#violent thoughts cw

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

I think sun should be allowed to snap the neck of one shitty parent. As a treat.

"Oh if only!" they sighed dramatically.

Sun???

[galaxofmuses]

// Whoops! I made a playlist for infected plagas Leon verse! :3c

Warning: Dark Themes, Violence, Gore, Unhinged and overall horror vibes for this playlist. Shuffle recommended!

[onimaji]

fingertips brush against taut muscles, smoke billowing out from the cigarette held between digits. his hand slides down majima's upper arm, a certain softness in his touch before it becomes absent once more, hand bringing the smoke to his lips to take a deep drag.

"really, majima - chan. y'need to take better care of yourself." ( @yakudans )

/ unprompted. / @yakudans, sagawa.

The smell of cigarette smoke was a familiar one to Majima, one that he found comfort in, usually, but Sagawa's cigarette smoke often left him wrinkling his nose in disgust; he knew the scent so it wasn't something that could catch him off guard.

It wasn't something that could catch him off guard, but Sagawa's fingers--calloused, but warm against his own skin--was damn near electrifying. He flinched back, stepped away, grabbing hold of his upper arm where those fingers had touched him as though he'd been burned.

He shouldn't... he shouldn't know--shouldn't be capable--of touching someone so gently, the bastard, least of all Majima himself no matter how long it had been since someone had done it.

Sagawa wasn't allowed. He didn't have the right--would never have the right.

Clenching his jaw, fury surged within him at himself for his own reaction; his lone eye glaring daggers at the older Yakuza as he struggled to keep himself from dropping his own guise in that moment. He could tear Sagawa limb from limb--he could do it. He could, and it would feel so good.

He had his rules though--rules he'd chosen to live by--and he couldn't break them, not now, not for Sagawa... and it wasn't like he deserved to see who he truly was, anyway.

"Don't touch me."

The slight waver in his voice betrayed, a much smaller tell that Sagawa truly had shook something within him.

[j0celynh0rr0r]

Unbothered

[aannonn]

I FINALLY FINISHED ITT LETS GOOO

(to anyone who wanna read it on ao3 instead! ><)

not-actually-so-funfact; my computer started to burn in the middle of the translation :D (im brazilian so i write my fics in brazilian before translating them to english- xd)

anyways!! hope u enjoy the read just as much as I did while writing it! <3

- , "Ruined. All Ruined."

(updated/fixed) Tags ;

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences Warning : Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags#1 : rated t mainly because of the swears // violent thoughts // threats of violence // whump // self hatred // self depreciation // self esteem // self esteem issues // angst // angst and feels // heavy angst // hurt no comfort // emotional hurt // crying // selective mutism // talking in musical notes Tags#2 : hurt/comfort // comfort // emotional hurt/comfort // emotional // inner dialogue // minecraft mechanics // neurodivergent // {not exactly the focus but y'k- its there} // author is projecting

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Ruined.

All ruined.

   Green sat on his bed, the tie tied carefully around his neck crumpling from the tightness of his knees being hugged close to his chest. A crumpled tie was certainly not something he would take lightly, and he would quickly fix his posture so he could tidy it up and leave it the way it was before, perfect as it should be. But- honestly? Green felt no motivation to do so right now.

   He doesn't understand what he did wrong. Did he prepare too much? Did he create a lot of expectations? Did he let his anger and arrogance get the best of him again?

   Everything seemed perfect, everything was perfect, but then that silverfish suddenly emerged and, in the blink of an eye, everything around him seemed to be shattering; All the months of planning and preparation and so, so many songs he wrote and scratched because none of them felt perfect enough felt like they had been stepped on, crushed and thrown into lava, slowly burning right before his eyes.

   Is not fair. None of this was fair. He worked so hard to get to this moment, to improve his musical skills and impress an entire audience with his music, his passion. His friends, friendly acquaintances - everyone he knew was there - even Orange was there! They were all there for the concert, for the performance, for him.

   He felt like he was on cloud nine, happily boasting about the praise and applause floating around him like birthday confetti, roses being thrown at him as a sign of love and admiration - His friends and family were congratulating him and looking at him with so much admiration and love and affection for his amazing and so well-planned, so well-done, so perfect performance.

