#this post is not an invitation to trauma dump

[godtrauma]

kinda fucked how a full-blown mental breakdown/ugly sobbing crying episode is supposed be like, all good for your soul and whatever but it always comes with insane headache/congestion shit. like yeah i scream-exorcised a rotting part of myself but at what cost.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, discussion of past trauma, psychological torture, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Part Twenty-Seven of Ink & Needle

Walsh invites Simon to dinner. Task Force 141 lays in wait. A rivalry finally comes to a close.

Chapter Twenty-Six // Chapter Twenty-Eight

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

A flood. A river.

Water rushing—swallowing Simon whole. Drowning.

He is cold. So...cold.

Dunked. Forced. Reaching and clawing for fresh air as his lungs fill to bursting.

Bravo whines, tapping Simon's leg with his paw, trying to capture his attention. Simon absently scratches under the dog's chin, his gaze distant and unfocused.

Around him in a circle are sketches. Charcoal on white paper.

They were meant for you—for you to browse and enjoy. Only a few months ago, Simon believed that you would eventually pick one, and from that selection, he'd design the perfect tattoo, and you'd do him the honor of inking your skin with his art.

Fuck, how things have changed. Shifted.

The stars are no longer aligned. Everything is off—and all the planets, moons, and comets are close to colliding.

Shattering. Simon is shattering.

Bravo whines again, this time with a hint of a growl in it, as if his patience is thin. That one change clicks something into place, pushing Simon toward the present moment.

"Need out of my head," mutters Simon. Leaning to the side, Simon playfully scratches at Bravo's belly until the German Shepherd collapses onto his back, tongue lolling out in contented bliss. "Up for a jog?"

Bravo is up in an instant, his claws tap tap tapping against the wood floor as he fetches his leash. Simon's gaze lingers on the sketches. A buzzing numbness begins to creep in, chilling his blood.

Two weeks since Kit Walsh walked through the door of 141 Ink. Two weeks and no letter in the post. No word. Not from him. Not from Price or Gaz or Johnny. A brief spark of shame ignites in Simon's chest. He hasn't spoken to Amelia or Evie either. They've reached out. They try all the time. Amelia even convinced Ben from Dancing Faun and a few older patrons to come check in on him.

But not bringing you back is a failure.

Simon can't face them. Can’t face fucking anyone. Can't begin to explain how all of this is entirely his fault. Kit doesn't care about you. He cares about Simon—about making him suffer.

And it's working. It's bloody fucking working.

Bravo dumps the leash in Simon's lap. A bit of drool bleeds into Simon's joggers, and he can't help but chuckle.

"Let's go," groans Simon, his bad leg acting up as he stands.

Warming up and heading out for a mile helps with the soreness in Simon's limbs but not his heart. Before heading home, Simon stops for a coffee and croissant at the bakery, giving Bravo the drier portions.

As Simon slips the key into the lock of the exterior door, he almost doesn't notice the small white envelope on the floor. Bravo steps right over it, charging upstairs to the flat as Simon releases his hold on the leash.

The buttery, flakey piece of croissant becomes ash in Simon’s mouth.

He knows that handwriting. That familiar scrawl.

And it’s Sunday. The post is never delivered on Sunday. But of course, it wouldn’t arrive in the actual fucking mail.

Walsh likes to hand deliver.

Makes it more personal. Especially when Walsh believes that someone has personally wronged him.

Simon has seen it before, back when Walsh believed Simon was on his side. Sometimes it was Simon who pulled the trigger on Walsh’s order. Not that any of those wankers were good people, but Walsh takes great joy in the one-on-one.

Simon bends at the knees, lifting the small white envelope off the ground. His greasy fingers leave behind a blemish. Bravo whines and Simon ascends the stairs, clutching the envelope tightly as if it will melt away like snow under a blazing sun.

Even as Simon enters his flat, he does not open it. He places his coffee and half-eaten croissant on the kitchen table, unlatching Bravo's leash and returning it to the holder by the front door. It isn't until Simon has the phone in his hand—the one he’s only ever used twice—while dialing the one person he knows will answer, that he flips the envelop over with shaking fingers, breaking the seal.

"Lt."

"Johnny."

Simon almost doesn't recognize himself. He sounds...broken. Rotten like forgotten food in a hoarder’s fridge. Johnny immediately notices the distress in Simon’s voice.

“What’s wrong? Did that fucker come into your shop again?"

"No," says Simon quickly, because it’s true. Walsh didn’t enter his shop. Didn’t even enter his home this time. "Not exactly."

“Simon. What’s happened?”

Slowly, Simon slides the flimsy bit of paper out of the envelope. It’s not folded. Just a once crisp piece of plain paper that Simon scrunched in his fist.

“It’s happening, Johnny. The end. I think this is it.”

“The end?” asks Soap.

Flipping it over, letters and numbers are revealed. And then words.

An address.

"Johnny,” he exhales, almost gasping as the air is ripped right out of his lungs. Simon’s thundering heart becomes silent.

"What do you need from me, Lt?"

There are words below the address. A quote, perhaps. A message.

Do this in remembrance of me.

Tears form in Simon’s eyes. "I'm not doing this alone."

"You won't be."

"You shouldn't go in alone."

Captain Price's voice crackles through the earpiece. It's a small thing, no larger than a pea pod. It sits snugly in Simon's right ear.

"I have to,” replies Simon, determined to fucking end this.

This isn't for them to decide, and it certainly isn't their responsibility. Walsh's death belongs to Simon.

He craves it. Needs it.

Lifeblood for lifeblood.

A soft static comes over the earpiece followed by Price’s voice. “We’re in position. Give the word. And we’ll enter.”

"Thank you, Captain."

Simon is dressed for dinner. It’s no suit and tie, but Walsh doesn’t really deserve the curtesy. Simon carries a pistol and a blade, but it’ll likely be confiscated. Walsh might enjoy a good game but he doesn't play fair.

What Simon did not expect, was for Walsh to bring him home. To bring him here. Of all places.

He knows this street, though it’s changed a bit over the years. He would walk home from school and stop two doors down to pet the neighbor’s dog before heading home. His mum would spend her weekends lingering out front tending her flowers. This home flourished when he was small and his little brother was nothing more but cells in his mother's womb.

It's different now. Dark.

Simon hasn't touched his childhood home in years. Not since their deaths. He couldn't bring himself to sell it, and he sure as shit couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything. He's owned it since then, and it simply exists. Empty.

But there's a light on. A small one.

The table lamp beside the window is illuminated, the one his mum liked to turn on after she put Simon and his brother to bed. The one she’d read her book by before heading to bed herself.

But that was before everything happened. Back when they were a happy family and his father was sober.

"I can come with you, Lt."

Johnny this time.

"No,” replies Simon. “It needs to be me."

It takes all of ten steps to approach the front door. Simon tries the doorknob, and finds it unlocked.

Slowly, Simon eases the door open, revealing a home that hasn’t changed. Everything is in its place, and as he steps inside, he notices the dust. Glancing down at the floor, he is greeted with the bloodstains that never came out of the carpet no matter how hard he scrubbed.

While the hall is dark, the door to his left stands open, revealing the living room. Simon can see the lit lamp and his mother’s favorite chair from where he stands in the hall. As he shifts in that direction, moving toward the light, the rest of the room comes into view.

Just inside, all the furniture has been pushed against the walls, opening up the middle of the room. There is a table, or what appears to be a table. It’s low to the ground with a bulky base that’s longer that it is wide. There are no chairs but it wouldn’t work with the table. Simon and Walsh will have to sit on the floor.

On the tabletop is a feast. An entire Sunday roast dinner. It sends Simon right back to those early days of his youth when he’d look forward to this meal. Nothing is unaccounted for. There’s the carved roast meat, roasted potatoes, an array of vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, stuffing, gravy, and all sorts of sauces. It is far fancier than anything Simon’s mum ever prepared.

It’s fresh, too. Small wafts of steam drift upward. Not only that, but the table is set for two.

“You came.”

Simon’s head snaps around, only to find Kit Walsh standing in front of the kitchen door. Simon didn’t even hear him.

“Didn’t have much of an option.”

Walsh shrugs. “True.”

“Where is she, Kit?” asks Simon.

This is Walsh’s only chance. He’ll ask nicely—politely, even. But that’s fucking it. Fuck this dinner. Fuck talking.

Walsh extends a hand, gesturing at the makeshift table. “Have a seat.”

“Kit,” growls Simon, taking a step toward the man. “Where is she?”

The corner of Walsh’s mouth twitches but his demeanor reveals nothing. He’s completely calm, and that scares Simon. Walsh is at his worse when he appears perfectly apathetic.

“Food is going cold,” replies Walsh, and the chilly blandness in his voice sends Simon over the edge. “Never known you to pass up a Sunday roast.”

The pistol is in Simon’s hand, the firing end of the barrel pressed to Walsh’s forward in a matter of seconds.

“I won’t ask again, Kit. Where is she?”

