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#this ... utterly helpless worthlessness

wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

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Eugene with Unhinged F!Reader

Are you fucking kidding?

Yeah you might have completely trashed Gun and Goo, but at least they put up a little resistance.

But this twink and his bodyguards? He had the audacity to call them his Gun and Goo?

It's a good job you came along to keep him in check, you were practically doing the other two losers a favour.

Dressed in a precise imitation of the Worker's white suit and blue tie combo, you gave the three a little wave and a malicious grin.

You might have had them fooled if not for your poorly drawn Workers black sticker in place of the VVIP badge. There was even a smiley face added. You thought it was a nice artistic touch.

Yuseong held out an arm to stop you getting closer, Mandeok questioned your identity and motives.

"Is that right?Just Eugene? Did I forget the surname?" You muttered to yourself, checking both sides of your scrap of paper.

"Eugene is it?" You called out to the guy in the glasses, "You too special for a last name?"

Tsk.

There's nothing you hate more than wasting your own time. Chairman of Workers with fodders for bodyguards and little fighting skills himself. So pathetic, they almost sapped the joy out of fighting for you.

Why did you even bother.

Mandeok and Yuseong lie half-dead and battered. Noone in their right mind would have called what just happened a fight: it was a brutal, animalistic beating.

You left Eugene with relatively minor injuries in comparison. Just a pair of broken glasses and some broken ribs. Nothing huge. You weren't done toying with him yet.

Eugene is completely trapped and unable to move. He's not sure it would make a difference anyway with you hovering unbearably close, disappointment painted all over your features.

"Eugene, Eugene, Eugene~" Your face draws ever closer with each repetition. Even hearing his own name makes him flinch. Isn't that precious.

Damn, tears already? This guy is surprisingly easy to crack.

Your tongue darts out and licks the salty droplets. It tastes delicious. Or maybe that was the fear.

Startled by your actions, Eugene's breath catches in his throat. He can't control his trembling.

Funny how worthless and weak he is without any so called protection. How once stripped bare, men like him are utterly powerless.

"How does someone that runs such a big corporation have such submissive, bottom energy?" You taunt, running a nail along other cheek, breaking through skin and letting the blood mingle with his tears.

Eugene shivers. You've never felt such helplessness from someone that should hold such power.

"Hmm? Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Enough... You've won."

"Oh honey, I know. My victory is obvious." You brush back his fringe. All the easier to see the despair in his eyes.

"I can give you anything you want. Just let us go."

"And what if I just want to kill you?"

You run your thumb along his quivering lips.

"Please..."

"Please?" Eugene's blood curdles at your laugh, "Little boy, then get on your fucking knees and beg."

#lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism hc #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #lookism eugene #eugene x reader #lookism unhinged series #lookism oc #wannaeatramyeon

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bitethedustfools · 6 months

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WARNING: Disturbing content here. Please read at your own risk.

Self-harm, Abortion, Murder, Imprisonment and maybe more.

I have read some yandere twst stories where they baby trapped (biologically or adoption) their SO/Yuu. I'm not sure how many of these troupe going around but I'm pretty sure that SO/Yuu always keep the baby and the yandere still wins even though they escaped.

What if we tweak that story a little bit? Make it that so SO/Yuu snapped? Became the very ugly thing that SO/Yuu hate to be. Frustrated at being helpless and chained, always moving to the strings the others controlled. They don't want to take care of a child for the sake of turning him/her to be a better person than their "beloved" because that's what their "beloved" wanted.

To keep them together. Play the role of a parent and a happy family.

They had enough.

Their "beloved" is strong and smart and cunning but the child who mostly have his features is not. Utterly defenseless in the hand of a maniac.

They killed the child.

SO/Yuu killed the child just as easily as snuffing out a candle, pouring their anger and frustration in taking a life, all for the sake of wanting to take the littlest control they have over their miserable life.

If the child is not yet birth, SO/Yuu will not hesitate to do anything to abort it, whether by falling, stabbing their stomach, poisoning. It doesn't matter if they're about to die because of this. It's about inflicting pain back to the one who did it to them in the first place. It's a about freedom. Control.

Their "beloved" will despaired over this fact, aking why SO/Yuu are doing this, screaming and crying when they finally seen the cruelty SO/Yuu are capable of even toward their own kin.

And SO/Yuu just stood there and laughing at the look of their beloved face, absolutely delighted that the person who always take joy in their misery finally cried and weak.

It's always them who cried but not anymore.

Another will be SO/Yuu being indifferent to the child.

They became the opposite of what their "beloved" wanted. They acted like the child doesn't exist, the child's cries fallen to deaf ears. Even the child's basic needs are not taken care of, leaving their "beloved" to clumsily and singlehandedly take care of him/her.

SO/Yuu aspired to become the most worthless mother and person just so their "beloved" hate them and free them. The child will have mommy/daddy issue and touchstarved and so on.

Another one will have the same setting but Yuu is resentful of the child and will told the him/her that they don't love him/her and that they never wanted him/her.

They broke the child's view of the world and told him/her that their "beloved" is not what he seems to be, slowly feeding doubt in his/her mind and questioning why his/her mommy/daddy is chained up and locked in their room.

This may or may not lead to the child leaving their "beloved" side and leave, probably after an argument or realisation, causing the dad to be distress, upset and angry over this turn of event.

#yandere twst #yandere #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst yuu #tw yandere #yandere twisted wonderland

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lucyvaleheart · 1 month

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i need to be chained down

i need to struggle against my bonds, need to cry need to scream, need to feel so utterly helpless and vulnerable

i need it to hurt. I need my ass to be smacked so red that it it brings real tears to my eyes before we're even halfway through. i need the wood of the paddle to SNAP and splinter as it breaks against my body.

i need to be told the most disgusting, cruel, awful things about myself; i need to be degraded and made to feel so small and pathetic and worthless and stupid and i need to be crying on the floor, utterly limp in my bonds from it.

i want to be marked. i want to feel teeth, i want to feel claws, i want my skin to break from the force of them i want to feel the blade against me i want to feel the fear in my whole being as it goes further and further and further

i need to be owned, to be claimed, to be branded with a hot iron, to be caged up and collared. need that collar to shock me, need someone to own me, need someone to hold my remote and press the button until i can't breathe until im choking with sobs and crying on the floor for a second time

when i say i need to be broken

i need to be broken.

#original #.......i'm in a mood #a very very very desperate mood #a very masochist mood #i just. god i want to be utterly eviscerated right now #want to just be taken advantage of so badly #want to hurt.#want to REALLY hurt.#want to really realy really really hurt.#sigh #one day ill find someone willing to do this kinda shit to me #in the meantime ill just keep working on communication and stuff so that when i inevitavbly find them scared to indulge themselves #i can reassure them and make them feel safe and loved before and after #aftercare after this kind of a scene would be life-savingly vital for both sides #so much cuddling and loving and reassurance and care #fucking breaks my heart when i hear a domme doesn't get that especially a sadist #anyway #cmere and ill show you how to break me. if this appeals to you say hi. please. i promise i will be so wonderful for you. i promise #i will help and i will lvoe and care for you even after you break me like this

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jedifarmerr · 10 months

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Wasteland Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)

Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.

Rating: E (warnings: language, food & eating, mentions of death.)

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 10

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.

He assumed she understood, but it seemed she thought the alias was more temporary, rather than possibly permanent.

They knew that if people found out the truth about her it’d tear through the Commonwealth like a grass fire. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. One big mouth and within a month, Jamaica Plains would be roaring with the news.

The chances of Vault-Tec catching wind of it was slim, but not impossible. Even a 1% chance posed too much risk. Sanctuary would seriously be fucked. That wall would be as worthless as wet mud against an all-out synth brigade.

Truthfully, Frankie was more concerned about her safety. He wasn’t an idiot, and definitely not a hypocrite. He could realize she’d be a hard sell to some – people like Tom, who wouldn’t take the word of a Vault-Tec employee’s kid. Everyone knew those people would want concrete proof, some hard evidence that they didn’t quite have just yet. Without it, there would be riots demanding her head on a stake, and there was bound to be one crazy enough to take matters into their own hands.

Frankie wasn’t gonna let that happen. She was their responsibility.

“Do you accept?” Preston finally asked her and the room went still and quiet as a tomb. She gnawed on her bottom lip, toying with the hem of her shirt.

