#i am. so so tired and now i need to pass out so i can get enough sleep before more internship tomorrow w

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY EIGHTH; side b — strangers - ethel cain | f. harding x r

w; r is anna’s sister — but i do not describe physical attributes, slight unrequited love (not wholly), grief, doesn’t necessarily follow ‘nosferatu’ plot — besides the funeral of anna and the children. an; first work for friedrich!!! i am ABSOLUTELY awful at writing period pieces, so please forgive me if i actually butchered this :(

mixtape here!

The tears that had fallen down your flushed cheeks almost felt frozen against your skin. The funeral was just a sickening reminder of what once was, was now gone. 

Your sister had been one of your best friends in some of the darkest times of the span of your life, helping you cross paths with obstacles and holding your hand to reassure you she’d never let go. 

And once you’d found out you were going to be an aunt to two beautiful girls, you were elated — buy little dresses and shoes for both. 

Anna had won at life in every aspect. 

Including Friedrich. 

A man whom you’d spotted one morning while you’d gone for a walk. A man who’d caught your attention by how beautiful he was to you — sad blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin. 

You’d never hold anger for Anna for finding someone who loved her just as much as she deserved — even if you longed for that feeling. Even if you longed for who was showing her that love. 

Now grief is heavy in your chest. There’s something missing — and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think someone had stolen your heart. 

The Priest’s voice slowly fades out into silence, a ringing in your ear replacing the prayer. 

Please forgive me, Lord. You manage a small prayer in your mind, yet you have yet to blink away a blurry vision of the caskets being led away and towards their final resting place. 

Your chin quivers slightly, eyebrows pinching together in what could only be described as anguish from anyone who looks at you. You can feel the eyes of Ellen who looks drained and tired. 

You can’t manage to meet the eyes of anyone else. 

Once the Priest has closed the book in his hand, your feet are quick to walk away, not wanting to be there any longer than what you had to. 

A shuddering breath leaves your parted lips, a slight stumble in your steps. It seems like a never ending path towards the carriage. A gloved hand quickly reaches out towards the door, making you stop in your steps. 

“I need to make sure you get home safely.” 

Your eyes drift over towards Friedrich. His blue eyes pop out more from his bloodshot, teary eyes. Snow dusts the shoulders of his jacket and hat. 

Shaking your head, you look away quickly. “No. I will be fine.”

“This is not a negotiation.” 

Clenching your jaw, the door opens and his hand lands on your back to help you inside. Sitting down on the left side, he steps inside and sits in front of you. Once he shuts the door, the sounds of the horses trotting are muffled as the carriage begins to move. 

The weight of his heavy stare remains on you the remainder of the way, the nauseous feeling almost dizzying. It makes you bite down on your tongue slightly as your eyes remain on the bare trees as you pass. 

The inside of your home is warm. It was small, even if you could afford a bigger home, you had no one to share that with. A small one was just as good. 

Your back straightens when the door closes and you glance over at Friedrich who looks around the home. You look away and pull at your gloves. “I am home now,” You place them on the table along with your jacket. “You can leave.” 

It’s silent for a moment. Then you hear a small sigh. “Why are you trying to dismiss me? I am trying…” He trails off. You remain with your back towards him, picking at the skin around your nails. You flinch when his hand suddenly wraps around your bicep, turning you towards him. 

You look mortified, he notices. At that, he frowns and tilts his head when you look away, trying to follow your line of sight. “Why are you practically avoiding me? You can’t even look at me!” 

“Because looking at you makes me sick!” You finally snap, looking at him finally. Even if there was no reason to raise your voice, there also wasn’t much to push you over the edge at the moment. “I can not bear to look at you without…” You trail off, your chin quivering once again. 

Your hands lift to cover your face, a sob escaping once again causing your shoulders to shake and knees to buckle. 

Friedrich’s hands are quick to capture your sides, his own knees falling with you to the ground. Shaking your head, your hands push at his arms. “No. No,” Your voice cracks and wavers. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me!” 

He allows you to push at his arms, yet he never relents. Once your clawing and desperate attempts to push his arms away, your own arms fall slowly against your side, your cheek pressed against his chest as you continue to cry. 

His hand lifts and holds the back of your head, a small furrow to his brows as his own eyes begin to water once again. Pushing your head back with his hand, you look up at him with a shuddering chest. His head tilts as he looks at you, eyeing the loose strands of hair that stick to your cheeks. 

Lips pulled into a frown, he pushes those strands away gently. Your brows pinch together and your eyes slowly close as your head turns. His thumb presses into the corner of your mouth — a gentle, soft press. 

In another timeline, this would’ve been what you wanted — the feeling of his breath against your cheek and the nudge of his nose against yours as his lips brush over your bottom lip. 

Shaking your head, you turn it quickly and feel as his nose presses into your cheekbone now. “No. I can not do this to my sister,” You whisper. “I can not do it to you or myself,” Your voice quivers. 

“You are only hurting, Friedrich.” 

“And so are you.” He whispers. Your head turns slowly, resting your forehead against his, nudging the tip of your nose against his softly. 

“I won’t do this,” You shake your head. “I…I love you. I always have. But if I allow myself what I’ve always wanted, I’m betraying Anna. I will not allow myself to give in to you.” 

His chin quivers this time, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he stares at you quietly. Hand lifting slowly, you place it over his as your cheek leans into his rough palm slightly. 

His lips are shaky and the small laugh he lets out is more like a puff of air. “Can I stay just this one night?” He whispers. 

Staring at him quietly, your mind renders you speechless for a moment. If you say yes would you still be betraying your sister? Would that be giving in to something selfish? 

Turning your head, your lips press against his palm softly before pulling away. 

Anna. Forgive me. 

“You can stay.” 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sstar-ggirl — @pretty-little-mind33 — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 9

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours  @sukunasstomachtongue @cosmic-lovr @imm0rtalbutterfly @kyo-kyo1

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

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Chapter 9: Death or Rebirth

I woke up in the hospital again. The sterile scent of antiseptic and faint beeping of machines told me where I was before I even opened my eyes. When I did, the first thing I saw was Yuuji sitting in the chair beside me. His head was bowed, shoulders slumped in a way that made him look so small—so broken—that my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.

