get comfortable. He had about an hour before the full effects of the medication set in. He would light the fire once the gnawing, eroding ache in his chest and arm dulled.

Until then, he sat with his thoughts, his splintering sanity, and cursed himself. Cursed Duskwood and the predator the town had forced him to transfigure himself into.

The weight of hopelessness hung around Richy’s neck like a noose pulled tight, squeezing the light of life from his eyes.

It was a suffocating darkness that swallowed him whole, leaving nothing but the biting tang of despair on his tongue. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of broken glass, cutting deeper with every huffing exhale.

The silence that echoed in his soul was a relentless scream, a haunting, deafening reminder of the emptiness that consumed him.

“I should’ve told someone,” Richy said in a whisper.

The words bounced softly off the rock, a harmony of regret.

He twitched as it fell silent, mouth furling and eyes glazing over as he listened to the racket in his head.

All you had to do was hand yourself in. You could have avoided all of this.

What do you think will happen to your family? They’ll live happily ever after in the town you terrorized?

Do you honestly think your pathetic letter will save them?

The slippery voice of his own darkness broke into a baleful laugh. It made the hair in his nape rise and stand stiff. He shuddered, thrashing his head and gritting his teeth until they squeaked.

“I tried. I always tried. But I’m a failure. I’ve always been a failure. I can make it right. It’s the only way.” He muttered as the disembodied voice agreed.

Make it right? Ha! You think you can wash away the stain of your idiocy?

You’re tainted.

Forever marked by your wrong choices, Richy.

Redemption? You make me laugh.

Redemption is a fairytale, a delusion you’re desperately clinging to.

It is so far beyond your reach…

Richy’s voice was a growl as he said, “No, redemption isn’t my goal. I can’t undo the damage I’ve caused, but I can end it before anyone else gets hurt. I can make sure the world knows it was me.”

The derisive laughter of his demons chafed at his skull as if their talons were scratching their unspeakable names into the bone.

You’re a lost cause. A testament to all your failures.

Each step you take is a step closer to the abyss of self condemnation.

There’s no way out.

Your sacrifice won’t save your soul.

“I accept that!” Richy roared, spittle flying from his chapped lips as he panted like a wounded beast.

“My death might be the only way to atone for all I’ve done. I don’t care what comes after that. But my family won’t suffer because of me. Not any more.”

The voice in his head made a sound of agreement before it crooned his worst fears.

Yes, your death is the ultimate penance.

Your final act of contrition for the havoc you’ve so selfishly wrought.

Then again, have you considered the aftermath?

Your family will endure your actions. Long after you’re gone. Their suffering will echo until they, too, shuffle off the mortal coil.

Searing fiery agony ripped through Richy’s heart. It felt as though someone had taken a knife, heated it up over a fire until it glowed red hot, and then plunged it into his chest. The scent of burned flesh and molten iron filled his nose. The sensation felt so real to him.

His hand clawed at his jacket over his pounding heart, as if to pull the blade free, but his fingers met only dirty fabric.

“They won’t! They won’t! They won’t! I’ve made sure of it. This isn’t their burden to bear!” He yelled, voice laced with an anguish that made his body convulse as rivulets of salt descended his bared teeth.

Helplessness stole over him as his demons taunted and chuckled in a scornful manner.

You should have thought about that before you started donning the guise of an ancient legend.

Idiot.

Weak.

Pathetic!

Your existence is a festering wound that poisons all in your vicinity.

Embrace the fire.

Let it cleanse all the filth you’ve spread.

But just know, your family will bear the scars of your choices, as they’re carved into their souls for eternity.

Richy sobbed through the agonising sensation weaving through his internal organs. He felt as though someone was weaving his internal organs together with a blunt needle, and they had deliberately coated the thread in salt to prolong his suffering. The increasing pressure in his head demanded an outlet as well.

Everything ached, it bled, and it tore him apart. He was so tired. So tired of trying.

