#TW: dark thoughts

[anchanted-one]

Tired. Very tired. Can I switch to easy mode, please? Can I reload a save point? Can I get some cheat codes? Or can I just find an end game button that makes everyone forget?

[enruiinas]

@ncfertari sent:

        what If you could go back in time at one event to change it would you and why? (Send me ‘What If’ scenarios for my muse to answer. // accepting!)

        tw: dark/morbid/bleak line of thinking ahead. (not quite a self-harm or suicide mention, but explores themes of regret and survivor's guilt.)

        This is a complicated question for Law. There are a lot of moments (both in his life specifically as well as the world around him) that Law would like to change in theory. The discovery of white lead in the first place (the substance, not the subsequent disease), giving Rosinante's missive to Vergo, perhaps the rage that had driven him to Spider Miles & joining the Donquixote family in the first place... These are all things he'd consider off the top of his head, but there are flaws to all of them.

        If it were for his own sake alone that changing the course of Flevance's history might affect, he wouldn't care so much, but there's no way of knowing how the town not gaining its fame and fortune through white lead might have affected his family's lives. He wishes like hell he'd given Rosinante's missive to anyone else. At times throughout the years, he's found himself thinking it would have been better if Corazon hadn't taken an interest in finding a cure for him at all. But he can't say he'd save him above saving his own family, and they can't be saved in a single moment, so ultimately, I think if Law could change one moment only, he would have stayed with Lami the night the hospital burned.

        It wouldn't have saved her, but he would have been with his family. He would never have met Corazon or Wolf or Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi, but he wouldn't have known he was missing anything: nobody would. A lot of bad that happened after that moment might not have happened at all, and he wouldn't have left his sister to die alone. The world would have gone on, and he wouldn't have been left alone wondering why he'd been the only one to survive and regretting leaving Lami behind.

[allaboutsaturn]

"slut era" i say as i rot and decay in my bedroom and watch the years pass me by as i miss out on core experiences other people my age are having while i think about the past

[yourgirlinpieces]

its so hard to believe someone could love me. im always always too much or too little. never enough.

[tinlizziedlinwa]

Don't read this.

I'm sooo damned tired on so many levels

My back is freaking killing me. I can't walk upright, it hurts like hell to stand up from my chair, and I probably couldn't get up at all if it didn't have good armrests I can push off against.

My neck is giving me stabbing "twinges" if I move my head too fast or too much.

Mental health has been in decline for years, and the last 6 or 8 months it's accelerated. I've been a chronic depressive for most of my life, with constant negative thoughts and a steady background of passive suicidal ideation. My baseline has usually been hoping that I'll go to sleep and never wake up again.

Well, that "baseline" is creeping a bit. Now I find myself wondering more and more about ways to end myself that won't make too much mess for others to clean up. I've always had self-destructive tendancies, and self-harm is commonplace. These last few months I've been smoking like a freaking chimney and my diet has gone to shit. Given my past cardiac history, I'm headed for another heart-attack. Of course I can't predict when it'll happen... it's kinda like I've put myself in Schroedinger's Cat's place. When the waveform finally collapses, I'm not calling 911. If that takes too long, there are options.

Does this mean I'm a selfish asshole? Possibly. Part of me doesn't care for that, but as a defense-mechanism on the survivor's behalf, I can't really blame them, either.

I could spend a million words blaming everyone else for all my problems... A part of me really does want to point fingers... But what purpose does that serve? That particular instinct of mine will only spread even more pain and won't benefit anyone.

My employment has most likely ended by now (I've not spoken with anyone at work in over a month), I've not made a mortgage payment since April, my bank accounts are empty. Soon, my time here will end and after a brief time closing down this "estate," nobody will have to think of me again. This existence will disappear.

So many times I've been made to feel like I'm a blight that others are forced to deal with. They'll breathe easier once I'm not taking their oxygen anymore.

I'm too damned introverted, with too many autistic traits (no, I've not been formally diagnosed) to ever "fit in." So many times my perspective on things is unwelcome. People have the reality they seem to desperately want to live in, and then I'd come around and wind up poking holes in their ideas and beliefs. My choices then get reduced to having to lie to myself, to lie to other people, to sacrifice my honor and integrity, and sit there quietly while molehills get piled up into mountains and shit burns all around. Things that should be at most a singular tempest in a teacup get turned into raging shitstorms for no good reason, while important long-term issues are swept under the rug. Consequences and spill-over effects completely ignored until they flare up and bite everyone on the ass.