   He felt so adored, like the celebrities he saw on YouTube, being praised and complimented and talked about by many, many people, with so much admiration and adoration in their voices when talking about them. He felt so envied, as if several people adored him so much that they wanted to have his talents, they wanted to be him. He felt so loved, friends and family being so proud of him that he felt himself laughing happily, smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

   ...Then a silverfish rised onto the stage, stepped on his noteblock, and the adoring, gazing eyes of the crowd - of his friends - were on the mob, and suddenly it seemed like it wasn't his concert anymore, but rather a random silverfish who just invaded the stage and stole his place, his audience, his moment.

   Green clenched his fists, bringing his knees even closer and crumpling his tie even more; Is not fair. None of this is fucking fair. He worked so hard for this, he worked so long for this, and now it's all ruined. Everything is ruined.

   The audience applauded and the show was a success, but the silverfish was the one in the spotlight; It was what was being boasted about, congratulated, adored, happily applauded for its' incredible performances.

   Meanwhile, Green was collapsing in pain in the middle of the stage and suffering from a horrible concussion.

   He felt humiliated, awfully humiliated. Shame, disappointment, and anger flooded his entire being, and the moment he woke up in his room, in his bed, with an ice pack on his head and a potions kit right on his desk, the only thing he did was have a staring contest with the ceiling with hazy eyes, his mind was a complete fog as he felt himself swinging his leg from side to side, jiggling it repeatedly distractedly.

   They cheered, the audience cheered, his friends cheered, but none of the cheers and joyful whistles were directed at him, as if the show had never even belonged to him in the first place.

   Green clenched his fists so tightly that he felt the faintest hint of blood coming from his palms, tears stinging his eyes distressingly, falling and spilling and wetting the mattress like rainfalls.

   Small bubbles appeared in his throat and made him let out soft sobs while small melodic notes came out of his mouth, making unbearably unpleasant and hostile noises, seeming as if a million instruments were being played at the same time, forming a loud and unpleasant noise for the ears. Fortunately the canorous notes that came out were small and therefore you wouldn't be able to hear them properly if you weren't close enough to his face.

   He felt so pathetic, so ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad; Everyone in the audience loved and genuinely enjoyed the show, his friends even formed a band and Orange finally played the electric guitar he had after years of not even touching it! So why was he so sad? Why did he feel like his entire world had just collapsed? Why did he feel so angry at the silverfish that only wanted to play with him?

   Because he was so selfish. So selfish and arrogant the little musician.

   He wanted to pull his head off, his stupid head with a stupid brain that only knew how to think about itself - He wanted to find that stupid silverfish and sink the tip of the diamond sword at its' stomach, jab it and stab it and all over again until all that was left of the mindless mob were little white clouds signaling its permanent death.

   He wanted to punch himself, spank himself - He wanted to be vengeful, he wanted to scream - He was so angry at himself, so angry at the silverfish, so angry at his brain, so angry at his feelings, so angry at his friends who didn't even try to help him get the silverfish off the stage and bring everyone's attention back to him, so angry at the world that was never merciful to him, hurting him again and again and again and again and again and again like a fucking punching bag.

   He wanted to isolate himself from everything and everyone to show the world how fucking angry and tired he is right now. He wanted his friends to invade his room to shower him with love and affection, hugs and apologies and promises that they would take better care of him, that they would never try to hurt him again, that they would never let the world hurt him again.

   He wants the world to burn, he wants the world to hold him like a baby.

   He's so selfish. Selfish and arrogant little adorable musician.

   His mind was a fog full of thoughts as his emotions took control, his body swayed slightly from side to side like a mantra, all of this making his brain unable to register the sound of footsteps approaching his position on the bed or even extra weight being added to the green mattress.

   Green jumped when he felt a hand holding his arm gently, rocking his body serenely and distracting his mind from thoughts for a few brief moments. He still didn't take his face off his knees, but he didn't take the hand off his arm either.

   Faint sobs and small musical notes echoed through the spacious house, the fog of dark thoughts in his mind gradually fading until all that was left were just faint sobs and dry tears gracing his face, a few tears still running down his chin towards the bed, small drops of water, some already old, wetting the mattress.

   He didn't register and didn't want to register how long it had been since he and the familiar but currently unknown stickfigure had been sitting on the bed. The stickfigure just rocked him calmly and slowly, distracting him from his thoughts that only got darker and darker, while also giving him time to calm down at his own pace, which Green deeply appreciates.