The red rug she stood upon was like her own little island. She looked so lost in the center of the room. So helpless and small and so utterly alone that it made his skin feel tight. He supposed - she was alone in this world. Everyone she loved was either dead and gone or deceived her. Her entire life was one big facade. She must’ve been so fed up with all these secrets and lies and cover ups.

For a moment he worried she might say no, but she inevitably folded. She nodded and he didn’t know if she thought there was much of a choice. This was so much bigger than her - than all of them. He wondered when Tom would finally realize that.

Preston appeared to notice her distress and quickly assured her that he’d take the blame if her cover got blown. As long as her true identity didn’t leave this room, they didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon.

If ever.

Unless they could figure out how to crack into the cryogenic pods, she would always be Blue. If her and her dad were as close as she said, then he’d be desperate to find her. The synths in Lexington had been looking for her, after all. Somebody had noticed she was missing from the vault.

In order to avoid any suspicion, she would need to integrate herself into Sanctuary immediately. There would be no special treatment. Just like everyone else, she would need a job.

Stable hand? Greenhouse worker? Waitress at the town tavern? No - no - no. Each one was axed for one reason or another.

Suddenly, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes fell on Frankie.

“What about your mom?” he asked – challenged. “Last I heard, no one’s taken Susan’s spot since she retired.”

Frankie’s mouth watered, he nearly spat the sour taste in his mouth onto the cheap lino tile. He could not believe Tom was using his mom as bait. Out of anyone, Tomy knew how protective Frankie was of her, how tender a spot that was, and yet…

Whether to prove his point or get his way, Frankie didn’t know Tom’s motive, but either way it was low, even for Tom.

No - especially for Tom. As if bringing up his dad wasn’t enough, Tom had gone for the jugular.

Preston straightened, his chair howling through the hall. He hesitated before saying, “It is just your mom and Yovanna. If they did catch onto anything, I’d trust they’d be discreet.”

“Exactly.” Tom’s chin cut through the air. “Whaddaya say Fish?”

Frankie looked at Blue, and she gave him a weak smile. She expected him to say no, he realized. She’d even seemed to accept it, and he instantly felt bad. Even though he had his reasons, he’d been the least welcoming, by far.

Everyone on the Council was staring at him – Tom’s gaze was searing. Usually, Frankie would back down to him. He could tell Tom thought he would concede here, as well. And three weeks ago, Frankie would’ve without question. He would’ve said not a fucking chance – that was too far, too much, too personal.

But, everything was different now. Tom had asked if he trusted her, and he did. He meant it when he nodded.

Frankie folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Okay.”

Tom’s lips thinned with silence. He didn’t say a word, nor did he have to. Frankie could tell he was pissed – the vein on his forehead was thick and throbbing. Still, Frankie didn’t budge. Not this time.

“Is that a yes?” Preston asked – speak now or forever hold your peace.

“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed and Tom didn’t look at him again for the rest of the day.

—

That night, at the welcome home party, Preston announced there’d be a new face in town. The Council had thought it would be best to roll out the story before anyone laid eyes on her. This way, they could get ahead of it. Control the narrative, so to speak.

They had crafted up a perfect poke-proof cover story; something no one could cross-examine.

It’d been decided she would come from a survivalist bunker, way north of Diamond City. Over the years, an especially hard last few months of attacks – bloatflies, ghouls, and ants, had dwindled their numbers. By the time their unit found them, the survivors were few and mostly wounded. The entire compound was in absolute shambles. Despite their open offer, she was the only one who took them up on it. She had no reason to say, having buried the last of her family just before they arrived.

All night, Frankie had to navigate an overly curious crowd. Lost in the crush of questions, he barely had a moment to catch his breath or even catch up with the people he actually wanted to. He’d hoped for more than a few seconds alone with his mom to tell her about the arrangement, but instead, he’d have to tell her over breakfast.

Probably better that way. No distractions.

The next morning, Frankie arrived at his mom’s shop. Bay’s Soaps. The powder blue sign hung above a hinged glass door. He went around back, up the stairs and knocked twice before letting himself in.

Cast iron pans sizzled on the stove top. The smell of eggs, beans, and frying sausages brought back memories of his childhood. Every morning, his mom used to get up extra early just to cook him a hearty breakfast before school.

“Pollito!” His mom kissed him firmly on both cheeks. The food on her apron smeared across his worn t-shirt as she hugged him, a tad tighter than usual.

Most of the time, his missions only kept him away for a month – maybe two. Their unit in particular had a reputation for being timely, effective and efficient. It was rare for them to be more than a few days late, unless something went terribly wrong. Like that one mission over a decade ago.

Frankie shuddered, recalling the bad operation. Them, along with two other units had been sent to scope out a lead past Weymouth, but only made it as far as Quincy. Shit went south so quickly. A pack of ghouls had busted free of an apartment building. The scar that ran down Pope’s spine came from that day – a ghoul’s long fingernail, sharper than a knife, sliced him right down the middle.

He could still remember those screams – the harsh crack and wet slashing of flesh. Brutal. Bloody. A gruesome scene – three young soldiers mangled beyond recognition. Their squadron captain had insisted on bringing them home for a proper burial. They had wrapped their carcasses in dusty, dirty sheets and tied it shut with copper wire. The whole trek back, his ears had buzzed with swarming bugs.

The oven dinged and his mom pulled away with an affectionate pat on his cheek. As she finished up, he brewed them a fresh pot of coffee, poured out two cups, then took a seat.

Of course, his mom made way too much food for two people to eat. The bistro table was spread thin with heaping platters that meant days of leftovers.

“Saw Susan last night. Sounds like she’s enjoying retirement. Have you found anyone to replace her, yet?” Frankie eased into the conversation.

“No luck.” She sighed – Susan had retired even before he’d left. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested, though would you?”

Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “But the new girl - Blue - she’s looking for a job.”

His mom hooked up an intrigued brow as she continued to stir a little milk into her coffee.

“I don’t think she’ll give you any problems. She’s smart, catches on quick.”

“What else’s she like?” She probed, trying to appear casual as she took the mug in both her hands and brought it to her lips. Coy, though, had never been her strong suit. Her eyes gave her away.

Frankie speared a sausage onto his fork, and ate it whole. He needed a moment to figure out how to answer that. Blue was supposed to be a girl from bumfuck, so he couldn’t say she was a spoiled brat, even though she was sometimes. He couldn’t say that she was charming or even sweet when she wanted to be without his mom getting the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was her meddling.

Still, he had to give his mom something. At least a crumb, or else she would keep hassling him until he spilled.

Frankie swallowed – shrugged.

“She’s…funny, I guess. She’s got a lot of opinions. If you let her, she’ll probably talk your ear off. She can sometimes be a little stubborn, but that might just be with me-”

“Do you two get along?” She interrupted – confused, her brows slightly knitted.

“For the most part.”

“Meaning?”

It’s complicated. “Sometimes, we get on each other’s nerves.”

She pursed her lips – eyes squinted with suspicion.

“What?”

“I swear, I better not hear that you were mean to that poor girl.” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards his chest. “Think you were raised better than that-”

Frankie scoffed, “Trust me - she’s not innocent.”

She made a face – not totally convinced. Ultimately, she waved it off. “I guess, I’ll see for myself, now. Won’t I?”

“Guess so.” He grinned then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Even though he didn’t have much choice, he still hated lying to his mom.

He wondered how she would react if she knew who Blue really was.

—--

For a few days, you were to remain a ghost. Just long enough to give the Council time to get their ducks in a row and the story to sink in and travel.

The Welcome Home party had served as a perfect diversion, so no one had spotted you. Kasumi had been nice enough to offer up the apartment above her garage. While it wasn’t much bigger than your freshman year dorm room, at least, it didn’t smell like that weird bean soup your roommate always used to heat up in the microwave.

This place had only been vacant since this summer when Kasumi’s daughter moved out after getting married. The space wasn’t really meant for two. You supposed the tight squeeze wouldn’t be terrible for people in love, but you were holed up in here with Frankie.

Three days. He must’ve been assigned as your guard or maybe he thought you’d take off and run again if he left you alone because he barely let you out of his sight.

It was impossible to ignore him, either. You couldn’t just pretend or forget he was here when his body swallowed the doorways. He was too damn broad for this place.

The two of you fought like territorial kangaroos over the boxy kitchen. Shoulder jabs, bumping elbows, you’d snap at him whenever he got too close after the first night when he nudged you in the arm while you were stirring spaghetti sauce. It was a huge mess. Globs of red splattered over the secondhand apron, under the storm-gray cabinets and even a little on the pastel yellow walls. He claimed it was an accident, but his schoolboy snicker made you think otherwise.