I'm tired of the hypocrisy that seems inherent in human nature. People who can't even see that they're lying to themselves... I truly don't understand how they do it. But it's fucking everywhere.

If that's what "normal" is... no, thank you. I'm too tired to play those games. I've been browbeat too many times when I've spoken my mind.

This will be over soon.

[aeturnum-mendacacium]

Ugh scenarios where Bruce is literally suicidal, and has made many attempts, but keeps getting interrupted by his kids and alfred but they don't realise what he was going to do?and they don't know his mental state was that bad?? Sign me up cause I fucking love angst and hurt/comfort

13 yr old Bruce about to slit his throat in the bathroom, but alfred comes out of nowhere and tells him dinner is ready, he made his favourite cause he saw he looked off recently, and Bruce just goes out calmly and hugs him super tight?? Bruce, about to make a decision to end his life after he's all done raising dick (after he becomes nightwing) and knows that dick is set on the right path now and going to crime alley where his parents were shot to end it but ends up meeting jason instead?? After jason when he tied up all loose ends, closed cases, secured gotham good enough, About to go on patrol for one last time, then after he'll jump off, but then meets tim that evening saying he knows who he is?? Meeting cass just when he was planning to do it cause he genuinely hated himself, but seeing so many similarities between him and cass, knowing she sees them too and scared that after he suicides she'll get those ideas too cause they're so similar? Decides to try to help her?? Meeting nightwing when he was going to jump off cause dick wanted to surprise him from blud and he just thought Bruce was brooding?? getting a call from Damain in the middle of the day when he was about to stage a car crash and listens as damian (mad at him) asks him to come to the school to pick him up cause he got suspended for 2 days for knocking out a student for being racist.

CAN U IMAGINE A CONFRONTATION WHERE BRUCE THOUGHT THEY ALREADY KNEW?? AND HES TAKING THIS CASUAL BUT THEYRE FUCKING NOT??

[ilovejaiyex2]

[wonallofme]

let it out, loser!

tw and tags: boxer!jungwon x fem!reader, smut, no condom, penetration, creampie, squirt, heavy dubcon, no plot just porn, the sex is nasty af, a little of blood (biting lips and fight wounds), allusion to past noncon, insanity from both of them. word count: 1.7k note: hi! i haven't written anything in a long time and just wanted to do something short. this is my first (official) enhypen piece, hope someone here likes it. if you know me from my other blog, you just know the sex i write is not the most sane one. again, this is pure fiction! Please be careful about the tags you wish to block.

credits for the divider: @bernardsbendystraws (link)

The sound of his keys being thrown to the table in your kitchen shouldn’t be that hot. The sound of his bag hitting your floor with fury shouldn’t make your panties get wet. Even more, the sound of his heart beating inside his chest so fast shouldn’t make you excited for what was about to come.

Knowing too well how he, his breath, his steps, his things, sounded when he was angry after a loss, shouldn’t turn you on.

One, two, three, four. You counted the steps he took.

Usually, if he walked around the room, he would be searching for condoms. He didn’t walk that much, so you immediately knew, he would be harder that night.

After all, he needed to let everything out to be himself the next day.

‘’I know you’re awake,’’ he said, making you open your eyes to not pretend anymore.

He didn’t try to be gentle.

His face was a mess, even in the darkness of the night, with the little to almost no light that trespassed your curtains, you could see a faint purple color on his cheek, and a bright fresh red on his lip. Both meant he would leave you hurting too.

You didn’t have to ask what he wanted from you.

You ruffled in your sheets.

You moved them so he could accommodate himself between your legs, and rubbing your eyes from the recent nap you had, you simply let him take your pajama shorts off.

It was better when you didn’t interrupt him.

You don’t hate this version of him. You know that, when the morning comes, he’ll be your nice boyfriend again. He’ll make breakfast and won’t talk at all about the night or his fight. He’ll let you clean his wounds, he’ll give you a silent soft kiss after walking you to class, and then he’ll go to the gym to keep training.

He made it hurt those nights, but he never made it hurt in your daily life.

