#why this why does my brain literally want me to berate and degrade myself and isolate me and make me cry alone n starve me that’s so mean | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soleilnomoon · 9 months

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Prompt: “I don’t like them; I can barely tolerate them.” for Abarai Renji. Once again, I leave it up to you what you wanna do (but maybe enemies to lovers) Yes, I might be on a little Bleach binge right now but it's okay you like it. kiss kiss

*hides face* ok, ok, ok, hear me out, let's pretend i didn't take *insert accurate length of time here* and say i wrote this in a few days. i am so sorry i took forever and ever with this but as u know i can only give u top quality work or else i'll never forgive myself. renji is.......well *motions to him* yk how that man is, he made me suffer!!!! in a good way!!! but still i suffered!!! yk how much i love enemies 2 lovers u big brained beauty 🤭 so ty baby❤️️ also this is my first renji fic and i can't belev it.

5.2k words (don't look at me, just don't), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, enemies 2 lovers, angst city, angst angst city biiiitch (yk the vibez babey), smut obviously, no fluff bc who do u think i am? feat. renji being a mean petty bitch (i guess that makes him a mean dom maybe yes), sub reader bc that's what i want; there's a party with alcohol, ichigo and co. make brief appearances, bathroom sex, choking (he's sf romantic), a lot of cursing bc they're grown that's why, renji is a beast when he's jealous, reader is a lil bit of a brat but lbr who wouldn't be in that situation; mutual ""unrequited"" pining, lots of tension, fingering, rough (consensual) sex, lil bit of degradation, lil bit of a size kink, lil bit of praise kink, idk there's probably more stuff but i'm so tired rn i can't think; um renji obviously comes w his own gd warning; reader is determined to not let this man win but, hello, it's renji he always comes out on top wink wink. (if u see spelling errors/mistakes no u didn't hottie)

“when i write about all of this it becomes its own kind of violence. / i retell the story as myth, as if it were my own body devoured.” — caitlin scarano & “so much of love is violence. the desire / to be split open, invaded, mangled / and made new.” — erin slaughter

HATRED X TASTES X SWEET

you’ve never been cut out for this line of work, but your insistence on eliminating all your shortcomings is commendable. brave, even. it’s something you don’t really think about unless you want to spend the night half-drunk, rambling about the things you should’ve done but never had the courage to do.

like telling a certain red-haired, bullheaded lieutenant that he’s the most ridiculous and excessively arrogant man you’ve ever come across. all in all, you’re pretty sure telling him off won’t phase him; nothing ever does, not really anyway.

at first you try politeness; your grandmother would be proud of how well you’ve learned to bite your tongue. it’s ungraceful, but you fake it well enough that others think your emotional maturity is far above theirs. little do they know, you actually have to literally bite your tongue; simply remaining silent isn’t easy for you anymore. so, when you bite, it’s with rage, months of unshed tears and accumulated spite; you bite your tongue so hard you bleed more every time.

your unsaid words bunch together — tiny soldiers determined to strike in unison without fail — and sit heavily in the back of your throat, ready to launch forward at your command.

but you never say them, and you choke more than once; an unbearable shame to carry with you as he continues to slash at your patience, thin ribbons cascading off you like confetti. you wonder if your anger will lead to your death— or if it’ll lead to his. you intend to keep all of that hidden, though, and keep reminding yourself that eventually he will tire from berating you, from talking to you as if you’re the most incompetent being in all of soul society, from looking at you like your very being disgusts him.

that’s what you tell yourself these days. you like to conveniently ignore the way his dark eyes linger on yours during meetings — you’ve noticed that people have taken to describing them as soulless, cold and critical, unimpressed at everything and anyone.

but you see him — all of him; the raw, feral, powerful and severe side that not many have the misfortune of knowing. they think they get the real version of renji whenever they deal with him, but they never do; you know that now. you doubt it’s even intentional on his part, or maybe — just maybe — he really does hate you.

to put it plainly, as you’ve told rukia and rangiku, the sixth division lieutenant has the biggest fucking chip on his shoulder. despite the walls he continues to put up to keep others from carving out a place for themselves in his life, despite the way his words roll around his mouth, clumsily coasting down the length of his tongue before they pierce the air around you with their toxicity — you’re tired of the way he purposely singles you out time and time again to point out your inadequacies without remorse.

abarai renji is also sick of dealing with you. whenever he thinks he’s found a means of scaring you off, you scurry right back more determined and more obnoxious than ever. which is rich, coming from him.

he claims you’re inconsequential, a nuisance — a pest, even — one that he intends to get rid of permanently. it’s harsh and he’s more than aware of that, but he finds that this is the most appropriate solution to his problem. he could easily ignore you; he could try to keep his comments to himself and try to be somewhat cordial whenever you cross paths. but he won’t. and he has no damn idea why.

“no, no come in, i have plenty of snacks for everyone.”

rukia’s voice is a constant in his life that he’ll always be thankful for. he watches her glide into the room, grinning at the friends she’s invited over, her laughter like soft bells that is easily recognizable even with all the conversation happening. when he feels his chest constrict, an uncomfortable, yet familiar warmth stretching over his skin, he decides to drink so that he can ignore the sensation and forget.

a feeble attempt, because he knows how this will all end — with him drunk off his ass in an even worse mood than he started.

mouth opening, renji prepares to tell rukia to get better sake, when rangiku leads you into the living room where he’s lounging comfortably. the bottle in his hand grows heavier by the second and suddenly he’s not very interested in drinking anymore. already, his foul mood from earlier returns, and every step you take only fuels his irritation; it bubbles underneath his skin, making him frown and grip the bottle tighter.

you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s glaring at you — he always is. rangiku feigns obliviousness as she encourages you to go make yourself comfortable while she fetches snacks with rukia. you stare at both of them, wide-eyed, confused — a pleading look sliding onto your face after a few moments, but they assure you both that they’ll be back shortly.

with a sigh you sit on the armchair adjacent to him, determined to just remain quiet in the hopes that he’ll just ignore you for once. sitting up straight, discomfort finds its way to the pit of your stomach, swirling around as you fidget with the bracelet around your wrist. his eyes watch your movements with an obsessiveness that startles him; there’s no reason why he should be interested in the shape of your fingers, there’s no reason why he should be interested in the way you keep brushing stray curls away from your face, and there’s no reason why he should be interested in possibly fucking you when he knows for a fact that he is absolutely uninterested in you.

his disinterest runs so deep it spoils the taste of the sake, but he takes another swig anyway. the alcohol burns as it travels swiftly down his throat, and it just so happens that you glance over at him — innocuous, an attempt to gauge his annoyance level — as his throat bobs and your mouth dries at the sight.

you turn your face away quickly, a traitorous flush crawling slowly along your skin, unjustly warming your cheeks. inhaling deeply, you do your best to will the blush away to no avail. where the hell are rukia and rangiku? surely it can’t take that long to grab snacks. you’re tempted to go find them, but you have a sinking feeling that it would turn you into a coward.

and you refuse to give that man any more ammo against you.