In order to keep you entertained, he brought over a deck of cards, but would only play speed, which he annoyingly called Spit!

And even worse, he won 90% of the time.

After a few losing rounds, you’d pout and demand a different game. He’d taunt you, call you a sore loser until you gave him a rematch. You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face when he’d win again.

But for all that you cursed and griped and grouched about him, you hated even more when he left. All alone, there was no TV - no radio to fill the silence. You’d betrayed your family, and could not stop reeling with it.

What did you do? What have you done?

Second-thoughts slithered in, and you found it impossible to stop your head from spinning. You didn’t know who to trust anymore. You’d blindly believed your dad, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again.

What if these guys were wrong? What if they were the ones lying?

If you let it, these doubts would consume you. Instead of being swallowed whole by anxiety, you were intent on busying yourself.

Sadly, the bookshelves were depleted and anything left had seemingly been forgotten for good reason. However, you noticed a thick layer of dust on the encyclopedia. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, there was a basket full of rags and sponges and cleaning supplies.

You’d scrubbed every square inch and surface in this apartment until your fingertips were pruny and raw as leather. The 24-piece china set was freshly polished, the hand-painted goldfinches and delicate butterflies now shining in the spotless glass hutch. Afterwards, you’d taken to rearranging the furniture and jilted knick-knacks and leftover decor.

Frankie, much too perceptive, seemed to notice.

On your last night of temporary house arrest, he’d left to pick up dinner. 45 minutes, and multiple trinkets had shifted around the room like haunted figurines. You’d caught him eyeing the porcelain pigs on top of the mantle, the hourglass in their previous spot on the second row of a built-in shelf.

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but instead - he unpacked the food and laid it out on the coffee table. After dinner, he had grabbed the deck cards from the side table without mentioning the change of vase.

That night, he hung around longer than usual.

One more game. Go Fish this time. Ever play Slap Jack? Is the sink still acting funny? I’ll fix it.

He did leave, eventually. Just not until your eyelids were stuck at half-mast, your words sluggish and slurry from needing sleep.

The next morning, he was at your door bright and early, ready to take you to the first day of work.

—

You hadn’t really been able to see much of the town. Kasumi had smuggled you from the Council building at night, so you made a few things out in the dark. The windows in your apartment didn’t offer much of a view.

After Diamond City, you expected a town of steel houses. Surprisingly, Marblehead looked nearly identical to before.

As you walked in the middle of the street, you could finally scope out the cottages and colonials that still lined the narrow, windy roads. On a sunny day like this, you would’ve anticipated a traffic jam, a bad headache, but there was no honking. No SUV’s hogging up space. Not even a single car in sight.

It was peaceful. It was nice. Strange, but nice.

During the walk, Frankie explained how people got around the old-fashion way: foot, bikes, and horseback. There was even a carriage taxi service that seemed very on brand with the 18th century architecture.

Frankie led you onto the main street and you looked around at the familiar storefronts. Suddenly, you noticed everyone was staring at you. The street buzzed with whispers and glances.

There had been some lingering looks and stares in Diamond City but it was much more crowded, denser. You could slip into the masses and disappear, but not here. Your arrival had been announced, everyone was expecting you.

You averted your eyes to the cracked sidewalk, feeling very self-conscious. The insecurity reminded you of second grade when you were the new kid in school and had to stand in front of the class to introduce yourself. All the kids had stared at you. Nora had threatened to spit on them if she caught them looking too long again. For that comment, she had to walk laps at recess for the rest of the week.

These people, though, scared you more than a classroom full of eight-year-olds.

Frankie must’ve noticed them staring too since he inched closer, the hair on his arm tickled your skin and you could smell his soap in the air.

“They’re just curious,” Frankie whispered. “It’s not everyday someone new shows up.”

Still, Frankie straightened. He had on just a plain black t-shirt and jeans and still looked uncommonly intimidating. Even without a gun strapped to his back, it seemed like nobody wanted to fuck with him. He glared at one shopkeeper and it put the fear of God into them, they immediately turned away and went double-time on raising their sun-salt dull awning.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth at his protectiveness. But you supposed it was his job, after all, to keep you safe.

“Have you fought a lot of people or something?” You lightly nudged his shoulder with yours. A tiny smile toyed with his lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Frankie guided you into a cape cod building that was wedged between a tailor and a sub shop. It used to be a funky cafe with fancy latte art and slam poetry on Wednesday that Nora dragged you to one night.

Luckily, the soap shop didn’t smell so potent that your eyes watered like at Bath & Body Works. There was a fresh scent of lemongrass and citrus and something else flowery.

“Pollito?” A woman’s voice - his mom, you guessed - shouted from the back.

“Little chicken, huh?” You looked him over. “I see it.”

“Funny,” he grumbled when the back door swung open. It was definitely his mom.

She came and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks, and he slung his arm around her shoulders. It was sweet, but also shocking to see him be so affectionate. At times, he’d rest his arm on Benny or Santi’s shoulder, he’d hugged Piper goodbye, but other than that, it wasn’t a side you often saw from him.

His mom fished out a pair of glasses from her apron and slipped them on. She rapidly blinked as if surprised. She looked you up and down as Frankie introduced you.

“Josefa.” She shook your hand. “But everyone calls me Pepa.” Her eyes were warm and doe-like, that same shade of earthy, dark brown as Frankie’s.

She had a perfectly round face - plump cheeks and a button nose. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, though much softer than Frankie. He must have inherited his striking, sharp angles from his father. His aquiline nose. That divot in his bottom lip. A square jaw that you swore was carved from stone. Even though he could be such a grouch, he really was quite attractive.

You wondered if you would ever meet his dad. Was he still around? Or was he long gone? You had enough common sense not to ask.

You made a turn about the shop, in particular admiring the back wall that resembled a beehive of sorts with hexagonal boxes in honey-golden wood that each stored a wicker basket brimming with a colorful assortment of soaps.

Pepa must’ve noticed you staring because she proudly boasted, “Frankie built that. And all by himself, too.”

He’d never mentioned being into carpentry, but it was clearly more than just some throwaway hobby. This was high quality.

“I gotta admit, I’m impressed.”

Frankie’s lips parted as if he couldn’t believe those words just came from you. “Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Pepa gave you a quick tour of the store. In the back, there was a kitchen with ample counter space to make soap, along with a pantry, now used for curing. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, so Yovanna had not come in yet. She was the one who did the cold-process, whereas Pepa was exclusively liquid.

For the last few months, the two of them had been splitting your job, which would be manning the counter and packaging. It seemed easy enough, given that you had worked retail, just two summers ago.

Frankie offered to stick around and help stock the shelves, just until Yovanna arrived. Pepa happily agreed, on the condition that he didn’t get in the way of your training.

She started with the register which, at first, you pretended to act clueless on how it worked. You’d pause for a few seconds as if trying to recall her instructions. Every once in a while, you’d hit the wrong button. Pepa was relieved to hear that your compound was big on education, so you knew basic math. Frankie couldn’t help but grin behind her back at your bold-face lie.

She was demonstrating how to package the soaps when Yovanna showed up. The woman was fucking gorgeous - perfectly arched eyebrows and skin as golden as Frankie’s. Her long, dark hair was pulled into low, messily braided pigtails that pretty much no one else except for her could pull off.

For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away as Frankie wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame. You could see his lips moving, but his voice was far too hushed for you to hear. His chin rested on her shoulder and he glanced up.

Shit.

Abruptly, you turned away and returned to studying Pepa’s hands.

When Yovanna finally came over, she politely introduced herself before heading into the kitchen. She was somehow even more beautiful up close.

Frankie finished up with the last few baskets before asking if you were going to be okay. Despite your thumbs up, he appeared hesitant to leave. Pepa offered him a reassuring smile, and he tugged his cap over his eyes, gave a single wave goodbye before heading out the door.

—

All morning, there were faces pressed up against the glass like you were a Saks Fifth Avenue mannequin during the holiday season.

The customers could rarely hide their surprise when you spoke in complete sentences. It was hard not to notice their furtive looks and pitiful glances, even on occasion you caught Pepa and Yovanna staring.

It seemed like despite Preston’s best attempts to make your compound sound grand - a whole neighborhood of doomsday preppers instead of a few families - everyone expected a girl with seven fingers and missing toes and teeth. Perhaps, they imagined Mystique. Or someone with a single eye like a cyclops.

Whatever they imagined, it was certainly not you.

