#feeding a vicious cycle

[rustchild]

.

[afewproblems]

Getting back into it (writing and tumblr) and hoping to post a Lil one-shot hopefully tonight!

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

kerosene and other dietary supplements

there’s a dryness in the center of bite wounds, the ones that don’t get all the way through

teeth and saliva and blood; evenly divided semi-circles, perfect fifths, et c

but the skin between remains unblistered, unbroken

dry and calm

it’s funny, as long as the laughter is directed at nobody and maybe yourself

if it's still humor when the ouroboros reaches the end of its tail and stares back at itself

eyes and recognition and fear meeting for a second

the moment it takes for a jaw to widen, eyes rolling back in the lunge

and the snake is lust, it is doubt and a choking scream and violence

so tightly coiled it must forfeit sight to part its teeth

directionless and thrashing and begging for someone to do that again

take up shed blade and intent and for chrissake aim for something important

but mostly it sleeps in your chest, and mostly it isn’t a snake, and mostly you live around it

and it’s not lust

it is anger, enough pain and blood and guilt and violence for a lifetime

astounding what you can fit into fifteen minutes with a little depersonalization and a paring knife

still not lust

but there is a sex to it

something in the movement, in the quiet desperate shuffling

because it’s sex and it's grief and you don't even have to cry during

it’s sex and it's the closest you can get to dying without drawing attention to yourself

it’s tearing your skin down to brass tacks because maybe if you can get at the support hooks you can talk them into fitting correctly

it’s standing in the basin of a church parking lot on a thursday afternoon

slamming god’s finest car door into your forearm until it remembers who it belongs to

it hurts like godfire and it’s the closest thing you can have to sex without taking your clothes off

and it’s lust the same way that shallow midnight anguish is lust

it’s lust like an apology that stalls out, somewhere between bile and teeth

like a molding pomegranate, like a dead spider, blood and skin and eyes

smeared ever so slightly between your palm and the hole it was trying to escape to

it’s lust for as long as anger has to be yelling

has to seethe and bare teeth and throw plates at raised arms

as long as anger does not realize how to smile, to placate, to pray

as long as i love you has to be true

as long as you have to stare unblinking into the wound before it’s allowed to kill you

allowed to pus and rot and burrow through flesh until there isn’t any

lust like a maggot cupped gently into a corpse, bathed in sunlight

it’s lust because the grief counsellor can never dig quite fast enough

hard to keep up with the dirt, armed with your own inertia 

and twenty court-ordered minutes

and the kind of grief that doesn’t grip the silverware drawer to hurt other people

they never get to weapons made of strangers

to clothing that debrides skin if you fold it right, if you ask nicely

to throwing yourself against nails and teeth and flared collarbones

until the bruises start to slide together, till your skin is too stunned to scream at you

it’s violence but not for anybody else

that godless sex that gets you frowned at, by family and holy men

like all this little fucking conundrum was missing was disapproval

and the bite roils in your stomach now, bile creeping up between cracked teeth

they are vicious and eager and can never sink all the way through

‘cause it’s rotting, that dry little center

and you can’t bring yourself to check just how much progress it’s made

you’ve always looked a little like roadkill, anyway

[orivu]

my bf told me last night that we'll have a talk & theyll help me sort out my life one thing at a time bc he doesnt like how terminally online i am lately & for the first time in my life i actually felt understood

[padfootastic]

im sorry,,,not to be annoying on main about a fic that’s nowhere near ready to be published but can i just say—

y’all are NOT ready for this

[sanctissimx]

@bearratic

[blocky-tides]

i had to delete the app since it was like 12 gb eating up my storage and now for some reason the app keeps crashing whenever i open it (tumblr said they would stop servicing ios 15 which i have so im like stuck like this sdkjjkdfsljdfs [apple is up to ios 18])

