#I am undone I am in shambles

[theclockistickingwrite]

“The sword comes down”

[darkronicles]

TWICE’s Sana x Male Reader. 581 words.

“Can you stay quiet while I take this call?”

With an arched brow, you retort, “Can you?”

Sana rolls her eyes with a scoff before swiping on her phone screen and bringing the room back to silence. She clears her throat, masquerading her rendezvous with a viscous and steady tone. “This is Sana. How may I help you?”

She bats her lashes with a smile as she looks over your head during the call. Her manicured nails gently rake over your scalp, tousled strands of your hair threaded between her dainty fingers while your mouth returns to where she needs you most: between her slick-coated thighs.

While she speaks professionally to a representative of one of the many companies that she’s the face for, she sits on your couch—half-naked and donning one of your tees—with her legs propped over your shoulders. She sinks so comfortably into the cushions as this has become a frequent occurrence since her individual brand had skyrocketed, bringing her more stress that she needs to relieve. 

And you will always be on your knees for her.

”I am indeed booked for Friday.”

You swipe your tongue up her slit and round around her sensitive clit. With your thumbs parting her folds, you nestle closer, bringing her clit into your mouth as you peer up at her. She meets your eyes, her grip steadily wringing tighter on your hair as you suck and lap. Though her face is blank, her body’s reaction to your touch discredits her composure.

”O-Of course.”

A subtle sign of her faltering. You seize the opportunity to chip at her facade a little more. Wrapping your arms around her hips, you bury your face deeper between her legs, risking pleasurable asphyxiation by her dripping wetness and brute strength. You search for her weak spot, scoping around her pulsing clit with your tongue until her breath hitches. She reprimands you with silence and a tug on your roots, but you tolerate the sharpness of her grip. You maintain your pace, lapping and sucking and tugging her clit between your teeth while you feel the tension build in her thighs.

That threatens your airflow, but you persevere. After all, not many can say that they made Minatozaki Sana come.

And she will come hard.

”Yes, of course thank you bye-” Her words rush out in a steady stream before she ends the call and tosses her phone aside.

Your fingers easily slide inside her, courtesy of her ample wetness, and she swiftly comes undone. You grunt as her nails graze your scalp. You fight to stay above water as her thighs squeeze your head, leaving you no room to escape.

Not that you want to.

”God, you’re so good, darling,” she whines, throwing her head back. 

Her free hand darts overhead to grab the back of the couch. The lewd view stirs a raging boner in your joggers. Sana is inexplicably gorgeous, but even more so when she’s in shambles in the palm of your hands. Ecstasy coats her in a sheen of sweat, her pretty pussy soaking your digits and couch cushion as she rides out her high. Knowing just how to touch her and get her prepped swells your ego, particularly when your name slips from her kiss-swollen lips.

Sana isn’t down for long. Once you rise up from your knees, she springs up and pins you down on your back.

It will soon be you who will be begging and pulling her hair.

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney : Rapunzel

Hey! I'm back again with this series for Spooky Season! If you haven't seen my Darkside Disney Princesses before, here's the link to the master post

So, the OG Darkside Design herself, Princess Rapunzel

Ok, so I am drawing on Tangled the Series lore, as you can see, but as all my other ideas happened by twisting the original films, in this story Rapunzel’s downfall starts when Eugene fails to cut Rapunzel’s hair in the tower.

Gothel keeps her deal, lets Rapunzel heal him, and then promptly makes off into the night with Rapunzel, leaving Eugene locked up in the tower.

Gothel is determined to keep Rapunzel’s hair safely for herself this time, and so decides to make for a more secure hiding place, leagues and leagues away from Corona -- The Great Tree, the stronghold of Gothel's old master, Zhan Tiri

Rapunzel, true to her word, doesn't fight back. She follows where Gothel leads, all the while praying that her sacrifice will be worth it, that Eugene has managed to free himself and is safe somewhere.

Eugene of course, has managed to free himself, and is anything but safe as he tries desperately to avoid re-capture while doing everything he can to try and track down Gothel and Rapunzel--all while some strange black rocks continue to spread across Corona and the surrounding lands.

Unfortunately, he'll be too late if he ever does.

Gothel for years has been waiting patiently to discover the further secrets of the Sundrop flower, driven by a prophecy that said a child raised by her would reveal them in their 21st year.

For ages she tried to have child after child to fulfill this prophecy, discarding them as they failed her--until Rapunzel, a child born of the Sundrop itself.

In the canon timeline, Rapunzel fulfills this Destiny after being freed from Gothel and reuniting with her true family, discovering the secrets of the Sundrop and Moonstone and defeating Zhan Tiri...

In this darker world, Gothel, in her greed and ignorance, upon Rapunzel's 21st year, has been forcing Rapunzel to do various experiments to awaken the powers within her. The black rocks have spread to the Great Tree at this point, and so Rapunzel still gains the powers of the Moonstone, while retaining the power of the Sundrop as well. So that when at last Gothel has her chant the Decay Spell—all the healing spells are undone.

Gothel crumbles into dust before Rapunzel’s eyes. Eugene, finally having found Rapunzel’s trail, suddenly feels his wounds suddenly reopen. Pascal, having accompanied Eugene on his quest, at last succumbs to the snake bite that brought him to Rapunzel.

And Rapunzel herself, after so much pain, so much heartbreak and disillusionment, having spent so long chained to Gothel and her abuse—Rapunzel embraces the promise of the Decay Spell, the only hope for freedom she feels she has left

“Wither and decay. End this destiny. Break these earthly chains. And set the spirit free.The spirit free…”

A lone figure emerges from the husk of The Great Tree, eyes a sickly green, long hair black as night, tears forever falling down an empty, souless face. The power of the Moonstone has set the spirit free, even as the power of the Sundrop keep the body animate.

A wandering revenant, spreading decay wherever it goes, following the black rocks on and on, slowly shambling towards some unknown terrible destiny.….

And soon enough, a long locked away demon may find a new host

[simply-trash5]

heeeyyyy do you happen to do trigun 🥺👉👈 also BNHA DILFs is such a vibe rn can we have sum yummy hcs pretty please 🤤 i can't decide who so dealers choice 🥴

Heyyyy anon sweetie!