Jungwon is the kind of boyfriend that makes sure you’re always comfortable while having sex. He leaves soft pecks on your cheek while fingering you, and he asks if you’re okay when he puts it in. He’s so tender, sometimes, you’re the one afraid of hurting him.

So, these times, when he doesn’t ask how you feel, and he just takes, you try to understand him.

A whimper came out of your mouth, totally involuntarily, when you felt his spit touching your entrance.

He was over you, between your legs, forcing them open with his own amplitude, staring at your entrance and how his saliva mixed with your wetness.

For these occasions, that little help was more than enough for you. He almost laughed. A smirk appeared on his mouth, and he let a curse out. Were you happy he was a mess? Was he really that pathetic? Why were you always so excited when he arrived from losing a match?

‘’You’re lucky I’m this kind, crazy bitch.’’

Pressing his tip on your wet clit, he exhaled loudly, looking defeated, before moving it down between your lips, smearing his spit along. He didn’t look at your eyes in this mode. He didn’t dare to look at your face. He concentrated on what he wanted from you, and you tried to find what parts of him were wounded so you could make a list of things you might need.

Ointment, bandages, cold pads, maybe you would have to cook him something nice too. Did you have apples left?

You couldn’t continue thinking when he slid in.

The burning made you leave a hurt sound out. You whimpered again, because of the pain, and hissed when he pulled out.

He didn’t ask you anything. He didn’t kiss your lips to ease it up or apologise in your ear before stopping altogether. You could see his mind thinking of something, and you wanted to suggest him, maybe he could give you more of it? As if reading your mind, he spat on his hand, a long line of drool finding his cock, and some of it spilling on your pussy on the way.

Your legs trembled with the sensation, somehow feeling a rush in your entire body. You wanted it so bad, this side of him, that when he wrapped the back of your thighs to oblige it all the way to your breast, you cried.

Not because of the sudden movement, or because of how challenging the position was, but because you knew he wanted you to feel it all.

And, when he wanted that, you would really feel it all.

‘’Fu-fuck,’’ you moaned when he bullied his way inside again.

Immediately after talking, you bit your lips.

He didn’t like it when you talked. Whether it was to complain or praise him, he didn’t care. He needed you to not talk or make him think or look at your face. He needed you to be, if possible, dead silent to only concentrate on his own thoughts.

Of course, that was almost impossible, so he would press a hand on your mouth if you didn’t behave, and in the worst cases, to mute you, he would press your face down.

Whimpers were acceptable. Broken moans, bearable. But words? No, never.

You wanted to apologize but it wasn’t the right answer, you knew it too well. You know him too well. Or so, you wanted to believe.

He pushed your legs further, slamming inside, pushing the air out of your lungs.

It continued hurting, but you couldn’t care less.

The awareness of him being there, the sound of his breathing, his hisses, the groans, you wanted it all.

A wet echo filled the room with the force he used to fuck you and your wet pussy taking him. Your walls moved to accommodate him, to welcome him with much enthusiasm, just like your hands pulling your legs closer to make it more comfortable for him.

He wasn’t wearing a condom, and just the memory of his cum all inside you made you tighten around him.

Inside your mind, you repeated give it to me, please, because your mouth wasn’t allowed to do it. It felt way too good. The first time, it made you deeply uncomfortable to feel it inside. You felt dirty, disgusting, and you couldn’t believe it had happened. Now, you couldn’t find the words to ask for it again.

You could only hope he lost.

‘’Fuck, why can’t I…? Fuck!’’

His torso raised, his hips aligned at a better angle, and he thrusted harder.

Your teeth were sinking on your lower lip, brows furrowing and eyes closing to not show him how much you were enjoying it. Probably, it was useless to even try to hide it.

Your shirt was sticking to your torso because of the sweat. Yours, his. Fuck, you heard him curse. The lower front wet spot, in no way, was from just sweat.

The spasms were arriving. You felt your abdomen get tighter, and you tried to calculate how much time had passed. It hasn’t been long enough, you concluded. You couldn’t cum, you had to hold it in, for him, because it couldn’t end so fast. For him, that short time was not enough. It couldn’t be enough.

He needed you to hold it. He needed it. He.

You cried. This time, a few tears escaped. You turned your face to the side, and a salty flavor on your tongue distracted you.