I blinked hard, hoping I’d imagined him, and closed my eyes again, willing myself back to darkness.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

The door swung open, and I heard heavy footsteps—one set deliberate, the other storming with anger. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Toji. I could practically feel the heat of his glare, his frustration filling the room like smoke. Satoru followed close behind, quieter, but I knew he was watching too.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Toji’s voice hit like a hammer, sharp and unrelenting. “This is twice now. Twice in barely two weeks. What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

It was like the words tore something open inside me. Before I knew it, I was shouting back, my voice raw. “What if I am?” the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice was raw, rough from everything I’d been bottling up. I didn’t care that he was pissed. Hell, I didn’t care about anything anymore.

The room went dead silent. I could feel the eyes on me—Yuuji, Satoru, Toji. They were all waiting for something. Waiting for me to break, to explain myself. But I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction.

Toji stepped forward, his face hard and unforgiving. “You’re not fucking with me like this, Sukuna. I get it, you’re in pain. We all are. But this—” he gestured around the room, his eyes burning with anger and something else, something softer that I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. “This isn’t the way to handle it. You’re hurting everyone around you, but especially Yuuji. You don’t get to keep doing this to him.”

I glanced at Yuuji, his face a mask of exhaustion and worry. His eyes were red, his posture slumped. 

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve me.

But still, I couldn’t stop myself. The words came tumbling out like a dam breaking, uncontrollable and sharp.

“Maybe I don’t deserve anything, Toji. Maybe I don’t deserve him or any of you,” I muttered bitterly, turning away from them. “I’m just tired of everything. Tired of pretending.”

Satoru spoke up, his voice softer than usual, almost like he was trying to tiptoe around me. “We’re not asking you to pretend, Sukuna. We’re asking you to let us help. But you have to want it first.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Help? You think you can fix me? You can’t fix this, Satoru. No one can.”

“You’re right,” Toji cut in. “We can’t fix it for you. But we can help you get the fucking help you need.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. There was no escaping them. No escaping the reality of what I had to face.

I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me. My mind was swirling, a chaotic mess of guilt, regret, and anger. But underneath it all was something else. Something softer. A flicker of hope.

A hope I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know how to fix myself.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Satoru said, his voice steady and reassuring.

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the fear—the deep, gnawing fear that I was beyond saving—was louder than anything else.

“I don’t know if I can let anyone in again,” I muttered, my voice breaking. “Not after everything I’ve done. Not after what I’ve lost.”

Toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to be perfect, Sukuna. Hell, none of us are. But you gotta stop running from it. From the people who care about you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt stuck in my throat.

Yuuji finally spoke, his voice small but steady. “I just want you to be okay, Sukuna. We all do.”

His words hit me harder than anything else. I wanted to lash out, to say something cutting and cruel. But I couldn’t. Not this time.

I didn’t have the strength to keep pushing everyone away anymore.

I shot up off the bed, my heart racing, the anger and fear bubbling to the surface. "I'm not going," I spat, voice shaky but defiant. I wasn’t about to let them control me. Not again.

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "Don't do this, Sukuna," he warned, stepping forward, his voice steady but carrying the weight of an unspoken truth. "It's gonna make shit worse if you keep this up."

I took a step back, my chest tightening, the overwhelming flood of emotions crashing over me. 

I can’t go. 

The idea of being locked away, stripped of my choices, made my skin crawl. "I said no. I don't need any of that shit."

Toji, who had been standing in the corner, arms crossed and eyes focused, now moved closer. His voice was low, but the authority in it made me stiffen. "You need help, whether you like it or not. You’re pushing everyone away, and it’s not gonna end well if you keep doing this."

"I don't care," I muttered, my hands trembling as I balled them into fists. "I don’t care what any of you think. Just leave me alone."

Satoru’s eyes softened, but his tone was firm. "You're not okay, and you're not handling this alone. You need help, even if you don't want it. We're doing this for you, not to you."

I was shaking now, not from the cold or the exhaustion, but from the weight of the truth they were forcing on me. My mind was a blur of thoughts, and the words felt like they were tearing me apart.

I locked eyes with Toji. "You think I want this? You think I want to be like this?!" The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I hate it. I hate everything about myself right now, but I'm not going to some fucking psych ward."

Toji didn’t back down. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing? You’re just running, hiding from it all."

I turned away, unable to look at him anymore. "I'm not running," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I just... I don’t know how to face it. How to face all of this."

Satoru stepped in closer, his voice quiet but insistent. "We don't have to force you, Sukuna. But we will take you there if it means you'll get better."

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. I wanted to scream, to fight, to push them all away. But there was something deeper—something broken inside me—that knew they were right.

I didn’t have a choice, not really.

I stared at them, my mind a mess of anger and fear, the words I wanted to say, the words I needed to say, stuck in my throat. My fists clenched at my sides, the tension building as I looked at Satoru, Toji, and now Geto, who had just strolled in. The weight of their gazes felt suffocating.

I wanted to scream at them, tell them to leave me the hell alone, but my voice was low, barely a whisper. "I'm not some head fuck, man," I muttered, my eyes flicking to the floor. "I’m..." I trailed off, unable to finish.

Geto’s voice cut through the silence. "You’re an addict with mental health problems, Sukuna. You need help. You know this."

I shot him a look, feeling my insides twist. 

Of course they would say that. 

They were all on the same page, ganging up on me. They didn’t know. They didn’t get it.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but all that came out was a pained laugh. "I’d rather join Jin than do that," I said, the words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them. The thought hung in the air, dark and suffocating. The weight of my brother’s death—the guilt that had eaten me alive ever since—made it feel like the only way out.

The room went still, the tension thick. I could see the shock on their faces, but I didn’t care. Maybe they’d finally understand me.

