#i feel so powerless. and empty. like a shell or a puppet

[theonpilled]

x

[kolyasupremanxy]

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐬!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 p.2

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Angst

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Dark themes , Violence, Psychological manipulation , Emotional manipulation , Surgery , Trauma , Mind control , Mental breakdown

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.7k

𝐀/𝐧: Thank you anon bcoz of you i managed to do smth here hh

As you woke up from the surgery, you felt an emptiness inside of you. Your once bright and vivid emotions were now gone, leaving you feeling like a shell of your former self. You tried to remember the feeling of love you had for Atsushi, but it was like trying to grasp at smoke. You couldn't feel anything anymore, not even the fear that was creeping up inside of you.

You were alone in a dark room, the only light coming from a single lamp above you. You tried to move, but found that you were tied down to the table, your limbs restrained. You tried to scream, but your voice was hoarse and barely audible.

And then you heard a voice, a voice that sent shivers down your spine. It was Fyodor's voice, cold and menacing. "Now, now, my dear sister," he said, his voice echoing in the room. "Look what you made me do."

You felt a hand on your forehead, and then everything went black.

When you woke up again, you were in a different room, this time with Fyodor standing in front of you. He looked different, almost like he was glowing, but his eyes were as cold as ever. "You're mine now," he said, his voice filled with malice. "You belong to me, and I will do with you as I please."

You tried to fight back, to tell him that he couldn't do this to you, but your voice wouldn't cooperate. You were nothing more than a puppet, controlled by Fyodor's every whim.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. You were kept locked away, hidden from the world and from Atsushi. You could feel nothing, not even the pain that came with the torture that Fyodor subjected you to.

And then one day, Fyodor appeared in front of you again, a cruel smirk on his face. "You think you can escape from your dear brother?" he taunted, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "You belong to me, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it."

You tried to protest, to tell him that you weren't his property, but the words died on your lips. You were trapped, trapped in a world of darkness and pain, with no hope of escape.

As Fyodor walked away, leaving you alone once again, you couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the love you once felt for Atsushi. Had it been all for nothing? Had Fyodor really taken everything away from you?

You were left with nothing but the hollow emptiness inside of you, and the knowledge that Fyodor would always be watching, always waiting for the chance to strike.

Atsushi's POV

Atsushi felt like his world had been shattered into a million pieces. He couldn't believe what had happened to you, the girl he had grown to love so deeply. It was like a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from, and he felt powerless to do anything about it.

He spent his days at the agency in a daze, barely able to focus on anything. He kept replaying the memory of the last time he saw you over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of what had happened. He couldn't understand how Fyodor could do something so cruel to his own sister, and he couldn't understand how he had let it happen.

Atsushi felt lost and alone without you, and the pain of not being able to help you was eating him alive. He questioned everything he had ever known, wondering if there was anything he could have done differently to prevent this from happening. He felt like he had failed you, failed himself, and failed the agency.

The pressure and the guilt started to weigh heavily on Atsushi, and he began to have trouble sleeping and eating. He couldn't focus on his work, and he felt like he was going insane. He wondered if he would ever be able to move on from this, or if he would be haunted by the memory of you forever.

Atsushi's mental state was deteriorating rapidly, and he knew he needed to do something to pull himself out of the abyss he had fallen into. But he didn't know how. He felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts and emotions, and he didn't know how to escape.

The only thing that kept Atsushi going was the hope that one day, somehow, he might be able to save you from Fyodor's grasp. He clung to this hope like a lifeline, praying that one day he would be able to make things right and rescue you from the darkness that had consumed you.

Do Not Copy or Plagiarize Any of My Works. Reblogs Are Very Appreciated.

[zakary-prashad]

Name: Zhyan Suri Zakary Prashad 

Age: 34 years old

Date of Birth: 9th of June (Gemini)

Preferred pronouns: he/him

Gender: Agender (Non-binary)

Sexuality: Asexual Biromantic

Species: Witch

Faceclaim: Manish Dayal

Occupation: Mailman

Place of birth: Maga, Rajasthan, India

Languages: Rajasthani (Hindi), English, French

Neighborhood in Astoria: North Valley

Length of Residency in Astoria: 6 months

read interview here

PERSONALITY/STATS

+ caring, resilient, curious +/- secretive, sarcastic - indecisive, broken, angry, powerless

Alignment: Chaotic Good Family: a father back in India Coven: Blackwell Coven Likes: rain, good food, coffee, the smell of incence, a good conversation Dislikes: people who judge too much, religion, cats, responsibility, authority Pinterest: https://nl.pinterest.com/shapkeepn/zakary-astoria/

BIOGRAPHY

(summary below)

Born in Maga, India, near the Ranakpur Temple, grew up religious, following an alternative form of Hinduism that fitted with his coven’s magical abilities. This generated a kind of strange upbringing. However, it also created tension. The supernatural community was under heavy fire, to such a point that wars were raged in the area over them. Zhyan was born in this war, but he was considered weak. For the first ten years of his life, Zhyan served the community by exchanging messages. His mother had died when he was four, and his father remarried through their traditions, but bore no other children. He was his sole heir, but his father did not wish for him to be his heir. Until Zhyan came into immense power. 