This mine, this town, and all it had demanded of him, he was done with it all. He wanted it to burn. His desire was for them all to suffer, just as he had for a decade. He hadn’t dug just one grave that night. No, there had been one accident and four graves waiting for them. They’d just seen theirs too late.

The forest had never forgotten them, though. It had been patient.

That night with Hannah and Amy, it had never ended. It was a living nightmare he had no way out of. Their deaths had simply waited for them to catch up, and even if Hannah could find it in her to exist after all he’d done, he knew she’d died alongside Jennifer and the rest of them.

Ghosts. That’s what they were. He saw it now. There was no point in trying to hold it off anymore.

It was as if the pressure in his head imploded with that thought.

He wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings as his mind fragmented and warped, and his tenuous hold on reality slipped from his grasp.

The cave dissolved in his vision. Something at the very core of himself disintegrated with it.

He was somewhere else. Somewhere he had long tried to forget.

It was ten years ago.

Amy was there. As was Hannah.

He held a muddied shovel. The surrounding forest smelled like home, but his blood had turned cold. Jennifer’s lifeless body lay broken and bloodied, the remnants of shock still painted across her lovely features.

Her hair lay in a sanguine halo around her head as Richy set down the shovel, and silently, the trio worked to lift the woman.

Hannah’s sobs blended with his labored breathing, sweat drip, drip, dripped down his sore neck. He’d wanted to report it to the police. Tried to convince them to do so anonymously. But Hannah, in her fright, had convinced him they’d be signing their death warrants.

His family would suffer. It was he who gave her the keys to a client’s car. It was due to be scrapped, yes, but that didn’t make it better. Everyone would boycott his dad’s Garage and now that mom was growing worse, the sickness in her invading her mind, he knew they needed that income more than ever.

All they could do was hide the body, agree never to speak of this night, and give the greatest performances of their lives to ensure no one ever suspected them once word of Jennifer’s vanishing spread through Duskwood. He felt like something inside him was dying.

His throat tightened, mouth flooding with saliva as the urge to vomit overtook his senses. Heat crawled through him as he swallowed a mouthful of acidic bile and looked heavenward as they shuffled to stand at the edge of the crudely dug grave.

The stars overhead mocked them as the foliage and freshly overturned earth disguised the metallic scent of spilled blood and their sour shared guilt.

“Are you sure you can live with this?” He asked as they hesitated to drop Jennifer into the ground.

Amy chewed on her bottom lip, blood staining her teeth she’d bitten so hard, and her leaking eyes wouldn’t settle on anything as she gave a single jerky nod. Richy’s stomach sank, but he turned his gaze to Hannah.

His friend’s grief mottled face would haunt him forever as she said, “What other choice do we have?”

That answer inspired zero confidence, but Richy accepted it as an affirmation, and said, “Okay, on three—1, 2, 3!”

With a slight swing and a wobble, they released their hold on Jennifer and all three screwed their eyes shut as she hit the bottom of the hole with a sickening crunch.

Amy fell to her knees, her shaking hands gripping the loose mud ringing the unmarked grave as she sobbed uncontrollably. Richy could hardly stand to watch her, and was glad when Hannah, who was crying freely herself, hauled her away.

He nodded once as Hannah and Amy embraced, clinging to one another, wordless apologies pouring from them both as Richy retrieved his shovel.

He felt like they were being watched. Paranoia snaked through his mind like a weed he knew would grow out of control. All he could do was start refilling the grave.

The soft sound of metal scooping up damp earth seemed to ring through the forest as he internally shut down. All his emotions, he forced them aside. He locked them in a cage made of lead and lined with explosives. Life would never be the same.

Life would be a method actors dream after this. He knew this would change them at a molecular level and none of them could breathe a word of it once they left this cursed forest.

Richy took the last deep breath he’d ever experience and watched expressionlessly as the earth rained down on Jennifer. The pattering noise reminded him of rain, of tears. Amy cried harder while he diligently worked to cover up their mistakes.

Hannah watched, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Wetness trickled down his cheeks as he slowly returned to the present.