Satoru’s voice broke the silence, his tone more forceful now. "You don’t have a choice, Sukuna." He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. "They’ve done up the paperwork. You’re going whether you like it or not."

I felt like the walls were closing in on me. 

This wasn’t my decision anymore. 

They had made it for me. It didn’t matter what I wanted or how much I fought against it—they were forcing me down a path I couldn’t escape from.

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died in my throat. I looked at them—their faces filled with concern and frustration—and realized they weren’t trying to control me. They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were trying to save me.

But I didn’t want saving.

 I didn’t want any of this.

I just wanted to be left alone, to disappear into the darkness.

I scanned the room frantically, my mind racing.

 I need to get out of here. 

The walls were closing in, the sterile white room suffocating me, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn’t stand the feeling of being trapped, controlled. I had to leave. Now.

I pushed myself off the bed, my legs shaky but determined. I stumbled toward the door, but before I could get more than a few steps, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. 

Toji.

"Sit down, Sukuna," his voice was low, firm, and I could feel the weight of his hand as he gently but forcefully pushed me back toward the bed. He wasn’t letting me leave. Not like this.

I whipped my head around, my eyes locking with Gojo’s. His usual confident smirk was replaced by something closer to concern—something I wasn’t ready to deal with. He stood beside Toji, blocking my escape, both of them creating an impenetrable wall.

Yuuji was still in the corner of the room, staring at me. His face was a mix of disbelief and hurt, and I could see the silent question in his eyes. 

Why are you doing this, Sukuna?

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. I wasn’t doing this for anyone else. I was doing it because I had nothing left.

“Geto,” Yuuji finally spoke, his voice breaking the silence, “What’s going on? What’s happening to him?”

Geto sighed, his tone calm but with an edge I hadn’t heard before. “Yuuji, just step outside for a second. We need to talk.”

Yuuji shook his head, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s my brother. I’m not leaving him like this.”

A nurse walked into the room at that moment, sensing the tension. She glanced from Toji and Gojo to Geto and Yuuji, clearly trying to assess the situation. Her eyes flicked to me, and her face softened in sympathy, but there was something in her gaze that made me feel like a caged animal. “Is everything alright in here?” she asked, her voice tentative.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

The room felt like it was spinning, the lights blurring at the edges of my vision. I wanted to scream, to push everyone away. I wanted them to leave me alone. 

Just let me go.

Toji’s voice broke through the haze. “Get the staff to check on him. We need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

I looked up at him, my vision blurring once again. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine in months.

Gojo took a step forward, his eyes narrowed, though the concern was still there. “Sukuna… Don’t do this. You know they’re just trying to help you.”

But it didn’t feel like help. It felt like a trap. A cage.

I looked around the room again, my mind screaming for a way out. But there was no escape. Not now. Not here.

I stood there frozen, my chest tight, heart pounding in my ears.

 I need to get out. 

Every part of me screamed to run, but I couldn’t even move my legs. It was like they were chained to the floor, heavy, useless.

The nurse, who had stepped back to give some space, looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of sympathy I wanted.

 I didn’t want anyone’s pity.

 I wanted to be left the hell alone.

Gojo stepped closer, his gaze firm but tinged with something softer beneath the surface. "Sukuna... don’t make this harder than it has to be," he said, his voice steady, though I could tell he was trying to keep his own frustration in check. I could feel the tension radiating off of him and Toji, both of them not budging an inch. The walls were closing in. There was no way out.

I finally broke my silence, my voice rough, like it was being dragged out of me. "You don’t get it," I spat. “I don’t need your fucking help. I need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back off. "Yeah, well, we’ve all been there. But that’s not what’s happening now, Sukuna." He shot a glance at Toji, who was still silently standing guard, his arms crossed, a sharp look in his eyes. "You don’t get a say in this. You’re going to the psych ward."

My chest tightened further at the words.

 Psych ward. 

The idea of being stuck in there, being forced to confront all this… pain, this guilt, this fucking endless spiral of shit—it made my stomach churn. The walls of the room seemed to get even tighter, the air thinner.

“No.” I gritted out, voice low and trembling with anger. “I won’t go.”

Toji’s hand landed on my shoulder again, the pressure grounding but suffocating at the same time. "You’re not in a position to make demands right now, Sukuna," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, but the weight of his words hit me like a punch in the gut.

I tried to jerk away from him, but my body betrayed me. My muscles were too weak, too drained. 

I couldn’t fight back anymore.

Yuuji stepped forward, his voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Please, Sukuna,” his eyes were filled with raw emotion. "I don’t want to lose you. You’ve gotta let us help you.”

I looked at him, and it felt like a knife was twisting in my chest. Yuuji was my brother—he had every right to be angry, to be upset. But I couldn’t handle his concern, his desperate need for me to be something I couldn’t be. Something I didn’t know how to be anymore.

He doesn’t understand.

"I don’t need your help, Yuuji," I muttered, the words tasting bitter as they left my mouth. "I’m just a fucking mess. I’m not who you think I am."

Yuuji flinched like I’d slapped him, and I immediately regretted saying it. But it was too late. The damage was done.

Toji’s voice broke the silence again, more forceful this time. “You need to face the truth, Sukuna. You’ve been running from it for too long. All of us have seen it. We’re not going to let you destroy yourself anymore. Not like this.”

I stared at Toji, fury mixing with a deep, hollow emptiness inside me. “And what if I don’t want to be saved, huh? What if I don’t give a shit anymore?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could see it in their eyes. They were worried. They were angry. But most of all, they were disappointed. And I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the idea of letting them down.

I turned my back to them, stepping toward the far side of the room, a tear slipping from my eye that I didn’t even realize had fallen.

 I had no place to go.

 I didn’t know what I was even fighting for anymore.

Kenjaku’s voice came then, steady and calm, the kind of tone that always felt like he was looking at me like I was some puzzle he hadn’t figured out yet. "You’re going, Sukuna. It’s not up for discussion. Do you think this is some kind of joke?"