   Eventually, his breathing seemed to have finally eased and he opened his eyes, raising his head slowly and groggily, somewhat destabilized after the horrible mental breakdown he had just had.

   Yellow's composed and slightly worried face greeted him, the gentle movement of his head cooled off the nervous spasms he felt in his body after his brain had correctly registered the pathetic and disappointing scene he had just made, right in front of one of the last people he wanted for to see him in this state.

   Yellow remained quiet, his hand still on Green's arm as he continued to rock him gently, his movements filled with nothing but pure affection and concern for him. For Green.

   Green raised his head groggily, feeling light bubbles rising in his throat again and a new spiral of crying emerging before he pushed it back by force, several carefully chosen words in his head ready to start a conversation and break the suffocating silence, even though none of them had any actual desire to actually produce real sounds.

   He coughed, a hoarse, noisy wet cough, taking a deep breath - with some difficulty - before merely forcing a sound out of his throat, words in his mind all jumbled together - he just wanted to break the silence, a silence so quiet and still and suffocating.

   - W.. what." His voice was hoarse from crying and small musical notes were muddled with the words, making the words that came out of his mouth a confusing cacophony of sounds and verbs without a correct direction.

   Yellow patted his free hand on his knee nervously, whispering softly; - I just wanted to check up on you."

   Green no longer felt any motivation to actually form words and say them out loud, so he just shook his head sharply and pushed Yellow's hand away from his arm, a small musical note faintly leaving his mouth; a twisted, angry, broken sound.

   Go away.

   Yellow quickly understood the message the older one wanted to convey and tapped his hand on his knee nervously again, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his shoulders lowering in defeat before he stood up and walked to the door, his steps light, but steady, echoing in the now empty space; where a single green stickfigure sat on his own bed of the same color, hugging and consoling himself from the world that only knew how to hurt. The only sounds that could be heard were his own whimpers and small melodic notes that the form curled up like a ball of the arrogant little musician emanated.

   It's so quiet. The world seemed so much lonelier and more dangerous when it was quiet.

   It's just him, and the world that hates him.

.

.

.

.

   At some point in his breakdown; round two(2), Green fell asleep; spilled tears still dripping onto the mattress while light, dry remnants clung to his cheeks. Honestly, Green isn't sure if he actually fell asleep, all he remembers is that his perception of his surroundings was momentarily desensitized and he found himself lying in his bed, a pair of hands on his shoulder shaking him with enthusiasm to side to side, presumably being the reason why his brain seemed to have regained awareness of his surroundings when he felt a sudden and unexpected physical contact stirring him impatiently.

   Red's excited and unbearably happy face was what greeted him this time, determination and enthusiasm adorning his movements as he continued to shake him the way he normally would when he had done something cool and desperately wanted to show to someone.

   Noticing the slight movement of Green's head moving towards him, Red let go of the shorter stick's right shoulder and jumped back, his arms bobbing up and down happily before grabbing Green's hands and pulling him in a way so that he was now sitting on the bed, relinquishing him and quickly rushing to the door, giving him one last look (still jumping up and down and waving his arms happily) before jumping out of the house, his steps happy and hurried resonating even outside the household.

   Green just stared at the door now open to him, not moving a single inch to follow Red to wherever the latter wanted to show him, an internal debate in his head with the decisions he could make.

   Getting out of bed, let alone walking to the door, seemed like a challenge. His body had little to no motivation to exercise and his head was still a fog that momentarily distracted him from his surroundings. He really didn't want to get up.

   But there would be no more silence if he did. The world would no longer seem so dangerous and immense for him if he went outside.

. . .

   Green sighed, staring at the floor for several long moments before merely forcing his body to stand, stumbling a bit in disorientation after sitting for so long, before practically dragging himself to the door, his slow, sloppy steps echoing through the silent residence.

   The entire time he walked towards the open door, Green stared at the ground, absentmindedly counting the pixel particles of the blocks he passed in his mind.

   He really had no desire to do anything... But the silence he was in was too suffocating and oppressive for him to bear.

   As he walked, Green quickly noticed that the light gradually dimmed with each new block, getting darker and darker until he couldn't even see the color of the staircase.

   Green took his eyes off the floor and raised his head, noticing how the computer's lighting seemed to have suddenly faded, enveloping both him and the programs and the PC's characteristic background in immense darkness - Much like when he himself removed the brightness of the computer to blast his latest music at that time.