Hannah’s face floated across his vision as the scene fully dissipated, and he found himself back in the cave. Stale air replaced the aroma of the night dark forest, and a thin haze hung over his eyes as a euphoric rush raced through his bloodstream.

He felt as if he was floating and drowning in a sea of deliriousness.

The medication had kicked in. His legs were leaden as his head lolled on his neck as if on a swivel, and there was an odd sensation in his nose, like the smell of a roaring fire, but none had been lit. The bullet wound in his arm still griped. Infection had set in, he thought.

Only death would cure it. The meds would ease his passing.

A synthetic fatigue draped him like a cloak as he blinked blearily at the dancing shadows creeping nearer. His mouth turned so dry his tongue curdled in his mouth, and his breathing grew shallower as the painkillers burned through the aches in his body. Not long now, his mosaic mind kept jumping between the past and present, footsteps and disembodied voices whispered so close and real that he answered one.

“I should have turned myself in, I know.”

“At least we agree on something. ”

A female said. His suddenly too heavy head swung around to find the source, his sluggish heart raced faster and faster as the voice sounded like Jessy’s.

“Jess? Remember the fish? The names I made up? If I could—No—I’m so fucking sorry...” He said. He spoke with a voice threaded with deepest despondency.

“The fish were just another lie. All of it was. Your life ended the night Jennifer did. Was any of it real after that? Anything you said, did you mean any of it?”

His shrunken heart broke irrevocably, the agony radiated through his chest, and filled him with a coldness that would soon embrace all of him.

“I didn’t mean—please—I’m ready to pay for it. No one else will hurt because of me.” He swore vehemently.

Jessy’s spectral laugh, derisive and humorless, taunted him.

“We will hurt. It won’t go away. Your actions caused wounds that will scar us forever. Death is your relief. Living with what you did to us is our grief. Goodbye, Richy.”

Richy cried silently as her voice faded and the full effects of the painkillers turned his bones to jelly. He had to light the fire before he passed out. A coffin was his only way out of this cursed place.

Bracing a hand on the knobby wall, he gradually rose to his feet as rock crumbled under his fingers, and rained to the dusty ground, sweat on his palm mixed with the dirt as he tottered toward the entrance. He thumbed the Zippo open as he panted, jaw clenched and eyes stinging with slaking tears.

Petrol permeated the air. He breathed it in as he flicked the lighter and swayed on weak knees as the tiny flame ignited. In the dim, damp recesses of the mine, shadows waltzed like specters as Richy, face obscured by the glow of the lighter and shadow, dropped the flame with a snap of his wrist into the pool of gasoline.

Flame surged away from him, hissing along in a serpentine trail until it morphed into a living beast starved and hungry for destruction. He stumbled back. The heat was a physical blow as it sucked out the oxygen, and he trembled like a newborn fawn as he dropped to his knees and stared and stared and stared.

Amidst the cavernous depths of the mine, the candescent light of the furious fire cast a macabre ballet of shadows upon the rough-hewn walls, a surreal tableau of light and darkness. Tendrils of flame licked and lapped at the stone, awakening ember-tinged echoes that wavered and flashed like phantoms in the subterranean gloom.

Billowing smoke, an ash ridden shroud, coiled sinuously through the labyrinthine passages. The evidence he had doused in gasoline would soon catch fire. Relief glittered through him at the thought. An acrid perfume of burning wood and charred earth mingled with the metallic scent of ancient minerals, an otherworldly aroma that lingered in his lungs and clung to all his senses.

There was no going back now. Every breath was slower than the last. It felt like he was inhaling lava as the heat singed the soft tissue and hair in his nose.

His weighty eyelids sat at half mast. The tunnel walls seemed to exhale, releasing murmurs of long buried secrets, as if the very mine itself sought to voice its resignation to the all-consuming blaze. Mirroring his own easing turmoil as he shut down the instinct to flee and welcomed the darkness speckling the edges of his vision.

His lungs were burning as he struggled for air, and it felt like there was a boulder sitting on his chest, keeping them from inflating and grinding his bones down.