[chemicaljacketslut]

yk before coming to college i hoped that i would make friends and try hard to be social, but i also acknowledged the very real possibility that i wouldn’t make friends and i would feel out of place and homesick. and i was like if that happens, it’s okay, i can push thru and have hope for future friends. ermm well. now it has happened and while i haven’t been here long at all and i hope i’ll start clicking with people more i forgot how hard loneliness is for me to deal with like that in conjunction with the new workload and all the big changes of emerging adulthood and i am at my breaking point crying every day within the first month lol

[bunnyboy-juice]

i want comfort of distractions and company but i am not fit for company rn so im just. sobbing (:

[homunculus-argument]

I think there's a real tragedy in the way straight men don't see themselves the same way that people who are attracted to men see them. If you ask a straight man to describe what an attractive man looks like, there's very little variety - the masculine male ideal is tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed with a cleft chin and built of sculpted muscle. The stereotypical image of an Alpha Male, someone whom he could respect, and envy.

And sure, there are plenty of women, gay men and people of all sorts who are attracted to to this specific type, even exclusively attracted to it, there is so much more variety in this, both in the tastes and their subjects.

The stereotype of "hot wife, ugly husband"-couples was drawn from the observations of straight men, from their own perspective. Women going after men that men find unattractive makes no sense to them, and they figure that women are willing to overlook being ugly if a man's funny, smart or rich enough. If a woman insists that she's attracted to a specific man who isn't attractive by their standards, they'll assume that she's lying.

The tragic part is when a man who believes himself to be ugly grows bitter over this, developing a foul personality which people do find repulsive, and then uses their repeated experiences of being romantically rejected as proof that they're physically unattractive, insisting that surely women would overlook his heinousness if only he was tall and muscular enough, and had the right bone structure. The self-feeding vicious cycle of being a bitter incel is born.

The thing about "ugly men with a good personality can still be attractive" is that they're usually not even ugly. Some people do genuinely find fat and hairy men, thin and delicate men, short men and feminine men attractive. There's as much variety as in cheese, you can't compare aura to brie. And just like in cheese, as long as you're not toxic, somebody's into that. You just need to find the right wine to compliment it.

[moomuzan]

— 𝔲𝔫𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢

requested , their love is one-sided , slight angst , chuuya , dazai , akutagawa x gn! reader , requests are open my loves ㅤᵕ̈

He had loved you for as long as he could remember. From the moment he joined the Port Mafia, young and desperate for approval, you had been a beacon of power and control—everything he wanted to be, everything he wasn’t. Your sharp wit, your icy confidence, the way you commanded a room without even trying—it had captivated AKUTAGAWA entirely.

But you wouldn’t even glance in his direction.

At first, he convinced himself it was because he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t worthy of your attention. So he trained harder, fought more ruthlessly, and sacrificed what little of himself was left, hoping that one day you’d see him. He wanted you to notice him, to need him. But no matter how much blood he spilled, no matter how hard he pushed himself, your eyes never lingered on him the way he longed for.

You only looked at him when it was convenient for you.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” you’d said once, your voice cold and biting. He’d stood there, trembling, his fists clenched at his sides as your words pierced deeper than any blade. “Always chasing after someone’s approval—first Dazai’s, now mine. It’s embarrassing.”

He hated the way his heart ached at your words, even as his blood boiled in anger. He hated how much he craved your validation, even when you offered nothing but disdain.

Still, you used him.

You knew how to twist him, how to pull his strings and make him dance for you like a puppet. A small compliment here, a lingering glance there—it was all it took to keep him at your feet, desperate and hungry for more. You played him effortlessly, feeding his obsession while reminding him just how insignificant he was to you.

Time and time again, he’d gone above and beyond, risking his life to carry out missions, just to see the faintest flicker of approval in your eyes. But it never came—not the way he wanted. Instead, you discarded him as easily as you used him, your words cutting him down until he felt like nothing.

Nevertheless, he loved you.

He hated himself for it—for the way his heart raced whenever you were near, for the way he clung to every crumb of attention you threw his way. It was a vicious cycle of longing and rejection, and he was trapped in it, unable to break free.

He stayed awake at night, staring at the ceiling of his empty room, your voice echoing in his mind. “You’ll never be enough.” It haunted him, replaying over and over, until he began to believe it.