Around lunch, you spotted Frankie outside on the sidewalk. He was storming towards the pack of teenagers peeping in through the window like an angry bull. The kids dispersed like terrified ants.

Quickly, you went back to wrapping the bar of soap in cream parchment before he could notice that you saw. He’d undoubtedly ask about them if he noticed you looking. You really didn’t want to talk about being the town freak show.

The out-of-tune bell above the door rang as you tied a perfect, hemp string bow around the soap.

He glanced around the shop - it was only you on the floor. After the morning rush died down, Pepa and Yovanna retreated into the kitchen. Soon, one of the two would wander out to check-in, as long as they heard the bell.

“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” you said with a playful grin.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” His steps echoed over the hollow laminate floors as he moved towards you. “Just wanted to see how things were going.”

“What? Did you not have anything better to do?”

“Than this?” Frankie shook his head.

He clipped his aviators onto his shirt collar as he approached the checkout counter. His palm slid easily over the smooth butcher block - the same honey-gold as the boxes on the wall behind you. You wondered if he also made this with his own two hands, sanded it down and stained it.

Frankie’s eyes dipped over your outfit. “Nice apron.”

You huffed at his sarcasm. “I look like a Starbucks worker.”

“What the fuck is a Starbucks?”

“Coffee shop.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be one where Willy’s Good Juice is now, whatever the hell that is.”

Frankie grimaced. He wrinkled his nose like he was about to be sick. “Some advice: don’t ever drink that shit. You’ll regret it.”

“Noted.” You had the same visceral reaction when anyone mentioned Mango Burnetts.

Yovanna stepped inside the room. When her gaze landed on Frankie, she gave him a mischievous smirk. She leaned back, her body propping open the door.

“You’re right,” she yelled over her shoulder into the kitchen. “It is him.”

Frankie let out a huff of annoyance, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was his tattletaling little sister. The pointed look reminded you of Alice, though she never smiled at you afterwards. Instead, she’d call you a rat and a blabber mouth or simply a bitch, even though she was the one tormenting a kid.

She seemed to enjoy ripping up your coloring books and decapitating your stuffed animals and dolls until dad forced her to buy a new one with her own allowance.

As Pepa slid into the room, she squeezed past Yovanna, then put her hands on her hips. She looked serious, squinting at Frankie before turning to you.

“Is he bothering you?” Her tone was light - her lips twitched and there was no real malice in her eyes. She was messing with him.

“When is he not?” You asked and Frankie scoffed. He was not as much as the rest of you.

“How’re my employees suppose to do their job?” Pepa tsked her tongue at Frankie. “I swear between you and Santi.”

Santi?

You glanced at Yovanna, who was twirling her braid around her finger and giggling like a girl with a crush. Was something going on between her and Santi?

Mary had said the guys didn’t technically date, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, Will clearly had feelings for Curie, judging by the smile on his face when he saw her in the Council hallway. He’d cradled the back of her head, holding her tightly in his arms as if he could not bear to let her go. Label or not, there was something going on there.

You didn’t know about Benny, but during his visits this week, he did talk an awful lot about some guy named Keith.

You wondered - did Frankie also have someone here?

—-

Since he was already there, his mom suggested that he take Blue out for lunch – at Polly’s.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her and she shrugged.

“I could eat.” She hung up her apron, then he guided her next door into the sandwich shop.

Past the lunch rush, the narrow dining room was practically empty. Just a few people eating at the counter, who all turned and stared at her without any shame. God – what was wrong with these people? As she looked over the menu, he gave them a hard glare. Immediately, their gazes dispersed around the restaurant – to the retro wood paneled walls, mustard lino floors, and the half-eaten plates on the beige formica bar top.

After ordering at the register in the front, they found a table tucked away in a corner. His jeans scratched against the cracked leather cushion as he slid into the booth. Silently, she examined the ceramic-cow salt & pepper shakers, the out of commission tabletop jukebox and its list of songs. He would’ve asked if she knew any of them if they were alone.

The cushion squeaked as she leaned back. “So, what have you been up to today? Other than missing me, of course.”

He rolled his eyes at the last part, before answering. “Nothing really. Ran some errands – helped Pope fix up his fence. How’s work been?”

“Good. Your mom’s been great, so has Yovanna.” She glanced down at her water cup and twisted it around in circles. “Are she and Pope like a thing?”

“A thing?” What the fuck did that mean?

She snorted at his confusion. “Are they like - together?”

Frankie tilted his head from side to side as he figured out how to answer. Technically – no, they weren’t together in the traditional sense of boyfriend-girlfriend. In their line of work, it was hard to maintain a normal, healthy relationship.

His first and only girlfriend was his highschool sweetheart. Lacey. Charming Lacey with long, golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Striking summer grass eyes that had never seen the cruelty of the wasteland. She was born in the safety of the walls of Sanctuary unlike him.

After his first mission, she told him it was over. She wanted a family – a husband who would be around to help raise the kids, not someone who was constantly in-and-out, who she didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. It was almost word for word what Molly had said to Tom after she found out she was pregnant with Tess. Tom wasn’t ready to retire, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Sorta,” Frankie finally answered. “It’s complicated.”

“Same with Will and Curie?”

Frankie nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. He waited for her to push for more information, but she didn’t.

Instead, she sat silently with her hands clasped neatly on the table. Her brows slightly furrowed, appearing to be deeply in her own head. He didn’t think she had a crush on Santi or Will. At least, she never acted like it. If he had to guess anyone, it’d be Benny only because of how well they got along.

Still, something was bothering her. He’d become exceptionally well-versed in her facial expressions, her subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in mood, and with her – silence never meant anything good.

“What is it?” He nudged and she didn’t answer. She could be so goddamn obstinate. “What’re you thinking about?”

She must’ve realized he would not let this go as she let out a sigh. She glanced at him and then at the painted seahorse above his head.

“I guess I’ve started to realize how little I know about you,” she whispered. “All of you.”

“We could say the same about you.” He winced when the words left his mouth. It sounded more demining than he intended.

“It’s different and you know it. You guys have lives, all I have is…memories.” She stared down at her lap as if defeated. “None of it really matters anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“Fine.” She harshly scoffed. “It’s irrelevant. Better?”

He shook his head in disagreement, but that was all the denial he could muster. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it didn’t matter, but it did no longer exist. The life she knew had been extinct, after all, for two centuries.

“Order 43!”

Frankie signaled for her to stay, then went and grabbed the two baskets from the bar. He plopped back down, sliced his sandwich down the middle, then did the same to hers without thinking. Wordlessly, he pushed the basket across the table to her.

“Thank you,” she said, then awkwardly lifted her sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite.

Frankie sucked a little mayo off his thumb. “So, what is it that you wanna know? About me - us?”

For a moment, she appeared stunned. Her cheeks were full – there was a drop of sauce on her lips. She licked it off, and his eyes followed the pink of her tongue.

She swallowed.

“Anything.” She shrugged. “Like, what’s your favorite color?”

“Seriously?” He snorted – out of everything.

She picked up a fry and pointed it at the center of his chest. “Judge all you want, but it can tell you a lot about a person.”

“You would think that,” he said before answering. “Green.”

“What kind of green?” There was a crisp crunch as she chomped on the fry.

This was ridiculous, but if it would make her feel better. “Dark green, forest green. What about you?”

“This might be a little cliche, but pink. Not hot pink, though. Soft pink, like cherry blossoms or peonies.”

For the rest of lunch, she continued to ask trivial questions.

Dogs or Cats: dogs.

Favorite Holiday: Christmas.

Birthday: August 23rd.

“Virgo,” she said, like suddenly everything about him made perfect sense.

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then slurped the last of her water.

“Last one - if the world never ended, what would you’ve wanted to be?”

Easy. “A pilot.” He’d been obsessed with the sky ever since he was little.

He could remember spending hours on the cold floor in his bedroom, flipping through faded illustrations in children’s books. He wished and hoped and prayed that one day – he could see it for himself.

Suddenly, he thought about having to tell her about that part of his life. How would she react? He couldn’t stomach another bite and lightly shoved away his basket.

Frankie knew he would have to tell her, but not right now. Not at Polly’s. Not anywhere in public.

But soon.

If he had learned anytime from last time, it was better to tell her before someone else let it slip.

#pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x f!reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales

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chuplayswithfire · 1 year

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Stede is such a great character for unpacking. The ways that learned helplessness and self-hate can damage your relationships with other people and hurt them, all without you ever thinking that you're even capable of hurting other people. Like, he hates himself and he hates his life, and he thinks he's worthless because he's spent his entire life being made to feel that way by the people around him whether it be on purpose (his father, the kids at school, the Badmintons) or accidental (Mary, the kids), and it's so utterly unfair that the only way for him to get out of it is to help himself but it's true.

Like, Stede and Mary's relationship was doomed by the fact that they don't like each other, their marriage, or their life together, but Stede and his kids could have had a deep, meaningful, fulfilling relationship, and it doesn't seem like that ever manifested, and it's probably in part because Stede held himself back. Shared with his kids what he enjoyed and held back the rest.

I keep thinking about how it undoubtedly hurt him to leave them, but not enough to leave a note. Just. Ouch. A part of him really didn't think what he was doing would matter. Really didn't see that he could hurt anyone. It wasn't until he saw himself literally painted out that he really grasped it.

#ofmd #stede bonnet #our flag means death #stede stays hurting me

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sculptorofcrimson · 5 days

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The Flayer Hates(The Flayer Loves)

Warning: light gore

It doesn’t hurt, when you sink in the knives. It never does. This hate. This desire for an end. This vicious, burning thing that wants to eat all, trample all, tear all that shines down until they are as low as you are, as wretched of a creature as you have been. The sheer hatred that is not cannot - be articulated, the ache in your bones that can only be stalled, never cured. The rage, the hate, the screams that died in cords unsung, the blind madness that will kill you before you could screech your hatred out to the stars.

The hunger that never ends.

Skin. Teeth. Bones. Liver. Skull. You want to strip them away, flay them alive, feast upon them until they’re unidentifiable dust, you want to find those that betrayed you so utterly and shattered you Llandu'gor into oblivion, you want to find those who built citadels out of your skull and idols out of your bones and you want to beat them into dust. You want to smear their flesh across your unmoving jaws and separate their bones from their meat, you want to hear them scream as you have screamed, fading now, hear them decay limb by limb as you have rotted, drowning in the all-consuming night as you have drowned.

You want to find their graves, you want to put them there, you want to grind their bones one by one into ash and sink sickle-claws down into their flesh until they bleed through metallic bones, until they scream with unmoving mouths, until they repent the sins of steel. You want to hear the crunch of bones squealing apart, the screech of metal torn to ash, the slow seeping of green ichor leaking from your clawed fingernails as you grind talons over a skull that was a face. To hear their joints creak, their limbs snap, rotate, twist and turn and pop, to tear apart metallic augments until they are mortal now, nothing but a weak, fleshy shell not even worthy of being called human, writhing on the ground, begging for forgiveness through a toothless mouth. Rip wires from pumping innards, tear tubing from limbs and spines, rip tails, talons, claws, wings, take tendrils and hear them crack, snapping inch by inch into twisted, worthless fragments.

You want to flay them alive. You want to give them flesh and take it away, you want to give them skin and eat it away, you want to rust their bones and breathe cancer over their steel, you want to make them hate as you have been hated. You want to turn them into you, a wretched, lonely thing screaming away in the dark. You want to find these helpless, mocking creatures, so weak, so loathsome in their aloneness, and you want to turn them into you. You want to flay them alive, make them bleed as you have bleed. You will turn them into your children, your flaws, your sins come to life.

Find them, crush them, make them repent. Crush their steel into rust, cover their green ichor with black bile. Teach them the falsehoods of their love, how even their beloved obsessions hate them back, how they will never be loved again. Teach them the carnality of the endless hunger, the flesh and blood upon steel lips, of hate unending instead of joy, of hunger enduring instead of adoration.

They will never be loved. You will find these lonely, forgotten, cast away creatures of steel, not flesh.

And you will love them.

You are Llandu'gor, the Flayer.

And you will make them love.

#necrons #Flayed Ones #wh40k #warhammer 40k #light gore #sculptor of crimson #warhammer writing prompts #writing prompts #drabbles #c’tan #necrontyr #warhammer #wh40k writing prompts

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vaxxy-the-raven · 1 month

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14 year old me deserved better

we shouldn't have been bullied, our parents shouldn't have emotionally neglected us, we shouldn't have been allowed free reign on the internet

i have irreversible trauma all because my parents didn't understand the difference between giving shelter & food to someone and real parenting

i felt abandoned and unloved and pushed away and hated

i felt utterly worthless to, and unwanted by, the very people who had fought to have me

my parents went through IVF to have me, you know, and yet my whole life I've never really felt loved or wanted by them

i ended up so alone and scared i fell into an older person's trap and was hurt in ways that i didn't understand back then

i felt so broken and discarded, like i truly had nothing left to give to anyone else

it really fucked me up

i understand how this all happened and it sickens me

i hate that some parents hate their children and hurt them internationally, i hate that some parents don't know love and therefore can't give it to their own children in the future

i hate that people refuse to accept that girls can be evil and predatory, i hate that we treat victims as criminals even if they "followed every rule"

its no wonder i gave up on my education in the end

its no wonder i stopped living

im stuck and I feel helpless

i was talking to people, I was getting help, I was making progress (and technically i still am but not in ways that truly help in the long run) but it got too overwhelming and i just fucking shut down again

i feel trapped in a body that doesn't belong to me

it never did and never will

i feel trapped in a cycle of anger and sadness and sickness and exhaustion

5 10 15 20 25 30

i feel so fucking stuck

so fucking done

i woke up at 6am today and i couldn't fall back asleep

i trued writing it off, literally by writing fanfiction, and I've refreshed tumblr and twitter so many times since I woke up that in kind of sick of them

its now 8am and I feel dead

but not energy wise

just emotionally unwound

I'll probably feel better after i have some water and talk to my boyfriend, knowing me

but i wanted to talk about how just fucked everything feels

i feel like a vase someone smashed into smithereens and that was put back together with paper mache and string

her name kills me almost every time I see or hear it now

i think i might hate myself less than her these days, honestly

she stole my innocence and my trust and my childish love

she robbed me of a colour, of a book series, of a movie, of a flower and of so much more

she probably doesn't even remember me anymore, if she's still alive after everything

i don't know what I'd prefer

5 10 15 20 25 30

would i rather she got help and found love and happiness?

would i rather the opposite?

i feel too tired to care

she's not the last, nor am i certain she was truly the first

but she ruined me in ways nobody else could dream to

she left a sickness in my veins that i cant get rid of

its almost become lovely

i would miss it if it were gone

the hate is ugly and hisses, but i take comfort in its heat

maybe i am broken, maybe she broke me, maybe

i woke up today with terrible thoughts of things i dont want to do to myself or to others

thats fucked up

i can't remember if i was always like this or if she did this

maybe its both

5 10 15 20 25 30

all i know is that im tired

i want to stop hurting

i want to stop being scared

i want to stop being angry

i want to stop being sad

i want to stop being so tired

i just want to live and love

i love people, i do

i hate feeling such strong hatred that im not so sure is even really my own

i just want to be happy

i feel sick

#im safe #i just need to vent #already calling my boyfriend #please don't worry #just brain busy must yell #cw whatever the fuck this is #how do i tag this shit #triggering content #is this the ocd or the trauma? is it both? (:#vent #aaaaaaaaaa #cw child neglect #cw intrusive thoughts #cw grooming #i guess??? feels wrong to me but i think??#im so fucking tired #will probably delete later

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dixbolik-lovers · 2 years

Text

Homunculus Au

For whatever reason, I wound up learning about the game, My Lovely Daughter. And uh, it appears to have sparked a fresh brand of sadism in me! Thus, we might have a new Au. OwO Not sure if it'll stick or not, but at least for a little bit, here comes the Homunculus Au!

Premise: Similar to the game I'm referencing, this Au features the thirteen boys as homunculi made by Karlheinz in an attempt to gain power of some kind via destroying their bodies and utilizing their spirits in the process. That's the best guess anyone has, anyway. Whatever the case, Karlheinz's plans were interrupted early, and when the full extent of his inhumane experiments were discovered and stopped, all of the homunculi now have to be... rehomed.

Reader has the role of a human associated with alchemical practices. Not wanting news of the boys' existence to spread, you're tasked with caring for the homunculi until something can be done with them for a more long-term solution. Does that mean disposing of the boys yet again when you get the chance? Or does it mean getting attached to the monsters despite your better judgment?

Either way, your new charges are... not doing so great. Their creator wasn't exactly kind, and now you're faced with the aftermath. They consider you their master, with all of the desperate loyalty that entails. Creepy? Definitely. But there's not much you can do about it.