The feeling went out of his legs as his hands turned to claws and raked down his neck, leaving scarlet trails of pain scoring his constricting throat.

His world flipped sideways as he collapsed and his head cracked off the rubble strewn ground, but he no longer felt any pain. The roar of the fire, the slowing beat of his heart, and the stones poking into his tear-streaked face were all he knew.

As Richy’s weary eyes teetered on the edge of closure for the last time, a bizarre scene unfolded within the tumult of his fading consciousness.

The nerves in his hands spasmed and his fingers twitched, filthy nails scratching at the dirt to distract himself as he resisted the urge to fight for his life.

No, it had to end like this. If Hell was real, it was best he got used to it.

Freezing panic blasted through him like a blizzard as his blurred eyes caught sight of something that didn’t belong.

Through the shimmering haze of smoke and heat, a figure emerged from a tunnel he hadn’t thought to include in his fiery last act. His heart tried to beat faster as fear spread its icy fingers through his body. The person appeared cloaked in a shivering orange glow and erratic shadows.

Masked and foreboding, the phantom figure raced away without noticing Richy. And lost in the fractured fabric of his perception, Richy could not see who or what it was. If it was a real person, they might’ve tried to drag him out. This would all be for naught. For once, his horrendous luck benefited him.

As it was, the panicked footsteps bolted away from him, barely heard over the howling fire, and vanished into the tumult of smoke.

He hoped they made it out. It hadn’t occurred to him he might take another’s life with him. Just another mistake. Another tally on his list of sins committed. His choices lay before him like an intricately woven tapestry, each thread a testament to the wrong turns and paths he tread, yielding a disturbing, wretched pattern he wished he could unravel and weave anew.

His trembling gaze soon faltered as the slithering smoke filled his lungs, gasping for air that no longer existed as he spluttered and coughed. With every shallow inhale, the world blurred and distorted. Black spots burst like maleficent fireworks in his eyes, shutting down his fleeting thoughts of crawling to safety.

A cacophony of wheezes and whines slipping from his open mouth faded into a distant echo, as his eyelids, heavy with surrender, fluttered closed. He gave himself over to the exhaustion eating him alive from the inside.

The world outside ceased to matter as an alleviating darkness enveloped his mind. His tiny exhales were little more than puffs of air. A whispered farewell to all those he was leaving behind.

Richy had fallen quiet, but the fire raged on, growing stronger as it feasted on wood, and hastily packed boxes, and the papers inside them. His legacy of ash and blood.

In the letter he left for his parents, he had assumed all guilt and taken the lion's share of the responsibility for Jennifer’s death, and his actions after. Hannah, he thought she had suffered enough, and whatever punishment she received, he didn’t want it to ruin her more. Death was his toll to pay, his lethal reputation would exist long after him and pay for the rest of it. He only hoped his parents could move on from this.

They wouldn’t see him again, not until the funeral. It was over. The corrosive effects of his choices had eaten away at everything good in him.

There was nothing left to salvage from his wreckage.

He tried. And he failed. This time, he finally succeeded in something. The complete demolition of him. A tear slipped through his lashes, warm and soft as it fell to the mucky ground.

It was the last. No more fell.

Death came quietly for him, as silent as a falling leaf drifting into a pile of its fallen friends. His chest stuttered as tentacles of smoke wreathed around him like funeral wrappings, falling as still as the rock he lay atop.

Death finally slayed Richy Rogers’ demons, and no one heard their screams.

——————

I have never been so nervous about something I’ve written. I hope that you—I can’t say enjoyed 🙈 but I hope your time wasn’t wasted. Thank you for reading, if you made it this far.