   Green straightened up, feeling goosebumps all over his body as he took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight, quickly taking out his diamond sword from his inventory and holding it tightly, keeping his guard up for any possible mobs or whatever it was that could suddenly jump on him.

   He slowly descended the steps, his steps light and careful as he illuminated the darkness around him and kept his ears open for any sign of movement or noise.

   He wonders where his friends are...

   Suddenly, red and orange and yellow and green and blue lights illuminated the computer and momentarily blinded him, causing him to stagger back in fright and throw his sword and cell phone into the air before quickly grabbing the sword in alarm, pointing the sharp tip towards the light source as he vaguely registered the sound of his cell phone falling to the ground with the flashlight still on.

   A stage - his stage - his concert stage - greeted him back, colorful lights enthusiastically illuminating the center of the stage, where stood his dearest friends that he had known for as long as he could remember.

   Friends who also just watched as his concert was ruined by a fucking silverfish.

   Green shook his head sharply to dispel that thought, slowly lowering his sword as he quickly settled down, no longer feeling the impending danger scratching the back of his neck, though that also didn't mean his irritation had disappeared.

   He simply stared at the four(4) stickfigures on the stage, irritation was obvious in his movements as he gave them the silent treatment.

   Blue clasped his hands together nervously, Red dragged his feet on the floor without looking at him while Orange shifted uncomfortably; The only one who seemed more balanced and stressless of all was Yellow, although Green could detect a slight touch of nervousness in the movement of his shoulders.

   None of them said or made any movement as an indication that they were going to break the silence, Green just stared at them demanding an explanation while the others just moved and looked at each other nervously.

   Blue turned to Red, grabbing his shoulder before pushing him forward. Red stumbled before immediately shaking his head roughly and pushing Blue forward, to which Blue grabbing Orange's hand and pulling the shortest one in front of him, pushing him nervously to be in Green's gaze. Orange looked back and forth between Blue, Red and then Green, staring at the ground while rubbing his arms nervously, before finally taking a single step forward before Yellow suddenly stopped him by grabbing his shoulder and pointing at himself, to which the youngest nodded in thanks and quickly went to Red's side.

   Yellow took a deep breath, only taking three steps forward before finally breaking the silence, his voice a soft whisper with varying degrees of guilt and apologetic tone emanating from it.

   - We're sorry."

   Green bounced in surprise, confusion adorning his movements.

   At the sound of Yellow's voice, the other three(3) seemed to find courage and quickly echoed their own apologies with equal degrees of guilt and apologetic tones, a cacophony of voices over one another as they made several sudden and clumsy movements.

   - We had fun but you didn't have fun and that wasn't- It wasn't what- It was not cool. Nothing cool."

   - We're really, really sorry- The show was horrible- It was horrible to you- It was scary, wasn't it? It was terrifying... We laughed but- And- We didn't even think how hurt would you be..."

   - We didn't try to help you when you needed it most, and we completely understand if you- How angry you might- How angry you are and we won't force you to forgive us or anything-"

   Sincere. Genuine. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't forgive us. You don't need to forgive us. We are really sorry. We will take better care of you.

   Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry-

   - So we thought about- Ah. To repair. Give you the concert you truly deserve."

The firm tone emanating from Yellow's voice quickly interrupted the fog that was beginning to form in Green's head, turning his head towards him to realize that the taller one had raised his hand and stopped everyone from continuing with the cacophony of voices. Of I'm sorrys. Of apologies-

   Oh wait.

   Oh. Oh.

   The stage was for him?

   - I know nothing will fix the damage that silverfish caused- The damage we didn't even try to cease- But." Yellow paused, clasping his hands and fidgeting nervously in his seat before taking a deep breath and continuing; - That's- The concert really mattered to you, so. We wanted to- Give you a chance to- A second chance to. Show to the world-

   - The world being us."

   Yellow elbowed Red. - Your performance. And just your performance only. No silverfish to take your place."

   The stage was practically the same as the show, although it was significantly reduced to fit the computer and not cover the entire space to the point of being almost claustrophobic.

   The instruments from before - from the villagers who agreed to help him with the concert - were not there, just the blocks and noteblocks that had been used previously in the concert. On his concert.

   It was his show. It is his show.

   The stage is his. The performance is his. The audience is his.

   Green just stared at the stage, then at the instruments, then at his friends.

