#screamin cryin throwin up
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'whens ur period due?' bitch stfu.
#female hysteria#girl interrupted#effy stonem#female experience#female manipulator#gaslight gatekeep girlboss#im insane#physiology#girl interrupted syndrome#girlblogging#screamin cryin throwin up
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Every time I see a fanfic that says “be careful this is super sad and will make you sob uncontrollably” I promise myself I won’t read it, but I go back to it after two minutes and then I’m surprised when I start sobbing uncontrollably
#fanfic#ao3#fanfiction#books#bookaddict#booklover#reading#sad shit#sobbing#screamin cryin throwin up#screaming crying perfect storm#i can make all the tables turn#reader#obsessive reader I would say#dark academia#sad ending#the secret history#if we were villains#dead poets society#marauders
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Istg I’m not crying
I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m not crying I’m no—
..
okay fuck I’m crying
decided to break it toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader
synopsis: babies change everything, and neither you, nor simon handle change very well at all.
wc: 2.2k
cw: afab!reader, angst, hurt with no comfort, language, break up fic, abandonment issues, no gendered language, discussions and depictions of pregnancy. no use of y/n ever.
author’s note: im back <3, more tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight if i feel up to formatting on this hell site. for kitten, shia, nori, 👩🏿🍼 anon, and everyone else who cheered me up when i felt super down post-holidays
"Fuck." You murmur, maybe for the fourth time since the 15 minute timer had gone off on your phone. The word doesn’t seem heavy enough to sum up how you’re feeling, but you give it a few more tries anyway, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The word 'pregnant', however, is the heaviest you’ve ever seen, latching onto your limbs and skin and dragging you to the floor beneath you. ‘Pregnant’ stares you in the face from the stick in your shaking hands, punctuated with a little smiley face you can barely see through tears. In the back of your mind you kind of wished you'd gotten the kind with the little ambiguous pink lines, just so you could pretend you didn't understand what two lines instead of one meant. Just for a little bit. Alas, the pharmacist recommended the slightly more expensive test, the kind that gives you a week estimate. The kind that tells you you've been fucked for 3-4 weeks now.
Every emotion you'd been feeling up until then cedes to white hot panic. It's hard to breathe in your little blue bathroom.
You wonder what he'll say.
No.
You dread what he’ll say.
It’s nothing you two have ever talked about, not in the cold blackness of night, when he’d sat in your arms with his face bare to you and murmured every gory detail of his upbringing to you and not a goddamn therapist. Not the following morning when you’d sobbed your terror of the future, and losing everything you had into his lap. And certainly not when you had mutually decided you were “getting serious”.
And now you have to. You have to tell Simon you’re pregnant.
There's a pit in your stomach when he comes by that night, mask off and eyes warm, considering like they always are. You get swept up in how it feels to be near him, to have him crowd into your space, soaking your senses in his scent, his warmth. He kisses you gently, so soft it makes you want to cry. He used to say he wasn't capable of being like that. Not with you. Not with anyone.
Instead of sobbing into his chest like you’re desperate to, you chide him about wearing his boots in the house. You take the time he needs to unlace them to memorize what being with him feels like in this moment, the last time things will be easy.
He levers up and nudges his boots over to yours, where they sit side by side. Tears choke your voice again, and you’re praying it’s just a pregnancy thing rather than a ‘you being an unstable wreck’ thing.
“Sit.” You turn to the kitchen, setting your kettle on the stove and turning the knob to high. He hunkers down on the worn cream leather of your couch. You linger in front of your stovetop as long as you can, fussing with the mug Simon uses almost always, an ugly misshapen pink thing you’d made at a beginner ceramics class four years ago. It’s chipped at the lip, rose coloured glaze cracked, exposing the beige clay underneath it. Your hand glances over boxes of tea, back and forth over colourful labels that may as well be written in gibberish for all the luck you're having reading them.