IT’S X (NOT) X YOU

what initially starts as a small get-together, quickly turns into a party; leave it to rangiku to liven things up, her laughter infectious and whimsical, flitting about like a persistent hummingbird as she encourages everyone to play drinking games with her. experience taught him better than to engage because despite his high tolerance, there’s really no beating rangiku when she’s on a roll.

but when you emphatically agree to play with the rest, fury rises in his chest; your audacity, it seems, knows no bounds — and, yes, he understands the hypocrisy in his critique. he just doesn’t care.

the games are every bit as simple and ridiculous as you thought they’d be, but as everyone seems to be in relatively good spirits, you play along. not normally competitive with things like this, you get into the swing of things when you win round after round.

cheers resound nearby at your success, but throughout the evening, you feel renji’s stare and do everything in your power to not give in and look back at him. a tough feat to say the least, as you are always acutely aware of his presence; and when you do happen to sneak another glance, his legs are spread and you curse under your breath for finding that attractive.

foolish, you chide, so fucking foolish.

renji sucks his teeth as he feels a heaviness in his head; groaning loudly he swirls around what little sake he has left in his glass before finishing it.

“you lose again,” rukia’s voice is soft and teasing, but he’s annoyed and can’t be bothered with talking to her right now. she pats his shoulder gingerly before standing up to head to the kitchen. his mind is a mess and he blames you for it completely.

“i don’t fucking care,” he says gruffly to her retreating figure, not bothering to elevate his voice as he’s sure she heard him. and he really doesn’t care; he’s trying to tell himself to calm down, but he can’t.

the fault completely lies with you — of course it does, everything you do agitates every cell in his body. the reason is simple, and he hates that he doesn’t want to admit it — he’s so undeniably attracted to you that it pisses him off. he takes in your appearance for the twelfth time that night, admiring the softness of your cheeks, the fullness of your lips, the way you seem entirely too animated as you laugh at someone’s lame joke — and yes, he can tell it’s not funny from how your laughter dies down after a few seconds.

if he had better sense, he’d stop looking at you, but he can’t now; he might blame the sake for this later.

the intensity behind his gaze is enough to bring an inextinguishable heat along your skin. it’s only unpleasant because it travels down to your lower abdomen and brings about an agonizing ache between your thighs. at first, you do the sensible thing and ignore it; but the longer he stares, the more you want to look over, until finally you can’t take it anymore.

“i’ll be back,” you mumble to the other guests, although you doubt they hear you with how rowdy everyone is being; the noise isn’t unwelcomed, the distraction serves to mask your footsteps when you scurry from the living room to the back corridor, turning corner after corner until you find the bathroom.

a coward — that’s what you are.

you barricade yourself in there without thinking, heart pounding loud enough to disorient you. after several long minutes, you splash water on your face and take a few deep breaths.

“i can’t believe i ran away,” your voice is so soft you barely hear the words — almost as if you’re still in disbelief over the entire situation. there’s something off about renji tonight; the tension between you was more palatable and tangible than normal.

even though you feigned nonchalance as best as you could, there were so many moments where you couldn’t help but watch him too. pitiful. absolutely pitiful. there’s no excuse for it, and yet you struggle to find one anyway.

as you look at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you try to convince yourself to head back out there. sooner or later, people will realize that you’ve gone missing — and rangiku is nosy enough and like a bloodhound when she’s drunk. your time is incredibly limited now.

there’s no reason for you to continue to avoid the inevitable, so you sigh and give yourself a small pep talk before heading back outside.

TRUTH X OR X …

renji’s mood doesn’t improve at all; in fact, it worsens the moment ichigo sits right next to him. he’s not even sure why this sets him off, but even closing his eyes and counting backwards does nothing to keep him calm.

with slight difficulty, renji grits out, “what do you want?”

undeterred, ichigo stares at renji pointedly, voice steady as he says, “you could go after her, you know.”

again, renji sucks his teeth loudly, arms folded against his chest, right leg bouncing slightly as he taps his foot on the floor. punching ichigo would be pointless, and then rukia would get involved and he doesn’t have time to deal with the fallout from that so he keeps his hands to himself.

besides, his anger is obviously misdirected right now. he knows — he knows —but he doesn’t care, so he doesn’t mince his words when he responds with, “go after who?” through his peripheral, he can see ichigo’s patience has also reached its limit.

“you’re not that stupid, so stop acting like it.”

normally, renji would take the opportunity to mes s around and argue back and forth, but he might actually fight his friend if he doesn’t walk away. so, he does; abrupt and without looking back, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.

maybe he just needs to change his approach with you, maybe talking things out would work in his favor; or maybe he needs to fuck you hard enough to purge you from his mind.

he lies to himself when he considers the first option, because it’s the second option that drives him to walk a little faster, head full of impossible thoughts as he wonders just how far you’d let him go.

when renji finally finds you, you’re in the middle of rebuffing the advances of an unfamiliar guest — they’re drunk, handsy, and keep oscillating between giving you cheesy pick-up lines and berating you for rejecting them. but you stand firm, and your voice is relatively loud when you tell them, “for the last fucking time, go away.”

under normal circumstances, renji would let you handle this yourself; he has no desire to play prince charming or be a knight in shining armor. you’re more than capable, and he’s seen the way you fight and argue to defend yourself — but, it’s when they place a wandering hand on your hip that he loses sight of all of that.

a brief moment passes, where your blood boils as you contemplate how best to kick their ass, but you never get the chance. a rather large shadow hovers over you both, but you already know who it is without having to look properly.

renji is a force to be reckoned with on a good day, but he’s at his fucking limit right now.

he doesn’t ask, doesn’t give any options for retreat, doesn’t say a word when he yanks them off with a brute strength that surprises even you.

now, can he really be blamed for throwing them into the neighboring wall hard enough to make a noticeable hole? and is it really his fault that the drunk can hardly walk as they clutch their broken arm while murmuring something unintelligible, something that renji takes as a sign of them wanting a repeat demonstration?

consequences be damned, he gives the drunk a lethal look before they scramble away in fear.