Walsh’s sigh is like that of an annoyed parent. “Sit down, Simon. Eat.”

Simon adds pressure behind his grip, pushing the barrel harder against Walsh’s skin, forcing his head backward. The man doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away either. Walsh stares Simon in face, unblinking.

“You fucking done?” he asks.

“No,” snaps Simon. His fingers curls around the trigger. “You tell me where she is, Kit. I’m not fucking around.”

“Then be done with it, mate. Put some lead in me. Make me bleed.” His smile is slightly off, like he’s begging for Simon to do it.

And Simon wants to. Badly.

“I won’t hesitate.”

“I know you won’t, Riley. You’ve always been a great shot.”

Slowly, Simon eases the gun away from Walsh’s head. It leaves behind a round mark in the middle of Walsh’s forehead.

“Have a seat,” coaxes Walsh. “Let’s talk.”

Simon is sick of talking. It’s all they ever do. Back and forth and back again until everything is twisted and torn and wrong.

“You’ll talk out of your ass the whole time,” says Simon, backing away from Walsh. The gun is still clutched in his hand, but it’s lowered.

“You can keep the gun,” sighs Walsh, heading for the nearest table setting. He takes a seat at the makeshift table, crossing his legs.

It reminds Simon of primary school. And that only makes it hurt all the more.

He wants to resist, but instead, Simon goes to the opposite end of the table, taking a seat. Playing Walsh’s game is his only chance, even if Simon doesn’t want to participate. He prefers things clean. Recon. A quick shot to the head.

But all that old violence didn’t involve someone Simon cares about. Killing Walsh now may end any chance of you returning to him.

Simon places the gun on the table next to his plate. He stares out at the feast, not wanting to take anything.

“It’s not poisoned,” says Walsh, already reaching for the food. He grabs a large slice of roast before dishing himself up one of everything else. When Simon doesn’t move to put food on his plate, Walsh chuckles. “Do I need to eat some first? Would that convince you?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Walsh shrugs. “Shame.” He cuts off a piece of the roast and dunks it in the gravy before popping it into his mouth. He points at the roast with his fork. “Missing out.”

With each bite Walsh takes, Simon continually grows uneasy. There’s no quickness in the way Walsh eats. He savors everything, complimenting the flavor, attempting to make small talk with Simon whose plate remains empty.

“I just want to know where she is, Kit. I don’t fucking care about anything else.”

Walsh shakes his head. “That’s a bloody lie. You fucking hate me.”

“Didn’t say that I didn’t.”

“You should really try this, Simon.” Walsh slowly chews a potato. “Banging meal. Missing out.”

��Fucking shut up.”

Walsh glances up, the middle of his brow curved in. “Fucking eat it, Simon. I’m not asking.” When Simon doesn’t move, Walsh sets down his silverware. “You want your woman back? Then fucking eat.”

Simon’s fists are clenched in his lap. It takes everything in him to unfold those fingers—to relax the muscles enough to move. Like a robot with a singular purpose, Simon starts filling his plate. He can smell it all. The food is fragrant and luscious. His stomach growls yet there is no meal that could fill that hole that sits in Simon’s stomach.

As Simon returns his plate to the table, Walsh returns to his own meal.

“This is our last supper,” sighs Walsh. “Sad to end it here.”

Simon stares down at his plate. Part of him wants to eat it, to remember the nostalgia of sitting at the dining table on Sunday afternoons. “One of us isn’t leaving here.”

Walsh frowns. “Suppose that’s true.”

Simon answers immediately. “It’ll be you.”

“Will it?” Walsh glances around. “This is your childhood home. Your mum died just out there.” Walsh gestures toward the entrance. “Didn’t your father bash her head in?”

He asks the question like the death of his family is polite dinner conversation.

“Don’t talk about my mum, Kit.”

Walsh tuts. “And then to off your baby brother like he did?” He pauses to chew a piece of roast. “All while you were on your first deployment? Fucking mental that one. Bet you’re glad he’s dead.”

“They’re all dead. You know that.”

Simon remembers that night like it was yesterday. He came home from his first deployment expecting to be greeted by his mum and baby brother. They weren’t there in London. Simon didn’t understand why until he made his way back to Manchester and walked through the front door.

“How’d it feel killing your father? You enjoy it?”

“Fuck off.” Simon’s voice is cold. Distant.

Taking his plate, Walsh piles on another helping of potatoes and meat. “And for Captain Price to get those charges wiped? Bloody lucky you are, Simon.” He snags another Yorkshire pudding. Adds more gravy to his plate. “I mean—he made you his fucking patsy on that,” Walsh gestures vaguely in the air, “fucking task force. Had you murdering everyone the government deemed a ‘threat.’”

“Should look at yourself, Kit.”

“Why? Because I played the same game?” Walsh shakes his head. “I took their money. I spent it. I made them happy, and then I tossed them in the fucking rubbish when I was done with them.”

“And yet, they all still have their heads. For someone who hates the government, you’ve hardly fucking touched them.”

Walsh shrugs. “Most. But not all.”

Simon’s jaw clenches. “Just tell me where she is, Kit. Tell me and let’s be fucking done with this.”

“I don’t think I’m done. And you haven’t touched your food.”

Simon scoffs. This wanker is unbelievable. “You fucking think—”

There’s a thump. It immediately silences Simon and gives Walsh pause. That can’t be the boys. Simon didn’t give them the go ahead.

A lull of silence follows.

“Kit—”

“Don’t fucking start.”

Another thump. This one rattles the table. Coming from—

Simon flattens his hands on the tabletop, starting to rise.

“Don’t fucking move, Simon.” Walsh’s voice is deathly cold. He’s bent forward, hand poised like he’s ready to draw a weapon.

“Where the fuck is she?” growls Simon.

Another thump. This one is louder. Stronger. Shaking the entire table.

Simon is up and raising his gun just as Walsh draws his. The pistol fires, the sound loud. Walsh jerks, his shoulder hitching to the side. Simon keeps his finger on the trigger, each round leaving the chamber a melody to his ears.

Charging forward, Simon lungers for the man.

In is ear, Price’s voice is a pulsing thing, calling his name. Simon is hardly paying attention. Walsh is right there. Within reach.

There is already blood. Bright. Bold. Spreading over the floor.

Simon falls to his knees, uncaring of the pain. “Where is she, Kit?” He fists the front of Kit’s shirt, lifting the man from off the ground.

"Did you not enjoy the meal?" asks Kit, his eyes glassy and distant. "Spent months on it."

A sour dread floods Simon’s stomach. He never took a bite of the food. But the roast…

“Where is she!” screams Simon, shaking him.

Walsh’s head flops about even as he laughs.

"A feast," chuckles Walsh. "Over flesh."

With a raging cry, Simon slams Walsh's head against the wood floor. There's a loud crack, and Walsh's laughter cuts off.

But Simon doesn't notice. He is elsewhere—drifting in blood hunger, wanting only vengeance.

Only wanting marrow. Only wanting dirt.

Simon grasps Walsh by the neck, smashing the back of his head against the floor again.

"You."

Smash.

"Fucking."

Walsh's skull cracks.

Opens up.

"Wanker!"

Busted brain matter mixes with the red, spreading outward.

"Simon!" It's Johnny's voice but it's not in his ear this time. It's just over his shoulder. It is present. It is loud. "Simon!"

Hands are on him. Strong ones. They tug at his shoulders, drawing him away from the gore. From the mess. Simon does not relent. Like a boulder, he collapses, pressing his forehead against the wood floor, sinking further into darkness.

You have to be here. You have to be.

A feast over flesh.

Simon turns his head to the right, staring at the large, makeshift table. It's boxy. Big. More like a storage bin rather than a table.

More like—

Simon flattens his hands, pushing up enough to half-crawl, half-drag himself toward the table. There's something odd about it, the shape. And the thudding. The fucking thudding.

"Simon. Don't—”

Simon knocks Johnny's hands away. With one wide swing of his arm, Simon knocks away the food and tableware. It crashes to the ground.

At first, Simon tries to lift the flattened top, but it doesn't budge. It's been nailed on. This isn't a commercial build. This is custom made. Not a table at all.

"Johnny,” breathes Simon. “Get a crowbar. And a hammer. In the garage."

Johnny doesn’t question. He just goes, disappearing into the house. Distantly, Simon hears the banging of doors and heavy footfalls.

Simon bends forward, examining the underside.

The tabletop is just a piece of large, finished wood nailed onto an open box. When he was standing, he couldn’t tell, but now he sees that it’s not just a box.

It’s a bloody coffin. A nice one. One you’d bury a family member in.

"Johnny!" yells Simon, his voice breaking at the end.

He appears with the crowbar, presenting it to Simon, clutching the hammer in his other hand. The two of them work together, removing nails and breaking away pieces of the wood.

Captain Price enters seconds later with Kyle on his heel. They kick away plates, discarded food, and broken pieces of wood. The rest of the team moves through the rest of the house. Simon can’t see them but he can hear them overhead, shouting from other rooms.

