Leave Me Alone - Tumblr Posts
"Is it normal that I hate having friends? Even good friends? Is there something wrong with me?
Let me explain...I get very sick of routine in general and I hate structure/security/predictability in life. I hate waking up in the same house, going to the same job, the same school, seeing the same people, having the same family and friends...I hate it. I feel like a robot. I change friends constantly because I hate having them. I like getting to know lots of different people but I don't like having actual friends or relationships. Once I get to know you, you're not interesting to me anymore and I'm done with you.
I also change myself constantly. I get bored of being the same person. I'm a free spirit, I want to be a new person every day and be around people who don't know me and I can be anything and anyone around them because I have no known past and no reputation. I hate when people know things about me or my past, it's constricting. I hate when people expect me to act a certain way. I like to be around people who have no expectations for me so I can be ANYONE I want. I want to be FREE. Is this wrong? Is it normal? Everybody I've ever told this to things I'm crazy. Most people seem to have a need for a secure, stable life with some sort of routine and commitment. Oh, and I don't want to get married or have children because I can't be tied down to anyone." - unknown
No. I can and will die a coward. Fuck you.
asteraes-aster replied to your post “fun fact if someone follows me, I tap their blog to see what they post…”
So I SHOULDN’T post nsfw art? Darn
hey post nsfw all u want u heathen i already know y o u r e not a porn bot dfsg
AINT NO WAY ITS DOWN AGAIN AO3 PLEAAAAAASEEEE 💔💔💔💔💔
Coax me into sweet dreams and stow me away for I cannot bear it any longer
me, the motherfucker with over 50 abandoned works in progress: i have an idea
Hazbin fucking hotel I only liked one post because of the good rendering I will kill you if you keep showing up on my fyp
“The setup.” *shows you a windowsill nook, a oodie wearable blanket, infinite hot chocolate, butter menthols, books and a computer.*
i often think about twd characters having social media and i definitely think that negan would LOVE to just post himself, and daryl hating the idea of social media but giving it a try anyways and following shitpost accs. rick??? would post pics embarrassing his family. and i can totally picture maggie & glenn moving to a farm and posting pics/vids of their animals *sobs*
seeing vax ruins my day.
please leave me alone 😭
collar / touch aversion / Leave me alone (you’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest)
The first few weeks on Titan had been hell. Coming down off a supremely magnificent Red Eye high that he'd managed to stretch out for days - something unheard of and very much frowned upon even by the addicts who jonesed for the drug the most - had been rough. He'd been quite literally out of his mind. Unfit for any sort of company. There were scratches up and down his arms and legs, he'd nearly bitten through his tongue, and he'd lost a significant amount of weight.
Apparently he'd been so wildly out of control - deranged, in fact - that they'd resorted to chaining him up like an animal.
The thought brought him dark amusement. He'd always told Spike that they were beasts. Killer hounds on Syndicate leashes. A hound was hardly a frightening animal though. He preferred to liken himself to a viper. Forget Adam and never mind Eve, the snake was the true hero of the tale of Eden. The controlling power, with cunning and stealth, with wicked fangs to sink into the unsuspecting flesh of prey. The Syndicate named themselves Dragons as if a fictitious beast were more frightening than creatures actually in existence. Fools. Fools for more serious reasons than something that trivial though.
They didn't approve of his fixation on strength and shows of might. They didn't approve of his desire to use terror as an intimidation tactic. They certainly didn't approve of his use of Red Eye. Unlike most who took the drug, he had always been able to will himself into a state of cool-headed self-discipline. He'd had the uncanny ability to subdue the fervor that it awoke in nearly everyone else. It had made him more lethal by far than he'd ever been before, and that was saying something considering the body count he and Spike had racked up over the years.
Chained and collared, he was sent to Titan to languish. Sent to Titan to be tormented by the mad scientists who were truly governing the goings-on of the sad, dusty little moon. He knew the dark reality of this place. The Elders had sent him to get clean, to curtail his shaping of the newer members of the Syndicate, and to take advantage of the despair of the men and women trapped on this rock. The military had and would always be a fine source of customers when it came to drugs that numbed, drugs that distracted, drugs that gave people increased speed and endurance. It was a place he could have thrived, but that was not the intent.
He had torn himself to shreds originally. On the ship that brought him to Titan, he had frothed at the mouth and drawn blood everywhere he could reach. By the time they reached Titan he had been strapped down by more restraints than were necessary. On the moon itself he was freed except for the collar. They kept him in a tiny cell where he could not stretch out and they plagued him with constant pain. Whips, brass knuckles, the collar itself revealed to be able to shock quite powerfully, and of course their fists and boots. None had any of the fighting skill of Spike, of course, which meant he could have bested any or all of his jailors if they'd given him half a chance. But their job was to break him. Physically, mentally if possibly, spiritually if he gave a shit about that type of thing.
He refused to bow to their cruelty. His own ran deeper, pulsed stronger. They were ants in comparison. And eventually the predetermined stretch of time the Van had allotted for his punishment came to an end. He was released out into the general populace for the more important mission of converting soldiers to addicts. Behind the scenes, of course, and with the mission of finding a fall guy to ensure the Syndicate was kept as far removed from responsibility as possible. It was child's play, of course, and then he was called back.
It wasn't until he returned to Mars, returned to Tharsis and to Julia, that he realized something had gone wrong.
They'd always enjoyed quite a few games in the bedroom. Julia loved to dominate. She'd often employ handcuffs, blindfolds, collars and ball gags and other ways to keep him from bringing them both to climax too soon. She got off on being in charge and he had always been exhilarated by the sheer heights of desire he could drive her to while being unable to move as freely as he'd like.