It feels like there's no air in the room, like the secret under your t-shirt is taking it all, vacuum sealing your room until your chest burns and your head feels like it's going to pop. You tear open a brand new box of earl grey, stuffing it back onto your shelf when the tea bag is sat securely in the cup.
"What's wrong?” He grouses from the couch, and it’s only then that you realize your shoulders are hunched up around your ears.
“I..” your stomach rolls and sweat begins to bead on your forehead. You can hear him stir in his seat behind you, shifting forward so he can peer at you from your living room. Saliva gathers in your mouth, and oh god, maybe you actually will throw up, it’s too early for morning sickness right? Unless the stupid tests were wrong and now you’re going to cover your countertops in the stew you had for lun-
“Hey.” Simon is standing behind you now, his hands gripping your shoulders, shaking you lightly until you whip around to face him. The kettle is screaming now, filling your home with that shrill, high shriek of steam from the boiling water whistling through the appliance's tiny spout.
Somehow it’s still quieter than your pulse pounding in your ear.
“I’m pregnant.” You choke out, if only to stop yourself from retching over Simon’s socked feet. God, it’s like time stops, then it splits and cracks in clean halves. Into before and after he knew. Before and after his concerned expression crumbled into disbelief, before and after he schooled that disbelief into placid nothingness. And it’s not like you’d entertained the delusion that he’d be happy about it. But the silent hang time before he reacts is this terrible, hollow, unknown that tears up your insides and relishes in the shiny, red viscera.
A gruff, quiet "Are you sure?" is what you get from him, when he finally recovers, and you try so hard not to let it bother you. It's a shock. A surprise. A loud bang in the middle of a serene night, a cannon going off in your face, a gunshot into the sky when you thought the race was an hour from starting.
You try to give him a bit of grace. Still, the pit in your stomach grows.
Now it's a bit of a sinkhole.
"Baby, I wouldn't be telling you if I wasn't sure." You move to snag your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, to tug him close so you can hold each other, support each other, but he take a small step backwards, letting his palms slip from your shoulders.
The sinkhole is a cavern, yawning wide, open and empty.
You toss your hope and love inside.
“I need…some time.” He mutters, slinking out of your space, out of the kitchen and back into your entryway.
'Time to fucking what?' you think, but hold back. You know Simon. You love Simon. And you remember where he's come from. What he's come from. You realize a second too late you should be following him, and when you stumble over the kitchen threshold, he’s tying up his boots, his broad back facing you. You try to peer around him, try to get a look at his face, desperate to gauge where he’s at. But when you notice he’s knocked your shoes over in his scramble to get away, to be anywhere but here, you stop moving..
“Y-yeah. Okay. Just..uh, get back to me soon okay?” you stutter, and wrap your arms around yourself, like you know Simon won't. Not with the way his hands are shaking.
He doesn’t even respond this time.
The soldier just stands. He opens your front door. And walks out. Leaving you in your entryway. Water past its boiling point in the kettle.
You don’t see him again until you’re four, nearly five months along, the bump under your clothes now impossible to hide. When you stumble into your home, exhausted from working, he’s in your living room. Sitting there in his mask at your tiny dining room table. Like no time has passed at all. Like he should be there. You realize you never did get your spare house key back.
“Get out.” you spit, blood boiling under your skin.
"I know you're upset-" He begins, like he’s about to deliver a practiced speech.
"Get the fuck out!" Your tone is caustic, and you hope it burns him, hope it strips off all the facade on the rotting structure he is underneath.
"I never meant to leave it so long. This." He won't even say it. Can't even refer to you, let alone your baby. He stands up and becomes this big, dark mass in the bright space of your living room, black mask, black shirt, black boots, just a huge black hole that sucks up every good feeling you’d had in his absence, every ray of light that’d shone through the dark gloom he’d left behind. Nothing escapes his pull.
He peers at you from the gap in his mask. The stark white skull stretched over his face mocks you, maliciously whispers in your ear; ‘Did you think you knew him? That he was honest with you? Open to you?’