I clenched my fists, trying to steady my breath, trying to stop the world from spinning. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to face this. I didn’t want to be seen.

 But they weren’t leaving me any choice.

“I’m not going to make it out of this,” I muttered, almost to myself. “I can’t.”

But no one heard me. They were already planning, already moving in to take control of my life. And I hated it. I hated feeling this powerless.

I couldn’t run. I couldn’t hide anymore.

“I swear, if you force this on me, I’ll make it my mission to be worse off,” I spat, my voice shaking with equal parts defiance and exhaustion. The words echoed in the room like a dare, and for a moment, no one said anything.

I didn’t even see Choso walk in.

The first thing I felt was his fist slamming into my face, my head snapping to the side from the force of it. Pain exploded across my cheek, and before I could process it, another hit followed, sharper, harder.

“You’re so determined to kill yourself? Then do it, Sukuna!” Choso’s voice roared, loud enough to drown out the sound of blood rushing in my ears. His breath was ragged, his face twisted in fury.

The pain from Choso’s fist hitting my face was sharp, but it was almost a relief. It snapped me out of the haze I’d been sinking into. I staggered back, feeling the sting of the impact across my cheek. My head throbbed, and for a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears. But his words, those cut deeper than any punch ever could.

“You’re worthless. You don’t mean shit.”

It was like the truth was slapping me in the face over and over again, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself feel it. 

Finally, someone who understands.

I stood there, dazed, not sure how to react. I was pissed, but part of me felt... liberated by the anger Choso had thrown at me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was beyond saving. Maybe all this fucking pain and guilt I kept drowning myself in... was deserved.

Was I really just wasting everyone’s time?

I looked at Choso, who was standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving with the emotion that mirrored mine. There was something cold and final in his gaze, a kind of resignation I couldn’t ignore.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Choso’s voice was low, but there was a tremor in it, like he was holding back more than just anger. "You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone? You’re not. But you’re fucking pathetic if you think you’re the only one with a reason to fall apart."

His words hit harder than the punch, and for a second, it felt like I was being gutted. He was right. Everyone was hurting—Yuuji, Choso, all of them. And here I was, selfishly drowning in my own misery, shutting them out.

But then, something twisted in my gut.

 I didn’t care.

I couldn’t care about their pain when I didn’t even know how to handle my own anymore. Why should I fix myself for them?

"You don’t get it," I spat, trying to steady myself, but my legs were shaky, and my head was still reeling from the blow. "You think I give a shit about any of that? I don’t. I’m done pretending."

Choso took a step closer, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “Then do it. End it. I won’t stop you. But don’t expect anyone to fucking care when you do.”

The words hit hard—harder than they should’ve, because they forced me to think about everything.

 What if I really did end it?

 What would they think? What would Yuuji think? What about... Y/N?

Would she be better off without me?

The thought lingered, and I felt a hollow pit open up in my chest. The anger that had surged through me now dulled, leaving a cold emptiness behind.

I wanted to fight back. I wanted to snap at Choso, to tell him he was wrong, that he didn’t understand. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

Because a part of me knew he was right.

 I was at the edge, and I didn’t even know if I wanted to step back.

Toji, Gojo, and Kenjaku stayed silent for a moment, watching the exchange unfold. It was clear they didn’t want to get involved in this—this raw, ugly part of me that I tried so hard to hide from them. I wanted to break, wanted to shatter in front of them, but I couldn’t.

"You’re gonna regret this," I muttered, feeling the familiar spiral of helplessness and anger closing in again. "All of you. You’re gonna regret trying to save me."

Choso just stood there, his eyes unwavering, like he was daring me to push him away. "I don’t give a shit if you regret it or not, Sukuna," he said, voice cold. "But know this: you’ll never be free if you keep running from everything, including yourself."

The room was quiet for a moment as those words hung in the air, heavy with truth. I wanted to scream, to shout that I didn’t need this shit, didn’t need any of them. But instead, I stood there, frozen, caught between the desire to escape and the reality that I didn’t know how to anymore.

It was like I was being torn apart, each side of me pulling in a different direction. One part of me wanted to run, to escape the people who cared too much, who expected too much. And the other part… the other part just wanted to be understood, to finally let go of the pain that had been eating at me for so long.

Maybe I was just too broken to be fixed.

Choso’s words echoed in my mind, and as much as I hated to admit it, they stuck with me. I couldn’t keep running.

The cold, sterile walls of the psych ward felt like they were closing in on me.

 Two weeks. 

Two weeks of confinement. Two weeks of therapy sessions that felt more like forced interrogations than healing.

I sat in the same shitty chair, staring at the therapist in front of me, who was droning on about my "emotions" and "coping mechanisms" like I actually gave a damn. Her voice was just background noise, blending into the constant ringing in my ears. The withdrawal symptoms were unbearable—my skin felt too tight, my stomach twisted into knots, and the restless energy in my veins made it impossible to sit still for long.

"You’ve been here for 24 hours, Sukuna," she said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "How are you feeling?"

How the fuck do you think I feel?

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my composure, but the sharp ache in my chest threatened to spill over. "I feel like shit," I muttered, shifting in my seat, wishing for a fucking cigarette. Anything to take the edge off.

She didn’t flinch. “What’s bothering you the most right now?”

Everything.

 The question was almost laughable. The cravings, the guilt, the loneliness... the constant feeling of being trapped in my own mind. But I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing all that.

“I just wanna go,” I said, my voice low, desperate. “I need to get out of here.”

She scribbled something on her notepad, her expression neutral. “I understand that this is difficult, but you’re here for your own safety, Sukuna. You’ve made it clear that you’ve been struggling with self-destructive behavior and substance abuse. We need to work through that.”

I rolled my eyes, though my hands were trembling slightly, betraying me. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this shit before.”

The therapist leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “Have you been feeling any suicidal thoughts since you arrived here?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, the reminder of how far I’d fallen in such a short time. 

Am I still suicidal? 

