#nothing is sacred anymore… nothing is safe.

[marzghost]

// NAMEMC SPOILERS

My boissssss what have the watchers done to youuuu! God can you imagine the horror. Once death meant you were free. Safe from whatever sick game you were forced to play but now even that isn't sacred. There is no rest for the wicked.

Mumbo was gone for two weeks and Skizz got buried a week ago. Mumbo was mourned and Skizz is still probably being mourned only for their friends to be forced to see their bodies being dragged out from their graves and forced to do whatever sick and twisted things the watchers want them to do. Sick and twisted I tell you, SICK AND TWISTED!

CAN YOU IMAGINE HEARING YOUR FRIENDS GIGGLING AND LAUGHING LIKE NOTHINGS CHANGED AFTER LOSING THEM BUT THIS TIME IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF A JOKE YOU MADE BUT BECAUSE THEY'RE HUNTING YOU DOWN. THIS ISN'T LIKE THEY'RE ON RED THIS ISN'T THEM. THEY HAVE THEIR BODIES. THEY HAVE THEIR VOICES. THEY MIGHT EVEN HAVE THEIR MINDS BUT THEIR EYES DON'T SHINE ANYMORE WITH THE SAME JOY OR LOVE EVEN THE RED NAMES SHOW! THEY HAVE NO LOYALTY! NO SENSE OF FRIEND OR FOE! THEY HAVE NOTHING TO GAIN BECAUSE THEY ARE DEAD AND THEY JUST WANT TO SEE CARNAGE! THEY ARE NOT RED NAMES AND EVEN THE RED NAMES FEAR THEM FOR EVEN REDS UNDERSTAND SOLIDARITY AND FRIENDSHIP.

Imagine being Grian...

The reds are no longer the biggest threat on the board and they are scared. Imagine being a green.

[groundbreakingdot872]

What fascinates me the most about Gwen’s enchantment, is how cleverly Morgana uses skills that held importance to her old life, as assets in her plots against Arthur and the greater kingdom.

In A Lesson in Vengeance, we’re told that Tyr Seward had seen the traitor un-stitch and re-stitch the girth of Arthur’s saddle, which promptly breaks when the planned bandit attack comes to play. This is evil!Gwen’s doing obvs, but pays a reference to a younger version of her, who’d embroider the most dainty flower arrangements onto the bodice of her servant gowns, or who helped design and create an entire chainmail set for Lancelot’s first attempt at becoming a knight, after Merlin commisions her help.

Or in The Hollow Queen, we briefly see her use the key placed on top of the dungeon gate (the one Daegal places there for her to get to later), and it makes me think… how would he get his hands on it in the first place?

Morgana’s plan was too meticulous to not involve making a copy of the key so Gwen isn’t under immediate suspicion for the original going missing in the first place. I think she made a copy of it herself, just like she did in The Coming of Arthur, by using her father’s forge and kicking into those ygrained skillsets on how to do it.

Using Gwen’s very own hands, she’s made to undo everything she worked for, mislead everyone she loves, and it’s all, horrifyingly, muscle memory.

[skitskatdacat63]

And now my art has been reposted on tiktok, have I finally made it as a creator? 🥺 But like seriously my god, I didn't think I had to say but don't repost??????? I think I've been pretty safe from it cause I normally just draw AU art but ahh making relevant art, it's a dangerous game....I just yeah, don't necessarily know what to do about it, but yeah just don't please?

[jacuzziwaters]

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. *Thinks about all the animated shows that got cancelled because of corporate greed*

[thesmokinpossum]

[alteredphoenix]

The whole Unity controversy has made me so glad I never went any further pursuing a career in game development and graphic design beyond idle fancies because wow.

[skyeateyourdonuts]

either insecurity is loud or everyone rlly fucking hates me lmao

[justaz]

post magic reveal arthur is like “:/ mmm i’ll open up communications with the druids but idk about repealing the ban :/“ and merlin is like “??? why??” and arthur’s like “well magic is evil, that’s all i’ve been taught and all i know. i know you’re not evil but idk about other sorcerers, i can’t just let them free.” and merlin’s like “what’ll get you to consider it” and arthur’s like “well you say that magic isn’t something you chose, it choses you. alright, but people still chose to use it.” and merlin who has never followed this train of thought before is like,,, “you wanna test it? experiment? i can stop using my magic and we’ll see what happens” and arthur who has been playing his father’s lessons on magic through his head for the past like month since he found out and has been trying to figure out a way to get merlin to stop corrupting his soul jumps on the opportunity and is like “great idea :] nothing could go wrong :] you stop corrupting yourself and i don’t have to set magic free :]”

merlin stops using his magic for everything. he makes a conscious effort to force it all down and away and the first few days pass by fine. then he starts to get a little dizzy and then he gets spacey and distracted but not rambly, just staring off into space. then he’s just like. not there anymore. druids come to camelot to speak with arthur but can’t stop staring at merlin and eventually cut the conversation off to point at merlin and ask whats wrong with him

when they find out whats been going on they go all “oh shit” and urge everyone to stand still and not make a move. arthur inquires and they answer. magic has built up within him. magics natural state is free, it wishes to be used and to fly free, to be cooped up within someone is like caging a wild stallion. it bucks and kicks at the gate, bites at its handlers, and fights like hell to be set free. the magic thats been trapped within merlin for a couple of weeks is practically tearing him apart from the inside trying to set itself free. but! they can’t just tell him to use magic here. even the smallest use of magic would be a crack in a dam that would crumble like ash and set all the magic free. and with all that magic - all of emrys’s magic? he could very well flatten the city.

they cautiously, EXTREMELY cautiously, guide merlin out of the room, out of the castle, and into the middle of the woods. they urged everyone (who followed which is like arthur and his knights) back and out of the forest. then from a distance, the eldest druid mentally reached out to merlin and instructed him to let his magic loose. within seconds a blast of pure golden light shoots forth and flattens the entire forest, the druids casting a large shield to protect themselves, arthur, and his men.

merlin staggers to his feet in the distance and the eldest druid reaches out again, for safe measure, and tells him to let loose once more. merlin obeys and reaches down into the ground and pulls all the trees back up and imbues them with life so they thrive once more. the druids claim the forest as their own, sacred by order of emrys. arthur allows it. and then goes home to draft up a magic ban repeal. and an apology to merlin.

