love & distrust

i am sorry that someone out there made you distrust love. that they walked into your life and broke apart the most beautiful feeling there is. that now you don’t trust family, don’t trust friendship. that you live waiting for people to abandon you, that you leave early so they don’t leave you.

i am sorry that someone out there made you distrust love. that they walked into your life and broke apart the most beautiful feeling there is. that now you don’t trust family, don’t trust friendship. that you live waiting for people to abandon you, that you leave early so they don’t leave you.


but please don’t give up because not everybody is going to hurt you

death knight player: honestly its disgraceful and disrespectful the way demon hunter npcs think they can just carry on about darkness and sacrifice like they’re so cool and tragic. do they even know who i am. they chose to follow illidan, for some reason, and they get cool tattoos and wings. big whoop. what a hardship. death knights had to claw their way free of the lich king’s will and try to fit back in to the world of who they were in life even though they can never truly go back and everyone they used to love distrusts and fears them and they can never stop killing things or else idk some bad stuff happens. who do these “”illidari”” think they are. my character cant get hard anymore 

demon hunter player: i like the big jumpies

Red Shoe Day // May 15 2016

Here’s to the young girl from Tanegashima, fascinated with her father’s swords and staffs. Here’s to an outing in the park so violently interrupted. Here’s to separation, wandering an unfamiliar city, clutching one red shoe.  Here’s to devastation. Here’s to everything being ripped away, and no one to turn to for help. Here’s to terror, and dread, and awe.

Here’s to a light in the darkness. Here’s to a Jaeger piloted solo, a saviour rising from the smoke. Here’s to wonder, a newfound family, and a promise. Here’s to grease, machinery and Jaeger restoration. Here’s to circuits and combat and cleverness. Here’s to perfect simulator scores and taking names in the training room. Here’s to our brightest and best, the rising star of the Shatterdome. Here’s to strength, to growth, all in spite of the past burning like fresh kaiju blue.

Here’s to the Drift. Here’s to friendship, admiration, belief and support. Here’s to standing strong in the face of adversity. Here’s to failure, to chasing RABITs. Here’s to trying, and trying, and trying until you finally succeed. Here’s to destiny and circumstance all coming together. Here’s to revenge, catharsis, triumph. But here’s to pitfalls, to finality, to sacrifice, to doing what must be done.

And here’s to resilience. Rebuilding a new world out of what’s left of the old. Here’s to that same loss all over again, but this time, with a family of rangers and technicians and scientists by your side. Here’s to not just surviving, but living and thriving and fighting back. Here’s to compatibility, and freedom, and hope, and love.

Here’s to Mako Mori.

All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal.
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.
All that you eat
And everyone you meet
All that you slight
And everyone you fight.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that’s to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.
—  Pink Floyd
A New Normal: Ten Things I’ve Learned About Trauma

by Catherine Woodiwiss

1. Trauma permanently changes us.

This is the big, scary truth about trauma: there is no such thing as “getting over it.” The five stages of grief model marks universal stages in learning to accept loss, but the reality is in fact much bigger: a major life disruption leaves a new normal in its wake. There is no “back to the old me.” You are different now, full stop.

This is not a wholly negative thing. Healing from trauma can also mean finding new strength and joy. The goal of healing is not a papering-over of changes in an effort to preserve or present things as normal. It is to acknowledge and wear your new life — warts, wisdom, and all — with courage.

2.  Presence is always better than distance.

There is a curious illusion that in times of crisis people “need space.” I don’t know where this assumption originated, but in my experience it is almost always false. Trauma is a disfiguring, lonely time even when surrounded in love; to suffer through trauma alone is unbearable. Do not assume others are reaching out, showing up, or covering all the bases.

It is a much lighter burden to say, “Thanks for your love, but please go away,” than to say, “I was hurting and no one cared for me.” If someone says they need space, respect that. Otherwise, err on the side of presence.

3.  Healing is seasonal, not linear.

It is true that healing happens with time. But in the recovery wilderness, emotional healing looks less like a line and more like a wobbly figure-8. It’s perfectly common to get stuck in one stage for months, only to jump to another end entirely … only to find yourself back in the same old mud again next year.