I didn’t know anymore. The numbness in my chest made it hard to feel anything at all, but the constant pull to just give in, to end it all, never fully left.

“I don’t know,” I finally muttered, trying to avoid her gaze. “Maybe. I just wanna get out.”

Her silence was suffocating, as though she was trying to read into every word, every movement. “I know it’s tough right now,” she said, breaking the stillness. “But the important thing is that you’re here. You’re taking the first step toward getting better.”

Better?

 The thought was almost laughable. Could I ever really get better?

I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until this session would finally be over.

 Two weeks. I can’t do two weeks.

Just as the session was about to end, I leaned forward, my voice almost pleading. “Listen, I don’t need therapy, I just need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

The therapist didn’t even flinch. She stood, signaling the end of the session. “I think we’re done for today. We’ll talk more tomorrow. And remember, Sukuna, you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me again, but I swallowed it down. 

I don’t need help.

 I didn’t care what they thought or what they were trying to force on me. I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t some broken kid looking for someone to fix him.

As I walked out of the room, I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. The staff, the patients—everyone in this goddamn place. But it didn’t matter.

 I’m not staying here.

I was already planning my escape.

I walked into the common area, the sterile, off-white walls feeling like they were closing in on me with every step. The soft hum of fluorescent lights above, the distant murmurs of people talking, the occasional clink of something being set down—it all felt so... lifeless.

I could see a few patients scattered around the room, some playing cards, others half-heartedly flipping through magazines. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint scent of sweat from someone who had probably been in this place too long. I hated it here. Everything about it. But I had no choice. Not yet.

I could head over to the piano in the corner, its dark wood calling to me with a promise of something familiar, something I could lose myself in. But the idea of sitting there, forcing my fingers to move across the keys in some mechanical way—it didn't feel right. The music wasn't a relief anymore, just another reminder of everything I used to enjoy before I fucked it all up.

I glanced at the group of people in the corner, playing cards. There was an older man who looked like he’d seen better days, a young woman with wild eyes who kept glancing at the clock, and a guy who looked like he had just crawled out of a hole—scruffy, disheveled, probably on something.

Do I really want to talk to them?

The answer was simple. No, I didn’t care about their stories, their issues. I was here because I had to be, not because I wanted to make friends with anyone who couldn’t get their shit together either. They all seemed like they were here for their own reasons, their own battles. And that’s all they were to me—battles. I didn’t need more.

Instead, I leaned against the wall and folded my arms, staring out the window at the dull, overcast sky. It felt like everything was bleeding together, just a blur of nothingness. I was just another fuck-up, stuck in the same cycle, same pain.

I was still trying to figure out how I ended up here, why the hell I had to be the one to go through this.

Then, I heard the shuffle of footsteps behind me. 

Fuck.

I didn’t need anyone talking to me right now. I didn’t want to deal with anyone, least of all some well-meaning idiot who thought they could help me. But when I turned around, I saw her.

It was Y/N. Her presence hit me like a punch to the chest.

She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, her gaze locked on me. The last time I saw her... well, it wasn’t good.

What the hell was she doing here?

I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat making it even harder to breathe. She looked the same, just as beautiful as always, but there was something in her eyes—something that made it impossible for me to hide from the weight of everything I had done.

"You're here..." I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes searching mine, like she was trying to figure out whether I was even worth talking to. I couldn’t blame her—who in their right mind would want to deal with someone like me?

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze dropped to the floor, and I could see the hesitation in her posture. She was torn between walking away and facing the wreck that I had become. I didn’t deserve her attention, not now, not after everything. I could feel myself spiraling again, that familiar pull to shut everything down, to turn it all off.

But then she spoke.

"I came to see how you're doing." Her voice was quiet, soft, almost like she was afraid of what she'd find. "I heard about what happened... after you left."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the way her words hit me. She didn’t get it. 

No one gets it.

"You shouldn't have come," I muttered, shaking my head. "You should be anywhere but here, Y/N. I’m a fucking mess, and you don't need to be around for any of this."

She took a step closer, her expression unwavering, like she didn’t believe a single word I was saying. "I’m here because... because I care," she said, each word laced with a kind of tenderness I didn’t deserve. "And I think you know that."

Care? 

I almost laughed at the thought. 

How could she care about me when I couldn’t even care about myself?

"Don’t, Y/N. Don’t do this," I said, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound indifferent. "You can’t save me. No one can. I’m too far gone for that."

She was quiet for a beat, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—the desire to help me, to pull me out of this dark hole I’d dug myself into, and the realization that maybe she was too late. But then she spoke again, this time with more conviction.

"I’m not trying to save you," she said. "I just want you to know that you’re not alone. No matter how fucked up everything is, you don’t have to face it by yourself. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

I couldn’t breathe. The words hit me harder than anything else had since I’d been locked in this place. I didn’t deserve her loyalty. I didn’t deserve any of this. But here she was, standing in front of me, offering something I wasn’t sure I could accept.

"You don’t have to do this," I said again, my voice almost pleading. "You don’t owe me anything."

She shook her head. "I’m not doing it because I owe you, Sukuna. I’m doing it because... I want to."

There was a long silence between us. The kind of silence that made everything in the room feel impossibly heavy, like the weight of my past was suffocating me. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t know if I could even let myself believe she was serious.

But in that moment, as I stood there, trying to process everything she had just said, I realized something I hadn’t let myself acknowledge before.

Maybe she was the one thing I could hold onto.

But I couldn’t say that. Not yet.

I turned away, rubbing my face with both hands, trying to clear the clouded thoughts in my head. I couldn’t get caught up in this. I couldn’t let her in, not after everything I’d done.

"I don’t know what you want from me," I muttered, my voice barely audible. "But I’m not gonna get better. Not like this. Not here."

She didn’t respond right away, but I could feel her standing there, still watching me. I could almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind, trying to figure out the next move. I didn’t make it easy for her, did I?

"You don’t have to be perfect," she finally said, her voice quiet but steady. "You just have to try. And you have to let people help you. You don’t have to do this alone."