   Millions of emotions flowed like musical notes, the fog in his head forming like fluffy, adorable clouds, and suddenly he felt an immense urge to jump and bounce and play and scream and stim and-

   A single musical note, so small and confused and twisted and broken - yet joyful and hopeful and excited and free - floated from his mouth, the harp-like sound echoing so low that Green is sure none of them would have heard it if the room was not in a complete silent.

   For me?

   Yellow tilted his head gently, Blue touched his hands like he always does when he's excited, while Orange nodded and Red happily waved his arms up and down, encouragingly signaling the older one to come on stage.

   For you.

   Green timidly walked to the stage, Blue and Red quickly helped him by grabbing his hands and pulling him up, Orange walked towards him and gently pushed him to the center where the noteblocks were carefully placed in a way that formed a piano, patting his back in encouragement before going to join Red and Blue on the chairs in front of the stage, sitting right next to Red who was resting his parrots on his shoulders.

   Yellow had the staff in hand, placing his hands on his hips in a sign of lighthearted annoyance, confusing Green momentarily before realizing that the taller stick was looking at the crumpled tie with small traces of dried tears.

Oh.

   Green looked down at his shabby tie, dismay filling him at how careless he had been with his beautiful tie, before perking up when yellow hands suddenly grabbed his tie by the ends and stretched it, trying to straighten it back to the way it was before. Finishing, Yellow walked away and placed his hands on his hips as a sign of pride, while Green just stared at his tie, now even more messy and shabby than before.

   Such a mistake like that would freak him out, reprimand the causer and quickly fix the damage done.

   Now, somehow, he found no reason to care.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   Green took the staff extended to him with such delicacy and care, as if the staff would break with a single sloppy touch, holding it close to his chest like a plush.

   Yellow patted his head, touching his forehead to Green's in a tender and gentle manner, before retreating and getting off the stage, sitting right next to Blue and putting all his attention on Green, on the show. On Green. On the performance. On Green.

   All eyes and heads were on him, all attention was on him and him alone.

  Playing his slightly altered melody as he now played solo, he felt on cloud nine. Gloatingly boasting of the enthusiastic applause and whistles of his beloved audience, who adored every performance he performed no matter how imperfect they seemed to him. Of his friends, who would always be there welcoming him with open arms and would help him in any way they could. Of his family, who adore him and love him so, so much.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   He is adored. He is accepted. He is loved.

   He always was. And he always will be.

.

.

.

.

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[standfucker]

Marco with a nesting instinct. You get pregnant and he's just compulsively buying more and more pillows and blankets. An absurd amount and he can't stop hoarding them. Keeps gifting you stuffed animals. Bringing you food in bed. And he's not even really aware he's doing it until you wake up one day and realize your bed has turned into a literal nest.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

if any of you have ever been curious about mpreg killer, for whatever god forsaken reasons (/lh), you’ll find it here. Be warned for talks about violent and suicidal urges and thoughts, dissociation, post partum depression, and child abandonment. Basically, killer is on his dead beat dad arc (he is severely mentally ill and believes this is the best outcome for the child, and the only outcome where it survives.)

[the-faraway-trainer]

Ok so- theoretically- if you live in the 1800s, and there's this snarky, selfish, annoying, blue haired mediocre twink who wears a beanie that makes his head look like it's about the size and shape of a really chubby kakuna and whose eyes LITERALLY roll back to the point you can only see the whites of them(no, I'm not joking. He just did this.), is it or is it not ethical to use roar of time with a level 100 dialga on him.

Like shut the fuck up dude, we're trying to figure out if these massive outbreaks can appear in the mirelands, we don't want you making this shit about you.

[obsessive-compulsive-culture-is]

Peacefully sitting in the car imagining stabbing myself in the head then doing it to another person before I die

Obsessive/compulsive culture is…

[mariathechosen1]

Feminine rage and envy:

Inspired by ‘Brutus’ by The Buttress.

[Image description: A collage consisting of 10 different photographs and quotes, all related to feminine rage. All of the images are in various shades of red. From top to bottom and left to right:

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "My name is Brutus and my name means heavy."

The painting 'Judith Beheading Holofernes' by Caravaggio: It depicts Judith, a serious-looking woman, in the process of beheading Holofernes. She is wearing a white blouse and a red skirt. In one hand she's holding a sword, cutting into Holofernes's neck, in the other hand she's holding Holofernes's hair. Holofernes looks terrified and is lying naked and sprawled out over a white bed. Blood is spraying out of his neck.