[buckyalpine]

Okay okay, that Wakanda Bucky imagine was soooooo hella cute 🥺❤️

Would you do a continuation of it where they live happily in the hut and maybe with some smuuuuut ? 🙊 The idea of him in that Hut, all cozy and romantic is not leaving my mind

WAKANDA BUCKY? YES, I will gladly give you more (this can be read as a standalone) There's something about Bucky in Wakanda that's just so soft and comforting to me. That sweet baby with his goats, just living in peace for the first time ever in a place where no one can hurt him. It's also the first place where he can just be himself without the pressure of worrying about anything else.

Just you and him.

He's just so in love with you; his words can only do so much. He wants to make you feel good in the most intimate way possible. He wants to physically give you what words won't translate.

He's nervous though.

He knows you love him for all of his imperfections; there's no doubt you adore every single bit of him. He has no reason to worry about what you'd think.

But this beautiful sweet boy is shy anyway.

Too shy to tell you he wants to make love. Too shy to slip his hands onto your bare skin even though he knows you wouldn't stop him. Too shy to even insinuate he wants more. Ever since you've moved into his hut, he'd wanted you closer. You cuddle every night and he loves the feel of your soft body nuzzled right by his side but its just not enough. He always tells you he loves you and how much you mean to him but it doesn't compare to the way he wants to just melt into you.

He manages to hold his tongue until one night when he just can't anymore. He's cuddled up on your chest while you both lay in his cot and he feels so safe and loved. He wants you now, more than ever. He doesn't even want to take you apart and wreck you; he just wants to love on you softly but he's not even sure if he can, I mean he only has one arm-

"What is it Buck" You whisper, carding your fingers softly through his locks, pushing back the few strands that fell from his half tied hair. "What you thinking about" you let your finger trace over his features, smoothing the crease between his brows that he makes when he's deep in thought. He blushes at you catching his mind in action, blinking with wide eyes before chewing his lip.

"I-

"What is it sweet boy" You continue to let your fingers gently dance over his face and the action makes him purr, leaning for more of your touch.

"I want you"

"You have me baby" You whisper, your heart beating a little faster wondering if he was implying what you were thinking, what you'd been wanting and craving for ages-

"No angel, I want you" He says in earnest hoping you'd understand, "I just-I'm not sure how" He looks down at himself, now afraid to meet your eyes. How could he make you feel good if he only had so much to work with. "I want to make you feel good"

He hesitantly lets his hand slide along your hip up to your waist and slipping under your shirt. The feeling of your bare skin is already so addicting, he starts to work at taking your clothes off as soon as you nod with a needy please. He finds you so unbearably gorgeous when you're naked on his bed and at one point he thinks that might be enough.

Your bare form is everything to him and he'd do anything to worship your more sacred places.

He'd be such a precious baby when it comes to you undressing him. The pink on his cheeks spreads to his ears and he can't help but gush at the way you kiss every scar and freckle on his skin when you let his robe drop to the floor.

"You're perfect" You whisper and he shakes his head because he's nothing in comparison to you. Not with all those angry red lines scattered across his chest, scars covering most of his skin.

"Not like you angel, I'm not-

"You are. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are soldier, how perfect and strong your body is" You don't let him argue, a gasp slipping past his lips when you wrap your hand around his length and start to pump. He's about to protest again because this is about you but he has no idea how long you've been waiting to do this for him.

"Please Bucky" You softly beg and he's an absolute goner when you wrap your hand around his aching length. Just when he thinks it couldn't get any better; your warm soft palm stroking him up and down, you tell him how beautiful and perfect he is and he swears he could cry.

"Look at how pretty you are baby" You coo, perched between his spread legs, leaning over to suckle the tip, humming at the taste, "Can't believe you hid this all from me for so long baby"

"Another-fuck sweets-another night, God I'll cum-you gotta stop" He whines as you release with a pop, your lips covered in his slick. He pulls you to lie down beside him, thinking about all the times he imagined making love to you. Looking into your eyes, letting his body cage you from the rest of the world, just you and him and nothing else.

But it wasn't easy with 1 arm.

"M'sorry baby, I-" Bucky stuttered, feeling unsteady as he hovered above you.

"Lay down for me" You cut off his rambling with a kiss to his lips before letting his head fall against the pillow. "Just wanna feel you Jamie, be close to you" You moan, rubbing your now dripping pussy all over his cock. "Want you inside me"

"Put my cock in you angel" Bucky's feral side made an appearance while he held his length letting you line up with the tip, the both of you gasping at the feeling of him finally pushing into you. "Fuck babydoll, wanted this so bad"

"oh fuck" You threw your head back at the feeling, all the pieces inside you coming together as you sank all the way down making you feel complete. "You feel so good inside me Bucky" You whined, grinding and rocking yourself on his thick length, feeling him in your belly.

"C'mere angel, please" He begged, reaching for you and pulling you causing you to fall onto his chest. He planted his feet and started to thrust up making you cry out. "Wanted to make love to you baby, I-fuck I love you so much, wanna make you feel so good"

"Feels-so-good-hng" You whimpered between thrusts, nipping and sucking bruises onto his neck while he held onto you tightly with his arm. "I'm-so close-

"I'll make you feel good" Bucky groaned, pushing you back up and slipping his hand between your bodies while you leaned back and held onto his thighs. You cried out as he found your clit, moaning louder with you and he toyed with your pussy.

"That feel good baby?" He panted, letting his thumb rub your clit in fast circles, your silky soft bud throbbing against the digit, "You look so pretty with my cock in you angel, cum for me, cum for me pretty girl"

It didn't take long for you to shatter around him, and Bucky followed right behind. He nearly sobbed as you collapse against his chest while he pumped you full of his load, not bothering to pull out long after his cock softened. Cuddling with you with his spent cock warm in your soaked pussy was his favorite part of the night. Nothing was more intimate than the both of you so closely connected, whispering sweet nothings while tangled under the soft sheets, the both of you falling asleep in the warm, cozy air of the hut.