I closed my eyes, fighting the tightness in my chest. My hand gripped the edge of the piano, and I tried to steady myself, not wanting to let the weight of her words drag me under. But it was getting harder to keep pretending that I didn’t care.

She really did care.

And maybe—just maybe—I needed to start caring too.

When I opened my eyes again, she was still there, waiting for me to say something, anything. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I looked at her and nodded, though I didn’t say a word. It was all I could do.

Maybe this was the first step. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely beyond saving.

Y/N’s expression faltered for a brief moment, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just stared at me, her eyes searching for any sign of weakness, some crack in the armor I was desperately trying to keep up. But I wouldn’t let her see it. Not now.

Her jaw tightened, and for a split second, I thought she might argue. I thought she might try to push through whatever wall I’d just erected. But instead, she nodded slowly, as though my words had made some kind of final sense. 

Maybe she finally realized that I was too far gone.

"I’m not gonna fight you on this, Sukuna," she said quietly. Her voice had lost its softness, the warmth draining out of it as if I had sucked all of it out. "But if you ever change your mind... if you ever stop pushing everyone away..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she cleared her throat, steadying herself. "You know where to find me."

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

I just watched as she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the room.

Good. Let her go.

The moment she left, the weight in my chest didn’t lift. If anything, it grew heavier. But I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t.

I’d pushed her away, just like I’d pushed everyone else away. 

But what if I really did need her?

No.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking the thought from my mind. I couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.

Maybe one day I’d wake up and realize I made the wrong choice. But that was a problem for future Sukuna. Right now, I need to get through the day.

I walked over to the piano, my fingers grazing the keys. My body was aching, the withdrawal pulling at me, making every movement feel like it took twice as much effort as it should. But I kept going. I had no other choice.

I couldn’t afford to care. Not about her. Not about anything.

I got up from the piano after a long moment of playing

I needed a smoke, anything to take the edge off. I was approached by this weird chick. I think I know her from high school.

 Selene.

 She strolled up to me with her bubbly ass voice. “I got the plug in here.”  I smiled “ In here people are dealing shit. Wild shit. What you got?” “Whatever you need.” She watched me with a smile. 

I found myself sitting there in her room, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls, I could feel the rush of anticipation building in me.

 I’d hit rock bottom a thousand times before, but this felt different.

 A part of me told me that I was spiraling deeper, that this wasn’t just a bad habit anymore—it was my new reality. But I didn’t care.

Selenr was sitting on the bed, her hands busy with something I didn’t quite pay attention to. She was talking, but I barely registered the words, too focused on the dull ache in my muscles and the gnawing emptiness inside me that only the thought of drugs could fill. 

She said whatever you need, and I needed something to take the edge off.

I let my fingers drum absently against my thigh, my eyes trained on her as she pulled out the little bag and spread the contents on the table. She looked at me, a smirk on her lips.

"You sure you want to go down this road?" she asked, a playful tone in her voice. But there was a look in her eyes—something knowing, like she could see through the mask I wore every damn day.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. She could see it too—the exhaustion, the desperation, the parts of me that had long given up.

 Selene knew the deal.

 We’d crossed paths before, back in high school. We never really hung out, but I knew her type—dangerous, alluring, and always just a step away from trouble.

She slid me a couple Xanax in front of me, and I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed it, the familiar coolness of the tablet comforting in my hand.

"You should really think about rehab," she said, her voice suddenly serious, cutting through the fog of my thoughts.

I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. "And do what? Sit around and pretend everything’s fine?" My words came out sharp, but the pain underneath them felt deeper than any of the substances I could take. 

What the hell was I supposed to fix?

She didn’t answer. Instead, she just sat there, watching me with those cold eyes, her own hands working to prepare the next dose. There was a tension in the room now, like the air was thick with the weight of everything I was avoiding—everything I had been avoiding for so long.

I popped the pill in my mouth without a second thought, the bitterness lingering in my throat as I swallowed.

For a second, the world stopped spinning.

The tightness in my chest eased, the gnawing anxiety slipping away as the drugs started to work their magic. I leaned back against the bed, letting the wave of relief wash over me. Everything was quieter now. I didn’t feel the need to think. I didn’t feel the need to be anything other than numb.

Selene looked at me, her lips curling into a satisfied grin. "There you go," she said softly. "See? It’s not so bad."

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The Xanax was already working its way through my system, leaving a dull haze in its wake.

Maybe I didn’t need to fix anything. Maybe it was easier to stay broken.

As I sat there, fading in and out of lucidity, I thought about Y/N again.

 I shouldn’t have pushed her away. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? I didn’t deserve her, not with the mess I’d become.

And yet, that thought lingered—like a whisper in the back of my mind

As I leaned in and kissed Selene, something about it felt off—yet familiar. 

Maybe it was the Xanax, or maybe it was the desperate need to feel something, anything that wasn’t the weight of my own brokenness. 

Her lips were soft, and for a second, everything seemed quieter. The chaos, the guilt, the voices in my head—they all faded into the background, leaving just the feeling of her against me.

She kissed me back, but it wasn’t passionate or full of fire. It was numb, like we were both just going through the motions, seeking solace in something temporary. I couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way, if this kiss was just another escape for her too.

I pulled away, breathless, but not from desire. From the haze. The drug was starting to sink deeper into my system, and my head was swirling in a way that made everything seem surreal.

"You're not even here, are you?" Selene whispered, a slight smile playing on her lips, as if she could see right through me.

I didn’t answer, just stared at her, barely registering her words. 

What the fuck was I doing?

This wasn’t who I was. Or maybe it was. Maybe the version of me that existed now was just a reflection of my choices. My actions.

I stood up, stepping back from her, trying to shake off the fog that had settled over me. 

I wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little more concerned.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I moved towards the door, my legs unsteady as I tried to walk it off. I felt a strange urgency, like I needed to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

I couldn’t stay here with her. Not when I couldn’t even face myself.