He wanted to hate you. He wanted to tear you from his heart, to rip out the parts of himself that still yearned for your touch. But no matter how much pain you caused him, no matter how cruel your words were, he couldn’t stop loving you.

And that was the worst part.

,

CHUUYA ‘s hand tightened around his glass, the crystal trembling under the strain. The whiskey swirled, untouched, as his gaze remained fixed on you. You were laughing, your face aglow with the kind of joy that should be his to share. But, it wasn’t. Now, you leaned closer to him, another man, your hand brushing his in a way that made Chuuya’s stomach twist painfully.

Trying to look away, his eyes betrayed him. You were magnetic—his solace in the chaos, his one constant. Yet now, you were slipping away, piece by piece, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

You used to look at him like that. You used to lean into him when you laughed, your eyes crinkling at the corners, the sound so sweet it made him forget the rest of the world existed. Back then, he pathetically thought he had a chance. But now, all he could do was watch from across the room as you gave those moments to someone else.

He didn’t know when it started. Maybe it was the way you stopped lingering beside him after missions, or how your gaze seemed to search for someone else in a crowded room. Maybe it was the way your smiles for him felt just a little dimmer, a little more distant, like a fire fading to embers.

Chuuya’s heart ached, but he said nothing. He stayed rooted in place, gripping the glass like it was the only thing anchoring him. His best friend said something, and you laughed again—a sound so soft, so genuine, that it broke something inside him.

The glass cracked.

A sharp sound, the jagged shards digging into his palm. Chuuya barely noticed the blood pooling between his fingers as he stared at the table, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His breath felt heavy, like it wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

Thoughts crumbling in, he wanted to scream at you, wanted to shake you and ask why you were doing this to him. Didn’t you see what you were to him? Didn’t you feel the way his entire soul bent toward you like a moth to flame?

Instead, he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I need some fucking air,” he muttered,ultimately to himself, his voice low and distant.

Outside, Chuuya leaned against the brick wall outside, his head tilted back to face the night sky. The cold air bit at his skin, but it didn’t dull the ache in his chest. He dragged a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with shaky hands, the glow of the flame reflecting the turmoil in his eyes.

He exhaled, the smoke curling around him like the thoughts he couldn’t escape. He thought of your laugh, your smile, the way you used to look at him like he was the only person in the room. He thought of how he was losing all of it to someone else—someone who didn’t deserve you, not the way he did.

“Stupid,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. His hand trembled as he wiped the blood from his palm on his coat, ignoring the sting. “Why the hell can’t I let you go?”

Alone in the dark, Chuuya took another drag from his cigarette, his breath hitching as he fought the sob rising in his throat. He loved you. God, he loved you so much it was killing him. But it didn’t matter. You were slipping through his fingers, and all he could do was let you go.

,

DAZAI never thought someone like you would stumble into the Port Mafia, your beauty so striking it felt like a rebellion against the bloodstained corridors you now walked. From the moment Mori introduced you as the newest recruit, you’d stolen something from him—his focus, his composure, his carefully cultivated indifference.

You weren’t just beautiful; you were magnetic. The way you carried yourself, confident but not arrogant, graceful but never detached, drew him in like a moth to a flame. He didn’t realize he was burning until it was too late.

At first, he told himself it was just intrigue. You were new, a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved, someone whose motives he couldn’t immediately decipher. But it wasn’t just your sharp mind or your ruthless efficiency that captivated him. It was the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking, the way your laughter echoed through the dark halls, soft and fleeting, like a secret he wasn’t supposed to hear.

And then he saw you with her.

It was subtle at first—the way your eyes lingered on her a little too long, the way your lips quirked up in a soft smile whenever she walked into the room. Dazai noticed everything, of course. He always did. He noticed how you leaned closer to her during conversations, how you laughed more freely when she was around, how you always seemed brighter in her presence.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He wasn’t the kind of man who could love someone like you, someone so full of life. You deserved someone better, someone who wasn’t drowning in the darkness he carried with him.