And you had. You did. You thought you were making progress, building some semblance of a future, falling in love.
It makes you sick to your stomach to think of it.
"You want to apologize, take the fucking mask off Simon." Your voice breaks, and part of you hopes he hears it for the plea it is. Hopes he understands what you’re asking of him. Hopes he feels how bad you missed him, under the hurt and pain and bitter, bitter loneliness. If he would just take it off, just pull the stupid fabric over his face and show you he was still yours under there, that he’d make a mistake and he’s ready now, then maybe the two of you could fix it. This.
Instead, his silence, his stillness cracks open your ribcage and pours black ink over your heart.
Humiliation and anger simmer on your tongue. What comes next is shockingly easy. "Oh you can't do it, huh? Can't be a fucking person with me, huh?" You shove at his chest, and he takes it, staring at you with pain in his eyes. Like this is hurting him.
"I shouldn't have waited so long, but I-" he steps towards you and it feels so good to rip away from his touch. To step back from his advance.
"No!” You shout, and your face is so hot, skin ablaze with righteous anger. “Shut up! Three months? Are you out of your fucking mind?"
And yes, one month of that was deployment, you’d known that, you’d talked about it, together. One month of no contact. One month of sand and heat and blood. But the other two months had been that white hot panic you'd felt on your own, in that tiny bathroom with the peeling blue wallpaper he'd promised he'd help you strip and replace. The other months had been missed calls, and ignored texts and you getting bigger under your sweaters because unlike him, you couldn't just take a break from the situation.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” You shove past him, deeper into your home, spinning around so he’s closer to your entryway than you are. “Don’t you ever show your face here again, do you hear me?” You’re screaming now, much to Ghost’s visible discomfort. Good. You hope your nosy ass neighbours call the cops. You hope they physically remove his pathetic ass. You hope they embarrass him. (It isn’t very likely, of course. But God, could you dream).
“You can't just keep it from me.” He steps closer and you lament that he has you on the backfoot. It’s your space, your home and yet it feels as though you’re the one who’s out of place, off kilter and uncomfortable. You glare at him.
“It’s mine too.”
‘It’ he says, and that bothers you. Irks you. Him calling your baby an ‘it’.
“Give me a fucking break, it wasn’t yours when you left me, you couldn’t wait to get your sorry ass out of here when I told you. Now you wanna play daddy? I don’t fucking think so.” You dig your fingernails into the meat of your palms, leaving aching crescents in their wake.
“And you know what? Maybe it’s my fault for wanting to be with someone who is so fundamentally fucking broken that he couldn’t fucking bear to show me his goddamn face until I’d begged him. Maybe I’m the idiot for thinking you could ever be capable of love, of decency. I needed you. And you abandoned me, Simon. You are a fucking monster.”
The word hangs in the air, hovering between the two of you where it can’t be taken back, and it sure as hell can’t be forgotten.
“You are good at distancing yourself, you are good at killing your feelings. Keep doing that. Stay the fuck away from me and my kid.” You’re panting when you finish, and everything hurts, one of your hands is bleeding, your eyelids prickle with the pain of unshed tears, your throat feels strained and tight. He nods once, jerky and quick, before he takes an unbalanced step back. Then another and another, his eyes never leaving yours, like he’s looking for something, anything other than hurt and hatred.
But there’s nothing else to find.
He turns, opening your front door and trudging out, heavy footfalls bracketing short moments of gut wrenching silence. It feels final. But it doesn’t feel good. Not like you thought it might.