Whether it was truly the spirit of a God, or a spirit unknown and far more powerful, it did not matter. Zhyan’s possession became news that spread through the area, and the God - if it was truly a God - needed his body for one sole purpose: to end the war within the Supernatural Community. But people began to treat Zhyan as a god, expecting him to perform miracles and do everything for their community. He was allowed to fight, when fighting was expected of him, but aside from that, his powers should be used for good. He could make water from thin air, turn stones to dust, and reshape any matter in his surroundings. 

But those who now worshipped him thought he only shared in the spirit’s power, not that the spirit often had control over his body. Whenever in a fight or tapping into his new power too much, Zhyan lost control. He would no longer be in charge, all the other times, he could feel it there, like some huge void. It didn’t matter to him that he was strong now, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want the responsibility, or the hopelessness of his own situation. His father praised him, his people worshipped him, and the spirit within slowly turned his restlessness into self-hatred. Nobody understood how it felt to be this creature of power, yet have no control over it, no control over his own life. Those who had been his friends saw the true person underneath the decorations and praises, a broken person who rather take his own life than continue to live completely in someone else’s shadow. They thought he would not have it in him to stop the wars, he might be chosen for that goal, but they feared his resolve would end. So they started to lie to him, anything to ensure he would continue on the right path. One of them would offer him love without actually loving him. Anything to stop the wars. 

And the wars did stop. It was the spirit’s power and Zhyan’s friends placing him at the right place at the right time that focussed itself into the final battle. The forces who wished to end the power of the coven were met with the spirit that had vowed to take revenge upon them. And when the final soldier lay dead before him, the spirit disappeared. Zhyan was powerless.

For over two decades, he had been possessed. Now his body was his own again. But the worshipping did not stop, the people still thought he was powerful, even if what little he had left took immense energy to call upon. They wanted him to continue performing miracles, but Zhyan could not. His friends no longer seemed to care about him now his goal was completed, the one he thought loved him left him. He was alone, completely alone. He needed a way out, so one morning when everyone was praying, he hid himself among tourists at the Ranakpur Temple as they took the bus to Mumbai. He had fifteen hours to count his money constantly, and create his plan. Astoria had been on his mind for a while now, but really anywhere outside of India would do. He could speak English, he had enough practice at the temple with tourists. He needed a new chance. 

The whole way to Nova Pangaea he felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if at every moment the spirit would come back, take over, and drag him back to Maga. For another mission, another fight, more murder. But the spirit did not come back, he arrived in Astoria, tired, nervous, but free. He had always dreamt of running away from his responsibilities, and now he had finally done it. The one problem was: he no longer had any power. He could do the smallest tasks, but a stone would no longer listen to his commands, and very little water would appear from thin air. The Spirit had turned people to ashes, and turned him into an empty shell. 

With no education or skills, Zakary decided to do once again what he had done when he had been little: deliver messages. He got himself a bike, and started racing through the streets of Astoria trying to make enough money to hire an apartment. He thought it would be easy, to reclaim his freedom, even if nightmares of the murders done in the name of the spirit he served kept him from a good night’s rest, he no longer had to abide by the laws of others. But it wasn’t easy, because two decades of war didn’t just leave. Two decades of a shadow life resulted in him feeling unable to make a life for himself. What was he now? What was left? Thus he set out to reclaim his legacy; he set out to join a coven and become powerful again, through what he already had. Not borrowed, not possessed, but the power of his own. 

tldr; Born Zhyan Suri, he was possessed by a vengeful spirit at a young age who needed a vessel in order to continue a war between the supernatural community and those who were against it in India. The Spirit was extremely powerful, often taking full control of him when there was a fight going on or he needed to be strong. He remained the Spirit’s puppet for almost two decades, in which he became more and more frightful and distant, wanting to run away from it all. Eventually the Spirit won its war, and he was released. But the people continued to believe he was some kind of God, and worshipped him. He eventually ran away from his city, changed his name to Zakary Prashad, and took the first plane to Nova Pangaea. 

HEADCANONS

Has died 2 times, but both times was resurrected by the spirit. 

The Spirit’s power was to change the composition of materials. From liquid to solid to gas. It could turn human beings completely to ashes if it wished, and thus also help the supernatural community in several ways. Zhyan had complete control over this type of magic as well.

Zhyan changed his name to Zakary Prashad when he bought a new passport for himself in Mumbai, afraid that the legend of his powers had reached beyond the Indian borders. 

Despite everything, Zakary is a very social and kind person, it is hidden under layers of sarcasm and distraction because of his own lack of - according to him - personality, but he does care for people. 

While Zakary would never admit this to himself, he does envy those with power. Especially fellow witches. Some ghostly tendrils of his old abilities have stayed behind, however, he is unaware that his own ability is something completely different, thus believing himself to be powerless. 

Zakary hates that he still craves sometimes for others to be in control over his life, because the uncertainty of his situation often does not feel like freedom, but being trapped in a different cage. 