I stumbled out into the hallway, leaving Selene behind. The high was starting to wear off, and with it came the reality of what I was running from.

Fuck this shit. Screw everything. I didn’t know how to fix myself.

I trudged back to my room, the sterile walls closing in around me as I stepped inside. The quiet was suffocating, and I hated it. No distractions, no escape, just the sound of my own breath and the distant hum of the building.

I looked around, trying to find something—anything—that could give me some sense of comfort, but all I saw was a bland, lifeless space that mirrored how I felt inside. I threw myself onto the bed, face-first into the pillow, wishing I could just disappear into the fabric, escape from everything that weighed on me.

I didn't even have my phone.

 I hadn't realized until now how much I depended on it for distractions, to avoid the overwhelming silence. There was nothing here but me, my thoughts, and the suffocating guilt.

I tried to push it all away, close my eyes, and force myself to sleep, but the memories came flooding back—the loss of Jin, my grandfather, the people I pushed away, the mistakes I couldn’t undo. I was fucking drowning in it.

I let out a frustrated sigh and buried my face deeper into the pillow. 

Why am I even still here?

Every part of me screamed to leave, to do something, anything, to break free from this place, from the weight of what I’d done to myself. But there was nowhere to run anymore.

The silence of the room pressed in around me, the guilt festering. 

What did I even expect to happen?

I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to go back to the chaos, the distractions, the numbness. Anything to avoid the reality that I was falling apart. But I couldn't. Not yet.

And so, I lay there, feeling the walls close in on me, waiting for whatever came next—whether it was the release of sleep or the crushing weight of everything I'd lost.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

The Weredoll's Morning

[Sequel to The Weredoll]

Good morning, Miss. This one has prepared breakfast, including your coffee just how you like it.

Please, there is no need to get up. You did not specifically command this one, but you have mentioned enjoying breakfast in bed in the past. This one is sorry if you would have preferred to eat at the table.

Understood. Thank you, Miss. This one is happy to be of service.

It is almost 5 am, Miss. This one will soon begin its transformation back into a person, according to what we have read. Thank you once again for accompanying this one. It wishes it didn't have to wake you at such an hour.

This one agrees, it will be very fascinating.

There is the alarm, Miss. It should begin any mo...ment.

Sorry, Miss. This one was just surprised by the process beginning.

It feels... strange, Miss. Its purpose is becoming... foggier, and further away. The need for servitude is unwinding into something much more complex, it's rather overwhelming.

Y-yes, Miss, this one is still functional. It is sorry to worry you. Is there anything it can do for you? Please, this one wants to...

It... it can't tell what- AH!

Yes, yes, sorry, this... one's core. It just beat. It isn't meant to beat, it's meant to be still and calm and clockwork. It's spreading, the warm, it's spreading...

It's... scared. Miss. Sorry. It wants to be a good doll, but it... it wants so much more. It's purpose is gone, a good doll has a purpose, this one is so sorry Miss, this one is broken.

Yes Miss, of course, this... this one knows what humanity feels like. It just got so used to being... a thing, something to be commanded, not concerned with the need to fashion or follow its own individuality. Now... f-fuck...

But Miss, it's so... it... n-no, no, I'm being stretched apart. I'm filling up with... inclinations, distractions, emotions... I can't be still anymore. Oh, god...

My skin, my skin, fuck, oh my god it's on my back. I shouldn't be softening, I, I'm a person, I should have skin, that's normal. But, I, I shouldn't be... this warm, this soft, I'm supposed-

Oh! O-oh, oh... thank you.

No, you're not hugging too tight at all, I'm just... my body feels so much, and It's still hard to telllllllll oh god my joints are popping back in.

No, please, stay. I need you here. It's just so scary and gross and I'm sorry you have to see this, I didn't know it'd be this bad.

I love you too. Thank you.

I think this is the last part. I'm so... me, there's so much of me. I feel... filled in, I think. It doesn't feel as scary anymore, I'm pretty done with the changes, I just... uuuugh...

Yeah... yeah, s'fine, just... so tired. Feel like I got hit by a bus, it jus' all hit and...

Can we lay down again? ...M'gonna pass out.

Yeah, it's done. Thanks, I'm alright now, nice, n' warm, oh you're so warm...

...thanks. Lova ya, you're th'best... mnn...

[nyxavia]

𝑰𝑭 𝑰 𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝒀 𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑬 / 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑵𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑺 𝑴𝒀 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫 .ᐟ

" don't fall in love with me, " she whispered, and kissed vi's neck. no, not her lips .. there was no room for such sentiment.

⸻

OR; the one where pitfighter!vi gets a bodyguard, and loris is tired.

yet another ring of cold metal is what signals violet's victory in the stadium. a plethora of liquids dribbling down her face. landing on neck, running down her chest.. blood, sweat, a few tears. stainning.

her chances &&. confidence at winning being clear as day beforehand, as the opponent is grappled to the floor. chest heaves, rising &&. falling rapidly on top of him ⸻ knees on either side, trapping. with a few more rough punches, the brawler raises a triumphant belt in the air, voice raising at an alarming amount and chest hit multiple times.

pride. excitement. adrenaline. feeling at her absolute peak.

" thats enough, "

a hand grounds her senses, landing on shoulder, coldly, yet feeling light as a feather. strictly, too. " let's get moving. " lastly, a kick to the guy's shin; disrespectful, and hostile. though nothing vi's companion had the right to comment on, now matter how much she thought about it.

he was a certain fucker, one whose ass she recalled kicking in stillwater a few times ⸻ adding to the reputation of inmate 516.

both of them are escorted to the backrooms, violet spitting a tooth or two here and there. " knocked that bastard's shit to next week, " she exclaims, initiating conversation, and surely one could take that statement for pride. the other woman chuckles, opening a door for her.

" i'm sure getting his ass beat by someone like you was on his bingo list. " sarcasm.

but oh, it wasn't always like this.