Recovery lasts a long, long time. Expect seasons.

4.  Surviving trauma takes “firefighters” and “builders.” Very few people are both.

This is a tough one. In times of crisis, we want our family, partner, or dearest friends to be everything for us. But surviving trauma requires at least two types of people: the crisis team — those friends who can drop everything and jump into the fray by your side, and the reconstruction crew — those whose calm, steady care will help nudge you out the door into regaining your footing in the world. In my experience, it is extremely rare for any individual to be both a firefighter and a builder. This is one reason why trauma is a lonely experience. Even if you share suffering with others, no one else will be able to fully walk the road with you the whole way.

A hard lesson of trauma is learning to forgive and love your partner, best friend, or family even when they fail at one of these roles. Conversely, one of the deepest joys is finding both kinds of companions beside you on the journey.

5.  Grieving is social, and so is healing.

For as private a pain as trauma is, for all the healing that time and self-work will bring, we are wired for contact. Just as relationships can hurt us most deeply, it is only through relationship that we can be most fully healed.

It’s not easy to know what this looks like — can I trust casual acquaintances with my hurt? If my family is the source of trauma, can they also be the source of healing? How long until this friend walks away? Does communal prayer help or trivialize?

Seeking out shelter in one another requires tremendous courage, but it is a matter of life or paralysis. One way to start is to practice giving shelter to others.

6.  Do not offer platitudes or comparisons. Do not, do not, do not.

“I’m so sorry you lost your son, we lost our dog last year … ” “At least it’s not as bad as … ” “You’ll be stronger when this is over.” “God works in all things for good!”

When a loved one is suffering, we want to comfort them. We offer assurances like the ones above when we don’t know what else to say. But from the inside, these often sting as clueless, careless, or just plain false.

Trauma is terrible. What we need in the aftermath is a friend who can swallow her own discomfort and fear, sit beside us, and just let it be terrible for a while.

7.  Allow those suffering to tell their own stories.

Of course, someone who has suffered trauma may say, “This made me stronger,” or “I’m lucky it’s only (x) and not (z).” That is their prerogative. There is an enormous gulf between having someone else thrust his unsolicited or misapplied silver linings onto you, and discovering hope for one’s self. The story may ultimately sound very much like “God works in all things for good,” but there will be a galaxy of disfigurement and longing and disorientation in that confession. Give the person struggling through trauma the dignity of discovering and owning for himself where, and if, hope endures.

8.  Love shows up in unexpected ways.

This is a mystifying pattern after trauma, particularly for those in broad community: some near-strangers reach out, some close friends fumble to express care. It’s natural for us to weight expressions of love differently: a Hallmark card, while unsatisfying if received from a dear friend, can be deeply touching coming from an old acquaintance.

Ultimately every gesture of love, regardless of the sender, becomes a step along the way to healing. If there are beatitudes for trauma, I’d say the first is, “Blessed are those who give love to anyone in times of hurt, regardless of how recently they’ve talked or awkwardly reconnected or visited cross-country or ignored each other on the metro.” It may not look like what you’d request or expect, but there will be days when surprise love will be the sweetest.

9.  Whatever doesn’t kill you …

In 2011, after a publically humiliating year, comedian Conan O’Brien gave students at Dartmouth College the following warning:

“Nietzsche famously said, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ … What he failed to stress is that it almost kills you.”
Odd things show up after a serious loss and creep into every corner of life: insatiable anxiety in places that used to bring you joy, detachment or frustration towards your closest companions, a deep distrust of love or presence or vulnerability.

There will be days when you feel like a quivering, cowardly shell of yourself, when despair yawns as a terrible chasm, when fear paralyzes any chance for pleasure. This is just a fight that has to be won, over and over and over again.

10.  … Doesn’t kill you.

Living through trauma may teach you resilience. It may help sustain you and others in times of crisis down the road. It may prompt humility. It may make for deeper seasons of joy. It may even make you stronger.

