#troubled mind
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Battle
Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump
Angstpril: alt prompt 1: troubled mind
Inspired by these two prompts by @hurtmyfavsthanks and an anon ask she received. I saw the more recent one and just wrote this straight up within a couple of hours, unable to resist it.
1k
CWs: living weapon, outcast whumpee, magical whumpee, low self-esteem, betrayal kinda, mentions of battle and casualties, mentioned past discrimination
Whumpee doesn't remember much of the battle.
It went by in a haze. They remember red, people falling, screams, unsure which side they were on. They remember the glee, the euphoria, of using their magic. The high of it all.
Now they're starting to come down from that high, and they can see the fear in people's eyes. The injuries, the casualties. Vaguely, they wonder who caused them. Was it them again?
Hands cup their face, gentle, calloused. The only ones that will ever touch them anymore.
Caretaker's.
"Hey. Look at me, now. Not the camp. Me." Whumpee looks up hesitantly, into their loving, warm eyes. One day they'll change. One day... one day they'll harden. Fear, hatred. From all the people they've hurt, on all sides. One day it'll be too much. They're afraid of the day they'll see that, of what will happen then.
But it hasn't happened yet.
Caretaker wipes their cheek softly. "It's okay. Come on, rest. Lay your head down. You're done for today. Close your eyes and rest."
Whumpee crawls into Caretaker's lap. They vaguely register being carried, head being lifted until it meets Caretaker's neck. Whumpee nuzzles into it.
"Shh. You did so well. You're doing so well, Whumpee. I'm proud of you."
Whumpee doesn't want to be. They want to grow flowers. But this is what their magic likes, this is what their king likes, this is what makes Caretaker say those words of praise in just that voice, so they can't stop.
(They ignore the small voice in their head that says that they have no idea what Caretaker's reaction to flowers would be. This is exhilarating, even if they feel an ever-growing bubble of shame at the endless, ruthless violence.)
Caretaker runs a hand through their hair, combing out the knots from the day's work, using a little water to clean the worst of the blood. Whumpee has been through this so many times that they know what to expect without even a glance. He won't hurt them with those eyes. They know his expression, his feelings, and they curl their arms and legs closer around him.
He's so warm.
"S'okay buddy. I'm here."
"Hmm."
Whumpee closes their eyes. It's so... so... they don't think they can sleep yet but they find themself drifting on the exhaustion the magical high always brings.
_
The next morning is... the next morning. As it always is with a new squad, it is very different to the first one.
And as it always is, Whumpee feels a sharp stab of hurt.
The soldiers know who they are, what they are. Have done since the very beginning .They've worked with Whumpee on the preparations, the journey here, for weeks. They know them. Sat around the campfire, shared meals, joked and talked and laughed. They'd been wished good luck yesterday morning, hair ruffled, smiles and reassurances in abundance. Soldier had even fixed their horse's saddle after the straps started to break. Now...
Now, they won't come within arms length of them. Soldier ladles out breakfast to the rest, leaving an empty bowl several feet from Whumpee, not looking them in the eye as he leaves them to fetch their own. He flinches along with several others as they approach the campfire, more whose hands jerk towards their swords. As if they're going to attack. As if they're so out of control that they'd attack their own side on purpose.
They reluctantly let go of Caretaker's hand so he can fetch their breakfast and the healing potion alone. At least he looks them in the eye. At least he sits with them, and talks, and touches them. Helps convince them to take the potion, even though it's bitter and rancid and no-one will improve it for the likes of them, and they won't need it once the adrenaline and euphoria of tomorrow's battle kicks in.
The kindness is only for now. It will change, sooner or later.
Nobody helps the pair of them take down their tent, or pack their saddlebags, and the Sergeant looks about to stop Whumpee from replacing the emergency set of daggers they carry in their boots at all times. A gift from Caretaker.
It's like they have the plague. Or the Devil's Touch, as their old villagers used to say.
They're pretty much alone in the clearing now, the rest of the squad staying as far away as they can without letting Whumpee out of their sight. Just in case they explode or something.
Without a word, Whumpee settles down on the ground beside the smoldering fire, Caretaker sitting on the log behind them. It's a sharply cold morning, dew dampening their breeches, but their leather armour keeps them surprisingly warm.
Caretaker braids their hair quickly and simply, just enough to keep it out of their face. Battlefields aren't the place for complicated hairstyles. Which is a shame, because Caretaker takes pride in that skill, and Whumpee delights in being allowed to display the results.
Whumpee dries their face with the cloth Caretaker hands them wordlessly. They need to get it together. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. They try to summon the ease by which they sometimes prepare, the eagerness instead of dread that comes with a lot of battles.
It doesn't come. Today is a day for dread, then, and there's nothing they can do about it but pray for a miracle. And a break in the hatred and fear, the violence with which everyone rejects them.