“loser,” he says loud enough for them to hear, but they don’t double back or even try to go toe-to-toe with the hot-headed lieutenant. you watch, half-amused and half-impressed with the unnecessary machismo, but still, you know better than to chastise him right now, especially when your heart sputters out of control from his proximity.

“…thanks,” you say, a faint flush on your cheeks, voice soft, head fuzzy when you realize that renji — aka mr. “i’ll fight you on everything any day of the week unprovoked for no reason other than to drive you crazy” — saved you. unprompted at that.

you make the mistake of looking up at him, your nerves prompting you to take a small step back when you realize that the usual hostility that renji reserves for you specifically is nowhere to be found. in its place is something more unreadable — or, rather, you don’t want to read into it for fear of being wrong.

renji steps closer, which makes you back up again until your back hits the wall and you’re no longer able to escape.

“we need to talk,” he says suddenly, but you shake your head, non-verbally objecting to the idea, curls bouncing wildly with your exaggerated movements. since he knows he’s pressed for time, he grabs your face with his large hand and stops you from moving. “that wasn’t a request.”

swallowing rusty nails would be better than dealing with your conflicting feelings over renji right now, because he’s much too close to you and now you’re forgetting why it is you hate him in the first place. ironically, he’s in the exact same position. so far, he’s acted on impulse over you more times than he can count tonight, but he supposes that’s to be expected — you are a wildcard, after all.

“what if i don’t want to.” your response is clumsy, the words tumbling one after the other. “what if i want you to leave?” you don’t actually mean that, but you throw it at him anyway, to see if maybe this was all a fluke, and maybe, just maybe he’ll remember himself and you both can go back to fighting like usual.

he considers your question, goes so far as to release your face to wrap his hand around your throat instead. your sharp inhale and parted lips tell him all he needs to know.

with a slightly raised brow, he asks, “well, do you?”

because if you do, he’ll walk away right now. but he knows what your answer will be, he just has to drag it out of you. he squeezes your neck to remind you to hurry it up, and before you can answer him properly, he places his leg in between yours, pressing close enough that you roll your hips forward while whimpering softly.

he really didn’t think any of this through, but luckily the adrenaline from it all won’t wear off anytime soon, so he’ll improvise along the way. he spent most of the night dealing with a semi-hard cock that wouldn’t listen to reason no matter how many times he tried to stop thinking about you. but now? all of that restraint goes out of the window, and before he can question it, he kisses you.

you’ve kissed plenty of people in your life — some good, most were mediocre and uninspiring — but renji actually takes your breath away. everything about him commands all your attention; from the way his lips move against yours greedily, leaving behind burning kisses that make your nipples harden underneath your clothes — to the way he thrusts his tongue in between your plush lips, licking inside of your mouth hotly, igniting an inextinguishable flame deep inside of you.

he grabs your hip with his free hand, squeezing hard, fingers digging firmly. all the irritation from earlier dissipates completely, leaving you feeling lightheaded and needy; you grind against him recklessly, arousal dampening the front of your panties, clit sensitive as it rubs against the delicate fabric. his cock presses against you — thick, long, and hard — and you wonder if this is why he’s so angry with you all the time.

was it always that simple?

if you asked the question aloud, he wouldn’t know what to tell you — it’s a combination of things, but mostly he’s an idiot; he knows that now, but likewise you’re an idiot too. you just don’t realize it yet.

it’s renji who pulls away first, lightly panting, breath warm against your lips as he releases his hold on your neck. he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to string together a coherent statement, but his voice is low and husky when he speaks. “answer my question.”

you blink at him, completely in a daze, lips slightly swollen from all the kissing. “wh-what?” you don’t remember what he asked you, and you don’t care.

“do you want me to leave?”

for some reason, you completely forgot that you told him that. you rub your lips together and run your hands along his chest. “no.” the answer comes out automatically, without hesitation, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

“good.”

SAY X IT X LOUDER

he picks you up with ease, almost as if you weigh nothing; a small squeal spills out of you as you wrap your legs around his waist, and renji gives you a sly smile — one laced with mischief and an unspoken promise of what’s to come.

you’re back in the bathroom again, this time sitting on the counter with renji standing in between your legs. his hands coast along your curvy hips and down your thighs. he’s touching you but he’s not touching you and it’s driving you crazy.

with hurried, eager hands you both undress, and for the umpteenth time you internally curse this style of uniform; still, it doesn’t take too long before his hands are on you again, calloused palms rough and warm against your skin. he places a kiss on your jaw, then another on your neck right underneath your earlobe; each kiss he leaves behind distorts your common sense, makes you feel irrational and impatient. your hands are soft and well-practiced, stroking his stiff cock as his hips jerk forward from your touch.

he can’t remember the last time someone had him this worked up, which pisses him off a little; because that means him fucking you once won’t settle things. at that thought, renji bites your neck and your startled yelp quickly morphs into a moan when he runs his tongue along the mark. he dips his hand in between your thighs, rubbing his thick fingers against your slit. a loud banging on the door has you looking over, and you can’t remember if he bothered to lock it once you both were inside.

your attention nearly falters, but when he pinches your clit you buck your hips, a shiver shooting down your spine at the slight pain.

“eyes on me,” is all he says, seemingly annoyed that you would dare to focus your attention elsewhere, “always keep them on me.” what he means by that, he doesn’t know, but you take the command at face value and nod while swallowing. he slides a finger inside of your wet pussy, and while you initially wanted to keep quiet to avoid suspicion and to prevent anyone from intruding, but you can’t now.

“renji,” you breathe, fingers trembling as you hold onto the counter for support, he thrusts his finger in and out, quick and hard, before inserting another. you clench around him, hips rocking forward as he fingerfucks you and grinds his palm against your clit. you close your eyes and moan louder than you mean to, chest heaving, thoughts jumbled and incoherent. he scissors his fingers inside of you, but quickly removes them without prompting.