He found himself gravitating toward the places you frequented, his footsteps quiet, his presence unnoticed. You had a habit of sitting on the rooftop late at night, the city sprawled out before you like a sea of lights. He would watch from a distance, leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked into his pockets as he drank in the sight of you.

Dazai’s fascination with you quickly spiraled into something darker, something he could no longer control. He thought about you constantly—your smile, your voice, the subtle way you tilted your head when you listened. It consumed him, an endless loop of moments he had no right to hold onto but couldn’t let go of. He found himself memorizing every detail, cataloging the way the light played off your hair or the faint curve of your lips when you were deep in thought. At night, when the world was quiet, his mind was filled with thoughts of you, the kind that left him restless and hollow. Dazai started lingering outside the places you went, his footsteps always a beat behind yours. It wasn’t enough to see you during missions or brief encounters in the hallways—he needed more.

Loving you silently, destructively, Dazai stayed in the shadows. He told himself it was enough to admire you from afar, to see you happy even if it wasn’t with him. But the jealousy burned, a slow, agonizing ache that ate away at him bit by bit.

You would never be his. He knew that now.

A/N: anon i’ll think about you, thx for the request (again flirting)

[poughkeepsies]

tyranny is such a vicious cycle

buck learning from interim captain han

2. ravi learning from clipboard buck

3. chimney admiring peer instructor ravi

three menaces feeding each other's abuse of power. I fear for everyone else on the team.

[johnbrand]

Cycle of Corruption

With @aismoker

Seb did not hesitate, flicking the lighter and bringing its open flame up to the tip of his cigarette. He had never smoked before, never had the intention to smoke before. Seb did not know anyone who smoked, and from an early age his family had preached about the dangers of nicotine. But here he was, the freshly-purchased pack of Marlboros sitting beside him as he took in his first inhalation.

Just as his blogger bro had warned Seb, that first breath was harsh, the smoke roughly scratching at his throat. But his bro had instructed him to keep going, push through the first cigarette. If it was still a little scratchy, have a second. Heck, go through the whole pack. He promised that Seb would notice the change once it came. His throat would surrender, allowing the smoke to smoothly caress itself along the walls like syrup.

Seb assumed he must have appeared strange to the passersby. Some looked at him with the common disdain that was given to all smokers, whether they were newbies or veterans. Some noticed the slightly-above average male and took a second to appreciate him, but then noticed the cigarette between his fingers and shied away. Seb was athletic, kept in shape, but he was nothing extraordinary. Just a lucky genetic draw. But his bro promised Seb it would all change. Smoking would make him what he craved to be: a real man.

Seb could not recall how it had all started. It seemed like only weeks ago he had been scrolling through content online, just passing each blog one by one as he had done countless times before. When he came upon a new blog in his feed though, one boasting of the joys and transformative properties of smoking, he was intrigued. Who in this day and age was promoting nicotine, especially at such a level to create fanfiction of Marlboro? With nothing better to do, Seb explored the page, and before he knew it hours had passed. He had become enthralled, blissfully unaware that a latent addiction had been awoken.

Seb continued to visit the blog, fascinated by the opinions and captions shared by the creator. Eventually, he reached out, and was surprised when the blogger quickly responded back. The blogger, an avid smoker and certified bro-type, was happy to explain his perspective and ideology, further enrapturing the pupil in Seb. It did not take much longer from there until his bro instructed him to purchase his first package of Marlboros, and now on his third cigarette, Seb’s world was beginning to expand.

Enlightened, Seb immediately sent a message to his bro, who responded back with knowledgeable confidence. His bro explained that this was his first stepping stone towards manhood, tying back to their discussions in the past. The blogger had uncovered the definition of masculinity to Seb through pictures of smoking men and by outlying the connections between nicotine and the alpha male. And at that very moment, as he was no longer resisting the smoke's phantom embrace coursing through his veins, Seb finally began to understand his bro’s perspective.