They can't help thinking, though, that the amount of damage they've done, it's no wonder people want them locked away. They are a weapon, after all.
Yes. Definitely one of the bad days.
Caretaker's their handler. They try not to think about it but it's true. He's the only one who might see it, might offer them a brief reprieve. So they summon up all their courage.
"Please..."
Caretaker finishes the braid and kisses their temple. "I'm so sorry, Whumpee. I really am. But you need to do this. We need to do this. The kingdom needs you."
Whumpee nods. They don't blame Caretaker, not really. They need to win this war. And Whumpee needs to use their magic.
But gods do they wish they could stop.
#whump#whump writing#living weapon whumpee#living weapon#outcast whumpee#magic whump#magic whumpee#battle#caretaker and whumpee#whumpee and caretaker#soft caretaker#hes trying his best#so is whumpee#i am apparently incapable of making a living weapon who enjoys their job outside of the actual battle#i did try but whumpee wouldnt let me#they just want to grow flowers and have their hair done instead#angstpril2024#writing#alt1#troubled mind
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Dion DiMucci - Troubled Mind (1963)
In 1963, Dion moved from Laurie records to Colombia records, and began pursuing a more bluesy sound. Here's a very cool Doc Pomus-Mort Shuman composition that he recorded.
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a troubled mind.
word count: 360
content warnings: mentioned health issues
summary: stelle has a bit too much on her mind.
author's note: day three wohooo except i swapped out today's prompt for an alt one HAHA i think i'll mainly be writing things on the shorter side? it works better for me tbh. also! the stellaron messing up stelle's health is a headcanon of mine because,, come on this thing can destroy entire worlds
broken-hearted -> troubled mind
Stelle doesn't like being alone.
When she's with someone it's much easier to quiet her thoughts, thoughts that otherwise won't leave her alone, won't shut up, getting louder and louder and louder until she herself has to scream to finally silence them - and sometimes even that isn't enough, and they go on and on and on until Stelle can barely take it anymore.
There's always the one voice that's screaming at her the loudest, however, and it's telling her that she's a danger to the Astral Express.
She has a Stellaron inside her body, after all. A ticking bomb, something that can destroy entire worlds - she has witnessed in herself on Jarilo-VI, after all - and if that isn't enough, she could feel the effect it can have on people herself, suffering from nausea, dizziness, even body pains and fevers as her body tried to fight it, even if it has apparently been set up to accept it. And yes, it hasn't tried to kill her - yet - but what if one day, it will? What if one day it will act up more, go far beyond messing with her health and start posing as a real threat to the Astral Express and its crew? And if it's this dangerous, then she should leave while she still can, right?
Maybe.
Stelle doesn't like these thoughts.
They make her feel out of place, like she isn't welcome here, and she knows - she knows that's not true. The crew offered her a place on the train themselves, and they're well aware of the potential consequences that decision may have, and they don't mind it. They want her here, so whatever this annoying little voice in her head tries to tell her doesn't matter.
It's just that, sometimes, reminding herself about it doesn't seem to work.
Like right now.
She's curled up on her bed, phone in hand, hoping that whatever brainless entertainment she’ll come across right now will be a good enough distraction.
One day she might finally decide to go and actually talk about it to someone. One day she won't feel like it would bother them.
Today is not this day, though.
divider by @/cafekitsune
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Okay I went on an online height calculator and it said my expected height by the time I'm a fully grown adult should be around 171cm
I wanted to be 178cm (for some reason idk) but ig that can do too
#yourfavepookiebear#pookie talks#pookiebear rants#pookie bear#3am thoughts#its 3am#troubled mind#occuring thoughts#height#obsessed#unhealthy obsession
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(This song is not for the living…
This song is for the dead)
“With my face… against the floor
I can’t see who knocked me out, of the way.
I don’t want… to get back up
But I have to, So it might as well be today.
Nothing appeals to me,
No one feels like me,
Im too busy being calm, to disappear.
Im in no shape… to be alone
Contrary to the shit that you might hear.
So walk with me,
Walk with me,
Don’t let this symbolism kill your heart.
Walk with me, Walk with me,
Just like we should’ve done right from the start.
Walk with me, Walk with me,
Don’t let this fucking world tear you apart.”
-Slipknot (XIX)
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It’s only now that I’m posting this that I realize that I may have been mistaken as to what the prompt meant.
Read on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48921322/chapters/139874989
HEED THE TAGS.
Sneak-Peak:
Anakin’s dreams used to be full of rabbits. Rabbits, running, hounds and braying beasts behind them, snapping teeth and slobbering jowls, feral eyes that gleamed and sought blood. He used to dream of rabbits running, running from things that weren’t there, running from the malicious manifestations of their memory, running until they collapsed, running until their legs gave out beneath them, their momentum carrying them forwards as though their corpses were trying to run away, too.