Simon hooks the crowbar under a corner, pulling hard. The wood groans, creaking loudly as it starts to pull away.

"Get those bloody nails up!”

Walsh’s lifeless body is ignored. Left where Simon released him.

Johnny pops out the final nail, the wood bending under Simon’s weighted leverage, lifting away from the base. All four them grab on, guiding it off and away.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Price, staring down at what’s inside.

Simon drops to his knees, hands dipping into the coffin. It's soft, black velvet on the inside. Your head is turned, resting on a small pillow. There is a sickly quality to your skin, but you otherwise appear completely unharmed.

Your eyes are closed. You appear peaceful. You appear...dead.

How long have you been in here? How long have you been trapped?

Simon's hands cradle your face. Though your skin is a bit cold, there is still plenty of warmth. There is no stiffness, just an easy loll that speaks to unconsciousness. Did you hear Simon’s voice? Did you manage enough strength to alert him of your presence?

“He has her fucking drugged.”

Price gently lifts a bag out of the coffin.

“It’s just saline,” says Gaz. “Look at the label.”

It’s marked as such—something standard in every hospital for hydration. But that doesn’t mean Walsh didn’t tamper with it.

“Saline doesn’t do this,” says Price, gesturing at your limp body.

Simon whispers your name, thumb stroking over your cheek.

Price turns into his walkie. “I need medical in here. Now.”

Simon whispers your name again. There's a twitch in your jaw. A quiver in your brow. You're not aware. Not yet. But you're alive, and as far as Simon can tell, you're whole.

But even then, it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter if Walsh had taken fingers and toes. If he'd taken an arm. If he'd scarred your body or blinded you. All Simon wants, all he's ever wanted these last three months, is to hold you in arms again.

Your eyelids twitch. Flutter.

As Price holds the bag, Simon slides his arms under your body, lifting you from the coffin and onto the floor beside it. Gaz kneels beside Price, examining the arm where the IV is inserted.

Simon leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, both hands on either side of your face.

"Come back to me," he murmurs, as the others rush and move around him. "Come back to me."

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @lialacleaf @creamwhxre @theshrikeandcanary

@knight4xmas @jupiternighties @corvusmorte @darling006 @carma-fanficaddict

@emmylous-world @i-feel-violated @mileyraes @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @waves-against-a-cliff

@eternallyvenus @cinnabeanz @beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk

@smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41 @randomgurl2326

@webmvie @aykxz98 @xxkay15xx @saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36

@ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg

@yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim @voids-universe @iloveslasher

@talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307 @itsberrydreemurstuff @kylies-love-letter

[supergraphicgirl81]

With A Little Help From My Friends ⋆⁺₊❅.

Oscar Piastri ⋆.⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ˎˊ˗

Formula 1 college hockey team social media AU! Instagram Edition

The tight-knit college hockey team, the Silver Blades, run by team captain Max Verstappen, isn't just about scoring goals—it's a chosen family. On and off the ice, the team has each other's backs, whether that's through college assignments, throwing awesome parties, or winning the championship together. Follow these overworked, tired, college students as they post through their day-to-day life.

With A Little Help From My Friends Masterlist ✴︎˚｡ Oscar Piastri Masterlist ✴︎˚｡

OscarJP

liked by AlexandraSaintM, LandoNorris4, and others

OscarJP We took the kids outside

tagged ItsYourname

View Comments

AlexandraSaintM UGH! my queen, thank you oscar, i really needed this today

OscarJP I know what the people need

LandoNorris4 AHH OMG JACK FNQEFE AND BAILEY AWEE SJCJIFOEW (liked by OscarJP)

CollegeHockeyFan we love to see healthy siblings in a loving home (jack and bailey)

MaxVerstappen i need to know they love me

DanielRicciardo you are not their godfather i am therefore they love me not you

MaxVerstappen @OscarJp LITERALLY SINCE FUCKING WHEN??!?!?!!??

OscarJP He literally just made that up??? Our cats don't have godfathers

ItsYourname and even if they did they SURE as hell wouldn't be either of you monsters

DanielRicciardo homophobia (liked by MaxVerstappen)

ItsYourname i am cold (liked by OscarJP)

RandomHockeyFan they 😭 literally 😭 have 😭 a 😭 family 😭 screaming 😭 crying 😭 throwing 😭 up

view all comments!

liked by CharLeclerc, LilyMuniHe, and others

OscarJP Hockey stuff lately

tagged ChargingSarge and Albono

View Comments

ChargingSarge If Alex shoots one more hockey puck at me I think I would literally crumble on the spot

Albono Oh come on, they weren't even hitting you (liked by OscarJP)

ChargingSarge UHHH I'M PRETTY SURE I WOULD KNOW IF THEY WEREN'T HITTING ME ALEX

RandomHockeyFan I have hopes for better playing this season, seems like they've got a strong team built, even some newbies.

Random Who new has been added? I thought it's been the same players since Lando and Oscar arrived with Logan and Yuki???

RandomFan Franco Colapinto!!!!! He's actually a freshmen, so it'll be interesting to see how this plays out

GeorgeRus Have Jersey in the laundry room by 9 if you want it washed. (liked by OscarJP)

YukiTsunoda22 sorry again osc, i let the blind rage take hold, soup in the kitchen

OscarJP All good Yuki, thanks mate

view all comments!

liked by MaxVerstappen, Franco43Colapinto, and others

OscarJP 5 years, it never gets old :))

tagged ItsYourname

View Comments

LandoNorris4 WAAHHHHHH 😭🙏 M-MY MY BABBIEESSS 🥹🥹🥹🥹 !!!!!!!

OscarJP Lando we've been dating longer then we've known you

ItsYourname WAHHH LANDDOOO 😭 😭 😭 😭 I LOVE YOU

LewHamilton I love to see it in my feed. (liked by OscarJP)

DanielRicciardo mama y papa?

MaxVerstappen I hope you guys know you literally have the longest, most stable relationship I've ever seen in my life, genuinely.

ItsYourname is this trauma dumping?

ItsYourname AYYYYY PASTA WAS BOMB

OscarJP Is that all you want to say?

ItsYourname AYYYYY dick was also bomb? (liked by OscarJP)

ItsYourname i love you ♡

OscarJP I love you too!

view all comments!

liked by ItsYourname, LewHamilton, and others

OscarJP Team wins a championship and all of a sudden I'm in a suit (I hope we get invited back next year)

tagged CharLeclerc, GeorgeRus, MaxVerstappen, LilyMuniHe, AlexandraSaintM, LandoNorris4

View Comments

ItsYourname OSCARRRR !!!!!!!! LOOK AT YOUUU !!!!!!!! (liked by OscarJP)

ItsYourname my favorite most polite cat in the world !!! 🥹🥹🥹

OscarJp What did I say about calling me a cat online

MaxVerstappen Great work this year Oscar, keep it up. (liked by OscarJP)

OscarJP Appreciate it man

CharLeclerc Proud dad moment 🥹

OscarJP I am not your son Charles (thanks dad)

Albono 4 points up next season, betting it now (liked by OscarJP)

view all comments!

[crystalrabbit246912]

NRC Group Therapy

So I just had a thought that I needed to flesh out and I figured, why not post it on Tumblr, so here you are.

What if the main 24 (all of the named characters, counting Yuu and Grim, excluding the teachers) had group therapy?

Now, I know that there'd obviously be fights between everyone, but can you imagine how funny it would be? Like you have Leona making aggressive comments toward Malleus and Sebek yelling back at him while Malleus is just sitting there happy that Yuu invited him to therapy, or Floyd chasing around Riddle, who's ready to blow a fuse while Jade enables his twin's behavior and Azul tries to stop it.

All while the poor therapist, who's probably very underpaid, is starting to realize that they're maybe a little out of their depth.

Yuu, who's very much Not Okay after all of the Overblots, ends up accidentally trauma dumping by saying something and thinking that it's completely normal, and also has to play peacemaker for everything because... because Crowley's in charge for some reason.

The Overblot gang, especially... (I started thinking of who had the saddest backstories and then realized that it all of them have messed up pasts) all of them, do end up spilling some stuff and traumatizing the therapist in the process.

Some of the guys, like Ruggie with Leona disintegrating him and the Tweels with Azul almost stealing their power, and maybe some passive-aggressive comments toward Idia and Ortho for their kidnappings.

The First-Year Gang, (Yuu in particular), are especially struggling, like Ace and Deuce covering their necks whenever they hear Riddle raise his voice, Jack watching Leona and Ruggie closely, Epel ducking his head and not fighting back against Rook and Vil even when he doesn't want to do something, I couldn't think of something for Ortho, and Sebek flinching at the sound of lightning.

I can imagine Ortho bringing up the fact that he has the memories of the human Ortho who died in the past and Idia built him and the therapist just blue screening for a moment.