You only noticed you bit yourself so hard your lips were bleeding when you felt more of the metallic taste invading you.

Out of the ordinary, he leaned to inspect your face. His hand tactlessly gripped your chin and forced you to face him, and when he saw the drops of blood flooding your delicate lip, under your teeth, he gulped.

‘’You’re such a mess too.’’

His mouth found yours in a second, obliging you to leave your poor lip free. He, first, just grazed them, doubting to do such a soft act with you, before crashing your wound with his.

The kiss, just like the sex, was not delicate at all.

The sting in your lips was not a sensation you were familiar with. His lips were always soft with you, at least until that moment. At much, they would be lustful, making out with you for long periods of time, but never brute.

His fingers stabbed your jaw, and his tongue prodded out.

You couldn’t breathe properly, overwhelmed with his strength, so you opened your lips to inhale some air, an act he took advantage of by barging his tongue into your mouth.

You had no way of using your brain at that moment. His tongue inside your mouth stealing your little air, his entire weight sinking you to the bed, his shoulders maintaining your legs up and against your chest, his cock balls deep inside you. It was all too much. Your head was too dizzy to remember exactly at what point you had your orgasm.

You remember your legs shaking, and an embarrassing loud cry muffled with his mouth against yours.

Also, you remember the broken moan he left out, and his hips reassuming a brutal pace that makes you roll your eyes with the mere memory. His long cock had hit a spot that made you lose yourself, and your pussy, so sensitive with how he had continued using you, had the most intense orgasm you ever had.

The clean gush finished wetting the front of your shirt, splashing his abdomen and making a pod slide down onto the bedsheets. Sadly, he didn’t care that you were trembling and bawling because of it. He plunged back inside, biting your cries and mixing both bloods while trying to find his own orgasm.

He left it out all inside you.

When you felt his warm cum invading you, you passed out.

After that, all is black. You try to move your body, finding it uncomfortable and painful. Still, you turn your head, finding your boyfriend’s naked back beside you. From the way his breath is calm now that he’s sleeping, you deduce he’s back to normal after finding his release.

Your shirt is different, clean, and the bed sheets are blue instead of white, so you know it’s not the same set from the night before.

At the sensation of his cum leaking out of you, you wonder if changing your clothes and sheets was the only thing he did to you while you were unconscious.

[heyitslouiseeeee]

#68

when love finds me again, may it be with someone i never have to heal from.

[deeeaahh]

[thedepressedkiddo]

"The most terrible loneliness is not the kind that comes from being alone, but the kind that comes from being misunderstood. It is the loneliness of standing in a crowded room, surrounded by people who do not see you, who do not hear you, who do not know the true essence of who you are. And in that loneliness, you feel as though you are fading, disappearing into the background, until you are nothing more than a ghost, a shadow of your former self."

- George Orwell, 1984

[120daysofsodomm]

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

DAVE LIZEWSKI catfishing you. He’s seen you around, he’s heard you talk about the kind of guys you’re into. It’s hard to ignore you when you pass by him, hard to forget the smell of your shampoo as it unfurls under his nose. It took him ages, but he finally got a hold of your information, and slowly establishes a friendship. He’s getting the dirty details on you while you think you’re being charmed by a 6’4” hockey player who’s into books like Pride and Prejudice. He’s in your IM’s hearing about how you like to suck it, how you cup balls for a massage while you make yourself gag on purpose. You like it when your nips are bitten, held between teeth while you ride it. All night he thinks about your naughty little secrets, confessing to him what you’d let him do to you if you meet up. Anything, you say, I’d let you do whatever you wanted. And his hand strangles his boner, jacking off to the imaginary sight of you taking it up your pretty asshole—the one he’s gotten pics of when you bent over for a shot of your open and wet pussy.

[lifeisweird2002]

I be checking my phone like I mean something to someone

😂silly fucking me 😂

[yourgirlinpieces]

yeah alcohol is cool but have you ever been someone's first choice? me neither. pass the bottle.

[tinlizziedlinwa]

protect me from myself

So many of the things I think

tied to the pains of my past

Parts of me have never grown up

so many little bits

still shattered, as you see

I can't reach out for help

I don't want to drag you down with me

so I weep deep inside

silently