This is in no way meant to glamorise mental illness or anything like that. That is not my intention. I have been where Richy was in this story, I didn’t kidnap or help bury anyone, but I’ve dealt with depression/anxiety all my life. I’ve dealt with suicidal thoughts. There is nothing glamorous about it. This is just a fictional character study to explore his mind and emotions at the end of the game. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust. Or a stranger, if that works better. Share the burden. You don’t have to suffer alone. It can get better. I promise. I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t ❤️🫂

Thank you ❤️

And the “masked figure,” that was Jake from this story, The Ending You Deserve. Just a little Easter egg for anyone who read that 🤭❤️

#dark fanfiction #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #duskwood fandom #duskwood #richy rogers #duskwood richy #duskwood jessy #duskwood jake #duskwood fanfic #duskwood oneshot #moonvale #duskwood episode 10 #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #duskwood fanfiction #one shot #angst #hurt/angst #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #sad ending #dark themes #duskwood x moonvale #duskwood mwaf #fanfiction writer #my writing #women writers #creative writers

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 184

“Well damn.” 

Jason wrenched his gaze from the mess of red and green spattered across the room, searching for the source of the voice. His head hurt, he wanted his Dad. He wanted Bruce. He… his head hurt. His everything hurt. 

“Honestly, didn’t expect them to find another half-breed. Didn’t think there was another halfa out there…”  

He tore his gaze away from the floor- when had it gotten there- finally finding the other… person? The person giving him an empty smile through some sort of muzzle and missing an entire arm. Well, he couldn’t judge, he’d torn his nails off while digging out of his grave before… this. 

“Hey, kid, don’t sweat it, it’ll grow back,” the man apparently noticed where he was staring, shoulder twitching as he shrugged and more green pouring out. Jason couldn’t stop staring, eyes slipping from the growing pool to the rest of the chains apparently keeping the person on that side of the… room? Cage? Cell? 

“Shit, hey, kid, kid, don’t cry, uh, fuck, shh, kid don’t cry-” the person made a noise, some sort of hum or croon that caused him to relax. To his already brain-damaged confusion. “C’mere, away from the door now, shh…” 

Oh, when had he started to move? It was like he blinked and was stumbling away towards the chained person, practically tripping over a limb before the person managed to catch him. “Ope, oh you’re just a little baby-” a hand, clawed, carefully ran through his hair, tucking him against a rumbling chest that nearly made him tear up again. He wanted Bruce. 

“It’s alright kid, shh, they won’t get you,” the man rumbled, everything about him green to his rapidly closing eyes. Pale skin like a corpse, black scales like rot, hair white like snow, all stained green with blood.  “They’d have to kill me again for that.” 

#dcxdp #dpxdc #prompts #Instead of spending 3 years with the league of assassins after digging himself out of his grave #Jason spends it in a GIW lab with an adult Danny #Danny is totally doing okay he swears #He’s FINE and definitely didn’t see the scientists Kill Vlad and Dani by taking things too far #He’s definitely Not feral and slowly losing his humanity with every piece taken away #Danny missing half his limbs and restrained but dragging himself forward: U touch my kid and I will bite your throat out ya hear #He’s not going to let them hurt this Baby Ghostling who is Sick and Hurt #There’s going to be so much Angst when Bruce finds out not only is Jason alive but he’s trapped in a lab being experimented on #Danny does his best to protect Jason but stuff happens #halfa jason todd #guys in white #Danny eventually goes from having 2 arms to 4 in those three years #His 'human' body is mutating with every “test” #Where is Clockwork? Trying his best but he can't see Danny's timelines thx to the time medallion & the Observants being Assholes #Also not helped by the many knots the speedsters have created that resulted in several timelines being completely blacked out to him

[silenthillbunni]