[floweycidal]

i keep thinking about how flowey had to construct the very concept of cruelty from the ground up.

not from watching anyone else, not by osmosis, but by cobbling it together himself in the garden where he woke up. alone.

this was a child who fell asleep to his mother's stories, who knew every inflection of his father's laugh. who spent endless golden afternoons with his sibling, both of them doubled over with giggles as they filmed their silly videos, messing up on purpose just to hear each other laugh. again. and again. and again.

so warm. so safe. where the gravest offense imaginable was maybe tracking mud on the carpet.

the worst fear, disappointing people who would love you anyway.

where could he even begin?

save. say these words that once meant comfort, but twist them just so. watch their eyes dim as something inside them breaks. load.

save. make a promise—you remember those, how snug they once made you feel—then shatter it. document exactly how hope crumbles. load.

save. try another combination. another betrayal. watch what splinters differently this time. load.

the world's loneliest science experiment.

look at the cruelty he creates, it's all so personal, specific. so devastatingly asriel.

watch how often he comes back to the idea of being replaced. of being forgotten. how he taunts you with the possibility that none of your relationships matter, that everyone will move on without you. that none of your choices mean anything in the end.

your fault. your responsibility.

if only he you hadn't made anyone love him you. If only he you hadn't loved them back.

of course he'd fixate on all that. how could he not? his mother, who used to speak his name like it was sacred, those tender words she reserved for him—for THEM—are now handed out indiscriminately, like candy to anyone who asks.

all he can do is take note: see how easily love transfers? see how simple it is to fade away?

so, he sneers. taunts you with the thought that it's all dust. you're just another passing face in the crowd. nothing lasts. nothing is worth the weight of caring. but even as he pushes that narrative, as his voice drips with contempt, he is still out there. in the ruins. checking on her.

observing from a distance, like maybe if he watches long enough, his past will solidify into something he can hold again.

flowey develops his cruelty like he's trying to solve an equation. if this word plus this action equals pain, then surely there must be some formula that yields not caring anymore.

if he'd just gotten it right. if he'd just kept everyone at a distance. if he could just be flowey. save. load. the answer has to be here somewhere.

but how do you quantify the sting of hearing her say "my child" to someone else? how do you account for the absence left in the places where joy once thrived? how do you document, in clinical terms, why you keep watching over people you swear don't matter anymore?

you don't devote yourself to perfecting devastation unless you remember, with searing clarity, what it felt like to be whole.

you don't give so much of yourself mastering the art of ridiculing attachment unless you're terrified of how much you still have left to give.

unless every attempt to prove love meaningless just confirms how much meaning it still has for you.

...point IS! flowey did an interesting job creating his own idea of a bully. it's all pathological. so crudely stemmed from his own sorrows and fears. he's created his own textbook definition of meanness...but then every chapter's just him screaming in a mirror.

[appleblueberry-pie]

You Deserve More Than Me

There wasn't a time when you didn't see scars littering Miles's skin. It strikes your curiosity as much as it makes you concerned. They looks so cool on him, but why were there so many in the first place.

He never seemed to get in trouble at school, though. So it had to be sometime before or after school when he was doing...something. But he was just a closed-off scholar. At least, that's how you saw him. He always smiled at you, spoke with you often, was gentle with his words and volume when conversating, and was also gentle with his touches, too.

His hands were littered with the most scars. Little healed slits covering the backs of his hands, even though they were moisturized and beautiful looking. And his palms....you'd able to tell it was him based off of those alone. They were never too cold or too warm. They were rough. Detailed and ingrained with hard work he obviously had been putting his time into. Never catching a break, yet never wearing down. You admired how they felt, and how beautiful they still managed to look. Everything about him was a surprise to you.

When you'd see his sleeve pull up a little, or he'd stretch and the bottom of his shirt lifted to reveal scarred skin, you'd point it out. He'd say the same thing about them every time. "I'm good. It's nothing to worry about. Promise." And his smile would be enough to convince you to drop the topic.

Miles had multiple scars resting on his young skin. Yeah, his hands were hard working, but the rest of him worked harder. If he ran his hand across his chest in one slow and detailed stroke, he'd feel about 2 years worth of his second life that took what's owed. He can't recall where some scars came from what unless they were too big to ignore. His arms and forearms looked hauntingly beautiful, a silent story never to be forgotten, forever a memory of what once was and still is true about him to this day.

His back took most of the falls for him. He fell so many times on his back, it doesn't even hurt anymore when it happens. But if he thinks hard enough about those moments when it did happen, he could feel the sting as if it was still there.

But if only he could put into words why this all connects back to you. If only he could explain to you that this was done to keep your streets safe, your mind clear. He would love to confess his emotions to you, but only lord knows how much more strength he'd need to even face you before even uttering such sacred words. You deserve so much more than him, so to try and match what he thinks is best for you, he blends with the night to pretend to be someone he's not to break his skin for you.

He doesn't know how you'd feel if you found out how much of his life he'd spent just to be able to surround you in his life. So much of what's on his skin was there because he wanted to make you proud and see you smile again. And it's not like he can stop now, he's already sharing two classes with you and he'd be damned if he had to give it up. If 5 months of lurking on the streets, making deals for money, and lowering the crime rate of his city means being able to share a class with you, then so be it. He'll bleed a few more times just to be a little bit closer to you, he has no shame.

His selfishness for you runs deeper than the thoughts in his head. It shows through his actions and the skin he tears over and over again just for it to heal and turn to see your face another time.

[arts-bloody-rose]

Blood of A Rose - Part 3 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - As (Y/s)’s life blends into Art’s, she struggles to keep hold of her sanity with his influence as others continue to test her patience.

Notes - Shit’s getting juicy, y’all 🤌🏻 Let me know if you would like to be part of the tag list or have requests!

Word Count - 3,107

Warning(s) - Violence

Song Inspiration -

The Pretty Wild - Sleepwalker

The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months. As the bond between them grew stronger, so did the resemblance of (Y/n) in the abandoned building the clown called home. And with it, so did she. 

With much convincing, Art allowed her to make the bedroom her own safe space for when she spent her time there. With that being said, it also meant that if anyone other than either of themselves entered that room, there was no telling what that somebody would suffer through. 

Sure, it wasn’t as if it was common for others to wander into the building, and that alone would be a death wish. But anything that invaded what he considered to be her sacred grounds was subject to punishment of the highest degree. 

With countless hours of cleaning and rearranging, she was able to finally get rid of the dust and grime, save for a few particularly stubborn spots. And of course, the floors and walls were still rotted and peeling, but after getting a can of paint, roller brushes, and a pan, she figured it would be close enough to decent. 

With Art’s help, he opened the can of egg-white paint for her and carefully poured it into the pan, happily doing so with a large grin. Once he poured enough for her, he set down the can of paint and straightened himself up. 

“What?” (Y/n) asked him innocently when he looked at her mischievously. Then she noticed the hand behind his back. “No.” She warned him playfully, holding a finger out to him. 

He snatched her wrist and she shrieked as he launched his hand out from behind him, smearing what she assumed was paint onto her face. As the cold substance touched her lips she gagged and kept her lips tightly shut, refusing for it to get into her mouth anymore than it already had.