Everyone: Casually bringing up near-death experiences and past trauma like it's something everyone goes through

Therapist: I hope you realize it isn't normal

*A brawl somehow breaks out in the background*

Yuu: Guys, guys, calm down! Both sides are valid. Epel, you're allowed to be upset that Vil almost killed you in the past, but be aware that he's actively working on changing. Vil, Epel's been traumatized by you, allow him to be mad at you.

Therapist: ...this is way above my paygrade.

[devoted--angel]

very important psa for minors on here

seeing so many kids sexualizing themselves makes me cringe but also makes me sad and realize the people back then 100% knew i was a child.

please be careful guys and i really fucking mean it. you think you're cool and the attention is nice but it isn't. the trauma just hasn't hit yet and when you're an adult you're going to regret it and realize the fucked situation you were in.

from what i see none of you are mature for your age and none of you look older than you are. this isn't an insult, it's just a fact. being young is good. it's good to be your age. no normal adult would tell you otherwise.

even if you're 18 be careful. when the clock strikes midnight you aren't magically mature and mentally developed, you were 17 like 5 minutes ago. in my eyes you're still a kid just learning to be an adult.

one day when you realize what you've gone through, whether you approached the adult(s) first or not, i need you to know that it was never your fault. adults are responsible for navigating interactions with children, not the other way around. no good adult would talk to you like that or let you talk to them like that. the adult will always be at fault.

please be careful online. don't give your age, don't give your location, stay out of 18+ spaces.

if an adult is bothering or pursuing you on here i'll rip into them i don't give a fuck, just please stay safe.

this post isn't an invitation to trauma dump in response, so don't, whether you're a minor or an adult

[prodbyton]

──★who’s that girl? chapter 6: trauma dump or bop lore ⁉️

half written, half smau. warnings: none wc. 400

that friday, you and the boys made your way to the party. you all were cramped up in sunghos car,somehow the boys had convinced jaehyun to come with and also convinced riwoo to come as well. luckily the ride there wasn’t long, because deciding to take one car here was not the best idea. 

this was your first real outing with your new roommates and you were a bit excited, wanting to use this time to get to know them better as well as get comfortable around a new crowd of people. you would have invited your own friends, but they invited you here and you didn't want to be only focused on them. 

but honestly, inviting your friends wouldn’t have been a bad thing since the moment you all walked in the boys were already mingling with other people that they knew, leaving you alone. almost alone, you and jaehyun seemed to be in the same boat, staying close to the wall and not really talking to anyone else. you thought it would be awkward hanging around him at the party, but after a couple drinks you both felt a little less tense. 

“you okay?” you nudge him when you see he’s not focused on your conversation, eyes focused on something in the distance. 

“yeah, i’m fine… i’m just nervous my ex will try and talk to me while we’re here” he smiled awkwardly. you turned your head so you could see who he was looking at exactly, but the room was too crowded to be able to tell. 

“how bad was the breakup? you still seem pretty bothered by it” 

he sighs hard, and that answers your question before he even starts talking. “she broke up with me out of the blue about a month ago, but i guess i should've seen it coming. our relationship wasn’t that healthy, but i really liked her and i wanted us to work out. the boys hated her because she made it basically impossible for me to do literally anything because it would just cause problems.” 

somehow you two turn the party into a drunk therapy session, ranting to each other about your recent failed relationships. think of it as some form of roommate bonding? he was the only one out of the 5 that you couldn’t understand, but now you realize he’s actually easy to talk to and you feel like you two would get along great in the future.

m.list | prev | next

a/n: when i remember this story has an actual plot and i can’t just make a ton of fun filler chapters… also who do u guys think jaehyuns ex is 🤫

synopsis: after an unfortunate event, yn needs a new place to stay. she finds a place listed for 5 other people in the apartment, where she meets riwoo, sungho, leehan, taesan, and jaehyun.

send an ask or reply to m.list post to be added to the taglist!

🏷️- @tsandoll @dimplewonie @nujeskz @molensworld @wonpoem @hyukarina @soobiverse @hexnoia @snoopyana @kgyam4 @swaggyjinnie @https-yeonjun @unhakki @sol3chu @lilriswife4life @petralovesbonedo @upstarhigh @haechology @hanbinniesmango @woorcve @i03jae @seunghancore @evpyzx @tinyelfperson @brachioswrld @indiweb

[rainbowolfe]

Shamura-centric Headcanons

I can't believe I've never made one of these kinds of posts before.

They're a vegetarian. They're not super strict about it, as they still eat meat occasionally for the health benefits. But even in those cases, the meat has to be pretty heavily disguised/concealed. They're sensitive to the iron found in blood, so meat tastes excessively metallic.

Towards the end of their reign, eating Followers became a requirement they deeply resented. Devotion began to wane despite everything they tried to avoid it, and what they got wasn't enough to live on—let alone thrive. What is perceived as sadism by onlookers is really just them childishly picking at their food because they don't want to eat it.

They routinely spread misinformation. Sometimes for a greater purpose, mostly because they find it amusing. Entire wars have broken out because of a slanderous lie they told a decade ago that changed the course of a village's doctrine.

A gracious winner, but an incredibly sore loser. Shamura simply doesn't know how to lose with dignity, because they've spent their entire life winning. Except for the portion of their life that felt like an endless lose-streak, but they don't talk about that. They are still invited to game night, as it's mostly just pouting, being despondent, and leaving early if they do happen to lose. Though they have flipped the board a few times during particularly frustrating games.

In battle, however? It is far less tolerable for those around them. God forbid they have to surrender for one of their siblings' sake. They'll do it, no doubts. But they aren't happy about it, to put it lightly.

They have mommy issues. They deny this fact.

Has amnesia, but is otherwise functional. The Crown stores memories within it, so remembering the past is actually fairly easy. The only downside is the headaches. Their problem is that they're so preoccupied with ruminating about the past and making sure they remember it, that they're not at all present. It's as if they're in a trance that their siblings have long since given up on trying to pull them out of.

Without their Crown, they're forced to be more present in the moment since they don't have the luxury of reliving their past memories anymore. Not that anyone can really tell the difference. When it comes to the present, they are a goldfish.

[Follower Specific]

Impressively socially inept. Convinced themselves they weren't, but it was really just that their only social interactions after the war came from either Followers or their siblings. Both of which were just used to Shamura's inability to make small talk and their over-familiarity (over-formality for Followers). All they know is "give gift", "share fun fact", and "trauma dump". Turns out preaching and socializing are two very different skill sets.

They are so deeply uncomfortable with expressing their needs. Really, they always have been, but it wasn't a problem when they were a blessed god with unfathomable power. They could do almost everything themselves, and the things they couldn't? Kallamar and Narinder got pretty good at intuiting when they needed something. Heket certainly tried, but she's not great at reading the room period.

As a Follower they'll just. Needlessly suffer, to put it simply. It's most egregious when their siblings are particularly busy or sent on a mission. Times when they're paying less attention to Shamura than usual.

Lamb is aware of this behavior but also doesn't want to encourage it. So they're often "on standby" with whatever Shamura needs (the information is gained via mind reading), but won't make that fact known or give it to them until they ask for it. Exceptions made for situations that are dangerous or when they start crashing out.

[airraidvehicle]

id turn reblogs back on because i know its a relatable post but i cannot handle the tags or asks i might receive

i turned reblogs off. why that one post have almost 100 notes

[razorblade180]

OK h-hold the keyboard, pen, quill, and every other writing implement you may or may not own-

In that post with Aether asking out Citlali, are you- are you implying that Venti slept with Zhongli, and then Ei? And bragged about it to Yae Miko?

And then Citlali also called him a boring protag?!

I guess you’ve missed lore. I have made several posts over time that talk about Venti having previous intimate relationships with those two around the time of the Archon War; as well as him sleeping with Lumine before.

He didn’t brag about it to Yae. She was just around back then whenever he was working his charisma, so naturally it was a point to gossip about in the present whenever they crossed paths and had a meal.

And to be clear, Zhongli and Ei will never say they actually had a relationship with the bard. There were simply periods of time where moments of weakness happened. His face may be punchable, but it’s also very relatable. Trauma dumping with Venti is an inescapable experience if you hang out with him enough.

The bard has no shame, for he is a free and caring soul also seeking escape occasionally. That being said, all romantic questions about Lumine will be avoided as Aether stares with the obvious intent to fight. She’s still a little down bad for him, but that’s okay. People have weaknesses lol.

What’s fucked up is he’s still pretty cool with his past relations. They’ll invite him out. He’s too funny and friendly to ignore forever.

[puppypeter]

I very rarely think about storylines for royjamie after richmond (because it breaks my heart a little to think of anyone of the team leaving) but like it's possible that jamie would choose to stay with richmond his whole career, it's also possible that the people at richmond itself would push for him to play for *insert the name of whatever other european football team is considered the best* and he becomes a proper super star, being invited for fancy events and shit.