“fuck!” you open your eyes again and stare at him in disbelief. “why did you stop?”

he laughs darkly and grabs your face roughly, fingers pressing into your soft skin without remorse. “what did i tell you earlier?” everything about this situation is laughable. he gave you very specific instructions, ones he thought were easy enough for you to follow. for some reason your movements are sluggish, mind in a haze as you scramble to remember but nothing comes to mind.

as you open and close your mouth, looking every bit as adorable as you are alluring, he decides to show you a bit of kindness.

“get down.” his command comes swift, his patience practically nonexistent; precum glides down the head of his thick cock, but he ignores it for the sake of teaching you a lesson. you don’t bother waiting for him to repeat himself and slide off the counter. “turn around.”

like a doll, your movements are dictated by renji with simple, short statements. nothing about that phases you, though; it’s all very exciting, so when you do turn to face the counter, you bend forward and lean over the counter. renji admires the roundness of your ass and slaps it hard.

again, you find yourself moaning loudly, without shame and not caring about the volume of your voice. surely the others won’t pay attention, as they’re still very drunk and are entertaining themselves with more games. another slap on your ass has you grabbing onto the counter again, legs shaking, arousal dripping between your thighs in anticipation. if renji doesn’t fuck you soon, you might actually die.

he knows he’s taking too damn long, but it’s much more interesting making you work for him. he rubs the tip of his cock against your puffy pussy, gliding it in between your slick folds, your moans sweetly wrapping around him once he pushes inside of you slowly. someone bangs on the door again, making you look over, anxiety quickly filling your head with unnecessary what ifs that almost command your full attention.

with narrowed eyes, renji grabs onto your hair, curls soft in his hand, and yanks hard.

“the fuck did i say earlier?”

goosebumps travel down your arms as a different kind of awareness and clarity surges through you quickly. you blink at your reflection, watching the way he towers over you, his muscles hard and defined — sculpted from years of training and dedication to honing his skills. it hits you then, what he’s really asking you.

“to,” you swallow thickly, throat dry, “to keep my eyes on you always.” you say it all in one breath, gasping when he runs his tongue along the curve of your ear. you don’t know how much more you can take, but you know if you complain, if you say anything he might stop altogether.

renji’s smile is wicked and dark, his lips graze your earlobe, voice deep and gravelly, a huskiness that wasn’t there before as he thrusts into you, burying his cock deeply.

“good girl.”

he refrains from kissing you properly, instead pushing you down so you can lean over the counter again. your mind melts from it all, and you’re panting, heart beating faster and faster as he firmly places a hand on your back.

“you’re squeezing me so tight,” he remarks thoughtfully, although you note the slight strain in his voice; as much as he tries to act like he’s not that affected by you, you know that isn’t the case at all. your pussy is every bit as enticing and heavenly as he knew it would be; he pulls back and slams his cock into you all over again, filling you completely. you try to keep watching him in the mirror, but he’s fucking you like he’s angry with himself for being so attracted to you.

and he absolutely is. it’s a truth he fought against for so long that he’s given up on denying it now. your moans drip onto his skin like caramel, sticky and sweet, and when you say his name like that — your voice going higher and higher from the ferocity of his thrusts — he nearly loses his mind.

“fuck,” he says out loud, grabbing your hip roughly, your wetness coating the length of his cock, “you’re taking me so well.” he knows you can’t really answer him, and he likes that; you’re beyond caring at this point, instead focusing on the way his cock reaches a spot that has you bouncing your ass and fucking yourself against him. normally, renji would play around and edge you in retaliation, but he’s too far gone, completely under the spell of your pretty pussy, with how soft and tight it is.

you’re not sure how you got here, but you’re drowning in ecstasy right now. he instructs you to lift your leg to rest it onto the counter, pulling out momentarily to help you position and spread your legs further apart. he plunges his cock into you again, keeping his hips closer as he gives you shorter, frenzied thrusts. your head spins and you can’t think straight, but that doesn’t matter. all you care about is the way renji is angling his hips, rolling them forward to pound into your cunt roughly, balls heavy as they smack against your ass.

“oh, oh, oh.” you swear your life flashes before your eyes, because something possesses him, his strokes shorter, brutal, and frenetic. drool slides down your chin, your voice hoarse from how loud you’ve been. you’re sure someone’s heard you by now, but you don’t care.

how can you?

with renji fucking you like this — merciless and possessive, fingers brusing your skin, almost as if he wants to make sure you’ll be as obsessed with him as he is with you — your common decency, your morals, everything that makes you you, they don’t exist.

all that’s left is this burning desire to let him have his way with you for as long as he wants. thankfully, you have enough sense to not admit that out loud; who knows what kind smugness you’ll be subjected to if renji knew.

but you’re pretty damn transparent about it, he can tell from the way you can’t stop clenching your pussy around his cock, from how your pussy makes loud, lewd squelching noises — ones that he’ll commit to memory so he can revisit them from time to time.

tears roll down your cheeks and you sob as you hold onto the counter as best as you can, back arching, hips rocking against him with a neediness you never knew you had. there’s a tightening in your stomach and your pulse skyrocketing as a flash of white practically blinds you. he watches the way your pussy keeps swallowing the length of his cock, and you finally fall over the edge, orgasm suffocating you with its intensity.

your cunt flutters around him, gummy walls soft and hypnotic, an addiction he never thought he’d have; breathing heavily, his muscles tense and renji groans something that suspiciously sounds like your name. the thought alone makes your face burn and warms your chest in a way that doesn’t make sense. and when he finally cums, he humps into you, cum thick and hot as it spills inside your pussy, mixing with your slick wetness. a completely messy affair, but he doesn’t care — it’s not his bathroom, after all.

legs trembling, you’re limp and incapable of movement, whimpering and whining until he finally pulls out of you.

renji runs a hand down his face, feeling spent but more than satisfied. suddenly his shoulders aren’t so tight and tense, and his mood is much more tolerable. you do your best to stand but almost fall — your legs are useless, turned to jelly because of the man behind you. he chuckles at that, then clears his throat once he realizes. he fully expected there to be a moment of awkwardness after, but it never comes. when he sees your face — lips bruised and swollen, face flushed, eyes glazed with a faraway look — he feels compelled to kiss you again. so, he does. it’s not sweet, nor is it tender, but it still makes your heart swell all the same. he holds you close as you wrap your arms around his neck, doing your best to keep standing, even though your legs are ready to give out.

you don’t know exactly what any of this means, but you do understand him a bit better now. he’s terrible with expressing himself, but you kind of like that about him; and maybe this isn’t the healthiest relationship, but life was uncertain and you’d take renji fucking you like it’s his last day alive over him openly hating you any day.