🐰🌧️

#so on my way home.. #i walked by a school and besides the fact that i felt so depressed bc just looking at these kids and adults i have NO hope for the future #i saw two boys on a bench as i walked by... and i just thought they were talking. and too late i realized that no one of the boys were #bullying the other boy. the bully walked away and the other boy just sat there looking so lifeless and dejected #a teacher came and sat down w that boy and i just kept walking. even if i wanted to say smth it's like what would i even do abt that situati #that made me so sad both bc that boy.. he looked so dejected and used to it. that anxiety going to school knowing you're bullied is awful #and like i imagined talking to him and saying heyyy if you're lucky you'll grow up to be 25yrs old #live like a parasite off your mom and be on wellfare and never have had a job :) #you'll have no education or highschool diploma :) you will still struggle to finish hs even at an easier level :) #you will also not have had friends in 10yrs and you'll be terrified of ppl and getting close to anyone and even going outside!! #you'll have no interests and hobbies and skills! you'll simply be a waste of space loser being a burden on everyone around u! #whoop whoop stay alive buddy it will only get worse ❤️ #god i just wanna cry. how did i let my life turn out this way??? i used to be full of dreams and life and passion and HOPE #i used to believe in things and in people. i had so many dreams and i wanted to try and do so many things #now all i can think is 'i wanna die i wanna die i wanna die'. im miserable wherever i go lmao #there's this bridge over the highway i have to cross when i walk to school and every time i look down at the trafic and when a truck drives #by i feel my entire body vibrate. i just wanna jump and get mauled by it. #or i dont *want* to but i feel so deeply and desperately that it's the only way for me #only way to make it stop hurting. and i am weak. i dont know how to just 'stop' or take control of my life. thats why i wanna die #bc i know that i wont be able to. that my life will never amount to anything #for fuck's sake my dream now is just to have my own 1bedroom apartment and have a shitty job - like in a grocery store or whatever!!!!! #not even that can i make happen! bc im so worthless i cant do anything. im also stupid so i wouldnt be able to do my job right #i dont know... i dont know... these feelings and thoughts are too much i just wanna relax #but i cant bc my ribs hurt and idk if it's heartburn or an ulcer 💀 why am i even alive???? what am i doing all this for? 😭 #my thoughts ran away but i meant like seeing that reminded me of how much of a failure i became #bc of my circumstances and all the shitty ppl around me thru out my life

[trans-cuchulainn]

feeling a lot of bullshit emotions right now and i don't know how to hold any of them

#it's a beautiful day and i wasted it saving my energy for something that's no longer happening #i am safe and i almost feel safe in my body for the first time in several years and also i don't #and also in my safety and my unsafety – in my quiet house and in my being immunocompromised in an unmasked world – #i am so hyperaware of those who are unsafe right now and i feel the weight of guilt for my helplessness #i feel my conviction of my ideals intensifying at the same time as my ability to act on them diminishes #i am trying to imagine a world where i could be a dancer again while daydreaming about the things a wheelchair would let me do #i am on the edge of so many groups of people and i am not meaningfully part of any of them #the potential to be less lonely is there. but I cannot figure out how to achieve it #i am succeeding in certain aspects of my career and i am utrerly convinced of my own failure #i can justify my actions and my inaction. i am a hypocrite. i have my reasons. i'm a coward #i am aware that it is not up to me how others perceive the power relations between us but it hurts to be seen as a risk #even while i appreciate the boundaries that others draw for themselves i can hold within myself the hurt of being on the other side of them #i hate this time of year. i think always of the dead. my hauntings aren't the fun kind

[alligaytorswamp]

Im kind of feeling like i can't take it anymore

#vent #bad sad sleep-deprived and mentally ill #i am currently crying myself to sleep just fucking sobbing because everything hurts #my brain is failing me my body us failing me #i dont know what to do with myself #so many things are happening so many things hurt and i have no body to talk to #i have never felt so utterly alone #i hate myself for even writing this because i feel so pathetic and as if im just whining for attention #because i probably am #some lame ass cry for help because i really don't know how to function at this point #truly i am just so fucking alone #and there is just so much that is happening and i cant share it with anyone so it just all stays in my stupid brain and #probably makes me more mentally ill or smth #and for however long all i do is keep myself from crying during the day bc i cant let my family catch me having mental breakdowns #yet i have all of these painful thoughts that are plaguing my mind all the fucking time #i am just so so tired #and i keep thinking about death and it's so fucking scary #i just wish i wasn't myself and i had a different brain i could be better than this because maybe then i would be fine #at home im in toxic hell #in online spaces i have no one actually close to me #in my brain i have horrible thoughts and hardcore daydreaming distactions that dont fix anything #in my course i think im not doing well enough and im scare dthat my the end of it im still going to be a useless unemployed moron #on my silly blog i think if i dont make content i have no value and ehatever i make is not even that good or interesting #so i better cover it up with quantity but i dont have time or ability to do so #which again makes me into a fucking Nothing #god my head hurts so much #that's what u get for wailing at 4 am #anyways i am doing horrible and i can't take it anymore truly reaching my fucking limit #all my fault tho so ☺ #delete later and if someone actually reads it Um sorry for this i am hashtag unwell 😋💫