Meanwhile, the imp that was Art keeled over in silent laughter, slapping his thigh and mocking her gagging as she ran out to the basin in their work area before the paint dried up to clean it off. She dried her face and it flatlined as she glared at Art. He simply shrugged with a half-assed apology written on his face, letting her storm past him back into her room to start painting.  

The experience was peaceful, other than the rocky start and the fumes. Nothing could have prepared her for the fumes. The room wasn’t large and the building had no ventilation or filtering to protect her. The single window was broken and boarded so it wasn’t as if she could open it. 

Her stubbornness was unforgiving as she pushed through hours of work to get everything done, fueled by her excitement to turn the room into her own. 

The effects the smell had on her body didn’t hit her until the tail end of her painting as she finished the second and final coat of the remaining wall. 

(Y/n) practically threw the paint roller into the pan, taking a deep breath when her head began to spin. She was aware enough to mind the wet walls, but couldn’t stop herself from swaying. After a significant wave of disorientation, she leaned - or rather fell - back against the doorframe, her head thumping loudly against it in the process and only worsening her headache. 

With her eyes closed, her head spun as she heard the sound of rushed and heavy footsteps growing nearer, louder before they came to a halt beside her. She felt quick taps on her shoulder, light at first. 

No response. 

The next set nearly shoved her into the wall and her eyes sprung open, looking over at Art who had a panicked expression, his hands motioning around the both of them with haste. 

(Y/n)’s eyes began to close again as she waved him off weakly. “M’fine. Just dizzy.” She slurred and heard him stomp his foot. 

He suddenly bent down and picked her up bridal-style, taking her out of the room and outside to an old bench sat along the side of the building. He sat down and cradled her on his lap, albeit begrudgingly as he huffed and puffed to himself at the minor heart attack she caused him. 

As her head rested against him under his chin, she began to recover enough to know she would be fine to stand. But with equal mischief, she pretended she was still ill just to stay in his arms for a little while longer. 

The days following, Art was generous enough to help her bring in brand new furniture which they transported by a worker’s van - which he still hadn’t disclosed to her its origins - and the room was finally beginning to look decent. 

The process was interesting, to say the least, as far as putting the furniture together went. They both sat on the floor, Art eyeing the new tools that came with the pieces and picking them up in interest while (Y/n) read through the directions. 

What caught her off guard was how handy Art really was. 

After she had finished reading through the first bit, she began to look back and forth between the directions and the pieces in front of her to start the dreadful process. It wasn’t until she was halfway through putting the dresser together that she began to grow frustrated, sighing heavier than usual as she took off another piece that was incorrectly placed. 

Art looked over, sensing her frustration, and shooed her away from it. He took the tools from her and left to grab his own. When he returned, he sat where she had been and began to put everything together with ease while (Y/n)’s jaw dropped in both irritation and awe. 

No directions. No guidance. Just Art doing what Art did. 

Within fifteen minutes, the dresser was perfectly complete and he stood, presenting it to her with a large grin and flare of his hands while (Y/n) deadpanned. 

“You waited.” She accused grumpily and he proudly nodded. 

He then mockingly pouted at her and stepped his way over, squeezed at her cheeks and patted them before kissing her on the nose. 

“Okay, I forgive you.” She mumbled, unable to stay mad at his adorable mannerisms. 

With furniture complete, (Y/n) began to bring over some of her belongings and necessities. Clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, bed sets, a lamp and then some. He helped her without hesitation, mostly because he wanted to snoop around her house and bring back some of what he found for himself, but she accepted and appreciated the help nonetheless. 

After a week, the whole room had completely changed. She could now call it her personal safe space, her home away from home. 

“Art look, it’s finished!” She called to him from the doorway, looking into her room. He practically ran over to her with shared excitement, his face resembling shock. He clapped and jumped up and down, then blew a kiss into the room to compliment their work.

Art then turned to (Y/n) and kissed her cheek, baring a look of mischief before he ran into the room and jumped onto the bed. She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look, but once he star-fished with childlike glee her face softened and she chuckled. 

The hideout was nearly their permanent place of residence once the room was finished. She would stop by her house once or twice a day to check her mail or take a shower to freshen up. Her actual house very well turned out to be her new home away from home, finding an odd sense of comfort in the decaying building knowing that it belonged to the clown she so loved. 

With how busy they had been with their little project, Art had built up a strong urge to wreak havoc. (Y/n) had her own urge, however significantly less violent. She would only ever be found guilty by association. 

Or so she thought.

Following the familiar itch, Art tinkered away at one of his new inventions when they could finally rest after the more chaotic week. (Y/n) sat with him, staring at the latest newspaper that had been delivered earlier that morning to her house. 

The usual sting rose in her abdomen as her eyes skimmed over the words of an article covering her work: disturbingly grotesque, lacking depth, pure shock value. 

Each phrase felt like a hammer striking her soul, chipping away at the confidence in her work while Art was left to pick up the pieces. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the paper, crumpling it slightly. Suddenly, in the back of her mind, something stirred. Something darker than frustration.

She realized that her initial reaction wasn’t just sadness. It was anger. Uncharacteristic of her individuality, it simmered, threatening to boil at any moment. 

She grew antsy with the unfamiliar feeling and stood up, crumpling the newspaper and snatching a match from the workbench. 

Art watched incredulously as she struck the match and lit the article ablaze, dropping it into a nearby steel bucket on the floor and letting it burn. 

Her exterior was eerily calm while her thoughts began to rage and cause turmoil. She looked over at Art who continued to stare and her eyebrow twitched in contained irritation. He simply lifted the new weapon off of his desk and showed it to her with a sadistic expression. 

Over time, (Y/n) began to notice how the fits of frustration became more common. What used to be a simmer had indeed grown into a boil and only became harder and harder to contain, though she did it well. It’s what made her dangerous, and what intrigued Art further. 

No matter what was going on through her head, she somehow always remained calm and collected. Time and time again other’s words and interactions with them made her seethe beneath her facade, yet nothing ever came out of it from her. 

She had always avoided conflict, either by completely disassociating from it or just letting Art handle it in his own way. What they didn’t know was what went through her head in those moments. 

For the past few months, she’d noticed a change. Subtle at first, but soon became impossible to ignore. As she stood silently in her anger, her mind thought up of ways to release that rage. Whether it was ramming a bat into a TV or slapping someone in the face, the images flooded her mind as an initial reaction. Almost as an impulse, coaxing her into giving in and finally acting on it. 