From there, the vicious cycle of corruption erupted. With the continued encouragement from his bro, Seb continued to purchase pack after pack of Marlboros until he began to do it automatically. The process engrained itself as a part of his system, the nicotine like a parasite adding one extra item to his mental to-do lists. And the smoking too, a catalyst initiated by his bro, shifted the direction of Seb’s fate, readjusting his life’s path towards new objectives.

Once the addiction took its permanent residence, things began to change. The smoke physically undertook a reconstruction of its host, creating a suitable body to contain its poisonous splendor. Seb’s musculature grew, his body strengthening a little more with every pack. As his bro reminded him, alpha men smoked, so if he was to smoke, by scientific law he would become an alpha. Larger, broader, naturally commanding a presence. As the years passed, his beard grew in, his body hair grew denser, and his attitude grew smug.

Thanks to the smoking, Seb’s relationships changed too. Family members and people he was once close with grew afraid of his new habits, offering help before simply disappearing from his life. His bro had assured Seb that this was simply for the best; their fear for the emerging alpha did not make them worthy of embracing the better him. With this, his bro helped Seb find new men to socialize with, fellow smokers who could laugh and indulge in their superior lifestyle, discussing the worldly topics around masculinity as smoke coated their interiors.

Seb’s corruption furthered, the addiction consuming him before eventually, almost a decade to the day after his first cigarette, he found himself running his own online blog preaching the revelations of smoking. Now sturdier, gruffer, and wiser, he was delighted when a young blogger popped anonymously into his inbox asking a few questions about his perspective. Seb was happy to indulge, knowing soon he would be enlightening the young man onto his own nicotine journey. And what better way to celebrate such a success than by having a smoke.

[fanaticsnail]

Thinking about a reader who's too polite for their own good. They aren't a total pushover, of course, but still don't speak up a lot of the times even when they probably should.

It's been a problem their whole life, but it really comes to a head when they join the strawhats. There's the usual problems; Luffy being obnoxiously loud, Chopper and Usop and their hyjinks. But none of these things compare tho their problems with Sanji.

The chef has one rule: no wasting food. It's how he was raised, and his experiences have lead to him understanding the importance of a meal. The 'no food waste' rule is known ship wide.

So when something is made that the reader doesn't like, they have no choice but to choke it back with a smile.

Sanji thinks he's done something wrong; underseasoned the food, maybe? This leads to a vicious cycle of him trying to perfect the food (because damn if he isn't going to get this right for his pretty crewmate) and the reader choking it back reluctantly (because damn if they're going to break Sanji's one rule and potentially ruin their chances).

All of this comes to one glorious, horrendous conclusion where one of Sanji's attempts uses an ingredient that the reader is allergic to and well....let's just say the aftermath was something to behold.

-♡♡

POOR BABYYYYYYYY. I love it. Let's torture him a bit.

Food Preferences

Masterlist Here

Little drabble.

Synopsis: Sanji caters to suit your personal food preferences, and it hurts him to learn of how truly picky you were with your food. He lives to serve, but his background as a great cook leaves him with a bruised ego to dull down his extravagant meals.

Themes: Sanji x gn!reader, underlying feelings, Sanji is a service king, reader is a picky eater.

Warning: potential eating disorder mentioned. Sanji serves large portions and it hurts to finish your plate.

Notes: Oh my gosh, Sanji would feel so guilty about it too. He'd cry before giving Luffy your portion, but would absolutely cater to suit your needs.

His portion control is due to the fact that he's feeding Luffy constantly, and expecting everyone to get a taste of everything he makes before Luffy takes it all for himself. It's the same with Zoro's drinking habit. He wants everyone to have a sample of something nice, and is used to having the collective gratitude and praise from everyone as soon as they eat their food.

Sometimes all you want is simplicity. No extravagant flavours. No richness in your desserts, no complex flavours in your meals. A military ration wafer block or two with a hot cup of boiled water is sometimes enough, you're not for all the complexity. Tea and a biscuit. Black coffee and a shortbread cookie. Simple flavours.

When Sanji nearly killed you with your allergy in a bid to win you over, you finally softly explain to him your preferences, and he listens. He may not understand it, but he listens. Simple, clean, basic, boring.