⸻

" i can handle my shit! who do you think i am? "

loris' head falls against the wall, arms folding atop some wooden chair. in all honesty, exhausted at the sheer thought of his friend putting herself through all that countless pain. sure, a bodyguard sounded silly. unnecessary, one could argue. but he couldn't always stick around .. vi's matches had become more &&. more frequent, her attempts at forgetting some rich bluenette and drowning her mental pain in physical one, causing her to book one too many pit - fights. illegally so.

if it wasn't for him, someone had to stop that. someone that would get paid for it, at least to have her safety ensured.

" ... shit. who the hell is that? "

it didn't help that this someone was attractive, too.

a beautiful woman, with features fatal and sharp as a blade, tall enough for vi to crane her neck to meet her gaze. black hair reaching her shoulder, eyes a chartreuse hue like a feline's. piercing.

" you must be vi. " she begins, extending a palm with profound politeness. in the city of zaun, meetings &&. introductions that adorn such pleasantries never seemed sincere. she was cautious, wondering what kind if a purpose it would serve to stick around her matches for endless hours. why? why her, specifically?

too many questions, too little time.

shiny black polish, the brawler retorts. huh, sharp nails too; however was this sweetheart supposed to protect someone like her? matter of fact, it only reminded her she required no protection. therefore, back to stage one.

it takes the best of her abilities to cease staring, and a nudge on the shoulder from loris to fix the agape state of her mouth; told you, he mouths.

" i'll just let you two hit it off, " and with the smallest grunt, he was out. letting the two sit in initial, uncomfortable silence.

vi makes the first move, scoffing in an underestimating manner.

" i don't know what he told you, but i don't need a bodyguard. "

" those nasty scars would beg to differ. "

" well duh, i'm a fighter. "

tik, tok. tik, tok; moments pass, feeling like hours. they both didn't seem very fond of one another, but it also didn't seem like they had much of a choice but to deal with it. when it came to granting vi's wellbeing, loris had grown persistent. what a good friend ..

he had decided on keeping this woman around, if it meant she'd have someone that at least looked capable of handling her rough behavior. her fangirls, the overworking, the recklessness around bars. no matter how much she whined and yelled.

" a careless one, at that. just let me do my job, hm? " chin cupped in mere seconds then, almost in a flirtatious manner. " i saw the way you looked at me. you'll love having me around. "

and, shit. all these interactions with groupies .. sure had made vi forget how fucking attractive direct women were.

an arm was extended then. urging to walk through, with a feign bow of her much, much taller frame. mocking, almost.

if tension was what vi wanted, then tension vi would get. " after you, madame. "

she doesn't need to be told twice.

⸻

a/n; okay HI!!! idek what this is. 😭 fic glimpse maybe?? i hope this fandom likes oc's in fics. okay bye 🫶🫶🫶

[queenharumiura]

Blog Activity

((Figured I'd take the time to say something. My activity is kinda come and go a bit these days (most of it was bc of the vday event), but outside of that, I've not been the biggest presence, or i'm a bit slower to reply to things than usual.

I do want to state that this is nothing against anyone else. I'm just trying to learn to slow down and actually take my time. I am trying to make myself understand that no one is going to get mad at me if I take my time to reply. I can go slow if I want to. I don't need to feel guilty.

Another reason why I'm not as big a presence online is because I've learned from the end of last year, how horribly RPC can tank my mentality if something happens. I haven't tanked that hard in years to the point that it was lucky if I even had the willingness to even eat most days and nearly passed out because of it.

That's why you've been seeing me binge-reading or binging old shows more frequently now, because i'm trying to revive some old hobbies of mine to fall back to. It doesn't help that my health just continues to rollercoaster, so my energy levels is also--- yeah.

TLDR: I am still around in RPC, but not as much as I normally would be. I'm trying to distance myself a lil bit from RPC as a whole as I'm still trying to regulate my hurt. I'm also just more tired because of medications, so sometimes I just can't stay awake. I apologize. ))

[chiimeramanticore]

waow

[miodiodavinci]

collapses to the ground like a deflated balloon

[ame-to-ame]

My friends are so nice to me??? I love them???

[brucie-baby]

i'm writing this at seven in the morning after being very ill for three days and not having slept whatsoever all night but to me bruce is so like. i am not worth the pain of knowing me so i must make up for this in the only way i know how. knowing me puts you in danger so i need to keep you safe, even if you don't want it, even if you can do it yourself. i am the shooter and the bullet and the wound and everybody i love is an accomplice and a bystander and a victim all at once but maybe i can teach you how to stitch yourself up. maybe i can teach you when to close your eyes. i cannot stop the pain from reaching you but maybe i can teach you to stop me from firing and maybe i can teach you when to run away. everybody i love gets hurt but i am selfish, so very selfish, and i cannot stop myself from loving you. i wish you would stop loving me back. i wish i could do more to comfort you than putting my hand just slightly too rough on your shoulder because i cannot bring myself to pull you closer. i wish i would treat you the way you deserve. i love you i love you i love you. please don't love me back. please don't leave me.

[phagodyke]

I love to talk but I rly do feel like we have to be talking for a minimum of 8 hours straight before I feel like I can even begin to rly broach things on my mind or that have been bothering me a lot that I actually want to talk abt without being vague or deflecting or omitting or lying and if the conversation takes a break at any point it resets back to 0 and its still nice regardless but.

[foxgloveinspace]

Do you ever figure out your Type and you go Oh No cause it’s just 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

[orcelito]

Omfg I never actually posted about this but just like 2 days ago I realized that no it is Not normal to experience lightheadedness near daily when I've gone just a little too long without eating

I looked it up and apparently lightheadedness/dizziness CAN be a part of fibromyalgia (which I think I have for a number of different reasons), so like. It all makes sense.

Fuckin fibromyalgia. It's the source of like 95% of my physical problems, I swear. Every Damn Thing can be traced back to it. What a pain.

[buckynats]

.

[alyimoss]

hmm. i need to be more insane

[wishmkr-jirachi]

...

[floral-hex]

So this is my thing now, I’m afraid to go to sleep. This is kinda bullshit, brain.