Descriptions of the boys (in terms of physical traits) are below! For personality information, just ask~ OwO

Shuu

He appears to be mostly human on the outside, but as time passes, strange things begin to grow from his skin.

While it's most likely organic, this tissue ranges from as hard as bone to as supple as wooden branches.

If too much grows, it hinders his movement.

His Father found that burning the excess tissue away would stop its growth for a while, and the repetition of that process has left Shuu's body covered in burn scars.

The process is painful, but even though he's terrified of the flames, is the alternative any better?

Reiji

A good portion of him is made up of mechanical parts, which operate right alongside the normal flesh.

The mechanical pieces have an unfortunate tendency to break down when he's under physical or mental stress. When this happens, they require repair.

He wants to be useful, but struggling to stay in your good graces means more strain than he can handle.

His Father made sure he knew to always earn his place.

While he doesn't feel much pain in the metal parts, he hates for anyone to see how fragile those structures are.

Ayato

While he appears almost indistinguishable from a normal human, his body has a few unique sensitivities.

The feelings of his master have a direct impact on him— praise and approval make him stronger and keep him healthy, and displeasure leaves him utterly helpless.

Ignore him for too long, and he'll keep losing energy and function, to the point where he'll be unable to even move.

The feeling hovers somewhere between agonizing pain and utter exhaustion. He'll do anything to avoid it.

So pay attention to him always, please?

Kanato

His body is put together much like a cloth doll.

Stitches hold certain parts together. While he can "heal", he's fragile enough that rips and tears constantly need to be mended.

He'll start to fall apart if neglected for too long. Aware of how delicate his body is and how worthless he'll be if he's too far gone, he's desperate for attention and favor.

Internally, he's similar to an anatomy model; all of the organs and "parts" are there, but they're in neat pieces with no blood.

If you don't favor him enough to keep maintaining his body, he'll die. You can see why he needs you, right?

Laito

At times, parts of him will shapeshift. The intent seems to be sexual, but the results are horrifying enough that you don't want to think about who would find them appealing.

An inhuman chemical in his body functions as an ultra-powerful, self-dosing aphrodisiac that kicks in without his control.

Situations of intense pleasure or pain are guaranteed to release it.

If he goes too long without being "used" how his body wants it, he'll enter a heat-like cycle that drives him mad with lust.

This cycle will last either until it's forced out of him or until his body temporarily shuts down under the strain.

Subaru

He seems to be partially composed of plant-like material, specifically, that of a white rose.

Despite his strength, he's shockingly delicate. His skin is as soft as petals and bruises easily, and harsh conditions take a heavier toll on him than he wants you to know.

He won't admit it, but he's sensitive to soft touches.

Thorns grow out from under his skin in places. They're a natural defense, but have to be pruned before they consume him.

This can be done with relatively little pain if one is careful... but Subaru usually winds up handling it, roughly, on his own.

Ruki

His skin acts like a living page. It can betray his most secret thoughts by spreading them in written "ink".

Additionally, when he's given a command, it appears in the same way. Once it's written, he's incapable of disobeying. It'll only fade if the order is rescinded or complete.

The ink gives an awful, crawling sensation under his skin when it appears, and tingles even once settled.

It gives matchingly agonizing pain when he disobeys a command.

Two massive scars on his back come from a punishment— he tried to protect his brothers from his Father, and suffered for it.

Kou

His flesh and blood crystalize into beautiful precious gems when separated from his body.

He's been cut up countless times to "harvest" these gems, leaving his body covered in scars. These scars are partially crystalized, and shimmer enchantingly under light.

However, they're also highly sensitive to touch...

In a fit of panic long ago, he clawed out his eye and left such a vicious wound, it healed as a solid, diamond-like stone.

That stone can sense lies from humans, sometimes. He often has a hard time telling just what the truth is, though.

Yuuma

While it's not visible, his physical structure seems to be similar to a plant... sort of.

Eating meat makes him outright ill, and consuming anything other than produce doesn't nourish him properly.

Similarly, he becomes dehydrated dangerously easily.

He needs high levels of sunlight to function properly. His Father kept him locked in the dark to reduce his strength and energy levels, and it's easy to weaken him this way.

His body is sensitive to chemicals and toxins of any kind— at best, contact is painful. At worst, it can have terrible reactions.

Azusa

Supposedly, he started out as something of a menace to his Father. This prompted the "necessary" removal of parts of his brain tissue and subsequent mellow behavior.

His blood has healing properties, which his Father frequently tested. Being cut open to varying degrees was much too common.

Because his body heals at a rapid rate, he was frequently beaten and used as a sort of "punching bag"...

...although he struggles to remember exactly who did it.

Pain and usefulness go hand-in-hand in his mind, and his thinking is so muddled, it's hard to convince him otherwise.

Carla

His physiology resembles a typical "vampire" to some degree, but due to a yet-unknown cause, his body is quickly weakening.

Consuming blood is necessary for his survival. It doesn't matter the source, but he can often only keep human blood down...

He has some notably inhuman traits, such as large, prominent fangs, a pair of bat-like wings (capable of some flight), near-perfect night vision, and superhuman strength.

However, sunlight is near-unbearable, and he's always cold.

Despite being the most successfull of the homunculi in creation, his body is fragile, and only getting worse.

Shin

He seems to be hybridized with some kind of canine, most likely a wolf, making him one of the most visibly inhuman of them.

Beyond the typical ears and tail you'd expect, he has increased body hair (resembling fur) in places, dangerous teeth and claws, canine-like genital structure, and more.

His ears and tail give away his emotions way too easily.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it, loneliness affects him terribly. There are instinctive parts of him that need a master.

His missing eye was removed as a punishment for disobedience. He won't speak of exactly what happened.

Kino

He was made from leftover scraps and other unfavorable pieces not good enough for proper homunculi.

As a result, his body is pitifully weak, and he's forced to drain life force from others to survive. It's a voluntary action, to some degree, but he'll waste away if he holds back.

Physical contact makes the drain easier and safer... which is why no one is too keen on touching him.

His body's unstable structure means that he's constantly in some form of pain, though he hides it quite well.

His Father used to lock him up in isolation as a punishment.

#Diabolik Lovers #Dialovers #Sakamaki Shuu #Sakamaki Reiji #Sakamaki Ayato #Sakamaki Kanato #Sakamaki Laito #Sakamaki Subaru #Kino #Mukami Ruki #Mukami Kou #Mukami Yuuma #Mukami Azusa #Tsukinami Carla #Tsukinami Shin #Reader #Homunculus Au #Info

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the-fiction-witch · 10 months

Text

Take My Hand P8

Media 1912

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple Thomas X Reader

Rating Sad Af

Concept Take My hand Series

|Thomas|

I couldn't sleep no matter how hard I tried I felt so helpless, so worthless, I meant nothing to him and he's all I had. I went for a walk trying to keep my head straight but all it did was make my mind spiral. I found myself on the deck looking out at the dark ocean without light or sight. I sat on a bench and had a cigarette in the hopes it would calm me down but all it did was cause this utter wave of tears to flood from my eyes. Everything he'd done to me. Everything I had to give up just to keep a roof over my head. And now i was stuck on a ship to a fate I never wanted. To be sold off like I was nothing. All I wanted to do was run, of all the opportunities I'd had now I wanted it more then ever and I knew I couldn't I'm on a ship! There is literally nowhere to run that's why he makes us travel like this because he knows I can't escape. I tried to pase to clear my head but everything just kept spiralling and spiralling in utter panic my heart racing, hardly even able to take a solid breath. I threw my Jacket back to the bench hoping the cold air would calm me down but I was beyond pannicked now. Knowing I was stuck. I was fucked. I didn't have a choice. I ran my hand thought my hair trying to calm down. And I caught the railing in my eye, for a moment I want utterly blind to all else I saw the railing with the darkness beyond it. I went closer looking down seeing the sea being cut by the ship… That's a way out. That's the only way out. It'll be quick. Painless. Just a jump and then silence. And all this will be over. I threw my waistcoat too trying to not feel so hot but I turned away not wanting my depressive panic to make me do something I'll regret but every part of me screamed in utter desperation to do it. So I kicked off my shoes. And leant over looking over as far as I could. I checked no staff where around and quickly climbed over the edge.

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topazadine · 6 months

Text

I wanted to put to paper (or text technically) some of my feelings about Palestine.