It also may not.

In the end, the hope of life after trauma is simply that you have life after trauma. The days, in their weird and varied richness, go on. So will you.


credits to @eikyrona for letting me animate this fanart 

{PART 10} Who Are You? // Im Jaebum

Originally posted by sugaglos

Pairing: Jaebum x Reader

Genre: Sad, Angst

Summary: Jaebum finds himself being haunted by the memory of you - the memories you can’t remember at all.

Please note that this series contains mentions of road/car accidents, amnesia and cheating.

{Part 1} //{Part 9} {Part 10} {Part 11}

Keep reading


Jemma, Daisy, and Mace in 4x09: Broken Promises

anonymous asked:

you dont deserve hunk hunk is pure and supports love and your gross and hateful

Omg you almost had me going for a second there, like I was so confused I actually believed you thought Hunk would condone pedophilia lmaoo
Shit you really had me for a second

The Garden and the God - Part 1

It was dark night. A dark, noisy night like so many he had seen on that dumb planet, in that realm of chaos and oddities. It was inhabited by people who were easy to manipulate, weak minds like children’s, and who for some time had given him the illusion of getting something full of greatness, something glorious. And wrong.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply,  and turned his back at the enormous stained-glass window that was directly on the frenzy of the night streets. He coughed with a shiver. Every time he forgot the dry air he breathed in that huge building where he had been leaded after the end of those tragic events, and where he lived for a year now. 

The Stark Tower. A gigantic finger made of steel and glass, pointing straight to the sky, full of lights, laboratories, corridors and rooms. And people. Many of whom did not love him, distrusted him, and even feared to speak to him. In the Stark Tower everything was automated and technologically advanced: the doors opened with mysterious hidden buttons, the lights had strange reflections and even the comfortable common rooms, tastefully furnished, hiding ultra-modern gadgets that he hated and found them completely useless.

He had spent several months to get used to that setting that made him uncomfortable and so far from his reality, but for how much effort he did, he would never have been able to understand the contraption that filtered all the air, and returned it dry, clean and with a vague smell of disinfectant he badly tolerated, and forced him to cough. He let a thoughtful look run over his large desk that was soon filled with books, papers and pens; he had everything he wanted in that fistful of nice and comfortable rooms where he lived, so a careless look would never have known that that was his golden cage.

He could go out, attend the vast library, get new experiences in the common lounges, but he was not allowed to leave the building and every time he moved from one area to another, he had to do some sort of report to a metal voice in a microphone, an invisible figure called Jarvis, so Stark and his friends always knew where he was. He looked back out of the window, but instead of seeing sparkling lights, skyscrapers, and tiny cars in a row fifty-eight floors down below, his reflection in the glass attracted his attention. He hated what had become his life, he hated the fact that he could only blame himself, and he hated to admit it, in silence, with himself. He stared into the clear glass, his face with an almost somber expression. The black long hair just past her shoulders, high forehead, the sculpted cheekbones. And then those eyes. Even the deep black of the night sky was unable to suffocate the intense green of his gaze. An unnamed green, deep, vibrant, of an almost painful beauty.

Still he recognized the man of that reflection?

Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief and Liars, Prince of Asgard and son …

He hit a fist on the glass to stop his thoughts and walked away from the window with a grimace of anger, as if the window itself was guilty for this feeling of being void and prisoner. He lay down on the bed stretching his long legs: the comfortable black trousers accompanied that movement with a delicate silky swish. He crossed his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling. It was better if he tried to sleep, he had to stop with his stupid fixation of late reading and grinding sad thoughts. But there was that dream …

That dream that persecuted him for weeks, if not months, and the last thing he wanted was to get back to it, to live it …

Loki P.O.V 

The light. It always started with the blinding, beautiful light that I knew well. It was the light that was driving me. It was so wonderful to be there, surrounded by that warm golden light. I also knew the scent of those delicate plants, wet ferns and blooming flowers that accompanied my every step.

I knew immediately where I was and my last remnant of conscience had twisted to wake up. “No!!”