Sorry I am just now replying, I have the flu so miss girl is struggling. I am planning to watch Trigun so I don’t do it yet, but please come back soon and request because I will once I watch it ✨

So BNHA DILFs huh? Yummy HC will be under the line.

First and foremost let’s assume that all of my DILFS are divorced DILFs ✨ single and on the prowl…

Let’s start with Daddy OneforAll:

DILF Izuku is that big hunk of man with the boyish charm that has NO IDEA how sexy he truly is. I have this idea about you meeting him in the park while he plays with his kids. His kid will accidentally throw a ball where you are reading a book in the shade of a tree and here he comes to retrieve it. Curls falling in his face, a blush covering his cheeks when he notices your beauty that makes his freckles pop…he will stammer a little when he asks for your number…

Next thing you know you’re in his apartment. He arranged for a sitter for his kids and he took you on a date; now he has you on his couch kissing sweetly on your neck asking you if all of this is okay. His large scarred fingers are playing at the hem of your shirt ready and willing to all but rip it from your body.

DILF Izuku is patient and wants to take his time worshipping every inch of your body when he has you laid in front of him. He treats you like a goddess came to earth just for him as he watches you come undone from his tongue while you beg for him to fuck you mercilessly.

“Don’t worry sweetheart…I’m going to give you exactly what you want. Gonna take care of you…”

Next up DILF Bakugo:

Now I HC you meet him at some event for his children. I think his daughters are dancers and maybe you are their instructor and when he caught sight of you in your tights—all bets were off. He began to flirt here and there until he finally was bold enough to ask for your number and take you out.

Now you are bent over his bed being absolutely wrecked as he is pounding into you with a handful of your hair. He is all muscle and hard planes bent over you growling into your ear—“that’s right, be a good fucking girl ‘f me”

Now once he’s made sure he’s ruined you for anyone else he’s going to spoil the absolute shit out of you and show up at your studio all the time—even on patrols just to give you kisses or food or little gifts he thinks you’ll love because you’re one of his girls now and

“I’ll always take care of my girls…”

Now on to DILF Kirishima!

You meet DILF Kiri at the gym—at kids gym of course! He’s taking his little one to kids gym for a day of fun but he catches sight of you lifting and decides you need a little…help..on your form. So he leaves his little one in the caring hands of the instructors and comes over to ask if you want some help. You are stunned and maybe a little grumpy (which he finds cute) but sure why not. After a little fun banter you ask him for his number because he’s hot and you haven’t had a good fu—I mean date in a while.

One thing leads to another and Kiri has you in a mating press in his bed rubbing circles on your clit with those large fingers. You’re in shambles over his frame pressing on you and his cock hitting that spot so well and he’s cooing how ‘aww pretty girl you are doing so well don’t cry’ as he is wiping your tears. After you have came more times than you can count and he has marked you with his teeth—he cleans you up in a warm shower together and you lay in his soft bed as he strokes your hair and tells you how beautiful you are. You’re whipped and he’s whipped.

Now you’re going to the gym with him and bringing him lunch to the agency and prancing around in Red Riot merch as his little girlie friend. Good thing you’re getting speared by his dick every day that ends in a ��y”. You’ll be moving in soon.

DILF simps come get yalls juice—lemme know if you want any other DILFs ✨❤️

[nyx5133106]

!!!Spoilers for Arcane s2 act III

I am in shambles, completely undone. The creators love giving us all we want only to destroy it in the next 5 seconds.

It feels so unfinished. Not due to any fault of the writers but because I still can't comprehend it. I really waited for a scene ala Marvel after the credits where at least one of the 3 YOU KNOW WHOs showed up Delulu is on max bc I still believe that we will get Jinx and Lux going on an adventure with Viktor's robot and Yasuo. (Yes, I know it isn't game cannon)

[lovelytsunoda]

super bass // yuki tsunoda

summary: its media day in miami, and y/n's boyfriend can hardly say he's wearing a shirt . . . unfortunately, there's no time to slip away, so she's biding her time until they get back to the hotel and her lover can take his time with her. inspired by this post

pairing: yuki tsunoda x female reader

warnings: this is actual filth i am so so sorry (no im not, the softer fic is in the drafts and coming whenever i have the time or energy to work on it.)

she was ready before he was, so while yuki was in the shower, y/n ran out to mcdonalds to grab breakfast for both of them

no time to cook on media day

and when she comes back, he's out of the shower, in the living room of the hotel suite with his baseball cap on backwards, low-rise board shorts and matching hawaiian shirt. completely undone

it has her choking on her morning apple juice

it's not that she hasn't seen this side of yuki before, it just takes her by surprise sometimes.

like now

"please tell me that you're at least going to button up that shirt."

"don't tell me you're jealous, pretty girl. you know you're the only one who gets to touch this." he says with a grin, gesturing to his impressive six pack

"jealous?" she scoffs. "I'm not jealous. i just can't be held accountable for the thoughts that i'm having right now, and will continue to have until you do that atrocious shirt up."

"atrocious? baby, we both know you have hawaiian shirts with patterns worse than this one." yuki hums, abandoning his egg mcmuffin and pulling her closer, his hands exploring the skin underneath the hem of her denim shorts, breath warm as he whispered in her ear

"i bet this turns you on, doesn't it? i never had you pegged as the type who was into the douchey florida frat boy look."

"no, spending five minutes in a room with logan was enough to kill the florida frat boy fascination." y/n jokes, her laugh turning into a gasp as his cold hands slip up her shorts, palming at her ass "but, god, babe, you wear it so fucking well."

she pulls him closer by the collar of his shirt, lips tangling with his as he grabs and squeezes at her skin

her feather-light moans swallowed by his kiss

but as she runs her hand down his bare chest, he pulls away.

"sweetheart, we don't have time right now. i want to take my time with you, treat you right."

she just wanted him, wanted to be ruined before they left for the paddock

but instead she spends the entire afternoon in the hard rock arena, where he still hasn't done up that stupid fucking shirt, and she can't hide how turned on she is

even when the alphatauri media team invites her to join in on the fun and games

which, don't get her wrong, she thoroughly enjoys

but she would enjoy being under her boyfriend so much more when he's out there looking like that

finally, media day ends and they're back in the hotel suite

about to spend the next few hours fucking like rabbits

she's backed up against the wall, one leg hooked over his waist as he grinds into her

the kisses are sloppy, needy

almost as needy as her hands, grasping onto any part of him that she can as yuki's needy fingers push up her cute little crochet top to play with her nipples through the thin lace of her non-padded bra

she's whining into his mouth when his lips start to move from hers up to the lobe of her ear, gently biting down before she jumps up and wraps both legs around him

he can feel how soaked her panties are as she presses her core against his crotch

"god, sweetheart, you're so wet for me already." he groans, kissing her neck

"only for you." she whines breathlessly, hands clawing to push the shambles of his shirt off his frame. "please, baby, please."