#angstpril2024#fanfiction#star wars#day12#troubled mind#ao3#ao3 author#star wars anakin#anakin skywalker#read on ao3
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Bittersweet Moment
It's sad to think that you have to have a conversation with your kids that you never want to have. Discussing your final dying wish. You have older ones, who have their own lives and families. You're having this discussion with your teens. Ones who just started high school and who are about to finish middle school. They're looking at you. With sadness and pain in their eyes. Wondering if there is a possibility of being able to have you in their life a lot longer that what the books say you have. Wondering if there is a way they can keep you here. The hurt they feel because they know your days are numbered. They know there is a possibility that you may not see them graduate or get married. Important milestones in their soon to be adult life. They are faced with that possibility. Knowing no matter what happens, it is bound to happen whether they are ready or not. It wasn't a conversation I was ready for. But it had to be done. How do I go on, living my life without my other half. One I have been with for half of my life. Literally. Half of my life on earth has been with my significant others. Yet, we are discussing the reality that we will be without him. Weighing in what is best for his health. What is best for him. This is one journey our family isn't ready for. One thing is for sure. We will make the most of our time together. We will make sure that our youngest, our 4 year old will have the best memory of her time with her dad. We want to make the most of our time together as a family. This way, when that day comes, we won't have any regrets. We will have memories to cherish forever and wonderful stories to pass on about what a wonderful man he is. What makes him, him.
*Make the most of your time with those you love. You will never know if it is your last.
#Life#family#making each moment count#making the best memories#life is too short#pain#bittersweet#hurt#living life#struggle#thoughts#words words words#deep thoughts#deep feelings#troubled mind
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We both feel miserable. He feels left alone and I want to be alone. When did we become like this? We've been all happy and so on like ten months ago. Currently I am just exhausted by being together.
I got the impression that sometimes it is better to not live together so that you keep wanting each other? To keep longing someone's presence. At least for me, other people are nice add-on, I cannot deal with them being constant condition of my existence.
Are we too close? Can you be too close to feel attracted to each other?
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Troubled mind
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I worry for the sun, yes, I worry for the snow
I worry I'll die young while I worry I'll grow old
Oh, I worry for the time I spent worrying alone
It makes me sad
It takes me back
I break in half
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I'm worried. I'm worried I'm a disappointment. I'm worried I'll grow old. I'm worried I'll never belong somewhere or to someone. I'm worried of dying young. I'm worried about being too much. Too vulnerable. Too opinionated. Too unrefined. I'm worried about the time I spend worrying. I'm worried I'll never stop worrying.
Most of all. I'm worried I'll never not hold myself back with all these worries.
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Can't Relax
Author: Autobot2001
Genre: Fanfiction
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: T
Warning: Talk about poor mental health and eating habits.
Pairing: None
Description: While Jamie is with a few other friends, The fice try to relax but end up talking about Jamie while they know it's pointless.
@chaos-company angstpril day 5, alt 1: Troubled Mind
The five Autobot friends sit in the lounge room. Ironhide and Hound took Jamie to show her the new guns. Foolish for someone in Jamie’s mental state, but the five know Hound and Ironhide will watch her. The two planned on doing this to give Crosshairs and Drift time to relax. They know Crosshairs and Drift struggle to relax, but hope their friends can help them. Unfortunately, no one is relaxing.
“I know it’s pointless to talk about it, but I can’t believe how drastically Jamie’s mental health declined,” Sideswipe comments.
“I know, I can’t believe the scrap she deals with,” Sunstreaker sighs, “we’ve noticed for over a year how here is no longer an escape. Jamie doesn’t talk much, but I think it’s gotten worse over the past eight months. She now has no interest in things she likes. I’m aware of her eating habits being a problem for years, but not as bad as the past year.”
“No, We’ve taken her to the medbay three times for hypoglycemia,” Crosshairs comments, “we’re lucky it hasn’t been more serious as it can be, or that Jamie hasn’t lost weight.”
“I worry what’s going on in her troubled mind,” Lightning says, “I don’t think we know all that goes through her mind.”
Drift stays quiet. He knows talking about Jamie’s troubled mind or mental decline isn’t helping anyone. This only further angers Sunstreaker, and adds to the sadness everyone feels.
Soon the conversation is dropped, and the friends sit in silence.
#transformers#transformers fanfiction#transformers autobots#transformers crosshairs#transformers drift#transformers sideswipe#transformers sunstreaker#Lightning (OC)#angstpril2024#day 5#alt 1#troubled mind
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angstpril '24 day 2 — troubled mind (alt prompt)
Rosa Martin has a troubled mind.
Word Count :: 888
——————————☆——————————
Rosa Martin has a troubled mind.