He’s halfway into his SUV when you scramble out your front door, shouting over your porch railing to him in your driveway. “And get rid of my fucking keys!” He stares at you, standing stockstill, before he gets in the driver’s seat and pulls away.
whew, nice to post ghosty-poo again
series masterlist here
support city girls, reblog what u like
#screamin cryin throwin up#punching the air#eating The wall#My insides are twisting and churning#im Physically dying#This was so unbearable to read but it was so amazing please feed me more if this delicious poison#Give me the angst that tears through my heart and makes me wail like a 1930s newly widow who has just lost her husband#Make me feel a pain I can’t soothe#This. This deserves a Nobel prize for absolutely destroying me in every way possible#and then leaving me on the ground#drowned in sorrow. Broken with angst. And never able to be put back together#I really hope someone’s reading these tags cause I’m sounding so poetic rn#Slay#Ight off to cry some more
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just watched carol for the first time. not doin so good
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I have a girl frienddddd 😭
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↪ MORBID CURIOSITIES, CURRENTLY ACCEPTING. from @endfght.
HANDS ARE UNFAMILIAR AS THEY CUSP HIS FACE, TILTING & TURNING TO GET A BETTER LOOK! the bruise blooming under mik's skin spreads like wild flowers, turning darker under the sun- it stings ... but he'll live. " i'm no fucking rat, " the child growls ( so little, yet so full of anger ) as he yanks his face free of the man's hold. truth was? he probably said some shit he wasn't supposed to. called the wrong person a prick, a douche, an asshole, but that's all it was. him and his stupid fucking mouth.
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I WAS JUS WATCHIN THIS VIDEO.
youtube
SHE LIVEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS
#screamin cryin throwin up#Ellen Greene the woman that you are#i love her so much good god#the last we say of her was 2015 wit Jake Gyllenhaal n their.. what was it? 29 year age gap??#lsoh#little shop#little shop of horrors#audrey lsoh#audrey fulquard#ellen greene#Somewhere That's Green
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not me wondering why the new genshin character's voice sounded so familiar and why i took to him so quickly..... that's mf Harrison Gray
#also known for sasuke (naruto) and bleach and a ton of other stuff iirc#but it didn't hit me til i heard him talking in the new 5.1 update livestream djjdjdjf#losing my mind rn. i do have a type#green eyes mfs with nice ahh voices#screamin cryin throwin up pmsl#aerin.txt#abt; misc#my post 📫#the new character im referring to is kinich btw#future proofing this just in case lol#noriaki sugiyama#that's the va
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real exept she,her**
#im insane#poetry#hopelesssofrantic#lana del rey#physiology#ciggerate#shes gorgeous#im inlove#screamin cryin throwin up
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.
#spoke in court for the first time yesterday i'm alrd fucking scarred for life#literally got hazed by the worst judge ever#he really said 'why do you think you have the right to rep the defendant :/'#i was running on 4 hours of sleep and had to prep for a counsel meeting in the afternoon too#plus i only got the case on short notice .. WHAT DID YOU EXPECT#FUCK#screamin cryin throwin up rn#man made me have an existential crisis like damn what am i doing in life :D#i swear i didn't make this blog as an outlet to rant abt work..... LOL....#starters are gonna come thru over the weekend :')))#ooc.
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"lydia.. please spare me the 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit." stiles sighed, pain evident in his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, each word from lydia slicing through him like a knife. he felt the familiarity of her touch on his cheek, and he wanted nothing more than to lean into her touch. "but lydia, you did hurt me," he whispered, his voice strained. "you walked away without an explanation, leaving me with questions that haunted me every day. i understand you wanted to protect me, but from what? i would've faced anything if it meant being with you. you didn't have to leave me."
stiles couldn't stop the tears that welled up in his eyes, his vulnerability laid bare before her. "i would've chosen to face the danger, the pain, anything if it meant having you by my side. i can handle whatever it is, but not knowing... it's been tearing me apart. please, lydia, tell me what happened. let me understand."