"please, what, pretty girl?" he grins, cocky as ever as he sheds the shirt. "use your words, sweet girl. tell me what you want."

because he knows she's shy and she's not going to want to say it out loud

he likes watching how flushed she gets when she finally stutters out: "please, baby, please fuck me. i need your cock."

and who is he to say no?

against all odds, they make it to the bedroom, her skirt flung over the dresser, skimpy lace panties practically ripped apart with the promise to buy her a newer, more expensive pair

he needs to taste her, kissing her folds gently, the rough fabric of his snapback scratching at the soft skin on her upper inner thighs

he tongue fucks her softly, making sure that she's definitely ready to take him

"are you ready for me, pretty girl? i'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk in the morning. now, get your legs on my shoulders so i can treat you like the goddess you are."

she's almost certain that sex with yuki has never been this filthy (although it has come close before).

hes fully naked aside from the silver chain and that fucking neon pink baseball cap, still sitting backwards on his head

she's practically folded in half, legs on yuki's shoulders and he's leaning in so close that she can almost feel the stretch in her legs

but that's an afterthought from the way that his hips are snapping into hers, the room filled with pants and gasps and moans and the sound of his skin smacking into her ass

"fucking hell, pretty girl." yuki groans, thrusting his cock deeper inside her. "you take my fucking cock so well."

"yes, yes, i love your cock, baby."

if he had known that all he needed to do to reduce his lover to a beautiful, moaning mess was fuck her while he was wearing a baseball cap backwards and a silver chain, he would have done it sooner

gently kissing her calves sucking hickeys into her lower thigh

"god, baby, you feel so good." she whines, bucking her hips into his

the lace on her bra is pulled down, her tits spilling out as she uses one hand to tweak and toy with her hardened nipple

he's clutching at the bedsheets as he continues to thrust into her, feeling his orgasm quickly approaching

"touch yourself for me, princess. make yourself feel good, yeah? i want you to let go for me, cum on my fucking cock."

her hand moves from her nipple to her clit, fingers moving quickly as yuki straightens, hands clutching her legs and knees on his shoulders, her legs pressed flush against his chest as he watched the combination of his cock thrusting in and out of her tight center and her fingers toying with her clit.

she moans, downright pornographic as she arches her back, head thrown against the pillows as she moans his name.

"tell me who makes you feel this good." yuki grunts, thrusts picking up the pace. "who does this pussy belong to?"

"you, yuki." she moans. "only you, baby. i-i think i'm going to cum-"

"cum for me, pretty girl. i've got you, i'm right here. cum on my cock, darling."

she comes with a moan that's downright sinful, and so loud that she's almost sure that the other drivers occupying that floor of the hard rock hotel can also hear her.

"where do you want me to finish, baby?" he moans out, already feeling himself begin to crumble (it was the feeling of her walls pulsing around him that pushed him off the edge).

"inside me, baby. please."

and yuki didn't need to be told twice, head tilted back as he emptied his load into her, fingers gripping her legs hard enough to bruise as his hips stuttered to a stop.

they knew they should get up to shower, to use the bathroom at the very least

but they're so exhausted, so wiped out, that all they can do is lie next to each other, sweaty and panting, without the covers because the room is suddenly far too hot for the duvet

"so what i'm hearing," yuki begins, finally taking the baseball hat off. "is that i need to buy more tacky shirts and not do up the buttons."

she rolls over, fixing her bra before she kisses him softly, a gentle smile on her face. "we'll get matching ones if it means we get more nights like this."

"we can do that." he laughs, kissing her again before wrapping his arms around her. "i love you."

"love you more." she hums, nuzzling into his chest.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @scuderiamh @starsanova @unluckyhoneybee @micksfilms

[waiting-on-mars]

i finally finished stray (after a year and a half...)

i am undone and in shambles

[icey-pie]

"This too, shall pass"

When? When is it going to pass?

When am i going to feel like my life is mine again?

When am i going to feel joy and peace? When am i going to feel stable and happy? When am i going to feel whole again?

"This too shall pass"

And what if it doesn't?

What if it changes me forever?

What if a little piece of me died, and im never going to get it back?

What if it haunts me forever? The way that i talk, the way that i look, the way i express myself?

What if im never the same, and it never goes away? What if it is something that can never be undone? What if im forever carrying the weight of this?

Are you telling me it will pass because you want me to be okay? Or because you want me to be 'normal' again? Because you don't like what ive become? Because im not the same?

Will it pass because i can move past it, or because you force me to pretend im not haunted by it every day?

"You're stronger than you think"

But what if im not? What if im weak?

What if im broken and in pieces?

What if i cant hold myself together anymore? What if i need help? What if i cant do this on my own?

What if i need to be carried along? What if i cant put everything back? What if im weak and broken and my limit is hit?

What if im only still alive because im weak, because my cowardice has kept me from becoming a memory of myself?

What if i am weak, and need help the whole way? Need comfort and reassurance for the littlest of things? What of im never the same?

Will you still be there if you don't like the person i am now? Or were you only ever here because i was a commodity to you?

If im damaged irreparably, broken and in shambles, what if im never quite whole again?

Will you still love me for me?

Or did you only ever love the idea of me?

[letterstomonkey]

No Choice but My Mother

If I had no choice or all too many of them, I would come home to her. 

I would make for you the last of the food I scavenged and stored away for my life’s worth of winters to hibernate. 

All of my savings, I would hand it over on my own accord and lick the bottom of my feet before bed every night. 

Electric sensations of salty spit stinging, sticking, singing to me in the bathtub; Upon these feet, the mother wound stings me where I live for the satiety of healing myself from forfeiting pieces to you, it is personal to me, the way that I would carry you on my back barefoot over broken glass if you asked to be taken somewhere you had a chance at finding sleep. 