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writer-k-pop · 3 years

Text

Crushing Phonecalls

언젠가 업보가 그를 찾아올 것이다. Someday karma will come for him.

Description: Anxiously waiting for the proposal decision from your workplace, you go and visit Jimin in the practice studio, hoping to take your mind off of the impending decision. But a phone call in the middle of their practice crushes your soul. And the following phone call does nothing to help it. But Jimin decides to say something about it. Warnings: Swearing, some verbal workplace bullying Genre: Angst, Fluff, Idol!Jimin x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2k

BTS Masterlist | Masterlists

"Heyyyy!" Jimin greets me happily as I walk into the practice room.

"Hello, there." I smile and open my arms just before he barrels into me.

"Hey, (y/n)." Jungkook waves a hand at me and the others give me smiles and waves as well.

I wave back with Jimin still holding onto me. "Hey guys."

"Did you get done with the proposal?" Jimin asks, pulling back but keeping his hands on my shoulders.

I nod, my body still buzzing with nervousness. "I don't know if we'll get it though." I sigh.

"Why not?" Jimin tilts his head to the side, "You worked so hard on it. i'm pretty sure that kind of hard work will get picked."

"The other proposal is made by Ashton, the CEO's son." I shrug and my shoulders want to cower away from the thoughts that flood my mind.

"What does that matter?" He wonders and pulls me out of the way of the door.

"He, uh, has often pulled strings for his son." I scratch the surface of the real reason.

"What does that mean?" He asks in a low voice, keeping the conversation from curious ears.

"It's nothing." I smile at him, wanting to keep my more serious work troubles away from him.

"No, I want to know." He pushes with concerned eyes, "Is he hurting you?"

I hesitate before shaking my head, "Not physically." I sigh, "He just makes it a point to berate me and my team, and degrade our work."

"That little shit." Jimin says through gritted teeth.

"It's fine, Jimin." I reassure him, "My manager told me that our proposal is really good and all the other department managers like my proposal better, so I shouldn't worry. But I do."

"You're nervous. That makes sense. You worked for weeks on this." Jimin nods, "I mean, if the managers are all on board with your proposal then maybe that little shit will be put in his place. When do they decide?"

"They're having the meeting today but I don't know when they'll inform us of the decision." I tell him with an attempt at a reassured smile.

"You'll let me know the outcome?" He asks, "I want to celebrate with you when they choose your proposal."

My smile changes to cover up my doubt and, from what I can see, Jimin buys it. "For sure."

He smiles and gives me a cheeky smile. "Good." He presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

Jin claps his hands loudly at us and Jimin whips around, "Yes?" He drags out the word dramatically.

"Chop, chop. I have dance moves to learn." Jin says and puts his hands on his hips, giving back the sass that Jimin gave him.

I grab Jimin's hand and drag him over to where the other guys are standing together. "Here he is." I tell them with a playful smile, and then I turn to him, "I'm going to be watching you for mistakes."

"Oh, I'm so scared." He rolls his eyes and shakes his hands out by his face. I shove his shoulder with a laugh.

"Then you better do well." I stick out my tongue at him before sitting down against the mirror.

Crossing my legs in front of me, I watch their rehearsals with most of my attention on them. The rest of my attention feels for any notification on my phone that my hands grip tightly.

I normally would enjoy BTS's rehearsals but today, I'm just too nervous and anxious to thoroughly enjoy it. Just as my team and I were finishing our day, Ashton decided to shout across the whole floor and berate us. Specifically our chances that our proposal would be chosen. He shouted that we had just wasted countless hours, created garbage, and that we should be embarrassed that we submitted the proposal to the board.

The whole thing just put me in a constant nervous state. My body feels like a electricity current is running through my whole body, buzzing like I just finished an hour long ride on one of those old metal scooters over bumpy black tar.

After twenty minutes of watching the boys dance, pause, talk through, learn, and then start dancing again, my phone starts to vibrate with a call and I literally jump to my feet. Seeing my manager's name on my screen, I quickly catch Jimin's gaze and motion that I'm going into the hallway. Not waiting for his response, I open the door and shut it before answering the call.

"Hey, Lisa." I breathe out, my heart pounding in my head as I walk down the hall, away from the practice room. "What's up?" I ask, leaning back against the wall.

"Hey, (y/n)." Lisa says with a heavy sigh and my heart drops below the basement floors of the building. "The meeting just ending and they made a decision." She says.

"Not good?" I ask trying to lessen the blow.

"I'm sorry." She sighs again, "The CEO overruled all the board members and chose Ashton's proposal."

My eyes close in disappointment and my shoulders sag under the weight of Lisa's words.

"But you should know that all the board members voted for your proposal over Ashton's." Lisa continues talking when I don't say a word, "You and your team did such good work and you should be proud of that."

"Yeah, I, uh, yeah. Thanks for letting me know, Lisa." I tell her, wanting to get off of this phone call as soon as possible.

"An email's being sent out to your team so you won't have to tell them." She informs me, "I'm sorry, (y/n)."

"Thanks, Lisa." I thank her and then hang up.

A cry hiccups through my chest and I bend my knees to sit on my heels with my back still pressed against the wall. I squeeze my eyes tighter and will myself not to cry. Not here. Not now.

I really thought we were going to be chosen. My whole team worked so hard. They're going to be crushed when they read that email.

Groaning, I let my head fall forward and my arms rest on my knees, phone still clutched in my hand. I sigh heavily and a wave of anger for the CEO washes over me.

How could he choose his son over a really good proposal? The entire board voted for ours but he chose his son.

My phone starts to ring with another call. Thinking it's one of my team members, I answer it without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" I answer the call, keeping as much disappointment out of my voice as possible.

"HA!" A male voice shouts on the other end of the line and I recognize the mocking tone immediately: Ashton.

My jaw involuntarily clenches in anger.

"I TOLD YOU I'D WIN OVER YOU." Ashton says with a cocky edge to his voice, "MY PROPOSAL IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOURS. AND I DIDN'T EVEN PUT IN AS MUCH WORK. HA. HA. HA."

Running a hand slowly through my hair, I slowly pull the phone away from my ear as tears line my closed eyes. Even though my phone is away from my ear, I can still hear Ashton's voice.