But he flinched when she brought her hands to his bare skin. Not a large reaction but not something either of them could deny having seen. To her credit, she didn't acknowledge the involuntary action beyond the blink of surprise she'd been unable to hide.
And then he discovered a deadness inside himself. Oh, he'd never been emotionally stimulated to much degree... had never been able to sympathize with the people who he was sent to hurt or kill. There had always been a piece of humanity missing from his soul and it had never bothered him in the least. If anything, it made it far easier to be who he was and do what he did. He'd seen the flashes of weakness in Spike from time to time and had counted himself lucky to not have to contend with those turbulent emotions. He experienced delight and disgust and plenty of other things, he had no need to experience the hassle of a conscience.
But there was a new emptiness within him now. He had thought himself immune to the brutality he had gone through on Titan but apparently not.
There was no more appetite within him for anything sexual. No pride in making Julia scream. No urge to find completion for himself.
Beyond that, he was now uncomfortable with physical contact of any sort. Her soft hands on his skin prickled like sandpaper and he was surprised that her palms didn't leave trails of blood to show where they'd lain on his body. Touch aversion, due to the near-constant contact he'd been made to endure by those plebeians?
How pathetic.
It ignited a fury within him. How ironic that they had been so worried about the madness a man could be driven to under the influence of Red Eye when the true danger had turned out to be their attempt to subjugate him. He found himself increasingly unsettled by his own inability to suppress his rage, and by his body's refusal to feel lust.
He knew it baffled Julia. Their animalistic union had once been a nightly occurrence whenever he wasn't on a mission. And now? He couldn't even stand to see her.
He had sat up in bed while she slept, discontent, and found he was unable to feel even the faintest stirring of longing for her. It was a slice of himself that he was not prepared to let go of yet. The thirst for this woman had been a source of such carnal pleasure for years... and now, to have to give up physical coupling just because there was no urge whatsoever? It was not by his choice and that made him bitterly upset.
Days passed in a haze of mounting frustration. Spike had been gone on another assignment and the Van had refused to put Vicious himself back to work yet.
She came to him in the darkness of the night, likely assuming that their first few attempts at joining together again had gone awry solely because he'd been gone for a while. She came to him gently at first, then tried to be commanding. He burned with the need to meet her demands, with the desire to be in charge of his own body's cravings. He was trembling, seething, at the block that existed between his previous hunger and his current... absolute lack. It went beyond a void because he could still not stand to have her touch him.
"Leave me alone!" He erupted at her when she approached him, nude and brandishing a crop.
Her eyes had flashed at him. She licked her lips once, not in a sensual manner but to give herself a moment of recovery.
"Why?" She implored.
(you’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest)
But he did not say these thoughts aloud. He chose to chastise her instead.
He sneered at her. "I do not need to offer you any explanation. I do not need you at all. Our time together is over. Find someone else to be your plaything as you seduce and bribe and cajole your way to the top. I will not suffer your presence in my company any longer."
Once they'd had similar goals. To carve a path to the Van itself and wrest authority of the Syndicate for themselves. They had designs in mind, subterfuge and blackmail and backstabbing. It wouldn't do to blaze a trail there while leaving ruin in your wake - the route Spike would no doubt take if he'd any mind for the future and for assuming control. Spike, for all his capabilities and cleverness, was not inspired to take responsibility of his own life let alone a powerful crime syndicate like the Red Dragons. Spike had always preferred being directed where to attack. He was a hurricane force that would do well as Vicious's second in command, rampaging wherever Vicious chose to send him. Julia, with all her beauty and cunning, would be invaluable as a way to infiltrate other syndicates. Her ability to steal into a room and draw attention was impressive, but moreso was her knack at operating behind the scenes and pulling people in this direction or that as if they were puppets to which she held the strings.
The dream didn't have to die. He could still usurp the Syndicate with Spike as his trusty and deadly right hand. Perhaps there could even be room for Julia at the top in that far away future. He had no intention of rushing this process, after all. Time would help deteriorate the grip of the Van on the other members, and time would give him the chance to assume their loyalty instead.
First, he had to cut himself off from the open wound that was his former relationship with Julia. He could not afford to indulge in the outrage that rose up every time he considered what had been taken from him. He had to accept the changes wrought and move forward coldly and callously. Every act the Van took was leading them further from the ruling force they had once been, and bringing Vicious closer to unleash a new wave of savagery upon this forsaken city.
He would rule it all one day, or else see it razed to the very dust.
I'm really out here with the taste in men of a repressed victorian gentleman I'm like "when he's in his shirtsleeves 😳😩" "when he's in his dressing gown and his leg slips out a bit and you see his sock garters 👀🙈" like sir I think you're unwell
i hate leaving the house ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི
lowkey need the bitches here to make more posts about singers im starving
have you ever talked to someone who just KEEPS saying how nice it is to talk to you? LIKE OKAY I GET IT BUT WE ARENT EVEN HAVING A CONVERSATION AT THIS POINT????
imo if its a good convo u dont have to say it twenty times during it
ive been violently shaking abt alhaitham all week
i need a break and a class of orange juice ☹
METUTE!!! (again)
everytime someone says to me or i read taub is cishet / “the most cishet among the fellows” i need a moment. think before you speak hate
JENO
SIR- EXCUSE ME
(like or reblog if used)
i’ve got an itch that only black hair can scratch.