You, and me,

Hiding, and seeking, 

Swearing, and leaving, 

Frothing, and teething, 

Crumbling, and weeping, 

Crawling, towards healing, 

Healing, and teething, 

Practicing, speaking to you.

I listen to you chewing, and swallowing, every last crumb of your dinner prepared for one as I lose my head atop the staircase, coming undone, vividly picturing myself ripping the hair out of your head. 

My hunger has always been a choice to you, a voice in my ear that I could turn off should I choose, a voice that sounds a whole lot like you. I have always been so hungry but all of my hunger is directed at you. I want a full belly and I ache to be fed, only by you, and

I ache to be read, only by you,

I weep at the hands and sliced feet of the mother wound.

I am helpless yet the most helpful because of a woman. 

I am helpless at the hands of a woman;

I learned how to give myself away from the woman I watched have her wings clipped, constantly kept at bay, held back and bound to the bedpost of a bassinet,

What a wicked way to wander into a bleak betrayal. 

It is not my mother’s fault she played the game. Please understand that I hate the game, I despise, detest, I resent I request a recount of the votes because she may have lost everything but nobody can convince me to hate her player and not the game 

when the game is oh, so despicable at twisting and turning the rules every which way, 

Another day another downfall, 

Another alarm, another missed call 

A misstep means less when it’s hopscotch, 

But a hell of a lot more when you have already had one hip replacement you couldn’t afford.

It was like A miscalculation of sorts,

How you believed you could check yourself out of parenting as swiftly as the library books we checked out every week until you got sick of driving me. 

A conscientious and cumbersome white flag attached to her existence. 

I detest the salt of tears when I am reminded of how many years it has been since you handed me a bowl of fruit cut carefully 

By you, for me.

I have never tasted a sweeter sentiment.

My sweet teeth, you gave me cavities and I would have killed you to have a glimmering, white smile, but I would have killed for you to be even the smallest sliver sweeter to me. 

I have fruit shaped slices of anger sitting like a peach pit the size of a piggy bank in my stomach. I have the weight of a thousand hospital bills parked in the piggy bank of anger adding up in my belly and it will never go anywhere until I can repay this debt I sold my soul to, I sold my soul and I don’t remember when exactly I realized we share the same one. 

Pennies and nickels and loans, I promise I swear I will repay the debt I never forgot I owe. 

Living off pickles and crushed ice and sweet tea. Living off skating the outskirts of survival but tasting the confetti. 

Your Facebook birthday post for me contains the nicest words I heard from you this month. 

I wore your clothes to my office job and returned home in shambles after everybody complimented the navy blue blouse of yours, a square neckline and puffy sleeves, tagged by Old Navy,

I wore you proudly.

I must look like my mom in this. 

My mom is the most astonishing, breathtaking, threatening woman I ever did spawn from. 

She is a Capricorn and I am a Cancer. 

She is a teacher, missing her key with all the answers.

She is a listener,

The one audience member laughing ferociously for every bad joke my lips ever spoke.

She holds her head high and hands to the sun digging her feet into shore

Patrolling me diving headfirst into dark ocean floor. 

She would turn around and tell her sisters before you could finish asking her to keep it a secret. 

If I had no choice or all too many of them, I would share a room with my mother again, freshly fourteen next to you at forty-three, two twin sized beds and a loud enough wall to wake one another up banging our heads against it. 

If I had no choice or as many choices as apologies I owe you, I would lock us inside the bedroom both of us hated having to share. I would grind up and chew the key to our bedroom into the finest chalk dust and drink it with a bottle of your favorite champagne.

How old was I when I stopped wanting to share everything with you? 

Did you ever stop wanting to share your life with me?

How old will I be when you start missing my birthdays, and

Who will celebrate me the way you always try to?

I would sit there with you in the car, in the back seat looking at the back of your headrest, avoiding meeting your eyes in the rearview at all costs, rage on my tongue and blood in my tears and fighting for you to tell me 

What I should have done differently, 

Where I wound up on the path to become you, and

Who were you trying to become all these years, rather

Who were you so desperate to stray from becoming and why was it your own mother?

How much longer am I in time-out, and

What will it take for me to earn my place at the dinner table?

Have you sent the invitations yet and 

Why do you always invite the ghost of me at age six?

Can you please unzip my dress and can you close the garage door before you start the car? 

Can you sit here with me and see past my pores into my thoughts?

I would rest in so much peace in the stillness of my mother’s Hyundai backseat.

I feel rest only when she is watching over me. 

I feel scared around her sometimes. 

I am scared to hear what she will say when I am done speaking. 

I am so scared to find out how she really feels about me, 

What she says about me when I’m nowhere near, 

What does she pray for when she mentions me to God, and

Why didn’t she spend some of that time praying,

Just listening to me instead? 

Has anybody seen my mother happy? 

Is there a way to know happiness once you’ve known motherhood? 

Is there a light at the end of the tunnel or is that something they say without checking to see if they overbooked the train my mother was supposed to take out of the tunnel? 

I wish to meet her, a 15 year old girl, the living epitome of vulnerability, was she really as chubby as she tells me she was? She curses her mother for feeding her TV dinner trays that plumped her cheeks and kept her mouth too full to fuss for every evening she was left to fend for herself. 

I wish to ask her about her dreams, the ones she never thought about again after she left the NICU at twenty one years old. 

Where did she hide them and how deep did she cut her skin open to stitch the key inside herself?

If I had no choice or a million and one with my mother watching over me, I would dedicate all of this prose littered with my own heartache 

to the woman who woke up and worried about me against her own will. 

I would run from her until my lungs collapsed in on me, 

and I would sing to her until my lungs collapsed in on me, 

and I would paint pastures and red roses and wild horses and coastal sceneries until her eyesight gave up on her. 

I will make my words into watercolor

My voice into the softest paint brush and 

I will make her bed and lie with her inside it

I will make us into a canvas and let the world paint us how they please

They will never understand you like I do

And they certainly will never grasp the greenery the way we do together

The way the deer still graze our greenway through misty mornings apart

And we tie our car keys in a bow with our shoelace

Banana bread, I will bake more for you

And I will brush your hair more tenderly

Than you ever did brush mine

And I will laugh at the jokes you make at my expense.