The golden light sprang like a hug and warmed my heart like never before. Somewhere, among the hedges, the sound of running water seemed to me the laugh of  a little girl. I decided to move forward, while a strange sweet sadness grabbed my heart…

“Loki, have you done? Hurry up, Tony asked to talk to you and you’re doing everything to be late! ”

Loki glanced cold at the stinging voice that had spoken to him, then returned to sipping his glass of orange juice.

“Tell the Tin Man that I’m not the dog that runs under his command …” he growled, abruptly move away the beefy blond man who had appeared to him “…nor you are my watchman!”.

The other snorted: he was clearly unhappy with the delay Loki deliberately accumulated.

“Do not always be so dramatic, little brother. I do not know what he have in mind, but … by the wind!!… he just asked to talk to you!”

Something in those words was clashing into the ears of the God of Mischief, which jumped like under the whip. Thor did not call him “little brother” since he had twelve winters and was trying to emulate his prodigious strength as he laughed at his childish attempts. A wave of painful memories began to roar in his mind, but he was a God, in the name of the Hells!…and he would turn those demons back to where they had crawled. He shrugged his jaw and poured his anger into a tight muscle. He stiffened and decided to act as if nothing happened: never and ever would let Thor notice his old wounds. He raised an eyebrow and passed it over with his panther walk.

“Oh, let’s go then!” he said with a grin amused “Let’s hear what gave birth the keen mind of the Tin Man!”

Thor stood for a moment to look his brother walks away, and suddenly he began to worry because he knew how little they loved each other, and that morning Loki seemed less accommodative than usual. Tony Stark also discovered it, later, when he saw him, in his studio, that immensely green look planted on him,…tall, slender but strong, dressed in black leather, and a simple dark green shirt. The only detail he had kept of his old garments was the thick leather-made arm guards, adorned with golden metal plates.

“How did you get in?”                                                                                                            

Loki chuckled.

“Not many can boast of have caught me by surprise, Stark …” he said “And you do not make the exception.”

He stepped back a few steps and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you want?”

Stark stood up, walked around his desk and stopped to pour half a glass from a bottle of orange liquid. “I suppose you do not want anything to drink, as usual.”

He noticed the disgusted expression of the young God as he looked at his light drink: to see him always so reserved, so damn rational, and reluctant to loosen his iron self-control, increased his frustration.

Loki had the ability to make him feel like one of those bullies that hid his own fragilities behind a glass,… which even himself had thought, several time, and which had almost a fistfight with Rogers, who accused him  of the same thing.

That glimmer of truth burned like an open wound…

“It’s been a year since you’re here, boy, I hope it’s been enough time to think about your deeds.”

Loki was silent, motionless, his jaw clenched and a fierce anger in his cold green stare.

He watched the man, who was walking up and down the room: he noticed that he never looked directly at him and actually, it seemed that he did not want to get too much close.

‘You are a coward, Stark, a big, arrogant coward!’ he thought.

“I have plans for you, Loki.” he announced with a smile, “I thought and evaluated this thing very calmly, … the last thing I want to do is the big bullshit to put a murderess in my house, but I’ve been thinking a lot and I made a decision. ”

He took a sip and looked at last the God of Mischief straight in the eyes.

“I want to give you the chance to join our team and work with us.”

Part 2

My Husband, Kim JunMeow

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter o2. I’m Not A Vixen, I Swear  

My mother blinks.  I stand there as frozen as a popsicle could get and maybe even more frozen than that.  Color strips from my face and I’m seconds from passing out in front of the two most important figures destined to be part of my life.  With a chummy grin, the stud extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he politely greets with a bow.  My mind whirls and my hands reflexively jerk out to retreat his arm as if I’m afraid the female in front of us would morph into a real tiger and maul his beautiful hands off.  

Hesitantly, my mother takes his hand.  My pretend husband’s politeness strikes her as a positive attribute from the list of qualities her potential son-in-law must have.  

“Kim Jun…Meow…?” she raises a brow.  