[electronerd47]

Hihi !! ☺️ Can’t remember when we last chatted 😅, but I wrote relationship headcanons tn, and thought they might be comforting to you. 🥺🫶🏽 Hope you + your son are doing alright, and that winter’s treating you well. ❄️

i wish I could put into words how much it means to me that you continue to reach out to me, even if i'm not doing too much reaching back 💜💜💜 i'm terrible at this stuff 😭 so thank you so much for thinking of me!!

winter has been hot and cold lol, it's mostly been fine but my, my son, and his dad all got sick!! dad's over it, me n baby are still going through it. like ugh 🙄😂 i'm handling it like a total baby bc my ears keep getting that plugged up feeling and i just CANNOT deal!! my son is taking it like a champ. aside from coughing, snot nose, and some bad moods, he's still raring at 110% all. the. time. 😂 toddlers!

I'm going to read these headcanons as soon as possible. your writing is always so comforting, even when it's angsty. you're just an amazingly skilled and super-talented author!! ilysm ❤️

#meowzfordayz #you are seriously the best #i have just been so busy between like working and being sick and taking care of a sick child while being sick #not to mention all the car crash stuff #did i mention i got into a car crash? it happened on friday the 13th of all days 🫠 #elijah (my son) was not in the car. just me and his dad lol. we were hurt but we are fine now!! #i just don't know if i mentioned it at all???? #but yeah. bc of the wreck we've been going to SOOOO many doctor appointments. so so so many #that's also been draining #but yes i'm rambling thank you so much for reaching out to me #i suck at reaching out especially because i've been trying to write something to tag you in #like i was gonna write it and post it and tag you in it and it was gonna be a whole thing like like #but i haven't any ideas 🫠🫠🫠 #well i had ONE idea but i am SO rusty at writing atm it's not even funny #and it was super self indulgent bc i have stretch marks from being pregnant and they're only just starting to lighten up #like. a full year and a half later #and i just wanted one of the boys (was thinking giyuu or kyojuro?? or tengen i'm honestly not sure at all) to just. #total body worship reader like 'you gave me children. you're a miracle worker' and all that-- #--'i love you even more as the mother of our children' type mushy gushy #but i get to the word document and it's like.... total blank #OH MY GOD. RAMBLING AGAIN. I LOVE YOU. GOODNIGHT 💚💚💚

[arklay]

did not just think about diana finding al just sitting on their bed holding their wedding photo in his hands after she brings him back, and he's just looking at it, visibly distressed, and the moment she touches his shoulder he starts crying and buries his face against her chest because he thinks he really ruined their relationship. good lord