(In a made up world where Ted stayed in London) Roy and Jamie got together while at richmond and now Roy travels with him everywhere as his own personal coach / PA / secret boyfriend / man behind the camera of every instagram post / personal grumpy cat / number one fan / emotional support teddy bear / personal chef etc He loves being with him 24/7 and finds it fulfilling to still be involved with football and helping someone be the best they can be but without the added pressure of having to constantly step outside his comfort zone that he'd have experienced being a manager to a whole team (he's doing good with being vulnerable with Jamie, he can do it with one person that he loves and he is still going to therapy for himself to work through his own trauma/CEN/grief and is focusing on learning to be in his skin as a human being and not this fucked up idea of masculinity he's got in his head) And Roy has a private instagram account under a random username where he follows and is followed only by the richmond team/coaches/Rebecca/Higgins + Keely + Georgie & Simon + his sister and he only uses it to post pictures of food, nature, weird shit he finds in the cities they visit, and his fit boyfriend. Since it's friends only he does use captions ("the muppet had a late night last night" with a picture of Jamie asleep on the floor) and all the himbos love to comment, especially Dani's "Sexy muchachos #JOY" under every single picture.

"night out post Milan fashion week with the muppet and some lovely faces i have missed"

"one handsome dressed-up muppet in Paris"

"Elopement fit check #MyMuppet" (which sends everyone in a melt down) Here's some pics of Roy that Jamie posts instead (in his photo dumps to be sneaky but there's really a lot of roy on his profile - also they 100% got a puppy!!). Also think the proper first post containing only Roy that Jamie would post would be after they elope and it would melt down the internet (the in-universe royjamie rpf-ers especially)

(the last one is such a slutty roy pic *cough cough*)

"Roy Kent always remains 💙🪢" (somebody feel free to make an actual ig posts edit of this with better pics/captions if you fancy I will do nothing but cry and thank you forever because I have no skills but I cannot stop thinking about these muppets getting married!!)

[mariaofdoranelle]

Catastrophic Blues

Written for @sjmromanceweek

Prompt: Favorite tropes (exes to lovers yay!)

I wrote most of this oneshot a year ago, and I never posted because it’s so sad, and also it’s the only time I fully trauma dumped on my fics. Anyway. Enjoy this thing that was based on one of the most pathetic days of my life lol

Warnings: none?

Words: 2,2k

The low lighting the uber had at night only called more attention to the cold, churning mess that was Aelin’s stomach. It was the lack of something to focus on when what she needs right now is sensory overload. The smell of alcohol, loud music, strobe lights.

Aelin wanted to focus on anything that wasn’t her destination—or who she’d meet there.

It was fine. She was fine.

It was Fenrys' birthday. The cheeriest of Aelin's cheery friends. Aelin definitely couldn't miss his birthday. Today was about Fenrys, and not the ex-boyfriend who was also invited.

But Aelin was fine. It wasn't a big deal. It’d been more than a month since they broke up, and Rowan even texted her asking if she’d be comfortable if he brought his new girl tonight.

How considerate of him.

But Aelin agreed, with no regrets. The only thing she regretted was merging her group of friends with her ex-boyfriend when they were dating. That was something she’d keep in mind for the next time she met someone.

Out of the car and in front of the bar, Aelin let the cool summer breeze wash her nerves away. He was probably in there already, always on time. She knew this would eventually happen when they broke up and decided to stay friends for the sake of the gang. There was no need for her to freak out—good thing she wasn't. And if she acted weirdly today, what would Rowan do a month from now?

The crowded place was booming with laughter and drunken yells, busy waiters running around the place, barely paying attention to the graceless group of friends singing Bohemian Rhapsody at karaoke.

A large hand gripped her waist, turning her towards the source, and Aelin met a smiling pair of onyx eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Fen!” She hugged her friend and handed him his present, wishing him a happy birthday.

“Everyone’s at a big table back there, and…” Fenrys trailed, trying to read something on Aelin’s expression. Whatever words he was about to say died in his throat.

Aelin crossed her arms. “Spill.”

He shrugged. “You’re hotter than her.”

Lyria, he meant. And Aelin agreed, she was definitely hotter. It wasn’t hard to find Rowan’s new girl on Instagram after she commented a red heart on his last picture like a dog peeing on the comment section for territory. She found out about it even before he told her himself.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at Fen. “I’m over him.”

He shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to hear it.”

Her smirk was met with a similar one from Fenrys. He knows her too well.

Then Aelin shook her head, chastising herself for such thoughts. She was the one to end things, due to her… distressing circumstances. She had no right to shame Rowan for settling for a less hot person.

It’s not like she cared, anyway.

Stepping onto the back of the bar, Aelin quickly spotted the table and greeted everyone—including the lovebirds.

Rowan was stiff like a robot, and Lyria was polite. Bland. Guess he lied when he said he liked Aelin’s fiery personality and the way they clashed, since his new girlfriend is the total opposite. He’d probably still be his dutiful self to her in a month, and Aelin would be in Suria with rows of men—or vodka, most likely—lying at her feet.

She sat beside Elide and ordered a non-alcoholic beer—the doctor had cleared her to drink alcohol with moderation by now, but she didn’t want to risk it. Connall decided to restart whatever work gossip he was telling to keep Aelin in the loop.

She was paying attention, or at least she was trying to, but—why did Rowan shave off his beard? God, she loved his jawline. How it looked so firm by far, but felt so soft under her lips and teeth. Aelin could still remember how his beard tickled against her skin when he decided to grow it, or even better, the feeling of it against her thighs when he--

"Ace, are you alright?" Elide whispered in her ear, "You look a little lost."

Aelin blinked, trying to focus on her friends. Apart from Ellie, no one noticed she'd zoned out. Looking back at her friend, Aelin nodded, a small smile on her lips.

Her friend arched one eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Rolling her eyes, Aelin chuckled. "Of course."

Looking back at everyone, she caught Rowan’s eyes on her. Busted, the only thing left for him to do was send her a small, close-lipped smile and tip his head to the Heineken 0.0% she clutched. Aelin raised it and took a long swig, letting the bitter beverage go down throat, the feeling so close to the real thing.

He feels proud of her growth. Not a big deal when he keeps a perky brunette under his arm.

But she knew this feeling was just an initial clash of their lives apart. Aelin was fine, she truly was. Her feelings towards Rowan would never be the same she had to a regular friend, because the nature of their memories together was different. Erasing their history was impossible, so it was either fully leave or learn how to live in the shadows of what they used to be.

This hollowness she felt in her chest was just an initial shock, an adjustment. Aelin wasn't the only person in the world to lose the love of her life, and some of them even did great after that, with their second-best significant ones.

No one can keep every good thing that happens in their life forever. Even if said good best thing is right there, standing in front of you.

Actually, she was wrong. Aelin did keep Rowan in her life. As a friend. Which was enough, and just what she needed.

“…Right, Ace?”

Aelin blinked, being dragged out of her thoughts back into the conversation. “Excuse me?”

Elide sighed. “The birthday cake, Fenrys got it from Emrys’. Isn’t that the place you recommended to him?”

“Oh.” Aelin blinked. “Yes. Absolutely, yes. They’re the best.”

Ellie gave her a quick look that was hard to decipher, but maybe it was time for Aelin to pay attention.

And pay attention she did. She leaned on the table and held her chin under her palm. Turns out the owners of Emrys’ are regulars at the motel Fenrys works at. Disgusting news to hear, and Connall agreed with her unshared thoughts. Fenrys accused his brother of being homophobic, since they’re talking about a gay couple. Connall retorted, saying that he can’t be homophobic if he’s gay, and it’s not prejudice if he hates everyone equally.

The twins bickered on and on. Rowan watched them as if it was a tennis match, with undiluted attention, while Lyria seemed endlessly amused by it.

Aelin wished she had stayed home.

But she came here for Fenrys, and for Fenrys she stayed. And stayed and stayed and stayed until that fucking song started playing. For Mala’s sake, today was not her day.

Aelin looked around, trying not to be too obvious that she was looking at them. Trying not to look too much or too little.

He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on my heart.

Rowan took Lyria's hand and held it against his chest.

Just like he used to do with her.

Aelin swallowed, her chest shrinking. She was going to be sick.

She excused herself and got up, walking to another section of the bar near the restrooms where she couldn't be seen from the table, and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

Breathe in.

She could still feel the shape of Rowan’s lips against hers.

Breathe out.

She could still feel the weight of his body above hers.

Breathe in.

She could still feel his calloused hands caressing her bare back in bed.

Breathe out.

Her heart was beating just as much as on the day she finally got the courage to cuddle him after sex, almost two years ago. When she first rested her head on the crook of his neck, Aelin scented her favorite version of Rowan’s smell because it was completely ingrained with hers. And she did it again. And again. And again. Her hand could trace the shape of him even that long after the last time they were together. She hated how much she'd cling to those small details, and she hated even more that she cared about this. Because she did. Aelin would barely admit it to herself, but of course she did.

She took a deep breath, ignored her quivering stomach and schooled herself, walking to the bar's counter.

The man next to her leaned on the counter so much he was half laid in it, but he still managed to turn his piercing blue eyes at Aelin and smile.