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "So with a heavy heart I'll guide this dagger / Into the heart of my enemy."

An excerpt from 'Much Ado About Nothing' by William Shakespeare: "Oh God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market place."

The painting 'Love Slowly Kills' by Adrian Borda: It depicts a pomegranate lying on small plate, placed on a wooden table. The pomegranate, which has been been divided into several pieces, is pierced by an arrow and its shape vaguely resembles an anatomical heart. Bits of pomegranate and pomegranate seeds are scattered on the table. Behind the pomegranate there is an empty crystal wineglass and a clear glass bottle filled with clear liquid.

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "What's more wrong, that I too wish to be great? / Or my mother wished she'd had a son?"

A photograph of a pomegranate split into two halves. A butter knife, covered in bright red pomegranate juice, lies next to the halves and there is a bright red stain on the floor.

The painting 'Within the Tent of Brutus: Enter the Ghost of Caesar, Julius Caesar, Act IV, Scene III' by Edwin Austin Abbey. The painting depicts Brutus, clad in a bright red toga, cowering from the grey ghost of Julius Caesar. The ghost is splattered with blood stains.

A lyrics excerpt in red text on a dark cyan background: "Of humble and born of the cursed sex"

A lyrics excerpt spelled out with words cut out from paper: "My name is Brutus, but the people Will call me Rex". In contrary to the rest of the lyrics, the words 'Brutus' and 'Rex' are made up of individual letter cut outs instead of whole words, putting more emphasis on them. The background is the painting 'Still-life with bunches of grapes, figs and four pomegranates on a ledge' by Michelangelo Cerquozzi. The painting is dark and depicts fruits in different shades of red.

/end ID]

Sources and further explanation under the cut:

['Brutus' - The Buttress, 'Judith Beheading Holofernes' - Caravaggio, 'Much Ado About Nothing' - William Shakespeare, 'Love Slowly Kills' - Adrian Borda, 'Within the Tent of Brutus: Enter the Ghost of Caesar, Julius Caesar, Act IV, Scene III' - Edwin Austin Abbey, 'Still-life with bunches of grapes, figs and four pomegranates on a ledge' - Michelangelo Cerquozzi]

There's already a lot of 'female rage' web weaves on this website, but i figured why not do one myself? I think a lot of these web weaves either 1) tend to focus too much on biology (which is why I chose to say 'feminine' rage and tried to avoid a lot of cis female imagery. Fuck off TERFS) or 2) Choose photos or quotes taken sorta out of context? Especially when it comes to myths (like Persephone) and classical literature. I've sorta based this entire thing on 'Brutus' by The Buttress which is honestly such a fucking fantastic song, but the interesting thing about it is that it paints Brutus as, not only a female, but as someone driven by envy. I was really considering adding a quote or two from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, but in that play Brutus is specifically one of the only ones NOT driven by envy, his motives are pure. Idk, there's just something fascinating (in a positive way) about the fact that that envy appears the moment the character is female. I've also included a lot of small references that probably only I find interesting: I looked for paintings with figs as a reference to Livia Drusilla (augustus's wife who was rumored to have covered figs with poison to kill him), Beatrice from much ado because she's the best ever and I just absolutely love this rant of hers, and, of course, the pomegranates. I'm very aware that they often symbolize fertility (which goes agaist my whole 'no biology' principles), but idk I just love how bloody they look. They're a fruit. They're sweet, they're elegant, they're pretty to look at. They're blood red and they stain like hell if you're not careful. I just love how gore-y they look.

[stagesofkiller]

SIGHS SINCE YOU DIRECTED ME TO HERE

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS OF KILLER MPREG?

-Sincerely, the mpreg expert

Abortion. With a knife. I do believe he’ll start dissociating from his body and repressing hatred for that child, for taking over and invading his body. He will probably struggle with post partum depression and rage. His sadistic and homocidal thoughts and urges would be in overdrive.

Stage 1 will probably have panic attacks about being unable to stop thinking about hurting the kid, because he doesn’t want to hurt any more kids—and will probably start looking into either abortion, foster care, or adoption immediately. His suicidal urges will hit him full force.

He will probably need support from someone in order to make it through a pregnancy and labor safety, for both him and the kid, and then he’ll need further support after.