"I knew you weren't that good at your job." He cackles, "You weren't ever good but this is just proof. And it shows that your ideas are trash. That team of yours can't even tell you how bad your ideas are. You really must be a shitty leader."

The first tear falls and lands on my pant leg, creating a single dark spot.

"Unless, the proposal ideas came from them and you were too dumb to see how awful they were." Ashton continues, "That's gotta be it! You're just dumb!"

Just a sob pushes past my lips, the phone is yanked out of my hand. I look up as Jimin turns the call on speaker and talks back to Ashton. I can feel the anger rolling off of his shoulders.

"Hi, who is this?" He asks, his voice dangerously low.

"Uh... isn't this (y/n)'s number?" Ashton repeats the question, unsure of himself.

"I don't know a (y/n). But you sound like a shitty person." Jimin lies through gritted teeth. "What kind of self absorbed, sad, 10-year-old man are you? You really think that you're being cool by calling someone dumb? Or their team members? Where the hell is your humility? Where the hell is your humanity?" He scoffs, "Oh, no, I got it, you must not have a brain." He says before quickly ending the call.

A few more tears managed to slip down my cheeks but I'm too stunned at Jimin's outburst to wipe them away. Jimin tucks my phone in his back pocket and turns to face me after exhaling. Noticing my tears, he quickly knees down next to me and wipes them away.

"Hey." He almost whispers with a small comforting smile.

"I can't believe that lame excuse for a man is the CEO's son." He says before wrapping me up in a hug. "Don't listen to him. He speaks lies. You and your team are so smart. You worked so hard on that proposal and you should be nothing but proud about your work."

I sniffle at his words and a few tears fall.

"You will keep your head high and not let that man's words make you doubt yourself." Jimin continues, rubbing a hand on my back. "Every word he said was false. Every single word. Someday karma will come for him. And I hope to god that you're there when it strikes him down."

I pull back with a choked laugh, "I don't think I want to be around for that." I tell him.

His hands rest on my cheeks and his thumbs brush away the fallen tears. "Either way, I still hope that karma takes him down in the cruelest of ways."

Jimin smiles warmly at me, "You did so good. And I'm so proud of you." He says and my heart swells. "So, so proud of you."

I return his smile and take a deep breath. "Thank you." I whisper.

"I'm always proud of you." He states before leaning in to softly kiss my lips.

After resting my forehead against his for a second, I pull back and ask, "How much did you hear?"

"I heard enough." He shrugs but I can hear just how much anger is laced in his voice.

"You heard it all." I correct him and shake my head, looking down to my lap.

"Hey." Jimin says and uses his finger to lift my chin back up, "Head high. You did really good work. Be proud of that."

I nod, determined to make myself see that and believe it. "I did good work. My team did good work."

"Exactly." He encourages me.

I pull him in for a hug and rest my cheek on his shoulder, "Thank you, Jimin."

"No need to thank me, dear." He pats my back, "I will always do what is necessary."

"Even if it means lying about who's phone you're answering?" I ask, releasing him from my embrace.

He chuckles and I love the sound. "I would pretend to be anyone to anyone who is bringing you down."

"Noted." I say with a genuine smile.

"If you're up for it, we're all going out to dinner tonight, if you want to join." Jimin offers and stands up with a hand extended to help me up, "Oh, and Jungkook said he's paying."

I raise an eyebrow at him, "Did he say it or...?"

Jimin sighs, having been caught, "He lost a game so now he's gotta pay up."

"You guys are awful." I shake my head at him.

"But you're going to come, aren't you?" He guess with a knowing look.

I slap my hand into his and smirk, "Hell yeah I'm going."

Jimin pulls me up and wraps an arm around my waist protectively.

"Should we tell the guys so we can go show this Ashton jerk a lesson?" He whispers as we walk back down towards the practice room.

I slap his chest with a laugh, "What happened to waiting for karma?"

"Just offering to speed up the process." He laughs.

#kpop #kpop imagines #bts #bts imagine #bts jimin imagine #bts jimin #jimin imagine #park jimin imagine #park jimin #jimin #writer-k-pop

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donnerpartyofone · 6 years

Text

ramblings

honestly i hate it when people use this word in their content or URLs. i hate it as much and in the same way that i hate the overuse of the word “random”. both represent tactics designed to absolve the user of any obligation to communicate clearly, stand by their opinions, or otherwise allow that the things they choose to do and say and support are symptomatic of who they really are as an individual--as if the things that you engage with are just “something that happened”, like the weather, and there’s some separate secret “you” that has nothing to do with the waves of activity that appear to emanate from your person. not that everything has to be a manifesto, but constantly qualifying your every action or feeling as chaotic and indeterminate is insecure at best and fraudulent at worst. at any degree of severity, it is at the very least just fucking annoying.

but, i’m thinking about quitting tumblr again, and this line of thought could probably be safely categorized as a ramble. i mean i’ve been thinking about it for years, as much as anybody of my vintage does, although my ordinary complaints have just had to do with obnoxious technical and community issues. this net neutrality disaster is really pushing my buttons. can i really afford, mentally, to keep using a yahoo product? but the thing is, as soon as i think this, i’m assailed by internal synthetic echoes of the kinds of radical voices i’ve absorbed from tumblr itself. this is one of my worst personal problems, that i internalize other people’s voices with extreme success. so, as soon as i think about boycotting yahoo by leaving tumblr, i involuntarily imagine someone telling me that i’m an elitist pig for theatrically divorcing myself from a major corporation when many people, who are perhaps the most victimized by corporate behavior, can’t even choose to remove toxic corporate material from their lives, and that my empty gesture is even less than symbolic when i don’t know who picked the orange sitting on my desk and i’m typing this out using a slave-manufactured Apple product furnished by my employer who rather famously tortures its blue collar employees. this morning i was feeling good about using up leftovers for my lunch instead of letting them turn into climate-destroying food waste, until i thought about where the stray mayo packet i just used was going to wind up, and moreover where the plastic bag i used to tie up that trash was going to wind up, and what an asshole i was for thinking about how i can recycle the tin foil i wrapped my sandwich in when in fact recycling plants have been linked to cancer in their employees. i may have congratulated myself this morning for repairing my thrifted shoes with glue instead of throwing them out and replacing them, but the fact that they’re under my feet right now and for as long as i can keep them doesn’t affect the fact that some animal is going to be choking on them when i can no longer make use of them. so, the same internalized radical voice that calls me a huge piece of shit for participating in this or that march or protest, even though i do vote and i do put money toward needs and causes when i can, that voice is definitely here to tell me that dramatically leaving tumblr after seven years makes me at least as much of an asshole as does continuing to use it.