"Can’t find a bartender," he complained, his speech slurred. "I need a beer."

Aelin chuckled, leaning her forearms on the surface too. "And I need water."

He raised his head a little. "I'm Dorian."

"Aelin." She looked at him up and down, from the fumbled hair to the rumpled clothes and untied shoes. “Are you sure the bartenders aren’t bartending you on purpose?”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Huh.” Aelin scanned the liquor selection, tempted. She really was doing better with this new medication, and Dr. Hafiza cleared her for an occasional drink. She could definitely use a drink now. Instead, she tilted her head at Dorian and said, “Did you lose a puppy or something? Or this is just your usual Friday night?”

He ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her, so confident it reminded her of Fenrys. "My answer depends on whether you're giving me your number or not."

Aelin snorted. She thought of how satisfying it would be to watch Rowan watch her leave the bar with someone else, but a drunk wouldn't do. Besides, this wasn't a competition. Aelin had already lost.

"Not a chance. Spill."

He sighed and slumped again on the countertop, hitting his head against it.

"My situationship doesn't see me as dating material."

Aelin grimaced. "That sucks"

He waved a hand, dismissing her pity. "You?"

Her mind went back to a year ago, how he stood by her side, red-rimmed green eyes when Aelin became a shell of herself. How his anxiety skyrocketed when hers did too. How well he was doing now that she wasn't his problem anymore.

A bitter chuckle left her lips. "My sadness is contagious."

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I just bared my soul to you, and this is what you tell me?”

“You did not!”

“I’m gonna get another drink if you don’t entertain me.”

“Is this a threat?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

Aelin sighed, looking up while she gathered her thoughts. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”

“Obviously.”

“Because I was bringing him down. No drama. We decided to not break up our group of friends.”

“No drama, you said?”

“He’s with his new girlfriend at the back of the bar and all my friends are schmoozing with her now.”

“I sense drama.”

“And we have a trip booked for next month we didn’t discuss.”

“Paid it all before the breakup, huh?”

Aelin nodded and ordered two waters before they traded stories about their pathetic love lives. She didn’t know how long they stayed there, neither if she liked Dorian or just this escape from the table from hell, but being here was a respite.

They were about six Tinder horror stories in when a hand landed on Aelin’s shoulder, making her jump, heart racing with surprise.

Rowan stood beside her with his trademark frown. “It’s been a while since you left the table.”

“Yup.” What was she supposed to say?

He jutted his chin towards Dorian. “Is he bothering you?”

“Not at all.” She squared her shoulders, trying to find a light way to describe their pity party. “This is Dorian. I’m getting funny dating stories out of him before I call an uber and send him back to his world of heartless women and tawdry men.”

“I see,” he trailed, eyes trained on them, and took a step back. “Okay. I have to go back there, but if you—“

“I know.” She waved him off. He needed to be at the table and be a good boyfriend to someone else, she got it.

Aelin was fully aware that her mind was going on a petty path, but she couldn’t help it. Yes, Lyria was nice. Yes, Lyria had been nothing but polite to her the entire night. The only problem was that Lyria was dating the wrong person. Or the perfect one, if Aelin wanted to address her issues more directly.

She banged her head against the disgusting counter, resting there to contemplate this rare moment of self-pity.

Aelin dug her own grave.

Dorian had his eyebrows raised. “Damn, he’s hot.”

“And thoughtful.”

“I wasn’t thinking about his thoughtfulness when he murdered me with his eyes.”

“He did not.”

“He did. And you know why.”

“I do not.” Aelin sipped her water. “Anyway, what happened to the guy who was cheating on his wife with you?”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled with the memory of this unfinished divorce story, and she was thankful to get the spotlight of the conversation away from her.

Unlike Aelin, Rowan had his shit together and was happy. She wouldn't—actually, she couldn't—disturb this little peace he found after she cut him off.

Her selfishness only went so far.

Read part 2 here

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @backtobl4ck-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@booksandteaonarainydayislife

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@emily-gsh

@empress-ofbloodshed

@fangirlprincess09

@goddess-aelin

@gracie-rosee

@leiawritesstories

@lululululululuop

@renxzs

@rowanaelinn

@s-uppertime

@sarahjswift

@staghorn-mountains

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@throneofus7

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

[sillygoblinantics]

Can I trauma dump for a second?

Personal essay by Bri

Can I be vulnerable with you all for a brief post? You don’t have to read what’s under here if you don’t want to hear about dark thoughts and events from my childhood. So take this as a content warning going forward, especially if you are not in a good state of mind I want you to ignore this post and check out my other light hearted stuff in the meantime. 🩵

In the past month spanning the duration of September, Lily Orchard has made several posts answering self asks where she makes various and progressively worse than the last threats on many people who she labels are stalkers.

Each of these posts were said throughout the month that is a very particular awareness month: suicide prevention month. The amount of ways she’s phrased it are just heartless and reckless.

Today, being no different than the others has struck a cord to me personally.

For context:

I was transferred to a school for kids with learning disabilities when I was 9 in the middle fourth grade. At this private school I would receive proper education and resources that would help me excel but in less than four years at this school I would be the target and victim to one boy’s torment and abuse. Let’s call him Pepsi, because he wouldn’t shut up about bragging about how his mom was ceo of the company’s local branch. Pepsi had been a troubled boy who had bullied kids before I arrived and because of his parents the school couldn’t do anything outside of suspension. I being prone to teasing and not understanding tone or jokes due to being born autistic was the perfect target for Pepsi. So he would harass and pick on me: tripping me in hallways, flipping me off, calling me names and messing with something I showed interest in, standard bullying stuff. During this time I was slowly driven into high stress/anxiety and shortly following I would have depression. I would hurt myself by scratching my arms with paperclips which my mom would eventually request the school have a teacher escort me to and from the bathroom just so I wouldn’t self harm. This was between 4th, 5th and 6th grade.

It was around here that I begun having suicidal ideation… I tried asphyxia: belt, infinity scarf and even a cats-in-the-cradle toy. These attempts were always at home and would be stopped by my parents… at one point my old dog came bursting in to check on me when I was crying my eyes out and wouldn’t leave my side until she made sure I was ok.

(I’m tearing up over that specific memory as I type this out… she was a very good dog…)

Seventh grade Pepsi would do something that began my ideations and planning that would go into effect the next grade. During a school dance, I decided to invite my brother and his two friends as I didn’t know any guys or really thought someone liked me. I tried to hangout with my brother on the bleachers in the gym. While sitting on the bleachers one of my peers approached and asked if I’d slow dance with them. No boy ever did this and I thought it was genuine I was so happy until at the other side of the gym, under the basket ball hoop against the wall, surrounded by other boys (who weren’t goons) I saw Pepsi, laughing. Laughing and pointing and I still remember the feeling I had as I could feel my lil heart shatter into pieces in my chest.

I ran to the bathrooms tears running down my face. My brother and his friends saw this and were about to beat Pepsi up but the school chaperones stopped them. I wish they didn’t.

From then to eighth grade I was barely myself and would sit in class staring out the windows down the long uphill half mile long driveway that cut through a small bit of woods and opened to the busy road. I’d watch all kinds of cars pass: big cars, small cars, pickup trucks, suvs, eighteen wheelers, buses and all sorts of vehicles pass by between the tree line. I’d watch and imagine myself being hit, thinking of the day I’d enact this plan.

I was excited for eighth grade, not only would I be graduating and headed for high school but it was the year our grade would get to perform one of two Shakespeare plays! The class before us did Romeo and Juliet and our class would get to perform the Scottish play. I was excited even if I was a narrator. My mom made it clear to the school and teachers to make sure that Pepsi and I were kept apart at all times. At. All. Times.

The one time during rehearsal, when me and Pepsi were in the same room, the one moment that a teacher stepped out for just a few minutes. Pepsi took the opportunity and berated me, said every nasty thing he could at me.

I can’t remember most but what I know is something about my weight and that no one would love me and that I should die.

I felt a switch go off and suddenly I was speed walking towards the door of the gym (the stage was in the gym since the art and music classes were connected to the gym) and as I was walking I could hear my teacher calling my name but I didn’t look back. Once I got out the door I ran, I ran so fast.

I ran down the hill, the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement echoed in my ears still and the only thing in my mind were: the plan but also the hope that I was still being chased by the teacher, I kept running and running and by the third Italian cypress tree that lead to the small forested area and up the driveway of the school I skidded to a halt. I caught my breath and with a glimmer of hope for a hand to grab me I looked behind me:

…

The teacher wasn’t there… they stopped chasing me. Why did they stop chasing me? Weren’t they suppose to care?! Why aren’t they here?! I looked back at the road now crying for a different reason. I flaked out… I couldn’t go through with the plan. ‘No one would care’ I thought… so I turned around and ran back up the hill and past the school buildings and near the back where I waited and cried for the day to be over or for someone to notice me. The advisor or some type of teacher; who would take his class on nature walks behind the school on the old trails where an amphitheater was; found me. I didn’t tell my mom at pick up. I told my first therapist about it and later was sent to a hospital and then five days at a literal hell where it only instilled fear of being vulnerable and honest about my mental health stayed. I had to stay out of school for a few months until I could graduate… I missed my chance to be a narrator for the play, I fumbled my science fair… I would forget about this day until I was a junior in high school with a new counselor and my mom. I only had dreams of running down the hill of my middle school and I never knew why until my mom told me and my counselor… those dreams stopped after the revelation.