If I had no choice or as many as I had reasons to run from you,

If I had no choice or a choice for every sacrifice slain on the front door, 

If I had nothing in my savings but my mom in my passenger seat, and I passed a poor man on the highway in the grueling August heat,

would she yell at me for volunteering all the cash I had on me? 

Would she secretly feel sorry for me, seeing how I inherited my mother’s inability to help myself before I help everybody else?

If I had every choice in the world but my mother was watching, would I always move in synchronization to the beat of my mother’s heart, for always, forever?

If I had no choice or all too many of them, I would come home, to her.

[myimaginarywonderland]

I am so over the Gerard thing already because I feel like there isn't a satisfying pay off. 911 really screwed this for me already.

Because the truth is we should have played with the Captain topic seasons ago. Buck should have been allowed to be angry especially after Bobby kept him from work and that was have been the perfect opportunity to first test out Hen and Chim as Captain. Obviously Bobby would have remained but they could have had a questioning investigation and so we would have seen how the others do as Captain. Maybe let Hen and Chim each lead for 4 episodes and then Bobby is cleared, the Law Suit is resolved and we are done.

Bobby has had doubts for longer than this. The cruise ship should have been a final nail in the coffin if we had a longer season. The cruise ship where he once again saw his family endangered should have been the kickstarter to Bobby retiring or taking up a different position at the end of the seasons and we should have had it discussed.

We should have finally been allowed to see Buck actually take on Captain because despite what anyone says he is undoubtedly the firefighter who loves his job the most. The amount of times that Buck has saved and helped civilians while off duty, the amount of times he should have gotten recognized, everything is leading up to Buck taking over for Bobby. He has rescued his team more times than I can count.

Had they already played with the idea before this season and allowed Buck and Hen (since it is obvious Chim would not like the ever be captain) to prove themselves, this Gerard arc would slap. Why? Because it would open the great possibility of the firefam fighting and someone establishing themselves as the new Captain. Had they laid the groundwork, this could lead to an incredibly satisfying arc where we see a character take on another step, grow even more with the entire support of the firefam.

This would have been the perfect opportunity to make a "This is my house, this is my team" speech from Buck because what we have learned over the course of the series is that essentially Buck is heart of the firefam. Buck is the fixer, the one who holds them together, who keeps everyone going. This would have been a beautiful opportunity to lead into an arc where some things from Buck's coma dream like Buck saving Bobby actually get shown while Buck saves Bobby's legacy. Or he'll, even if it was about Hen, it would be a great writing opportunity. Hen, who fought against the entire 118 (except Chim) to be recognized, Hen who had to fight to be seen and then finally gets everyone behind her, the unanimous support she should have had from the beginning.

This Gerard arc could have easily been incredible to progress to show, the widen the characters (Bobby retiring leading to Ravi finally becoming a main), to show more of the LFD (Bobby potentially taking on a different role) but instead it will just end in Bobby's entire arc being undone and him just coming back to captain because they haven't done anything to prove otherwise. It has been done on Lonestar once and even then people had trouble. Not to mention the whole rotating captain thing Station 19 had going on.

911 could have done an amazing arc to finally get Buck to happy ending, to fully develope his character fully, to make an incredible decision of having a black, lesbian fight for a house that never deserved her but instead this arc falls so flat and predictable that it just feels like the biggest wasted opportunity.

There was no build up for it to have an ending that isn't "Well who could have guessed this?" Because it's so obvious Bobby will come back and it will just be like maybe a three episode arc that will likely help the fandom who is already in shambles to split apart even more.

This could have been an amazing arc but without a build up there isn't any good payoff.

[gillianthecat]

well, i'm not really shocked about it, but my executive function basically collapses on saturdays. it would be nice if it didn't, but i'm also cutting myself some slack about it. i think my brain just needs at least one day a week to let go of all self discipline. it's inconvenient, but i'm hoping it will work as a pressure valve so i can stay on top of things the rest of the week.

i did not sleep at all last night and instead compulsively went through someone's tumblr blog looking for all the personal details of her life even though our interests don't really overlap because she's the same age as me, she posted actual photos of herself and family (which felt slightly shocking on this website, though i know she's not the only one by far) and there were hints that she lived in the same area as me (it turns out she does). that happens sometimes, I get fascinated by some random person's online presence and want to dig up all the details that i can about them. not because i necessarily find the person themselves that interesting, it's more about the hunt for snippets of information. And, like with this woman, it's often someone who is like me in a few ways, but otherwise very different, so it feels like a glimpse at the mundanities of an alternate life i might have lived, although don't actually want. I used to get my fix of the details of ordinary other people's lives from the blogs of adult ballet students and ballroom dancers, and the occasional organizing/interior design blog, but sadly long form blogging like that seems to have basically disappeared. I never regularly followed youtubers but occasionally fell down a rabbit hole and obsessively watched people's entire oeuvres in a ridiculous binge.

and then a random link on that first tumblr-er's blog led me to an article in a magazine that then suggested a second article that was so awful, written by someone who someone who styled themselves a "public intellectual" but was either so implausibly naive about reality that it boggled the mind, or cynically pretending to be naive for... stirring up controversy? pandering to white racists? who the fuck knows - that i felt compelled to find all the bad reviews talking shit about him, partly to reassure myself that i had not lost my grip on my reality, that it was this writer who was talking absolute nonsense, and partly just to enjoy other people tearing him to shreds. i even when to twitter, for gods sake (this is how we know my executive function is in shambles). i did find many people there destroying him, managed to avoid reading his own tweets or that of his supporters, and got off in under an hour, so as twitter forays go, it wasn't too dangerous.

last saturday's executive dysfunction all-nighter was mostly dedicated to aimless scrolling of tumblr corners that i don't usually visit, but there i also found someone who made no sense, and felt compelled to dig through there blog to see if learning more about them helped me understand what they were trying to say any better. it did not. their blog was mostly reblogs of random things, then them reblogging political/philosophical posts with incoherent but aggressive sounding arguments. i dug into the notes, because of course i did, and anyone who bothered to respond was like "i have no idea what you're trying to say so i'm not going to argue with you." i finally blocked them, just to stop myself from digging further.