She wasn’t aware of it yet, but the line between her calm, introverted nature and the darkness lurking beneath had already begun to blur. And soon, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference at all.

It was nighttime, as was routine for them, to go on their walk, which Art preferred to call their ‘hunt’. They decided to take a different route to town for a change of scenery, but (Y/n) would be lying if she said it wasn’t more eerie than their typical route. 

There wasn’t nearly as much lighting and the tall trees lining the smaller street casted foreboding shadows over them. But (Y/n) felt calm. Not only because it was an environment she was naturally attracted to, but also because of the figure walking alongside her. She could even go as far as to say she felt almost invincible with him. 

Just ahead of them, a darker figure seemed to have the same idea of having a walk. From the look of it, they grew closer, walking towards them. 

Art stopped in his tracks, staring at the man menacingly with wide eyes and a smile to match. 

The man felt a chill run down his spine at the sight, but decided to stupidly go against his better judgment as he took a sip from the beer bottle in his hand. 

“A little early to be dressing up for Halloween, don’t you think?” He laughed as he resumed his walking towards them. 

“How about you mind your business.” (Y/n) bit back. Art’s head snapped over to look at her with an expression of shock, hand over his mouth as she casually put her hands in her pockets. 

“You’re a snappy one! I like that.” He slurred with a drunken wink and her mouth curled in disgust. Art looked between the two of them with a mischievous grin. 

“Then you’ll love it when I smash that bottle over your head if you don’t keep walking.” 

“He might,” The man pointed at Art. “But I don’t think you will, sweetheart.” 

In the blink of an eye, the bottle was snatched from his hand and broke over his head just as she warned. 

Art bent over in laughter after his initial surprise wore off, pointing at the man now collapsed on the ground and mocking him by pretending to cry, hands twisting by his eyes. 

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’.” (Y/n) spoke flatly as she shook off the beer that spilled onto her hand from the bottle. “Do you have a rag in your bag, Art?” She asked the clown in a softer tone. 

He turned back to her and held up a finger for her to wait while his laughter continued, digging through his bag until he eventually pulled out a rag, albeit a bit dirty, but it would suffice. As (Y/n) dried off her hand, he pulled something else out and she turned away, the man screaming behind her not long after. 

She wasn’t sure what came over her at that moment, and Art wasn’t exactly a good influence. She had made one or two threats in the past couple of months when her intrusive thoughts started to get worse, but never had she acted on them. 

The most unusual part wasn’t that she carried them out, though. It was that she remained frighteningly calm before, during and after. As if it was second nature to her. 

An hour before the sun was set to rise, they made it back to what they called home. Art remained his bloody self, heading to their work  area while (Y/n) wandered into her room without a word, her demeanor just a shell of who she was as she thought of the night’s events. 

She took the camera off from around her neck and set it on her nightstand, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at the rug below her. 

She wasn’t sure how long it had been before Art showed up and paused in the doorway. His smile dropped ever so slightly, leaving his eyes as his brow furrowed with concern. He walked over to where she sat and began to reach a hand out, hesitated, then touched her shoulder and quickly pulled away as if she had burned him. 

Her eyes slowly lifted to meet his gaze and using a finger, he motioned up and down at her figure in question. With no response, she only looked back down and he was aghast, flinching back with wide eyes. 

Art quickly looked around in a panic, fingers twitching with an unfamiliar urge and then quickly took a seat beside her. At first, his fingertips caressed her back. Then his arm reached around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, rocking the two of them soothingly. 

After a few minutes, he felt (Y/n)’s arms slowly wrap around his torso, leaning into him as her head nuzzled into his chest. 

“I don’t know what happened…” She mumbled in what sounded like disappointment. “It just came out of nowhere, hardly even any provocation.”

Art tapped at her back and she watched as he stood up in front of her. He mimicked exaggerated anger and pointed at (Y/n), then flared his hands at the empty space beside him, an imaginary person. He pointed at her again and gave her two ‘ok’ symbols, telling her that it was okay and that she did a good job. 

“You don’t think I overreacted, do you…?” Art started to feel relieved when he noticed her usual, gentler side with him begin to show again. 

He aggressively shook his head, slicing his arms over each other to give a firm ‘no’ and (Y/n) sighed.

“I’ve just been becoming more angered with things that used to only cause me pain. Those urges have been in my head more frequently recently and that was the first time I’ve ever acted on it. I feel conflicted after, but in the moment it just felt right .” 

She looked up at Art with pleading eyes, but his smile remained and he lifted his hands to grab her cheeks. He pulled away and balled up his fists, gritting his teeth in feigned anger and motioning to what was around him with a sigh of relief. 

“If I hold it in, will it just get worse?” (Y/n) asked genuinely. 

He nodded his head and pointed at her. She looked off in contemplation as Art eagerly waited, fingers tapping against each other. 

“I guess I could try and see how it goes.” Art clapped and shuffled closer to her, taking her head and leaning into it to kiss the top of it, then patted where he kissed. 

Over the next few weeks, she decided to stick to her word and let the now impulsive thoughts take over. She hesitated at first, but Art nudged her inconspicuously from beside her when he noticed and prompted her to follow through. 

Depending on how much the person had angered her and what was nearby for use, it ranged from ramming their head into a wall to simply kicking them in the groin. But she never went further as that was Art’s part of the fun, and she never wanted to deprive him of such joy. 

It still felt strange at first, to say the least. But the more she gave in, the less she thought about it and just did it . The strange feeling turned into relief, the relief turned into satisfaction, and the satisfaction turned into pure pleasure . 

In doing so, (Y/n) gained a certain level of understanding as to why Art loved what he did. She would never torture as he did, if at all. And she still refused to watch. 

As she embraced the new aspect of herself,  they formed a newfound respect for each other. More than what they had before, which they never believed could be greater than what it was. 

Tag list: @callsignwidow @hoe-for-daddywise

[kingluffy5]

GRRRRR IMAGINE TAILUNG ( from kungfu panda ) WITH a leopard reader who has a smaller body than him, LIKE IMAGINE WITH THE SIZE DIFFERENCE HOW NICE CUDDLING WOULD BEEEE

All right so obviously I have to change some things around in terms of story. In this Tai Lung when finding out he is not the Dragon Warrior decides to continue training at the Jade Palace as a master, he is considerably less violent but will still be sassy, and in this au he is actually good friends with Po. This one will be small do to a lack of specificity on what you want and nothing to really base off of.