The pain reflected in his eyes was almost unbearable. She couldn't escape the realization that she was the cause of his pain, a painful truth that could have been avoided if not for her fear. The fear that he might be irreversibly lost. His admission of missing her tightened a knot in her chest, squeezing her eyes shut she allowed a single tear to fall. The ache of longing for him was so intense that waking up was a cruel reminder he was gone. As he took a step closer, her heart quickened, and she grappled with the struggle of explaining without sounding implausible. Shaking her head, she drew a deep breath, reaching out to gently place her hand on his cheek. The touch was a reminder of what she had missed – the warmth of his touch, the embrace, the connection. ''Y-You didn't do anything... it's not about you,'' her voice, almost a whisper, carried the unmistakable weight of pain. ''I-I didn't want to hurt you... I-I've caused myself more pain than you know walking away... It's the hardest thing I've done... but I couldn't watch you get hurt.'' With a sigh, she lowered her arm, a sudden emptiness settling in.
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I HATE YOU BUT JUST DID SOMETHING TO HELP YOU
don't look at me like that. // @manupropria (feyre) to rhys !!
__________✰ HE CAN'T HELP THAT HE'S STARING. grease covered && soot ridden as she is, he is transfixed both by deed && by that storm-colored gaze. the light catches on the ring she holds between her fingers && it takes all he has not to forget how to breathe. the ring meant for her, should she ever choose to accept him. not that she knows just what she's stolen back for him or that the fire in her gaze ignites something inside of him that rejoices to see that life back in her very being.
✰__________ A GRIN TUGS AT HIS LIPS AS HE POCKETS THE OFFERED TRINKET. fingers linger against her skin for a ghost of a second && he is once again leading them farther away from the weaver's cabin, lest she decide to sniff the two of them out. ❛ you are a marvel full of surprises, aren't you feyre darling ?? ❜ how could i look at you any different ??
#c; rhysand#reply; feyre archeron (manupropria)#manupropria#❛ time in a bottle ❜ ▬ ( answered. )#❛ bow before no one ❜ ▬ ( rhysand meme. )#q#(( screamin cryin throwin up ))
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kpop girlies never really serve in any carpet 😭 everything is always basic I hate it so much like where's the drama?? girls your fandom is full of drama at least wear something dramatic especially in met gala stop with the monochrome pls
Ok REAL. How are you gonna have your stans doxxing people and foaming at the mouth over you and then you show up looking like you're going to your middle school formal? At least justify the insanity girl!
#met gala#fashun#i love when a kpop boy is trending & you have to scroll through 8 pages of stans screamin cryin & throwin up before you finally see the pic#and then its just some guy#noah fence to the kpop stans but you all need to recalibrate your gaggery standards cause 🤨#those ppl are SCAMMING you!!
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Addy the kind of mf to have one of those crazy big dildos that can put eggs in your hoohah
"The WHAT that does WHAT??? I- I don't even own something like that. I go to church!"
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a light hum leaves plump lips as lexi speaks. before they had been parted, he was planning to get her a daylight ring, he'd been in the process of doing so but, klaus got to him first. there was another thing for kol to hate his brother for. he hadn't expected lexi to still be without one, considering how long the both of them had been apart, as well as the fact that she had a salvatore brother wrapped around her little finger. when she mentioned the silk sheets, he couldn't help but laugh. "darling, i am nothing without my silk sheets." he chuckled, leaning in to press a delicate kiss to the tip of her nose. the thought of getting her a daylight ring returns to his mind, and he then lightly traces his fingertips over the bare skin of her hip. "i'm sure i'll be able to find a witch to fix that for you. then.. we can explore the sunlight together - as we always should have." he murmurs, eyes softening as a smile stretches over his face. "until then.." he turns over, drawing the curtains, to block out the sunlight. then, kol slides the ring off his finger, and holds it out to lexi. "why not give mine a whirl?" the vampire asks with yet another softened smile.
it was strange, how she trusted kol to shield her from the sun in times like this. the opposite of what a certain salvatore brother had done so long ago. not that she was still a little bitter about it. but out of everyone she knew, she trusted kol with her life - as insane as it may sound to some. "you say that like i'm the one with the nifty little daylight ring on my finger. can't exactly leave until sundown, even if i wanted to." she teased playfully, lips pressed into a soft smile at the gentle touch. "i slept like the dead. which weirdly enough is super comfortable when you're sleeping with someone who has silk bedsheets."
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