My thoughts are, of course, not really important in the grand scheme of things. I am a white American who has never been to Palestine and likely never will go. However, I am a human.

It is truly horrific to see so many people utterly destroyed through no fault of their own. Just because someone else wants the oil buried on their land. Just because someone has decided that they don't deserve to exist.

It's been incredibly hard to sleep lately. When I close my eyes, I think of all the atrocities I have seen during the day through the comfort of my laptop screen: children blown apart, men trying desperately to dig their loved ones from the rubble. Women holding their shrouded babies for one last time. Journalists breaking down on TV because they feel like the world has abandoned them - because it has. A man going mad with grief for losing his beloved mother, something that hit me horrendously hard because of my own unquenchable love for my mom.

Many people have said that they can't imagine what the Palestinians are going through, and I agree. My own emotional dictionary isn't anywhere near comprehensive enough to understand how they are feeling; I can fathom only shadows of the immense, constant tragedy they are facing. Insatiable hunger; endless thirst; the trudging trauma they don't have time to process because a new horror is bearing down on them only seconds later. Life narrowed down to simple survival, aware that there is no escape.

What I can understand, however - in my own shrunken, incomplete way - is the rage. Why wouldn't they be angry? Few people have had such a right to fury as the Palestinians. They are viciously dehumanized, treated as worthless on their homeland, told they have no right to the place that their father, and their father's father, and their father's father's father and many generations more, has lived in peace and plenty. Their crops burnt. Their homes bombed. Their families slaughtered in an instant with weapons that never should have been invented, much less used on a helpless, entrapped community.

The only thing that brings me comfort now, the only way I can't turn away, is that the world is waking up.

I don't speak of it much because I don't want to be seen as proselytizing, but I'm a Nichiren Buddhist. The Daishonen taught that in the Latter Day of the Law, when the word of Buddha has lost its power to propagate enlightenment, the people will begin to rise up as one and lead the world to a better age: a collective awakening.

No matter your spiritual beliefs or lack thereof, I think we can agree that we are experiencing a mass opening of the eyes. We are removing the iron veil that has made us believe that we are powerless and disconnected, that we are all separate communities with no obligation to one another - or that we must dominate anyone unlike ourselves.

That's not true. We are all connected. The longing for freedom is the most human of emotions: the desire for safety, for comfort, for respect. A Palestinian has a different worldview than me, a different language and upbringing, but deep down, we need and want the same things. We need food, water, clean air, sleep. We want to learn, to express ourselves, to find love and belonging.

For too long, we have believed ourselves separate communities and thus inoculated ourselves against feeling the struggles of others. That is being blasted open by watching others be destroyed in ways we cannot imagine. It should never have come to that, and the fact that we are only learning this through massive bloodshed is a failure on the part of every society. This collective awakening is coming at too high a cost: the loss of one life is too many. Palestinians should not be our zeitgeist; they are not lessons or allegories. They are living, breathing people going through monstrosities beyond comparison in the modern world.

But the only way we can fight for them is by recognizing that their freedom is our freedom. None of us are safe in a world that dehumanizes anyone. We are one people, one race. We are all connected by a billion threads that can never be cut, can never be untangled. Their destruction is ultimately the destruction of all of us.

Each person is a whole world unto themselves. We are watching thousands of universes being destroyed for no reason but maniacal greed and racism. And it is disgusting. And we all have an obligation to stop it by any means necessary.

Many people seem to believe that compassion and empathy make you weak, but they are wrong. Compassion is one of the strongest forces in the world. Empathy is an unbelievable treasure that must be protected and wielded as a shield against despair. The deep tears you cry for a stranger are the lubricant that turns the gears of history toward a better world. Your vicarious rage is your weapon which, when used correctly, can work miracles. Your prayers are not meaningless words but magic that bends the universe toward justice and peace.

Our solidarity is a beautiful terror tearing down the institutions that oppress us until they crumble to dust.

So we must cry. We must rage. We must continue screaming until our voices are heard. And we must bear witness to this. We must never look away until the last bomb is dismantled and we are all free.

Solidarity forever. From Cleveland to Palestine with love, every day.

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maaarine · 9 months

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Helplessness: On Depression, Development, and Death (Martin Seligman, 1975)

"I have stated earlier my belief that anxiety and depression are related in the following way:

when a man or animal is confronted with a threat or a loss, he responds initially with fear;

if he learns that the threat is wholly controllable, fear disappears, having served its function;

if he remains uncertain about controllability, fear remains;

if he learns or is convinced chat the threat is utterly uncontrollable, depression replaces fear. (…)

I am not alone in believing that cognitions of helplessness are the core cause of depression.

The psychodynamic theorist E. Bibring (1953) sees matters this way:

"What has been described as the basic mechanism of depression, the ego’s shocking awareness of its helplessness in regard to its aspirations, is assumed to represent the core of normal, neurotic, and probably, also psychotic depression."

F. T. Melges and J. Bowlby (1969) see a similar cause of depression:

"Our thesis is that while a depressed patient’s goals remain relatively unchanged his estimate of the likelihood of achieving them and his confidence in the efficacy of his own skilled actions are both diminished …

the depressed person believes that his plans of action are no longer effective in reaching his continuing and long range goals…

From this state of mind is derived, we believe, much depressive symptomology, including indecisiveness, inability to act, making increased demands on others and feelings of worthlessness and of guilt about not discharging duties.""

#martin seligman #helplessness #book

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yourssinfullyquiche · 2 years

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In the unique timbre of his voice... (D, no.4)

Hello, all you beautiful people🥰

Happy Belated Birthday to the one and only Gavin Bai, this fictional man who has brought so much love to us~

This is my contribution for Gavin's birthday and to the plethora of amazing works by so many others. It's a piece that explores his voice and in that the lovely moments one experiences

Prompt 13 & 18: a kiss on the lips & a kiss on the throat (Adam's apple)

Warning: Only one paragraph is suggestive

Enjoy...

I love his voice.

The hoarse but soft tone when he says “good morning”—waking up to that instantly fills me with a summer warmth—and when I refuse and pretend to sleep longer, its chiding but still gentle—with a hint of mirth it takes. On the rare days that he allows his indolence to conquer, the morning begins with a sluggish and husky cadence that warms my body from its core.

How it engages a higher pitch when I do something which seems harmless but horrifies him to no end or when he discovers more bruises on my legs—a result from my obliviousness, or when I'm feeling unwell. When that happens, his voice takes on this adorable stern tone and the fussing begins. Sometimes, I let him fuss because I like to know that he cares for me—most of the time, I tease him off and then, his voice assumes indignance because he and I both know that he’s so terrible at staying upset with me.

The way his voice becomes so gentle but so resolute when I’m at my lowest, his voice takes on this special tone of hope and steadiness that it makes me believe in his words and believe in myself. When I refuse to show him my tears, the way he respects my space but still, his voice coaxes me to embrace my fear and vulnerability. On the days that this happens, his calm and assuring voice helps ground me, and my faith and confidence slowly but surely regains.

On the days that his voice becomes achingly defeated, helpless and scared, he puts his distance—he never likes me to see him that way, so utterly vulnerable and worthless. I never want to hear his voice take on such a tone but I know I can’t always stop that from happening so I do whatever it takes, to hear his voice return to the warm, gentle, calm one that I adore—to bridge the gap that he makes and lift the mask he falsely has to hide his insecurities—to be there for him until his faith and strength returns. And slowly but surely, his mask crumbles and he embraces vulnerability.

The subtle drawled out whines of displeasure his voice makes when he discovers bitter gourd as his punishment for hiding his injuries and the mumbles of apologies that come after. The low hums and sighs that are involuntarily voiced when he feels at peace especially when he’s being pampered—something he utterly loves. The teasing inflection it has when he’s emboldened by the sly need to josh me. The dulcet soothing resonant tones when he sings, comforts my heart with a special embrace. And when he chuckles and laughs, oh, the sound of it—the deep warm lilt it has, sends bursts of delightful bliss that sweetens my heart—its sound engraved in my mind and heart.

When we make love, the rough rhythmic grunts and pants fill the room, and then the groans and heavy breaths against my skin, they warm and tingle my body. Then the deep moans against my ear shoot straight to my core—and the hums of assent against my mouth blaze across my body with desire. Then suddenly saccharine words in between jagged hot breaths bless my ears and I feel the inexplicable love that rushes through my veins that I do everything I can to return it. Sometimes, his voice takes on this sexy assertive sway and when coupled with growls, expletives and a certain kind of talk—I lose my sanity. Sometimes—to his horror—his voice makes these sudden weird high-pitched noises—ones he’s so embarrassed about that I take pleasure in kissing the embarrassment off of his face.

