HOW ARE YOU RUINED? Ruined By Trauma.

HOW ARE YOU RUINED? — ruined by trauma.

you cannot get over the past. you are constantly remembering, never forgetting. you cant live in the moment because the moment is not what brought you here. you are birthed, raised, and killed in the past. you will never get over what was done to you, be it big or be it small. you cannot escape what you refuse to confront.

— ruined by fear.

you live on the edge of your seat, but it is not a good thing. you're constantly looking over your shoulder, unsure of what will hurt you next. you have been hurt so much, but you refuse to adapt to your pain. instead, you avoid what you cannot control. you are so afraid of making a mistake, of being brought closer to your doom. but, despite this, you cannot articulate what you fear. you are just afraid. only afraid. and you will be afraid until you are brought to what you fear most.

— ruined by apathy.

you cant bring yourself to care. you hate that you cant feel what you used to be able to feel. you hate that you cant be happy. you hate that you cant bring yourself to actually hate. your apathy has swallowed you and immersed you in a well of nothingness. you cant feel what you cant forget. you cant see what you close your eyes to. you choose to feel nothing, and you have lost everything because of it.

tagged: @autonomousxselves im like 99% sure you tagged me for this and i didnt do it before now ( tho its hard to keep track ) but if i did it before im doing it again w these bitches BHKGTRB and @yukcri for suggesting Takaya and Hidetoshi! None of the results fit Hidetoshi though so I didn't end up including him

tagging: i feel like most people i Could tag have done this so if you haven't, do it! alternatively, if you're wearing red, black or green, do it!

happy akechi day!

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“I’ve got you.” (to Akechi) - @fantomevoleur

Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse wash off blood from their body / accepting!

Akechi feels as though he's being boiled alive.

━ there's a diffused nature to it, now, after the long night left him like a dull blade, ground against concrete. The way frosted glass diffused light, some things are lost in transition, some details decided to be too insignificant, and he finds himself unable to distinguish between the full-body ache and the hot water, nearly sweet. ━ no, instead he finds himself viscerally aware of the movements of the body next to him, limbs moving and the rippling in the water it causes, steam funneled, redirected, fuming off the skin. It's foreign in a lot of ways, but not as many as he'd expect ( he supposes, in a keen way, that the little meetings they'd had prepared him for this. He considers its intentionality. He resolves, to some extent, that it's coincidence for these things to align the way they have, if only out of timing. He would have never known. None the wiser. None the wiser. )

Lost to the world for all but a moment, but the dull blade rings when the water hits a welted, lacerated part of his back : a sharp breath through grit teeth jarring him back to reality. Idiot. ( he couldn't expect Akira to control every way the water fell, but a half of him, kicked & bitter, held to the moment latched like it had talons, bleeding into the rest of him. )

To Akira, all the notice he betrays is a harsh breath, a stiffness in the body, and the strain of the vein of his neck as the blood spirals in the water. To those less observant, this would be nearly nothing. To the right people, they know what to look for. He finds himself like a fixation returning to why Akira was here in the first place. A lack of understanding. A want to. A need to. he rolls the idea around like a marble and comes to the same conclusion he has been each time he does; out of pity.

He balls his hands in the old towel wrapped around his waist, and bids himself to be grateful that at hours like these, the staff and service were practically nonexistent. He finds his spite only deepens. ( his idea for the hot water, anyway... )

" Please, try to be careful. I wouldn't want to burn the skin around the wound. It wouldn't be very fun for anybody if that happened. " Goro's voice comes, tarry and sweet enough despite the tense of air in his chest. he scrapes his nails down his arms, littered in small cuts and scrapes, and pretends not to realize how his nails catch on the disrupted skin and the dried blood. " I appreciate the help, though. That one is in a hard spot to reach...! "

One he's reached before. one he'll reach again. the way he speaks about the wound is nearly the same as radio announcers on radio novellas. Nearly lifeless, in a way. He reminds himself to keep up the act.

he cranes his head to look backwards at Akira, look down his back, hair plastered to his wet skin. on the center length of his back, arching over his ribs like a lightning strike, multiple cuts, the worst among them about 7 inches long, 5 millimeters deep. He can just see a couple of the emergency stitches already popped from the little while they'd been holding the wound shut, white threads reddened and sticking out from the skin. Useless.

Perhaps more amicably, he notes a " I'll have to redo the stitching properly soon, although most of the blood has already tapered off... " before turning back forward, and with a little more resolution ( and a little more abrasion ) begins scrubbing away at the dried blood where he can, noting that he'll have to clean the bath thoroughly himself before they leave, and trying not to twitch like a white hot coal when the feeling of touch on bare skin is more jarring than the pain he's tending to.

for such a cheerful guy, amada-senpai listens to some really emo stuff...

Ride-or-Die