“Mmhm,” his friendly smile charms my mother like a spell.  

“Okay, OK, Mum, you got his name.  I’ll explain all else through the phone!” I speedily separate them and proceed to scoot her out the door.  “I love you, Mum.  I’m sorry.  I promise I’ll go home over the weekend for dinner,” I apologize and give her a fleeting kiss on the cheek.  It calms her enough to not grill me further.  With a short shake of the head and palm holding her throbbing head, she struts down the block and gets into her car.  

I slam the door shut and heave the deepest of deep breaths.  My back slides down the ornate engraved designs of the wooden front door.  Palms rest themselves against my sore chest as I take a moment to process what in the actual world just happened.  Am I secretly the main character of a crazy webtoon or something??  Hey, you gotta admit it, W was a kick ass Korean drama but the ending was kind of —

Large hands outstretch in front of me, breaking me from my habitual scatter-brained thoughts.  Its owner leans over like a gentlemen, prince in shining armor straight out of a fairy tale.  On instincts, I take his hand and he helps me onto my feet.  The miscalculated force guides me to land right into his chest.  It’s so warm and broad and perfect and my heart starts to bubble and go crazy.  Bashfully, I peer up at him.  Cheeks heat up in temperatures rivaling the degree of the hotness gemstones in the night sky.  I think I’m floating on clouds.  He’s beautiful.  My fingertips trail down his chest and torso.

“Are you okay?” the handsome man breaks the silence by questioning.  It dispels the entrancing bewitchment and finally registering what I was doing, I bounce myself back and away from him to hide behind my living room table.  I gulp.  

How did you get in here?  Who are you…?

Instead, the words that spill from my mouth are, “Did we…”

“Hm?” he tilts his head and innocently, inches forward.  My eyes roam down his chocolate abs and I know it’s stupid but I feel a sense of satisfaction.  The thought of losing my virginity to such a god-like man was…silly…but satisfying because social college norms are pressuring.  You try to ignore it but it gets to you sometimes and having gone through 90% of college without having touched the opposite sex made me feel unwanted.  Stupid.  Stupid thoughts.  And priorities much?  Shouldn’t I be asking him for his identity?  He could be a serial killer for God’s sake.  

“Did we…do it?” I elaborate.

“Do what?” the man is now just two feet from me.  Sensing my discomfort, he settles at the other end of the living room table.  A soft smile spreads across his juicy lips and I’m so in awe by how quickly my pulse calms down to his simple act.  

“You know…” I chew on my inner cheek, lower my head, and shift my feet.  

“I know…?” he pouts.  He looks so soft and cuddly, his cheeks puff up and I have to grind my heels against the floor to not go up and pinch them.  

“Did we…have sex…?” I mumble.

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tagged by: @jokesbound​ love u butthead
@neogothical@senjounochou@nakaula@deadseeing@jealousyridden@archivieren@nightwept​ (also this is seven but do i give a fuck? no)

Queens of the Stone Age // Smooth Sailing

It’s all in motion, ain’t no stopping now
I got nothing to lose and only one way, up
I’m burning bridges, I destroy the mirage
All visions of collisions, fuckin’ bon voyage

It’s all smooth sailing from here on out

I got: bruises and hickeys, stitches and scars
Got my own theme music plays wherever I are
Fear is the hand that pulls your strings
You’re a useless toy, pitiful plaything
I’m in flagrante, in every way, every day

It’s all smooth sailing from here on out
I’m gonna do the damage that needs getting done

Marylin Manson // I Put A Spell On You (Screamin’ Jay Hawkins cover)

I put a spell on you because you’re mine
I can’t stand the things that you do
No, no, no I ain’t lyin’
No—I don’t care if you don’t want me
‘Cause I’m yours, yours, yours, anyhow…
I am yours, yours, yours
I love you… I love you… I love you…
I love you, I love you!

I put a spell on you,
Lord! Lord! Lord!
'Cause you’re mine
I can’t stand the things that you do when you’re fooling around
I don’t care if you don’t want me
'Cause I’m yours, yours, yours anyhow