DEVELOPMENT

Zakary could turn into a villain or a hero. It could go either way. But I would love for him to establish some rivalry with other witches. He is envious of those with more power than him, and will try to win their favour, but technically he desperately wishes for them to acknowledge him as a witch too, despite barely being able to do anything. He does want to join a coven, but he does not want to go through the process of being part of something, because he also believes he should be accepted after everything he’s been through - despite never openly admitting to any of that. 

Zakary doesn’t believe the legend revolving around him and the spirit has reached very far, but I would love it if someone found out. While his god-like status was common knowledge in his region, the fact that the Spirit left him after the fight was won, is not. As a matter of fact, after the war was over, Zakary still got into situations where he was forced to pretend he still held the power of the spirit.

[queenoftheburrow]

King's Cage: Lover's Embrace

Disclaimer: Obviously the characters do not belong to me. They as well as everything associated with them belongs to Victoria Aveyard. I merely borrowed them.

A/N: I tried my best so you wouldn’t have to read something with an annoying amount of errors in it, though I am only human, so some spelling errors might have snuck in there. If you wish to get the same feeling I had while writing this, then please look up Sorrow by Sleeping At Last and put it on repeat.

Warnings: This might be a bit hard to read for those who have suffered from sexual assault. While the story itself does not contain it and is not meant to hint at it, it might still cause unpleasant feelings to arise for some people. Please do not read if this could be the case for you.

Pairing: Evangeline Samos x Elane Haven (Evane/ Copper Queen)

Rating: Fluff with a bitter sweet feeling to it

Word count: 851 words

She felt dirty, tainted…mocked by fate itself. A queen like her shouldn’t be feeling like this after she had just achieved what she had been waiting for since she had been a little girl. She had married Cal, done what was expected of her after the festivities, done what was expected of her in order to give birth to an heir of the throne. Still, Evangeline couldn’t feel anything expect like something had been ripped away from her as the hot water poured onto her pale skin. What had taken place today tore her very soul apart, daggers cutting into it to leave her to bleed out until there was nothing left but the shell of the woman she once had been. It made her angry, furious even, for who was he to claim her like that? The mere memory caused her to feel dirty once again, his scent still clinging to her, always there in the back of her mind to taunt her. She didn’t even notice her own tears as they mixed with the droplets of water, not when she was trying to get the remnants of him off her, so she could finally feel like herself again.

Evangeline furiously scrubbed her arms until the skin was raw and angry, but it still wasn’t enough. He was still all over her, she was still dirty and the thought caused the want to scream, to cry…to do anything to bubble up within her, only that she found herself too weak and far too numb to even do that. Her movements were wobbly, like a puppet without any strings to hold it up. She couldn’t quite remember if she had bothered to shut off the water when she suddenly found herself in her bedroom, her hair clinging to her bare skin. The cold air of the night nipped at her skin, seeping into her bones, but she didn’t move to cover herself.

This…all of it. It wasn’t her home. This place was foreign, alien to her. It didn’t hold the warmth of memories made with the person she had securely tugged away into the deepest corner of her heart. Her anger returned with a vengeance, for her parents had been the ones to allow this. They were the ones to strip her of her happiness. They had known, yet ignored her pleas, even ignored the pain it was now causing her. Her nails dug into the skin of her palms until she drew blood. It was terrifying how much havoc the feeling of loneliness, the feeling of being powerless when it came to her own fate could cause within her very soul.

A whisper, the gentle press of lips against her bare shoulder slowly pulled her out of the depths of such dark and destructive thoughts, painting a gentle, hopeful smile across her lips, which had been pressed into a thin line only seconds ago. Arms circled her waist and she couldn’t help but lean back into the embrace, the warmth it offered chasing away the cold numbness that had settled deep within her bones. Maybe she should have been ashamed for baring her mind and soul like this, to show such weakness, but then Elane whispered sweet promises into her ear, becoming visible only to reassure her lover that weakness could be shown when facing someone who cared. Evangeline craned her neck, wanting…no, needing to look at the young woman who had become her home, her love and dare she say, her heart. The sight stole her breath away, leaving her to marvel at the beauty of the goddess bathing in the gentle glow of the moonlight streaming into the room. Elane was beautiful, otherworldly even and it were moments like these she had come to crave. The peace and quiet in which they could simply be who they were, two people in love. For a while they could pretend the responsibilities confining them didn’t exist. It took some of the weight off her heart, allowing her to breath without a constant reminder of her fate, if only for a second.

This time she felt the cold air of the night nipping at her skin, which caused her to shiver. It did not go unnoticed by her lover and Evangeline was lead towards the spacious bed, soothed with the promise that Elane would be there in the morning until the fear of falling asleep only to wake to an empty bed didn’t scare her anymore, because the young woman now laying next to her was the evidence that said otherwise. Hair spilled across the pillows in a mix of liquid copper and silver as she was pulled closer by the other woman, allowing Evangeline to hide her face in the crook of her neck, just to pretend for a while as her hand rested just above Elane’s heart beating steadily in her chest.

That night she didn’t fall asleep to the sound of emptiness, but the soothing heartbeat and gentle breathing of her lover. A woman whose mere existence in this cruel world was a promise of home, safety and a happy ending for the two of them.