mostly i'm writing this out in order to get back to my self; i feel like my sense of who i am and what i want gets lost as i go on this little explorations of other people's worlds. which i think is what i'm craving when i do it; to not have to be a coherent person for a little while. but if it goes on too long than i find it hard to become myself again, and all the tasks that have remained undone while i went away pile up and make me want to go back into hiding. but i am hopeful i've caught it in time that i can get back to being functional, and finish my homework and laundry and not start the week feeling so terribly behind.

the other reason for executive dysfunction is that i have a writing assignment (gasp!). it is a very small one—to write the introduction to our physiology lab report for my lab group—but i'm feeling very stuck about it. i think because i feel caught between wanting to make it sound like an introduction to an actual scientific paper and the reality that this is an intro level physiology lab that is not doing original research and that we came up with our hypotheses on the spot with little to back them up besides a gut feeling. so i think i just have to get over wanting to write a "good" introduction, and just bullshit something. (this is why i'm taking science classes. i get so stuck on doing academic writing. it took me an extra two years to turn in my undergrad thesis even after i finished all my coursework.)

here's a picture being the "subject" for my physio lab and looking like i'm about to get a jump start.

well. i could ramble on forever. but i will try to take this momentum i've rebuilt and go get things done.

(it would have been nice if my complete collapse of will power had led me to catch up on QL shows instead, but alas, that is now too close to things i "should" do, even though i love them. my brain seems to only accept complete and absolute time wasting.)

[chimeras-love]

the awful rusted machines

Pairing: Tim McIlrath/GN!Reader

Summary: a workaholic reader, crushed by capitalism, is hounded with more work than they can handle, until their savior in sweatpants comes to knock some sense into you (metaphorically, of course)

Tags: Established Relationship, (Tooth Rotting) Fluff, Cuddling, Kissing, No Use of [Y/N], Gender Neutral Reader (No Pronouns + Readers Appearance is Not Mentioned), Drabble, One-Shot

Warnings: None

A/N: the time is left ambiguous, although you can take that AOL instant messenger notification as a sign if you'd like :) i also left Tims appearance vague so you can imagine whatever Rise Against era you'd like

Word Count: 1.2k

You’ve got mail!

“Fuck you,” you snapped.

The notification rang through the still air on a particularly muggy evening. You sat, shirt stuck to your skin with sweat, despite an open window and the direct blow of an electric fan. The papers that scattered your desk would have flown away had it not been for the assorted office supplies anchoring them. A stapler here, some scissors there, and coffee cups with a little coffee still left in them. All together, making your work conditions a bit more bearable.

'Some conditions,' you thought. Bringing your work back home like you were some high school kid all over again, scrambling together the shambles of an essay all in one night. Sticky notes stuck onto any surface available with the unintelligible scribblings of an over-caffeinated workaholic. Grueling, unending, thankless work.

Oh well, at least you got paid. 

Was it worth it?

Eh, probably not.

You hovered your cursor over the email tab and watched the tiny envelope icon open up to reveal an even tinier paper.

‘Cute,’ you thought, ‘and deceptive.’

You did it a few more times, with a blank expression plastered on your face, as the paper went in.

Then out.

Then in.

Then out.

Then in again.

Postponing the inevitability of what would, undoubtedly, lead to more work; all of the others had. “Finish this, fax that,” the sort of monotony you’d only expect in the most satirical of black comedies. Clicking that unassuming little envelope icon would be metaphorical suicide.

You glanced at the corner of the screen.

3:27 AM.

“Fuck,” you cursed, letting your body relax, as much as you could, into the ratty black office chair. The one you still hadn’t gotten around to replacing.

‘Maybe,’ you thought, ‘ I can give my boss some bullshit excuse. A powerline fell on my car and my computer shut down and I lost all my progress! My grandmother fell terribly ill and I had to nurse her back to health! Hell, maybe something as lazy as a dog eating it.’

‘Just fucking anything.’

“Ugh,” you let your head hit the desk with a thud.

“Pretty late, hm?”

You spun your chair around, recognizing the voice almost immediately. Your boyfriend leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded, in a gray long-sleeve that was just tight enough to outline his arm muscles— the top button, left undone. Donning black sweats, and white socks.

“Tim?” You asked, taken aback, “what’re you doing up?”

He shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I…” you paused. “I’m still working.”

“Still? It’s three in the morning, you know.”

“I, uh, do know,” you admitted.

He narrowed his eyes.

“What’re you working on?”

“More of the most boring work in the world,” you replied “same shit, different day.”

Tim hummed in agreement. Although, truthfully, you didn’t think he was agreeing with you. After all, he was a musician. A popular one at that. Jealousy wasn’t exactly the right word to describe how you felt. Coveted, or desired fit a lot better. Mostly, you wanted a job that didn’t want to make you kill yourself.

“Why don’t you come to bed?” Tim asked.

“I can’t, not yet at least.”

“Why not?”

“I still have work to do.”

Tim walked up behind you, his presence by your left shoulder. Even if you couldn’t see him, you could already tell exactly what he was doing. You imagined his eyes scanning over the dozens of open tabs and the abysmal state of your work station. You kept your eyes on the screen.

“You always say that.” He finally said.

“It’s always true.” 

“At this rate, I don’t think you’re gonna survive if you keep this up,” he half-joked.

“Not all of us get to just ‘put off our work’ when we feel like it,” you half-joked.

“Ouch.” 

Maybe jealousy was the right word.

The way he said it, like trying to actively pass it off as a joke (even though it clearly must’ve stung a bit). Now that hurt.

You sighed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” you trailed.

“It’s fine.” His touch startled you, hand starting to rub your back. “You’re not wrong, exactly.”

“Don’t say that, you work really hard. I’ve seen it firsthand, it’s just a… different type of work.”

“Maybe,” he kissed you on the cheek, “but I don’t think I’ve seen anyone work as hard as you. I mean, fuck— you’re clearly exhausted, and yet you’re still working.”

“I know it’s bad, I just… if I don’t finish this tonight it’ll just make it a bigger problem tomorrow.” You confided.

“It’s already a pretty big problem now,” he emphasized.

You bit the inside of your cheek. He was right. You hated when he was right.

You looked back at the screen one more time, then back to your boyfriend, and sighed. You closed your laptop.

Tim smiled. The bastard won.