When he says “my girl” and “baby” or any other term of endearment, it sounds so lovely that I get butterflies in my stomach no matter how many times I hear it. And of course, the countless “I love yous” that he expresses, all with different timbres of his voice, all with different intensities, all in different circumstances, but all always imbued with all the love he has in the world.

So today, on this special day, when his voice brims with happiness and his amber eyes crinkle with bright smiles—wanting to do it for so long, I rise to the balls of my feet and kiss his Adam’s apple—to his surprise. Then, I move to his parted lips and kiss them so softly loving every moment of the sighs he makes and after, the taste of warmth, love and sweet chocolate lingers in my mouth.

A/N: Thank you for reading!❤️

Credits to PG for the image

I think there's something nice in appreciating someone's voice and how it makes the other person feel. So I had the idea of doing that and also kissing someone's adam's apple is kinda hot

💌Asks are open: spots to kiss Delve into my world

#mlqc gavin #mlqc gavin smut #mlqc gavin fanfiction #mlqc gavin fanfic #mlqc gavin headcanon #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fanfiction #mlqc headcanon #mlqc fluff #mr love smut #mlqc bai qi #mr love fanfic #mr love gavin #mr love queens choice #love and producer #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #quiche writes

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iheartbookbran · 1 year

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i understand the need to flesh out the greens in hotd, but what i don’t understand is why rhaenyra or even team black as a whole aren’t allowed the same treatment, they love to claim bc of grrm involvement that it’s more canon and i’m not surprised to seem them in the breath claim that show!rhaenyra isn’t an accurate representation and is whitewashed but are utterly silent about how whitewashed show!alicent and instead turn to defend her, it’d giving 2.0 vibes of a certain character...

I don’t think hotd is supposed to be “more canon” than f&b. According to GRRM the show is the canon version of the events of the Dance within the GOT universe, but it is also “canon” in the GOT universe that people can teleport to whatever location they want, that Ellaria Sand is driven by revenge, that Arya is a sexist xenophobe, that Bran is dead and some ice demon possessed his body or something, that Littlefinger will make the most idiotic political decisions and Sansa will trust him and go along with it because she’s been “hardened” by her abuse, that the northerners don’t care about House Stark, that Jaime doesn’t care about the people of KL, that Cersei is a helpless little girl who needs her twin brother to hold her as weeps in his arms about their 2 year old fetus, that Tyrion is an incompetent dumbass. I could go on all day honestly but you get my point.

I think they tried to gave more sympathy on the green side because they’re really portrayed horribly in f&b, though my guess for that is simply that they were horrible people to begin with lmfao. I think it’s hilarious how in the book the maester writing it in universe is trying to shift some of the focus on just how awful Aegon and Aemond were by being all like “hey look at Daeron! Isn’t he great tho?” (Daeron is a war criminal).

But honestly it doesn’t matter how many times they show me a scene of Alicent yet again looking sad and helpless as the patriarchy victimizes her yet again, I would still never support her as she betrays and takes away power from another woman to give it to her shitty worthless r*pist of a son. I just cannot do that.

#Anonymous #ask #ask pam #hotd #fire and blood #house of the dragon

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sweetlyhell · 1 year

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“I wish I was her...”

“Only if you knew... How much I liked you...”

Rosanna Opheles Agriche.

The twin of Dion, amidst her siblings, Rosanna stood out. How is that possible? She was not ruthless.

Not using, not into killing, not into murder, unlike the rest. She also the only one who possessed powers which could not cause destruction. What was the power? Healing.

She could bring back the dead.

Rosanna, just like her little brother, Lapis, their mother, had waving blonde hair, wavy and long. Right up to her waist.

She had ruby glowing eyes that had a glow according to her own wish.

She is always seen wearing long, designed dresses. These dresses are explained as “Hard to run in” or “Difficult for spy duties” but nonetheless, she has never led her boss down.

Rosanna, since her few months of working had her eye on a boy. That boy was specifically was, Ivan. Ivan Floyen.

An Agriche with a Floyen? Heard the impossible! Thought of it was uneasy and anxious for little Rosanna but she ought to do her best.

To her demise, Ivan Floyen had been together with another girl. This broke her heart more than anything. But she could have no choice but to face the utterly bitter truth.

Rosanna had no chance, from any point. She was worthless although anyway. A spy with no powers beside healing? She could she even do? Depend on her human strength? That’s stupid.

She wished she could do something. She wanted to show she was not weak. Not a favorite child. She was much more. But there was nothing to do.

She would tear up in random situations, a flight not a fight, just helpless.

She watched the two, spending time together, hugging, kissing, enjoying companies of the other.

She was helpless. All she could do was run into her brother’s arms and cry.

"I wish I was... her"

#romance #Love #Ocs #Scarbles #Fantasy #Heartbreak #Lover #Brother #Family #Mother #Lost #Forgotten

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theunboundwriter · 1 year

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Find The Word Tag

Thank you for the tag @writingpotato07 !! I enjoyed reading your writing as always :)

My words are: Touch, Embrace, Kind, Phone, Easy

I tag (with no pressure) @fearofahumanplanet , @harinawa , and @inkspellangel

Your words are: Attention, Right, Yellow, Tired, and Hand

(If you don't have a word share a fun fact of your choice!)

Touch:

From The Prices We Pay Kendyleigh fell to the ground, knees hitting hard and tears already beginning to fall from her eyes. Her face contorted in the most severe sorrow she had ever felt, and she clutched the fallen form of the eight-year-old in her arms. She gently touched where the arrow had entered his abdomen, hand coming back the ugliest shade of red she had ever seen. It was like the world came to a stop. The Earth stopped spinning, the stars blinked out, and nobody dared to breathe. Kendyleigh screamed, the most heart-wrenching sound to ever reach the ears of the soldiers watching the scene with grim faces. Everything moved in slow motion, Kendyleigh cradling the boy close to her, holding onto him like a lifeline. Heavy tears fell from her eyes, streaming down her face in a hideous display.

Embrace:

From Tales From The Other Place Jack thought he knew the cold embrace of Death well. He had first met her when he was only a child. She had watched over him, looking down at him with a warm smile, her tender hands brushing over his cheeks to dry his tears. Sometimes, if he stared long enough, he thought she looked like his mother.

Kind:

From The Sea is in Her Blood Her thoughts were racing at a million miles a minute, her heart beating just as fast. She hated feeling this helpless and vulnerable. Never before in her life had she felt this pathetic. Weakness was not a color she wore well, and she had always fought off any emotion that wasn’t pride. And to be overwhelmed by such feelings of fear and uncertainty, completely at the mercy of these strangers with nothing to defend herself but her word, left her feeling worthless. She had to fight against every order and suggestion, because that is all she had ever known. Surely, they couldn’t be doing these things just for the sake of being kind and to care for her wellbeing, because no one had ever treated her in such a way.

Phone:

From It All Started At The End "I'll deliver your next assignment in a few days." And Aion drove off, leaving Jadyn standing alone in the dark, empty parking lot. He glanced at the photos in his hand, and then at Aion's retreating headlights. Jadyn punched a number into his phone, then brought it to his ear. "Hey, Gabbie. No, nothing's wrong. What? Can't a guy just want to talk with his cool older sister? Okay. Put Rumpelstiltskin on the phone. No, I will not stop calling him that. He's my nephew, I'll call him what I want."

Easy:

From The Prices We Pay Kendyleigh was overcome by a violent shudder, cutting off her words as she pressed her lips together tight to suppress a scream. Her head began to spin once again, and all she could do was close her eyes as she waited for the vertigo to pass. Jack watched her with mindful eyes, taking in every small movement she made and every shattered breath of air she took. She looked utterly broken, and that was not something he was used to seeing on her. Kendyleigh was the strongest person he knew, never once seeming fragile or easy to break. She faced every obstacle head on, and he was fairly certain he had never seen her cry before. The tears that silently spilled down her cheeks were a sad sight, even more so than the terrible event that had taken place only a few moments ago, a reminder of what had happened still evident in the arrow that was left unattended. Kendyleigh’s tears meant that she was in pain, that she was hurting in a way that Jack could never comprehend. And there was nothing he could do for her.

#unbound time universe #wip: it all started at the end #wip: the prices we pay #wip: the sea is in her blood #wip: tales from the other place #find the word tag #find the word game #find the word

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