That's what her parents say, at least.
Rosa's popular. She plays baseball, lacrosse, and a bit of volleyball. She goes to church and the pastor likes her. A little too much, maybe, but Rosa can deal with the odd sexual remark here and there.
Her teachers like her, too. Mr. Cowell, her english teacher, says she's "actually pretty good at writing, for a girl". Her math teacher, Mrs. Speers, calls her "a fine individual". Her geography teacher, Mr. Miller, says she "tries her best, and thats enough".
All in all, Rosa thinks she's a great person! Maybe she can be a little too shy, or a little too quiet. But it's nothing to warrant this.
"You're... you're sending me to boarding school?" Rosa Martin stands in front of her parents, grasping a letter in shock.
Her dad shakes his head. She hates when he does that.
"We can't deal with you and your troubled mind, mija," he says. He doesn't look her in the eyes.
Desperately, Rosa turns to her mother. "Mamá? You can't let him do this! Please-"
"I'm the one who signed you up."
The words hit Rosa Martin like a knife to the heart. All her life, she'd done nothing but be the perfect daughter. She had straight 90s in everything except geography, but even in that she had an 84! She was perfect. She'd never done anything to warrant being sent away. Unless... they knew.
Rosa Martin, despite being the perfect daughter, had a few secrets. An AO3 account she would rather her parents not read through. A Tumblr blog promoting said AO3 account. She had a small baggie of weed she kept for Ashley when she got kicked out. But it was hidden under a floorboard under her bed, and was there 10 minutes ago last time she checked.
This meant her parents know her last secret. The one she planned to take to her grave.
"You know." She says at last, deciding to rip off the band-aid.
Her parents nod. "We know," her mother says.
Rosa stands there for a moment, grasping at words like a squirrel grabs at braches, desperately climbing up and away from a vicious dog.
"How..." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "How did you find out?"
"She told us, Rosa," her dad says.
Rosa feels as if she'd just had the wind knocked out of her. Ashley told them?
"She told us all about how our daughter- our baby girl- is a fucking dyke," Her mom says. "Where did we go wrong, honey?"
"We took you to church, we monitored what you did on the internet, we did everything right," her dad continues.
No you didn't, Rosa thinks. But she doesn't dare say that out loud. Maybe she can salvage this. Tell them it was a mostake. Or that Ashley was lying. Yeah.
"Ashley was lying," she says.
Her father raises a brow as he scowls at her. Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no no no no no no no no-
"Rosa, I know we raised you better than to lie to us." Her mom sniffles and Rosa wants nothing more than to run away and cry. "We saw the picture."
The picture. The picture of Rosa with her hand up Ashley's shirt while they're kissing. That picture. Fuck.
Rosa's heart is pounding so hard it hurts. There's lump in her throat preventing her from saying something, anything, to defend herself. She can feel hot tears burning in her eyes. She gives up.
"So what, just because I- because of that, you're sending me to boarding school?" She asks.
Her parents share a knowing glance, as if they're saying look at this stupid girl. Look at her. I can't wait to get her out of here. That's how Rosa interpreted it, at least, because suddenly there are tears flowing freely down her faces and she's making the horrible sounds that could be sobs.
"This place is meant for people like you. It will help ypu better follow in the footsteps of God." Her mother says sweetly, as if that's supposed to make Rosa feel better.
"You're leaving in a week," her father says. "Get packing."
—
Two weeks later, Rosa is in her dorm room with her bunkmates.
"Well, first week done!" Michael says cheerily. Michael is a trans man, so he ended up in the girls dorms, but Rosa is guilty glad for that. She likes Michael.
"How do you guys feel? Anyone miss home?" Naomi asked. Naomi is probably Rosa's best friend at the moment. She was there to greet Rosa when she moved in, so they bonded quickly. Rosa likes Naomi. She really likes Naomi.
"Kinda," Michael confesses.
"Not really," Eclipse says. Eclipse is Nonbinary, and they're Michaels twin sibling. The two of them are super close, and Rosa thinks she could be friends with Eclipse is they weren't so obsessed with boys.
"Me neither," Naomi says. "What about you, Rosa?"
Rosa remembers her last week at home. The screaming fights with her parents. The fights with Ashley. How her teachers started hating her. How her pastor couldn't even look at her.
She looks around the dorm room. At Michael. At Eclipse. At Naomi.
"Nah," she says at last. "I'm fine right where I am."
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End Notes :: I'm actually so super proud of this one holy shit. Also I know like. conversion boarding school probably isnt a thing but deal w me here.
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3:03 AM EST March 4, 2024:
Lärm - "Troubled Mind"
From the album Extreme Noise
(1997)
Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm
File under: Dutch Anarcho Communist Straight Edge
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I am in a state of needing constant praise and reassurance or else I am going to breakdown and cry.
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