‘I’ll simply get back to it early in the morning,’ you rationalized, as you walked back to the bedroom with Tim. Was that any better than staying up longer? Probably not, although it would put your boyfriend at peace at the very least. You'd deal with the inevitable badgering tomorrow, er, rather later today.

Tim climbed all the way in the bed, and you followed suit. He pulled you into his side, while you draped yourself lazily over him. Your chests rose and fell rhythmically. He turned his head to kiss you; slow, but tender, lips tasting faintly of coffee (which you only gathered after noticing the empty mug beside him). You pulled away, still only inches from his face.

“You were waiting for me to go to bed, weren’t you?”

He shrugged, “yeah.”

“Yeah?” You asked, wondering if he was going to say anything else.

"Yeah,” he reiterated, ”I don’t think you’d believe me if I said no, anyways.”

You laughed, and kissed him again. Lazily, simply enjoying his taste as he did yours (which, now that you mention it, was probably very similar given that you’d both been hyping yourself up on coffee). You pulled away, and found yourself lost in his eyes, as you often did. Each color was mesmerizing in their own right. His left, a piercing icy blue. His right, a deep nearly-brown hazel—and the contrast between them? 

Intoxicating.

"What're you staring at?" He chuckled.

You shrugged. It was your turn for the simple one word answers, the only thing you said being "you."

He rolled his eyes, the faintest dust of pink taking to his cheeks. He always acted embarrassed by your fawning, and maybe he was, but he still loved the attention... even if he wouldn't admit it.

"What for?"

"I don't know," you took a deep breath, "I guess I just realized how lucky I was to have you."

"Oh, you just realized that?" He narrowed his eyes, playfully.

"Shut up," you hit his shoulder, "you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do."

"I love you."

"I love you too," he replied.

Tim reached over to turn off the lamp beside him, and the room was entrenched in near total darkness, save the neon city lights that cast through the curtains.

You lifted your head up just enough to glance at the bedside clock.

4:03 AM.

"Little past my bedtime, isn't it?"

"Eh, maybe Just a bit."

it's a lot shorter than my last one, so apologies if you were looking for anything more dense, im terrible at writing consistently. i definitely beta read, but im also known for wanting to change literally everything once i actually post it so dont be surprised if i reupload this later on w better writing.

(p.s. if you like the tim fic, you're gonna love the long-fic i have planned in the future hehe :P)

[chloemokthequeen]

The Postpartum Ordeal.

The woman's body is a wonder, and with childbirth, it is a host of shambles in plain view. 66 months of having those nipples being a source of nourishment have left a silhouette permanently undone. Two children and seven years before my body is finally mine again.

Where it used to house an embryo is now a sagging pooch. Where the scalpel cut to retrieve an infant now surfaces pain with every exertion. Where the nourishing happened, they are now just flabs. All the late nights have left their indelible ink under eyes. Childbearing is rough, childcare is traumatic but the loss of self is a whole other world of agony.

For seven years, this body that was my birthright became my children's birthright. Before it was theirs, it belonged to their father. My body was no longer mine and I had obligations to nourish, comfort, and be a vehicle for whatever is needed for children's happiness.

Above all, this ravaged and fatigued body that was all touched out, suffering from low progesterone and oestrogen levels, was also tasked to keep the marriage alive. Nipples and vagina, wondrous organs the gods have created to give life at the woman's expense. What a scornful time it has been.

No one told me that was temporary, and I would feel my body again. It wasn't forever, albeit feeling like it. The body comes back in increments. First the breasts, they are no longer in the way. Then the body odor completely gone. Then the sensation at the scar returning with muscles and nerve endings healing. Then the growing progesterone levels that are bringing moisture back. Sex is no longer a literal pain and I am myself again. Anxiety levels are lowering because there is now breathing space.

There is now a world filled with hope and joy. No longer walking around with a conscious fear that my body will be demanded to satisfy anyone again. My wellbeing is at last recuperating from a whole lot of bruises. Physical and emotional.

What a journey. I'm back, finally.

#postpartumordeal #postbreastfeeding #postpartumbody #postpartum

[scarletskye]

Carnival | Bring me a Nightmare

Chapter 3 [Madhouse] | 10/25/23

The children sleep in the Madhouse,

A sleeping accommodation adorned with skulls,

Pumpkins, decorations, and a fever dream.

The children sleep when they’re awake;

They’re awake when they’re asleep. (5)

There is a disturbance within

The carnival howls; it must be extinguished.

It has never been so afraid of a child,

And yet it asks me to do what even I myself…

Thought unthinkable. (10)

My tiny hellish creation,

Go, bring me a nightmare.

Reach into the depths of despair,

Where the world is in disrepair,

And bring me a nightmare. (15)

Where time meets with infinity,

And everything beyond is fragmented…

Go, bring me that nightmare,

Bring it to me.

I can hear its description, but nothing more; (20)

To see it myself would lead to disaster.

I will have to destroy the soul of my creation,

As soon as the task is done,

For it will be in shambles after what it endures,

That which is the essence of terror (25)

Beyond anything that could be comprehended;

The Creation of All Nightmares.

A child sits, eyes fixed in front of and behind itself

As it sits at the center of the forgotten lands.

Bleak and gray, spirals of glyphs and ancient architecture, (30)

All surround the unfathomable expanse around

The center at which the child sits.

It sat at the center for creation,

Where an unloving deity mused and contemplated

Spewing the horrors we all dreamed into the abyss, (35)

To be curated by our individual minds and selves;

Now fed into this one, stone faced child.

There, it witnesses untold horror,

Rather than just the worst nightmare possible;

It was all of the possible nightmares, all at once. (40)

Every scariest thing, the most terrible accident,

The most thorough torture, most absolute death,

Every fear would be exploited,

Even those we didn’t know existed,

Including the knowledge of a higher being. (45)

No mortal mind could ever resist such force…

The child could not cry, could not scream,

Only sit in confused horror, a profound silence.

It did not wish it was killed right then and there,

It would wish it had never, ever existed. (50)

It would wonder what it had done,

What was happening;

Why…?

It will not move, from the emotion beyond shock,

Paralyzed by something further than hate; (55)

Undiluted, dispassionate apathy and disgust.

Felt by an immortal being that loathes humanity;

It hates us, it wants us to dream terrible things.