Tai Lung x Leopard Reader (GN)

Tai Lung has been training for a while and Y/N just wants to cuddle

3rd Person P.O.V.

Sounds of kung fu could be heard from the pool of sacred tears as Master Tai Lung was training with the Dragon Warrior, Po.

“If that is all you can do Panda I just might claim the title of Dragon Warrior yet,” Tai Lung jokingly mocked as the two dueled.

“Don’t start thinking this fight is over just yet Tai Lung, KICK OF AWESOMENESS!!!!” Po yelled as he kicked at Tai Lung’s stomach.

“Po you know I can easily block that right?” Tai Lung said as he flips Po over him.

“Yeah but it gives me the chance to do this,” Po revealed as he stepped on Tai Lungs tail.

“AHH! Mother of - ”

“Tai Lung are you still training!” A voice yelled, one that is able to strike fear into the hearts of legendary warriors such as Tai Lung, Po, and even Master Shifu himself.

1st Person P.O.V.

Here I am walking all the way up to the pool of sacred tears when Tai Lung said he would be done training hours ago, after the recent attack on the Valley by Kai he started training more and more and it is like I barely see him any more. I get he wants to train to protect the people of the Valley but I still want him to come home before I go to sleep.

Once I get to the top of the mountain I see Po and Tai Lung shivering which is weird because even if we are this high up it is still pretty warm out.

“You promised to be home hours ago,” I angrily reminded my partner.

“I’m sorry dear you see we just lost track of time,” He said honestly and guiltily.

“Heroes of the Valley my butt you two would lose your heads without me and Shifu here to make sure you don’t overwork yourselves come,” The statement came from a place of care as me and Tai Lung were partners in every way, romantically, as well as in Kung Fu. While I do not train in the ancient art and am smaller than the likes of him and Po, and would likely easily lose most fights, I make sure Tai Lung takes care of himself.

“You’re right dear, let’s go home and rest,” He suggested.

— — —

We ate dinner in silence and were now in bed, also in silence.

“Are you still made at me Y/N?” He asked.

I growled in response, confirming his question.

“I’m sorry that we were training for so long, and I know it probably does not make up for it but we did genuinely lose track of time,” He apologized.

“But why do you have to train so much? I want you to be home more,” I asked.

“When Kai attacked I was almost powerless to stop him, I didn’t want to have that feeling of you not being safe anymore, I want to always be able to protect you,” He said.

I suddenly curl up into him and bury my face into his chest, “Just shut it you big lug,”

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Family Planning

Life slows down once everyone is safely back on Pabu, and maybe now it’s time to start focusing on what you both want for the future.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: breeding kink, very very brief and vague medical procedure (birth control removal), established relationship, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, pre-established safe word (always play safe, folks), oral (f!receiving), unprotected PiV, scent kink, light marking, bandana as bondage, light hair pulling, love and fluff, soft aftercare.

“I can put a replacement in immediately if you’d like?” The doctor asked, turning in his chair, ready to remove the expired birth control implant buried in your upper arm. 

“Urm…” You paused, not entirely sure what you wanted to do. Honestly, you’d forgotten about the small plastic rod under your skin until Hunter had offhandedly commented that you smelt a little sweeter this cycle.

He sat beside you now, warm brown eyes sliding in your direction as the doctor waited for your answer. With nothing to do this afternoon, he’d offered to come with you to the appointment you’d made at Pabu’s only clinic. After four years at his side, having been assigned as the squad’s civilian handler at the start of the war, nothing was sacred anymore. Even more so after you’d fallen into bed together two years ago. 

Two years of waking up next to each other, of stolen kisses and wandering hands, of knowing looks and being railed against the nearest surface. Two years of ‘I love you’ and ‘stay safe out there.’

During the war, the two of you had discussed a family late at night, tucked away in a bunk together, voices whisper soft and full of hope.

Now, life had slowed. After rescuing Crosshair, Omega, and Tech from Mount Tantiss, you’d slipped off the Empire’s radar and had settled down properly on the tropical island. You had a home and a routine, were on a first-name basis with the locals, and even snagged a teaching job at the school.

Eyes shifting to meet Hunter’s, you chew on the inside of your lip. Was now a good time? Would your baby be safe, or would the Empire come sniffing if they caught wind of a child of an enhanced clone?

“It’s your choice, cyar’ika.” He states, his mouth’s corners turning into a devastatingly handsome smile. “It’s your body.” He adds. You know his stance on having a family, Maker above you play into often when he’s buried deep inside you late at night, but this feels like a pivotal moment in your relationship.

Holding his gaze, you’re not quite sure what you’re searching for – but you can see so much in his eyes. All the trust and love he has for you, all the support. At first, it had been terrifying to have someone believe in you so much, but your self-worth and confidence flourished over the last four years.

He’d be an incredible father. You’d already seen it from his interactions with Omega, how the young girl pulled all those paternal traits out of him. He’d go to the ends of the galaxy to keep you and your baby safe, of that you were sure.

Contentment seeped through your body, a feeling of rightness settling in your gut. You wanted a family too, and you loved each other - had been to hell and back for each other. You shifted your attention to the waiting doctor. “Don’t bother replacing it.” You tell him, hearing Hunter inhale sharply, the armrest of his chair creaking as his grip tightened on it at your words.

The doctor gave you a knowing look as he swabbed a disinfectant pad over your upper arm. “Normally, I encourage my patients to use other contraception, but something tells me that advice would fall on deaf ears.”

You make a slight noise of agreement, glancing over at Hunter as the doctor quickly removes the small implant. Your eyes take in the way he’s watching the little piece of plastic being removed, his fingers flexing against the arms of the chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the implant is pulled free of your body. And then those dark eyes find yours and steal your breath.

It was the right decision.

He’s on you the moment you get home, not even giving you time to properly shut the front door. Rough hands grasp your body, lips finding yours for a passionate kiss – there’s no finesse to it; it’s needy and messy, noses bumping and tongues meeting.

Buttons are undone; his shirt hits the floor, and his shoes and pants follow. Strong hands cup your ass and lift you, lips still pressed desperately against yours as he carries you a few steps further into the house, laying you on the couch and following you down. Your kiss breaks long enough for him to pry your dress up and off, lips meeting again before the garment even has the chance to hit the floor. He’s back on you, using one hand to prop himself up above you.