Immediately purchasing new crockery and knives specifically catering to your allergy preferences, he ordered in ingredients specifically for you that would never even glance at the same cabinet the allergins would be homed in. He's not about to send someone into anaphylaxis because he wanted to please someone, especially someone he served with on his crew.

He can't help but almost mourn when he makes your food now. He lives to serve, and that service includes providing foods that suit your preferences. Preferences that hurt his ego as a chef, but suited his purpose as someone who lives to serve.

Each time he brings you a dish now, he attempts to hide his sorrow at such a dish. He can't stand it, it kills him inside. It's worse than Chef Zeff wanting to drown everything in oregano. It's bland, it's boring, it's little...

...and it makes you smile.

And boy, oh boy, is he a sucker for that smile.

The way his heart flutters, his smile brightens, his eyes twinkle all in the hopes that you'd bless him with that soft smile he'd come to cherish. He didn't know when, but his heart sang to you. Maybe he could coax you in to expanding your preferences through something small, something new mixed in with the familiar. If he was willing to cut back for you, perhaps you could find it in your heart to expand for him.

If not, he'd love you for who you are anyway.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[medusas-daughter]

As much as I love Gothic romance and dark romance and vampire romance and I do so much, I'm so glad they made Nosferatu pure terrifying horror.

It has romance elements, but not between Orlok and Ellen, but between Ellen and her husband. And it's not dark, just both overwhelmingly romantic and sad that Ellen has so much trouble believing she is worthy of being loved while Thomas cannot fathom not loving her.

Orlok is such a deliciously unredeemable villain. He's not the misunderstood villain with the heart of gold, he's the merciless cold hearted villain who preyed on a young girl's vulnerability and robbed her of her sense of self and her life before it even began, the villain to kill. Ellen and her husband both very much want him dead. And his abuse of Ellen goes so deep that she starts questioning whether she deserves it, she starts believing she's unworthy of Thomas's love. And that's such a specific symptom of trauma, the shame and guilt yearning for more pain to keep feeding the shame in a vicious cycle.

Orlok claims to want and even love Ellen. And it makes him a compelling villain, it makes him a terrifyingly real villain. It makes him a villain we all know in our own lives. How many sexual related crimes are committed by people close to the victim? How many abusers are husbands, lovers, parents? How many of us have been plagued by the personification of our worst nightmares who talks about loving us while destroying us with their very hands?

Orlok's treatment of Ellen is an allegory for grooming and rape. And it is done well, it is not glorified, it is given the weight that it carries in real life. And Ellen's ultimate fate is a tragedy. And in no way is it implied that she deserves it or that she was meant to meet it all along. It is both the ultimate proof that she is in fact innocent despite what Orlok had her believe all along, and a tragic end. And I'm not even mad at it. There is catharsis in tragedy as much as in slaying the monster.

Anyway, gothic horror is so back. Unredeemable villains are so back. Practical effects in horror are so so back and so incredibly good, cannot stress this enough. This movie has joined the roster of iconic horror movies that compose my personality.

[briarpatch-kids]

Just in case nobody's heard of this before... this is the pain cycle. The idea is that chronic pain feeds on itself and starts a vicious cycle.

You hurt, and it's distressing and scary and you want to avoid hurting yourself more, so you take it easy for a while until you feel better, but during that time alarm bells are still going off and your body is screaming at you something wrong and you're losing strength and flexibility, so you get more nervous and more injury prone and eventually you fall or something and hurt yourself more. Which causes more pain and more anxiety because what you feared was true, you got hurt again and your body is screaming at you that something is wrong, so you decide to rest and take it easy until you're feeling better...

The way I work on keeping myself out of that cycle is trying to give myself other feelings beyond just pain and try to reconnect to my body in a positive way. But you have to start slow, I started exercise just doing a loop around my house and took at least 6 months to take it to three miles. Now I can casually run 3 or 4 miles in my chair, and I get to feel the sun on my face and wind in my hair and my arm muscles working hard to move me.