It employs it’s insurmountable abhor for us,

Fills every nightmare with the same essence. (60)

The deity looks down at us;

It could wipe us out at any moment,

But it would rather break us down…

It would rather destroy what makes us,

It would rather watch us suffer. (65)

And all that hate is being fed to one child…

The child does not cry; its mind is shattered,

The primordial core from which love,

Emotion, sense, and self.

Has shattered; (70)

He’s broken.

The child is not…

Undone;

He is nothing.

Even I am appalled by this vision, (75)

This incredible demonstration of dark desire.

A putrid, loathing heart could never do it justice.

It is an incomprehensible being that decides;

Even I, Cassandra Styx, Bringer of Darkness,

Look at this potential vision with disgust. (80)

But what must be done for my own freedom,

I will do without a second thought.

Now go, bring me that nightmare!

Everyone at this madhouse will have it tonight,

I will make sure the stage it set. (85)

They will wake not with madness;

They will not want to claw out their eyes,

Nor beg to be killed, to be freed.

They will wake not with trauma;

They will not cry until their eyes burn, (90)

Nor will they sit in a sad, comatose ball.

They will not wake, from an eternal slumber;

They will get up, walk about as empty husks.

The children will have been crushed;

Something primordial will have come undone. (95)

And my task shall be fulfilled,

A beating heart will resonate…

It will fill the halls.

And the Carnival will go on,

The child that poses a threat, (100)

Will be dealt with.

It will be no more.

[snugglebuddyhan]

Had a conversation with a few of my mutuals on my main twitter account about abusive parents and it really hit me how normalized this type of aggression towards kids is and how a majority of parents show no remorse later on down the road for the damages they caused by claiming it was what they had to do to make sure we were raised right. Abuse of any kind is NOT a catalyst or solution and it’s sickening that people try to find justification behind it

It’s not just about them showing no signs of remorse later on. It’s them, at that point in time truly believing beating us, putting their hands on us or verbally scaring us is the ONLY form of discipline in existence. You’ve failed not only as a parent, but as a person if installing fear in a kids heart through years of abuse is what you think parenting is. All the abuse does is create resentment and physiological/physical damage that may or may not be something that’s able to be undone and a relationship later on down the road that will without fail fall to shambles

What’s amazing is the amount of parents that get upset and have the audacity to play the victim when their kids move out as soon as they turn of age and never speak to them again. Not sure what’s not clicking, but WHY would they expect the child they abused on a daily basis to want to stick around if the choice was theirs? Just bc hands were never laid on them now that they are older or the verbal abuse has stopped doesn’t mean the damage hasn’t already been done. In order for me to work on my trauma and move past it I need to create an environment that’s not toxic or a reminder of what I’m trying to escape from and if cutting contact is what needs to be done for me to heal then so be it. Maybe if people kept their hands off their kids or didn’t talk to them sideways all the time they wouldn’t be sitting alone at home right now wondering if they’ll ever see them again or if they’ll end up dying alone

People really need to rethink their choices on becoming a parent if it’s not something they are sure they are mentally ready for using me as the perfect example. I have anger issues that definitely stems from my childhood and is definitely fueled by the current events in my life. I’ve taken my anger out on myself time after time vs on other people, although I’ve come close to hurting others a few times

When I get mad it’s like I disconnect with myself and reality and everything becomes a blur and all thoughts except raging out and destruction are blocked. It’s like a knee jerk reaction to want to instantly lash out, which is usually done to and on myself. It’s so immediate I don’t have time to think about the consequences of my actions nor do I care. I’ve repeatedly punched myself in the head so hard I saw white and went blank for a few seconds, once even heard what sounded like a crack, which should have been a warning for me to stop, but I haven’t and probably never will. Like I said, it’s a knee jerk reaction. No time to think

I’ve repeatedly punched my thighs with so much force they were bruised the next day and I had to wear sweats to keep people from asking questions. I’ve dug my nails into the skin on my arms until the skin ripped and I was bleeding. I’ve pulled my hair out, silently screamed until my chest felt like it was going to explode and I was fighting to catch my breath to keep from passing out. I’ve punched holes in walls and broke things precious to me. I caused permanent damage to my left wrist while in a fury one time. I went to hit the inside of the doorway with the side of my fist as I was walking out of it, but I missed and my wrist caught the edge of the doorway instead and to this day I can’t do much with my left hand before it locks itself in place and I can’t move it, which is also extremely painful and can take time to unlock

I am a self destructive person and despite trying to get better I’m still a work that will be in progress probably for the rest of my life. The anger inside me is dormant and is always waiting for a trigger and this aggression/hair trigger response will never go away, which is why I know being a parent isn’t something I’m cut out for

It’s not just my anger problems. I’m just not mentally stable enough in any form to raise another human being. I can’t make myself happy, so how am I supposed to make another person happy much less be concerned about their happiness? I don’t love myself. Never have and I never will. Day after day I neglect to take care of myself in ways more than one, bc of my depression, so how am I supposed to love and take care of another person? My anxiety is so bad I can’t even leave the house a majority of the time. Hell, even in my seclusion I have anxiety attacks that I struggle to get out of

I have acknowledged my problems and have accepted my reality as a person who should never have children. I don’t trust myself enough. What if I’m in a fit of rage and I hit my child or worse? I’ve almost knocked myself out with blows to the head. Imagine if I lashed out and used those same hands on a small child. What if my depression causes me to neglect them just like I do myself? What if my anxiety keeps me from being able to provide for them? There’s just so many what if’s. It definitely outweighs the good and is extremely concerning

I’ve made this point several times and people always tell me I’d understand their choice of parenting if I was a mother and honestly? That’s just their shitty way of trying to justify abusing their children. No amount of persuasion is going to convince me that type of behavior is okay and I don’t quite understand why people want me to abuse my kids so bad. I’ve also been told all the issues I have shouldn’t stop me from having kids, bc kids will be the turning point in my life and would probably change me for the better and I don’t believe that for a second. Anger, depression and anxiety are illnesses that not even medication can cure, so what in the hell is a child supposed to do? A kid is not some type of cure all. If anything I feel like it’d just be more on an already full plate

People just really need to take a closer look at themselves before having a child. All that abuse is stemming from something they haven't addressed within themselves. They need to take a good look at themselves first, bc their kids aren't the issue. They are

[andoutofharm]

this picture of gerard is making me insane