“Fuck, cyar’ika.” Hunter’s voice is low and smoky as his mouth moves to your jawline, light kisses peppered across it before he works down your throat, nipping gently at your delicate skin. Your chest heaves with each breath, mind spinning as your hand’s card through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp, eliciting a small hiss of pleasure and pain from him.

A needy whine breaks free, your hips lifting as you desperately seek some friction. Hunter matches your actions, grinding his hard-on against your thigh as he reaches the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. He bites down a little harder this time, your moan filling the air, pulling a growl from him as his tongue laves over the mark. The light sweetness to your scent is still there, but he knows it’ll only get stronger as the artificial hormones make their way out of your system. He can’t wait to bask in it.

Your bra is slung over the edge of the couch, hands cupping your breasts as Hunter’s mouth continues downwards, leaving a trail of kisses. Shivers skitter down your spine as he licks across the soft mounds, dragging the flat of his tongue across your rapidly hardening nipples. Drawing one into his mouth, he sucks, scraping his teeth gently across it. The pleasure makes you gasp, back arching as you chase the warmth of his mouth.

Forefinger and thumb tweak your other nipple, the double onslaught making you whimper. Hunter smiles against your breast, enjoying how easy it is to pull such delicious sounds from you. Downwards, he continues, scooting back a little on the couch to press more kisses across the softness of your stomach, yet he pauses for a second just below your belly button.

The actual reality of it slams into him. That damn implant is no longer in your arm, and while it might take a few cycles for your hormone levels to settle back into their natural state, his child could soon be growing here, nurtured by your beautiful body. He moans at the thought, hands moving to kneed gently at your belly.

Gazing down your body, you watch as the man you love laves attention to your stomach. You might’ve pulled away, self-consciousness flaring a little in the past, but you know why he’s doing it. You know the thoughts that are swirling through his mind. You reach down with one hand, fingers tangling in his hair, pushing his bandana off. You snag it with your free hand, sliding it down your wrist, knowing how much he loves seeing you wearing it.

It has the desired effect. Hunter catches the motion, groaning as the band of red fabric rests around your wrist, possessiveness flaring low in his gut and his hips flex, hard cock grinding against your leg again. Deft fingers pry your panties down, and he buries his face between your thighs moments later, turning his head to scatter kisses on your inner thighs. His stubble’s roughness contrasts with his tongue’s softness, and your hips buck in anticipation, desire building further inside you.

He presses forward, burying his face against your pussy as he inhales deeply, growling as your scent floods his nostrils. Tongue dragging through your soaked folds, his nose presses against your clit, and you grind against it, knowing how much he loves you riding his face. Fingers fan over your thighs to keep your legs open as he devours you, his tongue circling your entrance a few times before plunging in, pulling back a moment later to flick it over your clit, making you shudder. He repeats the action several times, driving you crazy with need.

Mouth finally staying on your clit, he presses two fingers into you, crooking them, rubbing your g-spot. The angle is perfect, and between his talented hands and hungry mouth, you’re done for. “Hunter!” You cry out his name, your release slamming into you. Your hips and thighs shake, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the pleasure sweeps you up, searing through your veins.

Smug satisfaction paints Hunter’s handsome face as he slows, lapping up your release before he takes his mouth off you, though he continues to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you, feeling the way you spasm around them as you come down from the high. “You have no idea how fucking badly I want to cum inside you.” He rasps, the smokiness of his voice amplified.  

Catching your breath, you’re mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze. Biting down on your lower lip, a thrill runs through you. “I think you should show me.” You challenge.

His growl is feral, your pussy clenching at the sound. Fingers slide out of you as he reaches for your wrists, grasping them as he hauls your arms up, pinning them against the couch above your head. Quickly, he ties his bandana around them, a smirk tilting his lips.

Softness creeps across his features momentarily as he looks down at you beneath him, and you know what he’s asking. “Havoc.” You re-confirm your safe word. You were entirely comfortable with this and had been the hundreds of times you’d done it before, but he always double-checked.

Shifting back to sit on his knees between your thighs, Hunter’s hands smooth across your body. You hadn’t been made for war or the frontlines, even though you’d insisted all those years ago on being out there with him and his brothers. You were softer, unable to take as many hits, making him want to protect you all the more.

You relax against the couch, content to let him lead, trusting him implicitly. He catches you off guard as he dips his head down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue swirling around the pebbled bud. Back arching, you huff a breath, squirming as his hands grasp your hips. His lips trail upwards, across your neck, leaving a mark on the other side to the one he’d made earlier. The sweet moan you let out is music to his sensitive ears.

“The way you sound pinned under me…fuck. Your moans are so pretty, cyar’ika. Can hear your heart racing too.” Hunter’s eyes close momentarily, losing one sense, further heightening the rest of them. He breathes in your scent once more, using one hand to pry your thighs further apart, dragging the velvety head of his cock through your slick folds. “So needy for me. This what you want?” He can’t help but tease, enjoying your whimpers and eager nod.

He makes you wait for a second, that mischievous glint in his eyes part of why you fell in love with him in the first place, and then you feel him press against your entrance, inch by glorious inch pushing into you. Your moan catches in your throat, pussy stretching to accommodate him until his hips are flush against you, heavy balls resting against your ass.

Hunter grunts as he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut once again. “Such a good girl.” He murmurs, giving you a second to adjust before he pulls back and slams back in, making you both cry out. His eyes snap open, locked on your beautiful face as he sets a punishing pace. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, your arms trapped above your head, completely at his mercy.

Fingers grasp your thighs, keeping you in place as he pounds into you. The couch creaks beneath you, but you pay it no mind, too focused on the pleasure building inside of you once again.

“Gonna fuck you every damn day until it sticks. Gonna make you a mommy.” Hunter snarls, watching your lips part, your head tipping backwards as you moan unabashedly. You clench around him, and he knows his words excite you.

He won’t last much longer, having been worked up since you’d told the doctor to remove the implant. He’d never been more grateful for loose-fitting pants in his life – walking out of the clinic with a boner was not something he wanted the island residents gossiping about.

Pulling out of you, he chuckles as you whine. “Patience, mesh’la.” He chides gently, strong hands grasping your hips as he flips you onto your front. He unties the bandana, letting it fall to the floor, and you grab at the arm of the couch as he hauls your ass up, fingernails clawing uselessly at the fabric.

On his knees behind you, Hunter pushes back in, setting a quick pace again. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, making your back arch, ass pressing against him. “Feel you so deep.” You gasp, hearing a deep rumble of pleasure from behind you moments before a hand grasps your hair, tugging your head backwards.