I was twelve years old when I tried to kill myself via being hit by a car.

Lily orchard, you have no fucking right to act like the bigger person because you’re trans or native or whatever bullshit you spew.

It’s been two or three years since I’ve had any suicidal thought, a year since I’ve self harmed and I refuse to relapse now.

I don’t wish any horrible thing on you, no one does, no one has or will ever wish harm or ill will on you. And the people who do have something to say about you are validated after putting up with your abuse that has been documented on so many occasions.

I don’t wish what I have gone through on my middle school bully, I wouldn’t wish the worst thing ever on him. I wouldn’t wish the worst fate even on you.

The only thing I wish you get: is help. Actually human help.

And Lily, if I see you talk smack about anyone’s mother or father like this again, there’s nothing I can do in my power to act; because you’ve already done it to yourself.

———————————

Thank you to those who aren’t Lily orchard for reading this, it’s a heavy subject for me that as I share and open up about becomes much lighter and helps me get the strength and confidence to be able to be honest with the people I care most about outside of the internet.

While I can say I’m in a better place it’s always changing but it’s gotten easier to manage and recenter myself.

Stay safe everyone (ówò)

[st-alastors-confessional]

Sinners, rejoice!

Exhaultation awaits.

Gather to the fold, turn your gaze from sin, and rid yourself of impurity.

I invite you, dear Sinner, to feast upon my gospel. Join me in the Confessional and expel your truest, darkest desires, so that I may lift you out from the pits of temptation.

Come unto Me.

St. Alastor

~

~

~

~

~

~

~

~

~

Hey 👋🏽

NB | They/Them | 26yo

So, I post that Good Gay Shit and y’all throw unadulterated thoughts, headcanons, and whatnot into my asks.

That’s it.

[Doesn't have to be filth, but it's always welcomed.]

TAG KEY

#Forgiven: Confessions

#Anon Shares: Whatever doesn’t fit as a Confession

#Admin Confessions: My shit posts

I'll roleplay a "Holier Than Thou" Alastor when answering asks. (Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a demon- it’s just that the outfits make him feel ✨cunty✨)

RadioApple is very very very welcomed here, but honestly- if it Gays, it Stays (just don't be weird about it yall, check the Hard NOs list before sending pls)

HARD NOs

• Sexual assault

• Incest

• Pedophilia

• Racism (Remember and respect that Alastor is a Creole man)

• Homophobia

• Transphobia

• Beastiality

You will be BLOCKED if I get even a WHIFF of this shit.

If you somehow missed it in my bio:

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

I will not interact with asks from ageless blogs.

Also, please don't come here to lecture me or anyone else on this blog about real world religion. I've done my time, and had my fill.

Now I write fanfiction about boys topless, oiled up, kissing each other probably.

This blog is just for fun- have a go!

Which brings me to my final point: I will also casually filth dump on here if and when the spirit moves me.

Man's gotta scrub their brain of Unholy Shit too.

Anyways, welcome to the Confessional and enjoy your time here x

I look forward to speaking with you.

~ Quick addition! ~

Because this has happened quite a few times already, I’d like to make it clear:

Please DO NOT send real world shit into my asks. I won’t interact with people’s real life trauma.

It’s a huge mental and emotional load for me to answer heavy shit, plus vicarious trauma exists, and that’s not the goal of this blog.

Keep it fun, y’all ❤️

If you need help, please seek your local GP or mental health professional, or reach out to friends and family. There is no shame or harm in doing so. We all need help, it’s part of being human x

Thanks again, my dears.

- Admin

[aristia-pjoheadcanons]

POSTING ARES HCS BC HE NEVER GETS ENOUGH ATTENTION

(This is actually canon): It was referenced multiple time in the series “Trials of Apollo” that Ares will often make dirty (inappropriate)-jokes and generally joke around with Apollo about certain things.

Which bring me my headcanon that Apollo and Ares get along because they are the black sheep’s of the family. Apollo will get emotional and start trauma dumping in him, while Ares is sitting there like “that’s rough buddy.”

More headcanons now:

Ares is actually one of the neutral gods in Olympus. (Along with Dionysus, Hades, Athena). Which makes sense why he keeps switching sides mid battle, but even though he does that—other Gods still tolerate him.

He will often be the troublemaker. Often sending horrible pranks to other Gods like creating terrifying & disgusting monsters and send it to Apollo/Hermes/Demeter etc. and blame it on Apollo/Hermes (which usually works because they’re all tricksters).

Demeter doesn’t hate Ares since he would often protect village crops from priests back in 399B.C

I feel like he’s the type of God to have a terrible soft spot for very specific things but would not admit it because he has an image to maintain.

Athena and Ares act like siblings in private meetings and can generally have a nice conversation about battle strategies.

When Athena and Ares were kids they would be on Mount Olympus while silently judging whoever passed them while making nicknames of the people around them. So now, as adults they have a lot of inside jokes but refrain from using them around others.

Hephaestus and Ares are really f’ king awkward around each other for no reason whatsoever. Maybe it’s the fact that they don’t really know how to make friends or not used to making them. But Ares is the God that sends the most requests from him and often praises him (but not to his face). -(which reminds me of when Apollo said he gives encouragement to Hephaestus when he’s working, canon btw).

Ares gets shy very often but has to look strong and unfazed even when his face is red. Most gods just assume that he’s so mad that he turned red.

Other times when he looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel on his neck & forehead simultaneously, he’s actually trying not to burst out laughing.

He finds his own jokes and thoughts entertaining and has a hard time controlling his facial expressions when he thinks of something stupid. Sometimes he says some of them out loud, other times he keeps it to himself bc most of his jokes don’t even make sense unless you hear his full thoughts.

When the Gods of Olympus first met Ares when he was introduced, everyone thought he was a lot more handsome then they assumed. He usually had a helmet on that covered most of his face and during banquets he would just show himself as smoke (not a person), so when they saw him they thought he looked attractive.

Ares finds it embarrassing to see sculptures of himself. In one of them, you can see him trying to cover up his private areas. He thinks that that is no place for people to see. Which is why he never enters museums.

His favourite meals are burgers, fries, fish n’ chips, (Americanised) Chinese food.

Doesn’t like wine that much, but prefers beer.

(Canon) Since Apollo Said that the Gods have game nights in Mount Olympus,

(headcanon) Ares is the instigator during heated discussions about who is cheating or who won. Ares actually controls his temper well & isn’t the one throwing a tantrum, but rather it’s the other Gods who do so. Athena doesn’t care so much as she believes she can spent her intellect in something worth giving it for, but it’s everyone else that is like that. Hephaestus and Hades are never invited, until after the P.J. Series where they finally accepted him to the table. Hephaestus never truly shows up, he’s awkward and is very insecure about how he smells, looks and gets anxious. If he does ever play, he’s completely quiet and tries to take up as less space as possible. They often put Zeus & Hera/Athena/Artemis at each ends of the table. But everybody let’s Zeus win every once in a while bc he’s a sore loser and nobody has the time & energy for another conflict, not even Ares himself.

When Ares first understood the extent of his powers & realised he could control dead people from the underworld, Hades had to tell him to stop because he needed the labour.

Ares deepest, darkest secret is that he watched children’s movies. But in public cinemas or with other gods/people he will watch action movies.

He secretly wishes that he had a loving family. Over 3 millennia’s of being alive - he is bound to think of things like that at least once.

(Canon) Apollo Said that Zeus used to sing songs during banquets before he was born—

Headcanons: if Ares was alive at that time, he would probably laugh in a corner while listening to him and he would get grounded by his father.

[munurufu]

Hewo Intro post ig

NOTICE:

This my new blog since the old one got shadow banned my some transmisogynistic dipshit at tumblr staff.

People who can vouche that this is indeed me and not an impersonator: @hadoom @projectmoonlightproductions @ieatwalls404 @im-a-sentient-magic-carpet

Pansexual; Transfem; Non-binary; Furry

@the-principality-of-sealand made me a vampire

YOU ROBBED ME OF GARLIC BREAD

INTP :3

I may be anarchist

chemistry and astrophysics and theoretical physics are what I geek out about

gender according to @griffinmcelroyspisskink-remade :

cryptid [REDACTED] nerd

Pronouns: any/all but prefer she/her and they/them

my other blog(s):

blahaj.zone = @munurufu

that’s it (for now) I SHALL SPREAD LIKE THE PESTILENCE

currently a triggering with bad mental health and a not good family but trying to remain positive and healing myself almost daily on Tumblr

porn blogs; porn bots; pedophiles; anyone who hits on me ina weird pedophilic way DO NOT INTERACT OE I WILL BONK YOU I TO THE ETERNAL BAN AND REPORT YOU TO THE GODS OF THIS GODLESS UNIVERSE

Trigger warnings:

none, I’m friendly and welcoming to all people and minorities and try to avoid anything which could hurt someone, if a post might be not good for someone (trauma, violence etc. NEVER ANYTHING RACIST OR OF SIMILIARITY) I’ll flag it. currently a high chance that I’ll have a breakdown, life’s not been well but I will tag those posts appropriately.