#leah.txt #pair: ewskers #baby boy she would not have spent years regenerating your body if she hated you i am going to disintegrate i can't do this #i think when his viruses are stable his emotions are very much Not. i think the mutant strain changed specific brain chemistry and he lost #a lot of empathy and just the ability to really feel emotions. he was very numb. he knew he should feel a certain way and emulated that but #he didn't really *feel* and after everything is stable he's feeling things he hasn't in over 10 years and he's also in a very bad state of #mind from everything that's happened so oh boy things aren't going great for them #also numb except like anger. and hatred. he was being turned into a literal killing machine after all. notice how blood thirsty he got? #i have so much post volcano lore for them i can't do this i need to just. explodes. and like they are still working through things ofc (it #takes years) when diana is alerted of activity with the company and even though they go and do all of that like he is still trying to find #himself again and decondition everything spencer and umbrella drilled into his head. they are still evil and scheming don't worry there #besties. and they still think they are better than everyone else. this is fact in their minds. but like. there's a lot going on for him #i put him through a lot of pain and as much as i joke that i want to put him through a blender it actually makes me really sad. he doesn't #need more trauma lmao. yeah he is evil and fucked up but no child deserves what spencer did to him #fictional man making me really sad. i need to wrap him in a blanket #sir why did you have to go and try and kill everyone on the planet whadda hell is wrong with you i'm holding your hand #maybe if your wife was there kissing you then you'd calm down a little bit and not throw yourself into a volcano #not unfolding time coming on shuffle as i type this what is wrong with you spotify i can't go through this right now #i like to see powerful men weak and cry but also he is a ball of trauma and it hurts me #i have Many thoughts about why he did what he did in 5 cause yeah it's out of character for him to follow through with spencer's vision #but i don't think that's what he was doing. kinda hinted a bit at this with that one fight fic but also i have a whole essay somewhere

[tennessoui]

It sounds like Cody wins in pirate au, Obi-Wan and Anakin retire and he gets to captain the ship! He gets nice visits from his pal and niblings, and he gets Cal and Ahsoka to babysit! He can start a flirtation with Anakin's mom 😂 I bet Obi-Wan would have to fake not being a pirate to escape authorities so he uses his piratical wealth to get a nice house and maid for Anakin to claim he's wealthy merchant Ben Kenobi, no relatin to the pirate, so Cody could even court Anakin's mom as legit captain

tbh,,,,maybe that was cody's plan along. obi-wan is sort of fighting with himself re: making this decision of retirement and cody is like 'you need to do it for the safety of your pregnant mate' (but really if cody walks up on them having sex against the bow or crow's nest one more time he's going to lose it. lose it.)

i love the addition of ben kenobi!!! that would be obi-wan's wealthy merchant secret identity name, wouldn't it? i bet he does something sorta stupid but well-meaning where he drops 4 month pregnant anakin off at some manor house he just bought in a good, safe area, and then goes sailing around the caribbean to ruthlessly ransack whatever ships and ports he can so he can bring back as much gold and wealth as he can to provide for his family so he doesn't have to leave again for a long time

but of course he comes back and anakin is livid at being left at all and he's also like so much further along in his pregnancy and obi-wan doesn't know how to make the omega less mad---he sticks to his guns that he had to in order to provide---but also he is....he is very distracted during any and all fights. it's not even like he left anakin alone, he left him with some of his favorite crew mates!! for protection!! and company (mostly for protection)

#asks #i think tbh #most of my obi-wans don't understand why their anakins are so mad to be left #like it happens so much in my stories rip #and every time i feel like the obi-wan is like 'look you were better off without me for this bit of time and i do not understand #why you would have wanted me around' #(which is really the heart of it all even this au) #but also use my body #hs reunion #reverse master/padawan etc etc #so many of my stories invove obi-wan trying to leave and it's about anakin's safety #but it's really about his own perception of anakin not being safe with him #oh!! vowbreaker lol how could i forget #but yeah like he's the bad thing thaat could hurt anakin #when really his absence is what hurts anakin the most #oh anyway sorry i got derailed #even on a post meant to be about cody's final happy ending win im talking obikin internal dynamics rip #pirates of the caribbean au #squick tag: a/b/o

[omegamoo]

ugh

#i kinda feel like crying rn #my head hurts and my body hurts and i feel yucky #and socially i’m anxious and things are happening and i wish #i wish that i could be better i wish i knew what i wanted #i wish i could communicate there are so many things i have to say if only i could say it #and i deffo need to just shut up #or like. just say stuff yk. figure out how to communicate #with my father and my friends and . i just feel #ramblings #personal #anyways a look into my head. in the tags. disregard!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!