A sharp sound leaves you, eyes screwed shut at the combination of pleasure and pain that erupts in your body. The warmth in your body builds, the edge drawing oh so deliciously closer. Hunter keeps a hold of you as his thrusts pick up, eyes glancing down to watch his cock slide in and out of you a few times before his free hand snakes around you to rub your clit. “I can feel you squeezing me tight. You gonna cum on my cock, baby?” His pace is relentless, hand letting go of your hair a moment later as he eases you down, your cheek pressed against the couch, back arching beautifully. The change in angle is pure perfection.

“Hunter!” You cry out his name for the second time this afternoon as the pleasure crescendos, your body clenching around him, muscles spasming as you climax.  

With your body clamped around his cock, Hunter gives two final thrusts before he stills and presses himself against you, shoving in as deep as he can with a grunt as he cums. His thighs shake as the pleasure washes over him, cock twitching as he fills you.

The sound of both of your ragged breaths fills the room, and the pair of you spend a moment catching your breath. Gentle hands smooth across your back after a moment. “Keep that ass up, cyar’ika. Don’t waste any, even though there’s plenty more where that came from.” Hunter murmurs, folding himself over you as he drags his lips across your shoulder blade, tongue laving at your skin and the thin sheen of sweat on your body.

You let out a little noise of agreement, tilting your hips a fraction to ensure none of his release can escape. It draws a deep chuckle from him, and you bask in the sound.

“I love you.” He whispers, warm breath brushing against your ear as you feel him ease out of you, his softening cock resting against your ass.

“I love you too.” You reply quietly, head tilting to capture his lips in a sweet kiss as his hands slide around your body, resting against your stomach. 

As the kiss breaks, he presses his forehead to your back, warm hands rubbing gentle circles against your belly. “Stay like this a little longer, baby.” He insists, the quiet sounds of your synced-up breathing the only noise in the room.

You know it won’t take, but you stay still anyway, soaking in the moment and the feel of his body pressed against you, safe and happy in your little slice of paradise.

[chaoticace2005]

You’re a hellborn bird in Hell. You’re flying around Pentagram City, happy to avoid the chaos happening below. You’re free. All is well.

Then you spot something else in the air approaching from the distance. It’s black and white and red. Is it another bird? Is it a plane? Is it SuperSin? No, worse. Much worse.

It’s a cat, your natural predator. A giant flying cat. A giant flying cat with explosive cards and an even taller screaming spider demon on his back who’s wielding a fuck ton of machine guns.

How dare cats have wings. This is your one natural advantage. Is nothing sacred anymore?

You thought you were safe. You were wrong. Very wrong.

(Not because of the cat or the spider, but because with them is a small cyclops with a ton of knives and even more bloodlust. And she’s hungry.)

[furiousgoldfish]

I had a conversation the other day, with a person who seemed to have some respect for me, but couldn't understand why I'm still having trauma symptoms, and can't be normal already. I took it as a chance to try and explain my symptoms, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears;  I was told I just needed to tell myself that 'I am a new person now', and forget about the past. The person then explained to me how they weren't always the same person either, and they would sometimes cringe at their behaviour in the past, but then they would be proud of themselves for being smarter and more reasonable today. I couldn't quite explain to them that my situation was not the same.

They gave me various suggestions like 'just don't think about these things anymore', and 'these people are not going to hurt you anymore', which I strongly doubted was true. I tried to explain that I am not purposefully thinking about it; in fact, I was doing everything to avoid it. But with intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, nightmares, and the symptoms of the dissociative disorder, I had no control over it, the past was at my throat, holding me and unwilling to let go. I could tell that they still believed I was doing it on purpose, holding on and refusing to stop living in the past.

I very rarely get a chance to talk to someone about anything trauma related, so I was originally grateful that anyone was even showing an interest at 'attempting to help me', but later when I thought about the entire thing, I got pissed off.

Firstly it doesn't make any sense for me to be 'normal', in any timeline, regardless of how much time has passed. You can't have a person living first few decades of their life in belief that their life is worthless, in environment where they're getting locked up, beaten, humiliated, tortured, threatened with death, brainwashed to believe they're not human, severely neglected, and without any kind of genuine caretaker or a parent. And then leave it to this person to 'deal with it alone', never getting any help, never even getting reassured that what happened to them was wrong. That is complete abandonment by human society, and I find it sick and twisted that this person should be expected to adhere and integrate into society afterwards, for what? This person will logically feel betrayed, untrusting, bitter, feral and unnacepting the society's standards, especially their standards for victim blaming and ignoring abuse. Society continually fails these people expects them to 'fix themselves' so nobody would feel uncomfortable about it.

Secondly why is it up to me to change as a person? I am not like this because 'I was not a good enough person', I am not the one who needs changing. I am good as I am. It's worse that after being failed in every aspect, I am now being seen as the one in 'the need of change', for not acting normal and being haunted by my past. I am not hurting anybody! I am the only one suffering from this. God forbid my reality leaves someone uncomfortable, I better try to hide it better. Which I actually do unless sometimes is actively asking me about it.

And the last bit of my anger is about making it seem like the actual problem is 'me holding onto the past', and not my life being severely different and harmful in a way that isolates me from other people. I don't have the same formative experiences other people had. I don't remember being cooed at and hugged, I don't have endless experiences of being taught that I'm important, that someone will care and intervene when I'm in pain, that the figures of mother and father are safe, warm, comforting and reliable. That childhoods are a positive and fun part of life. That families work as an environment for children to be raised on. I don't have the experiences that formed all other beliefs that this culture holds, I hold nothing sacred that is sacred to everyone else, I don't believe in the authorities, I don't believe in family, I don't rejoice with holidays, I don't want children, I don't trust religion, I feel contempt towards capitalism, I don't relate or connect to people who are receptive to any of it.

And it turns out I'm right to feel as I do. Because people in this society will actively come to me asking me to 'stop being like that', while never asking any abuser to 'stop being like that'. Victims who make them uncomfortable can be spoken down to, should be told to stop being traumatized, even in private, while the abusers just need to be 'ignored' and 'hopefully they stop doing it'. What a great plan. Surely it will fix everything.

Humane thing to do would be to approach me with awareness that I've been treated like a worthless creature and address it and allow me to act genuine about it. If I'm still feeling betrayed, abandoned and outcast from society, I should be able to express that. I deserve to react with genuine responses rather than this insane preformance art I have to do every single day to make sure nobody else is aware or uncomfortable by my peril.