Nationality: Slovakian 🇸🇰 (I’m a mountain person :3)

Fandoms I’m in:

Urban Legends (Backrooms; SCP-foundation) Norse mythology Cryptids D&D; Furry; Genshin; HSR; Wuthering; Harry Potter (fuck JK Rowling I’m here for the fanfics) Doctor Who; Frieren; Tokyo Ghoul; Hermitcraft; there’s more but I’m stupid and can’t remember them

Anime recommendations:

Frieren, Tokyo Ghoul, Konosuba, Fairy Tail, some other ones idk

Videogams I’ll play with u if u ask nicely and I have time:

Minecraft, Genshin, Honkai Star Rail, Wuthering Waves, Rocket League, Apex Legends

Minecraft rp Server:

TimeSkipSMP (basically people from different time periods get somehow into the same world with no recollection of their previous memories other than their occupation. Send as ask if u want to join (24/7 server uptime) I’ll send an invite to the discord server where you’ll get all the needed info and a guide on how to make your character. Cureent characters:

15th Century French Plague Doctor

Medieval Beekeeper

Medieval Flower salesman and famer

17th Century pirate/swashbuckler

ENJOY YOUR STAY ❤️

Beloved mutuals: (The OGs)

@im-a-sentient-magic-carpet

@hadoom

@just--a--random--human--being

@enochianghost

@virulent-atrophy

@samlikeslawnchairs

@daggerhobbit

@lesbiansgethammers

@burger-churgler-new

@cactus-with-boobs

@catinasink

@tanihanya

@cult-of-the-lamb-fan

@official-bread-posts

@candieduranium

@projectmoonlightproductions

@chocxy-prince

@nedyakthefurry

@orionskittles

@pussypoptart

@oldmen-runningtheworld-anewage

@roxxywolf-multiversa

@pretentious-media

@omgitscheez

@newsbelltoday

@thewindyoubargainedfor

@imisslifebefore2016

@thefloralmenace

@irisbleufic

@iamnotjules

@dashoulinas-fandom-dump

@itsitadclioverihere

@lavender-witch128

@cannibalisticdespairi

@0gl1tch0

@raeprise

@hallucinating-at-the-disco

@rainbownerd12345

@37x3

@averydeadshootingstar

@mynaemsophie

@chocobytes21

@gender-fluidbees

@cthulhuismywife

@worldbuilding-tomfoolery

@thecrazyalchemist

@moonysfavoritetoast

@cutesludge

@you-need-not-apply

@the-trash-eating-llama

@pansexualpasta

@autism-criminal

@poemsofanentomologist

@greychaos1

@mtcenarius

@i-am-thoroughly-confused

@the-cheese-slut

@first-witch

@squidsinatrentchcoat443

@ankoku-teion

@thee0ne-with-rabies

@uwathebestgirl

@0xn0n53n53

@amethyst-aster

@unstableunicornsofasgard

@saint-jaz-the-queer

@beccagalemarley

@yourlocalbadgerscales

@ayolily

@prongspie

@david-goldrock

@yelenapines

@lemonicedcake

@lost-my-soup

@legendaryorca

@ieatwalls404

@str4wberrysp1derz

@cordyline-uki

@colombiana-16

@judecomradesquad

@crabgirldigitization

@118sexen

@100percentevil

@mybedroomceilingsbored

@fujillamaparadise

@g0dwat3r

@half-eaten-baguetteee

@jaydovesworld

@ang3lic-t3ars

@definitionoffuckup

@atropus-belladonna

@nicoswilltolive

@belovedrat

@nickelw

@traaansfem

[theeccentricraven]

The 13th Day of Writemas 🤶🎅🍒❤️🎀🛷

Another day of Writemas thanks to @agirlandherquill 💚🤍🫂 I feel that Friday the 13th in December isn't so scary because the Christmas cheer cancels out bad luck, and because I have bad luck everyday anyway 😄

For the Day 13 Writing Prompt list, I chose the narration prompt: "The damage was done. The ruin irreparable. It would leave scars and plenty of them, but at least, along with the pain, there remained a story to tell." I liked this and thought of how I could use it in the opening of Brigid Aideen. This novel is a YA Scifi fantasy superhero story. I tried to write Draft 1 about ten years ago, but it miserably failed. So now I'm going to try again. I like how these writing prompts have helped me work on Draft 2 AND Draft 3 of my main WIP and helped me get started on three other WIPs. Ah 2025 will be a fun year 😃Content warning: The story deals with a sensitive topic. I'll be careful with what I sample and post.

Also if you'd like to join this tag game, check out the invitation post.

__________________________________________________________

Chapter 1

That’s me, the dark-haired teenage girl you see on the hospital bed in the trauma center. You may see that my eyes tell of the invisible blows hitting my essence. I curl in a fetal position and cry. I tell the hospital staff to leave me alone. I know I need to see a counselor soon. No backstroke or healing touch can stop a girl’s cry. I know that I’m not alone among the other patients - women and girls who emerged from the darkest moments of their lives. I still feel alone. I don’t understand why I had to survive to live with this hell in my head. I look back to the moment mere hours ago that changed my life forever and brought me here. The damage was done. The ruin, irreparable. It would leave scars and plenty of them, but at least, along with the pain, there remained a story to tell. And so I tell that story, all the way to where it began. How did I come here? How did this all happen? Where did I come from? How did everything come down to this? Why? Who am I really? Why don’t I bleed when reason says that I should? Imagine a slim, dark-eyed sixteen-year-old girl, nervously carrying a box of Mom’s favorite Delft Blue up the stone stairs to the new house. That same ginger-haired mother carries my crying two-year old sister right behind me. My dark-haired Dad carries a box of books. My younger brother closest to my age, who looks almost exactly like our dad, carries the Samsung TV. My other frisky junior high brother carries the boxed bookshelf that will house the books in my Dad’s box. My little sister and little brother play on the lawn, him proudly holding the ball that our youngest sister cried over losing. Actually, I have to go back further to what my brother said before hell broke loose. We are in our family van, big enough to hold my parents and us six kids. Dad is driving. Twelve year old Tyler sits in the passenger seat, playing Skyrim on his Switch. Mom is in the middle seat with the two youngest, six year old Roger drawing in a color book while two year old Ashley eats her Cheerios. In the back, nine year old Kathy sits by the window reading Anne of Green Gables. Fourteen year old Patrick sits in the middle, reading a Naruto book. As for me, I’ve held two things for much of our trip. My Samsung Galaxy in one hand. My lacrosse stick in my other hand. When I’m not looking at the things in my hands, I’m looking out the window. Watching the country before me has given me a lot of time to think. Did Paula stop caring for me? Did she have a problem that she never told me? Will Alana continue to message me? Will I share her pictures in my lacrosse gear at my new school? Will Alana dump me like Paula did? What is my purpose in life? I swing around my stick. I’m going to show my new school that I’ll be a rockstar player. ____________________________________________________________

Happy Holidays to the writing mutuals I tag 🎄🦌❄️👼☃️🎶🕯️🔔⛸️🧝🥁🏂⛷️🎁

@sunflowerrosy @furrywrit3r @wyked-ao3 @selenekallanwriter @drchenquill

@revenantlore @whatwewrotepodcast @jay-avian @constellationandcompendium @olivescales3

@ryns-ramblings @primroseprime2019 @illarian-rambling @kaylinalexanderbooks @kitty-is-writing

@kitkins13 @buffythevampirelover @willtheweaver @poethill @acmartin

@apolline-lucy @elizaellwrites @gioiaalbanoart @orphanheirs @pluppsauthor

@cowboybrunch @leahnardo-da-veggie @dandelion-jester @aalinaaaaaa @faeriecinna

@brynwrites @somethingclevermahogony @rickie-the-storyteller @raevenlywrites @winterandwords

@happypup-kitcat24 @the-golden-comet @ddgraywrites @autism-purgatory @mxxnwishes

@tildeathiwillwrite @screamingatanemptyroom @kbwritesstuff @spookyceph @pluto-murphy-writes

@talesofsorrowandofruin @kaylark @sleepywriter00 @americanfemcel @fairy-tales-of-yesterday

@inkednotebook @the-letterbox-archives @laureleavess @simonnebethel @forthesanityofsome

@melpomene-grey @creatrackers @stephtuckerauthor @theink-stainedfolk

@g0ttest0d @infinnative @little-peril-stories @lyneidas @late-to-the-fandom

and Open!