if you exist anywhere left of center lately, your available political energy is pretty routinely sapped by infighting that seems to insist that if your intentions as well as your strategies are not absolutely virginally pure, then you need to just shut the fuck up and pull on your hair shirt and bury yourself alive until a real rain comes to wash all the scum off the streets. it’s like, no progress shall be made until a progress arrives that simultaneously and equally improves all areas of life, leaving no remote potential for debate in its glistening wake. nothing you do matters because everything you do is evil and there is no shortage of people who can prove it to you. the cultural climate i live in has made me really adept at proving it to myself. like the second you think even of certain A list celebrities who use the rewards of their meteoric careers in order to give back to their communities, you can say, well, what’s the carbon footprint of one of their concerts? what’s the point of doing anything at all? it feels like there are really just two ways you can live your life: you can aim for self-actualization, which may do wonders for your personal identity but which seems to require constant material sacrifice on the part of everything around you, OR you can relegate yourself to some sort of extreme jainist existence in which you deprive yourself of every personal indulgence to the point that your individuality is so degraded that the question of the meaning of your life looms larger than ever in relief.

there’s also the question, as evidenced by all this leftist infighting, of who is even smart enough to think of as much as one thing to do that’s actually a good thing to do. even if i were to let go of my entire life as it is to commit myself puritanically to some cause, it seems like a sure thing that i’d pick the wrong cause, with a world of negative side effects for other causes. and on the general matter of choosing sides, i don’t even think i know what, like, anything is anymore. i saw this post float by the other day that said something about how sick the OP was of the fierce leftist protection of sexual predators, as if defending rapists were a popular tenant in left-of-center parties, and the post had tens of thousands of notes and i just couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was even referring to from real life. i understand that there’s a lot of talk about how, speaking in very limited terms, “democrats are as bad as republicans”, and i understand what that’s about structurally speaking, but as far as “left” and “right” goes it seems like the language has completely broken down to the point that it doesn’t even refer to anything anymore other than some almost facelessly broad ideas about whether you think the government should help you or leave you alone about X. maybe what i’m really trying to say here is just that i have no idea what the fuck anyone is talking about to the point that just being alive is like being permanently trapped in some foreign country without a single cent of local currency.

so anyway, once i’ve achieved a subterranean level of depression over the fucked up shit that happens as a direct result of every minute that i even exist on the planet earth, i ALSO start to collapse under the slings and arrows of another internalized voice, that of a shitheaded rightwing alpha dog who sees guilt as a symptom of extreme weakness, of useless fragility. and to some degree that’s true, if my main state of being is this dissolving soreness, then how could i possibly be effective even at something that appears to be “the right thing to do”? and moreover it’s like if every single thing i could conceivably do with my life is categorizable as “evil”, then “evil” ceases to be a worthwhile judgment to make and abide by. everything is nothing and nothing is everything so you might as well just do whatever you want, right? but of course that’s not acceptable because in doing whatever i want, with no regard for the worldly consequences, i still feel terrible. so to try to treat that condition, i for-just-one-instance choose to go to the tiny neighborhood grocer next door to the constantly-expanding chain store right next to him, and i remember to bring cloth reusable grocery bags, which of course i know will just be choking out flora and fauna after i’m dead or stopped using them, and then the radical leftist voice in my head berates me for just “doing good” as a hollow gesture designed to make myself feel and look better, and we’re back to everything is nothing and nothing is everything all over again.

and why even worry about this, or literally anything, when at any moment we’re all going to be bombed off the face of the planet because we’ve elected, seemingly for entertainment’s sake, this scandalous id monster who isn’t even a real politician? i’m running out of these daily pills that i need for some real dumbass reasons, and i need to make an appointment for my annual medical humiliation in order to get more of them, but it’s so hard to care. over the last several years i built up a certain amount of personal pride by “being brave” and submitting myself to normal adult maintenance routines, but the more of them i’ve been through, the more they just feel like some sort of kafkaesque ritual whose only result is its own existence. and if i’m just going to boil to death in the rising oceans anyway, why bother?

the most rational idea that my tiny shitty brain is able to come up with is that the best most of us can do is to just do what feels “right”, as often as is practically feasible. so i think, well, leaving tumblr would be a thing, even if it doesn’t make a real difference in real life, it would be something i did based on a feeling of at-least-vague altruism. but then i think of all my friends here, people who are remote and in bad spots in their lives who i can at monitor in some well-meaning way, and i think about my family members here and their excellent art projects that are facilitated by this place, and like doesn’t my thought process indicate that i think all of THOSE people are evil parasites too? i mean what is the ultimate extension of the logic i’m trying to employ here? when i think about that i feel like a bigger sack of shit than ever before. then i kind of start thinking about all the people in the history of my life who have openly categorized my depression, whatever its sources and symptoms at the time, as just me being a pill, being difficult, being negative, being counterproductive, looking for attention: the explicit or tacit response being, “why don’t you just _______?” but i don’t know what this ________ is that’s supposed to replace all my feelings and behavior. i guess that’s kind of the point of this whole thing, that i have no idea what the alternative is supposed to be, to all this, and how i can “just” do that instead.

so, maybe just because it’s something to do, i’m thinking of moving over to blogspot or something that makes me feel even slightly less complicit in the actions of these cartoon villains that run everything. i understand that if i do that, then i’ll be lucky to maintain relationships with even like ten of the people whose presence here i know and love. i assume i would just continue on as normal, although without the benefit of this often-amazing kaleidoscopic font of images and ideas, and the ability to glibly inject some “hilarious” thought of mine into other people’s uptake streams, and the surprise discovery of new and exciting people via the entropy that rules my dash. or maybe i won’t risk all that, and i’ll just sit tight right here, because what really would be the actual result of my bailing? maybe i’ll just delete this later today, when i’m feeling sufficiently embarrassed and overexposed about it. i guess i’m going to go spend money i don’t deserve to make on some stuff that i don’t need to have, in a place that damages the world when i have to live in both obvious and invisible ways, while i think it over, for the rest of my natural life.

