blockium-trading-simulator-blog

[btsbs]

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[bibleofficial]

god bless sleeping 12hrs nightly

[mikesbasementbeets]

(bonus:)

[mariemariemaria]

Does anybody else feel like mental health awareness has done very little to help them in material reality

[viir-tanadhal]

"Inside a dream"

"Say it to me"

"Into thin air"

"You are the one"

"Dreamland"

"Decide"

"Bullet for Narcissus"

"Sense of time"

Neil (+ one Chris contribution) and dreams as his lyrical motif the past 10 years

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

remembered bout beans's existence... i adore him sm for some reason

[vibinsane]

don't chase the rabbit. - a little tidbit of my past oc i found on an old blog, sobbing. feel free to read, i'm just sort of archiving it here. <3 tw: blood, murderer, mentions of sa, mention of drugs, alcohol, etc. just please read especially if you're easily triggered. take care of your mental health, this was/is still an outlet for me. also i tried to tag accordingly, back then when writing, tw tags weren't common? i really didn't tag them because the people i followed/interacted with were fine with the same writing (and it was all through words, i never posted anything graphic) but if i missed a tag that should be in the tags or you guys have any suggestions how to properly tag triggers, please let me know!

blood, blood, and more blood.

calloused digits are tainted with the remnants of blood from the one person he truly hated. he's smiling because he's finally gone and away from his life.

"monster! you monster!" his mother sobs, pushing her son away. "…he loved me."

monster.

the word resonates in his head as his eyes glow red. maybe he is a monster. maybe he wasn't. he doesn't know and little by little he slowly begins not to care. he's laughing, rather maniacally and points to the dead body slashed by the edges of the broken beer bottle and even raises his voice at his own mother.

"you think that bloody bastard was a goddamn lover to you?!" he asks incredulously, eyes boring holes into his mother. "he didn't love you worth shit!" and he eases forward, even when she eases back, her eyes speak of something. fear. it doesn't stop him from striding forward. he grabs onto her arm and tugs the sleeves up. "you think i never saw this bullshit? these bruises? they're not love."

a slap to his face causes him to still, quiet as a mouse and if tears were to spill from his eyes. they don't, because he's learned to hold such emotions back. they sting, though. but they will never fall.

"you monster, he loved me. everything he did was for me! monster…monster…monster! get the hell away from me!"

he drops the broken beer bottle and tugs his hoodie up and as he hears sirens from a distance, he grabs his backpack (the one he always had prepared in times like this or any time to escape from the presence of the dead bastard) and hops out of the window, onto the fire escape and descends down, letting the darkness of the alley conceal him from anyone's eyes.

monster.

monster.

monster.

the word resonates in his head. his mother's voice pinning itself into his mind, but he shakes his head and doesn't let up on the pace of his feet, hopping over fences and landing down on his feet and the shock is brief before he's picking up into a run. he knows of a place he can hide out. somewhere no one will find him.

it hasn't quite hit him that not only was his step father gone from the world (by his doing) but he murdered him. he's a criminal. a murderer…a monster. he shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head as if the images playing in his head would fall off. of course they don't. he's stuck with the look of his mother's face and the look of his step father's face. there's something in his eyes that he didn't quite register and even until now. he still doesn't it.

for all he could honestly feel towards the older man was the ill he had injected in his mother. the brainwashing, the abuse and how it all gets taken out on him. he tries to forget in between those the things having been done to him those nights he was left vulnerable in his room with an apartment full of bloody drunk bastards looking for some young meat, fulfilling their hidden desires for the same sex.

what a mess he was.

what a mess he is.

finally once the voices quieted down in his head, he sleeps soundly. like a baby.

the morning he wakes up sweaty and panting, eyes shot open as he shoots up. dizziness overcomes him and he has to hold himself still to prevent himself from losing balance, albeit he's flat on his ass merely sitting up. he scrambles for his phone, digits searching through his phonebook, several miss calls from his mother that he won't get back to. he knows how it all goes.

his mother calls, he comes home. the only difference is, if he does, he'll be cuffed and sent to the police station. trialed as an adult (he wasn't sure, he was thirteen for god's sake) —a lifetime in prison? he'd rather have death.

[youraveragecatastrophe]

you'd think after four years i'd have googled the title of an episode of my favourite show to know what it meant. and you'd be wrong

[godblooded]

if i leave with gloria in my pocket tomorrow well i won’t be surprised.

[lyctorism]

@folie-a-du3x

OK SO.

these two are first front and center as the most, i feel, intentional parallels between the two. pete wentz loves a mirror allegory. talking to the mirror. talking to myself, talking to you. i'm invisible, i see you, please see me please don't think less of me.

never ask for anything, but i want to make you lonely, please. i feel, at least

'chemistry', drugs analogy that could also be physical chemistry. happy mess, sunbeam.

untouched -> handshake with death -> hooked on death.

these four are connected, also, and i feel like they speak for themselves

though this might be a reach but they relate, to me. between 'checking out' and 'saving it for later' put aside the three-and-two pitch metaphor of 'it being too risky to do anything but stay where he is', i.e. do nothing. just makes sense to me. i can't do anything, i've felt so stuck in this same place forever of one way or another, i'm staying where i am and checking out mentally but i'll be here. later. like a point frozen in time. wait for me like i wait for you?

overall the two have a contrast of heaven, iowa definitely sounds like a bittersweet sort of love letter (as a lot of fob songs are). please think sweet of me, be careful with your life as with addiction, but i can't watch you do this/i'm checking out to think about this later to pavlove's full bitter, still love letter of 'i want to make you as lonely as me' so you can get addicted to THIS, this loneliness, this same way i feel. i love you, but i can't be better for you (right now). i want to check out, but i'm not ready to die. it's soooooooooooo. yeah. i feel these both in my chest !!

[mariemariemaria]

Does anybody else feel the waves of history crashing over them constantly and like they can't escape the generational trauma that permeates and poisons every interaction they have or do I just need to chill and have a drink lol

[makedamnsvre]

there are things abt me that i dont talk about not because im being secretive i either just forget to mention it or think no one wants to hear about it but i think it gives like important context to whats wrong with me 💖

[nc-vb]

Went into another manhwa blind and once more, I regret it.

[glubandeepspace]

i dont think rafayel likes smoking for various reasons but i think hes lit a blunt with his flame at least one time long ago. or something like that

[hagravenholm]

Wow

[abandonedrobot]

Nothing happens for a reason. Everything has an explanation, but nothing happens because it was supposed to in some divine, greater picture sense. Believing things happen(ed) for a reason gives comfort but not truth.