Please gods, do not let this man house a child in his body—let alone become a parent. He will become an active threat to its life and his own. He will be able to recover after the baby is born, with help and support, i think.

I don’t think this man wants a child, ever. He can’t trust himself with one. If he ever ends up with one, it’d be purely by accident—and if he has the support of the kid’s other parent, maybe he’ll keep it. Otherwise he will get rid of it by leaving it in someone else’s care.

If the other parent isn’t around and he can’t find a way to give the kid up to someone else, he’ll raise them until they’re able to care for themselves—and then he’s gone. He believes it’s better in the long run, and will likely be very avoidant and emotionally unavailable to his child as they grow—perhaps with brief moments of emotional care in Stage 1. Assuming he doesn’t find a way to force himself to stay in Stage 1–unable to trust himself in other Stages with their child.

He will teach them everything he thinks they need to know to take care of themselves and survive without him—he will make sure they have money too. He will likely keep moving for awhile instead of settling down. He will attempt to avoid getting attached, and will discourage the child from doing so as well.

Then after that. Good luck ever seeing him again. Alexa, play Never Love an Anchor for Stage 1 and the kiddo.

[galaxofmuses]

Xen is hissing at Smile and his anger is absolutely boiling.

He is starting to rip Nebula's arm apart as they begin to scream in pain. The bone and flesh split apart away from the body and leaving the victim to bleed in Green Hill. Xen doesn't really care about his dearheart, he just needs to let his rage out and lashing at them while smashing their head repeatedly until the sickening crunch interrupts the cries.

With heavy breathing and glaring at the mess and turns back and stares at the other.

"You do not know a damn thing about me."

[borderline-culture-is]

// ventish , mention of suicide and violent thoughts

suspected bpd culture is why am i suddenly the bad guy when she's the one that started it? why is it bad i wish she succeeded even throughout all she did to me? all i did was to exist, was to heal, was to enjoy my life? she came into my life and fucked around while knowing i had ptsd? she did so much - i could and have put it into paragraphs about the pain she caused. so why is it bad i wish she wasnt found or whatever the hell happened when SHE'S THE ONE who, as a grown adult of 40-50ish years, vented to a bunch of children, without warning, about how she had tried killing herself.

.

[yujeong]

"I love you so much I think of what you'll look like rotting to death before my eyes. Often."

I love you so much that I'm choking with it. Blood filling my mouth mixed with saliva and pain as I kiss you laying on cold cement, solidifying my words with what will be our doom in the end. I was okay with it, too. Death would be release. I've already served my purpose. Now, all I have is you holding my hand, smiling at me with those eyes full of something I can't recognize, sometimes. Many times I picture you dead on our bed. Your body cold in my arms, rotting, the colour evaporated from your face, from your skin, turning to ash in my palms, and the light in your eyes extinguished. I stay there for hours like that, looking at your vacant expression. Even in death, you're beautiful. It happens often. I don't know what to do about it. This fear. This desire. So I just let it consume me, fill me up until I can't breathe. I need to touch you. Keep you close. Mine. Mine. Mine. Those visions of your decaying flesh should scare me more, shake me to my core, but all they do is remind me how lucky you were. I already died once and you got to witness it. A part of me is jealous. (Incomplete. Just a silly, little poem I wrote that will turn into a proper thing and posted on Ao3 one day. Inspired by the quote I placed at the beginning.)

[j0celynh0rr0r]

Blood

[whydousernamesevenexist]

Frequently experiencing intrusive thoughts that don't trigger compulsions has the side effect on me that if my brain is genuinely warning me, I flag it as an intrusive thought and don't pay it attention.

If I'm holding a knife normally, my brain almost always goes "hey! Here's a mental image of you stabbing this into your thigh or stomach! And here's also one of you stabbing this into your family member's eye! Want one of someone grabbing you from behind and forcing you to stab yourself in the neck? 😁😁😁"

To which I usually reply "sure sure buddy 😐 that's pretty disturbing 😑 okay can you shut the fuck up now? No? Whatever, fuck you, there's nobody in this room with me, I'm just gonna cut my apple normally, you can yap all you want, I don't care 😒"

So when my brain says "heyy, you're holding that knife in a pretty unnatural way and it could be dangerous!" And provides me with a mental image of me cutting my finger, I sometimes react to it the same I would to intrusive thoughts and ignore the warning.

I almost cut myself so many times ughhhhh