#deletable

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writerpyre · 7 years

Text

I’m getting truly sick of being insulted by my mother. I honestly don’t know why I bother waking up in the morning when the person I’ve dropped my entire life for (because she’s been sick and I’m her daughter and she needs me to be her bitch so her other daughters don’t go into care and she doesn’t fucking end up dead) continues to believe that I’m meant to pull miracles out of my arse.

According to her, I’m meant to do everything that all three of them need to do, plus house chores, plus go with her as moral support to her doctors appts, plus jumping when she says jump and wants to go and do things that ‘need to be done’, but I don’t get to do my things I need to do, and yet I can be ‘too lazy’ to do the things I have to do in sorting my room so I can actually sleep in it again instead of on the lounge floor, and yet when I dare to say anything about any other godforsaken thing she wants me to with sorting and replacing the crap she wanted to move around with new furniture when she couldnt stand up much, she tells me that I do ‘nothing’ for her.

This is of course, on top of the things that I, as someone who will be supposedly going back to jobsearching when Mum is back on her feet has to do, plus work, plus somehow create content for my folio, plus get enough sleep, plus not complain when she asks me to drop everything to do things for her, then have her complain when I’m ‘sitting on my bum’ and trying to just breathe for reasons she knows about. She then thinks she can insult me by daring to insinuate I’m lazy and self-absorbed when I take an hour at night to sit down at my computer and try to unwind before I go to sleep by doing something I enjoy because oh ‘you’ve got so much to do…’, and yet she can also fucking insult me by saying that I’m not going to cope with full-time work, because it takes me ‘hours’ to get ready in the morning.

Oh, lets see, that happens because I get so hung up about my appearance so no one can see what a fucking mess I am inside, that I’m so 'slow’ to start my day because she and my little sister stay up until all hours and yet accuse me of oversleeping, and yet if I only fixed my bedroom chaos with things I need to cram back in cos she decided to (get us to) clean the walls, I could go to bed early. When am I meant to get to this, get my bedroom done without someone else’s needs getting in my way, when work isn’t taking up my time, when I need to run an errand that only I can do because I’m the only one with the brains or the physical ability to do it, because Mum doesn’t fucking bother asking any of her friends to help with anything, it all falls back on me. Yes, any other adult has to run a house and do chores and work. I understand that. I do. But I’m pretty much following the whims of three other people and not being able to care for myself, with said three people berating me all the time, in their own ways. Yes, sure, I’m not the only one with problems. Yes, great, there are things to do, yes, they’re not getting done, no I haven’t gotten to them yet. When am I supposed to get them done. With what time? And with what fucking energy?

I have been struggling to get out of bed, to go about my day and get trying to get through it, for over two and a half years now, and I have no motivation, no drive, no hope that anyone is going to care aside from those thousands of kilometers away, who can’t help. Last year, I had to tell my mother, in the dark of night that I wanted out, I want to fucking top myself, and she promised that she’d help me, she promised she’d do anything to make sure I’m okay, that she’s here for me and I’m ‘not alone’. She’s done completely the opposite. She’s done absolutely nothing to show me aside from the fact that 'she arranged’ (aka got me a couple of pamphlets) counselling for me, that she cares about anything in my head whatsoever. To her, in her words, I’m ‘twisted’ in my thinking and I’m being overdramatic when I say that something is hurting me. That I’m complaining and that I need to suck it up.

She has made no effort to give me any slack or consideration or sympathy or empathy, when I give her all of that and more, and she continues to berate me on anything and everything, not back me up when my idiot of a little sister is being a bully and always makes me out to be wrong, no matter what the circumstances. I am over it. Every single fucking time Mum needs something, I drop everything to help her. Every fucking time Mum doesn’t like something, (God forbid I use swearing as a coping mechanism, because God knows I don’t have any other fucking outlet in this world), I get picked on and degraded and told I’m lazy and rude and disrespectful, every time I do something she disagrees with, or I say no to cos I’m busy with something else (usually something for her right then, or just fucking trying to breathe) she cracks the shits and tells me what an awful person I am for daring to stand up for myself.

Though wow, she tells everyone else how proud she is of me, how much she appreciates what I’m doing. I have to kowtow to everyone else in this house, and yet I’m not allowed to try and breathe for one damn fucking moment, and say how much I’ve got to do, but not have one single moment’s metaphorical break to try and deal with what the fuck is going on in my head? I am done. I am so fucking done. She doesn’t seem to care what I am dealing with anymore as long as it doesn’t fucking inconvenience her because she’s been ill. I cannot literally do anything further than what I am doing for this family right now, I’ve taken over care for my older disabled sister officially this time, I should hopefully be getting a letter next week to confirm it, and that is still not good enough for Mum because she’s ‘not getting a payment’ (never mind that’ll be going straight into the family anyway cos that’s what we do, pool our fucking resources to keep a roof over our damn heads), and she’s apparently worried she’ll have to reapply to be her carer etc, so she’s dragging me down to Centrelink next week, so of course I’ve done that wrong too, even if she later blamed them for ‘misleading us’ her first instinct was still to get mad at me because I didn’t do everything exactly as she expected me to mind-read that she wanted.

She loves me, I know she does. I know she’s scared and hurting and has been through the goddamned wringer, no I am not surprised she’s sick and tired of things, and that the girls aren’t exactly a picnic in terms of their emotions either, but everything is falling on me, I have to pander to everyone else and bend and step back on what I’m doing wrong because it hurts them. It probably sounds pathetic and selfish and awful, because I’m not the one who’s been in and out of hospital, but I’m sick and tired of sucking my feelings and fears and everything up for my family, and not getting one whit of anything in return.

This is sucking me dry and I don’t know what to do. Even before Mum got sick I was floundering and this has just made it worse, and I’m a thousand more times scared for the future than I ever was before. Mum’s in kidney failure and is refusing dialysis when the time comes, which means this will all fall on my shoulders again, her foot is still stuffed cos of a whole ‘nother issue cos of the home nurses and podiatrists not listening when something fucking isn’t working, but everything falls on me no matter what, I’m always Mum’s punching bag and emotional target and I’m tired.

I don’t want to live anymore, I’ve lost all interest in finding a job in my career field, God forbid I ever have the chance to have a good enough folio for that (last year was my plan to do that while doing Honours; well fuck, that went down the drain didn’t it, even though I wouldn’t hold being damn sick against my mother, just her behaviour) but I have no time, and no inclination anymore, and I’m lonely and scared and terrified of losing my mother, and being stuck and dealing with two lonely, terrified girls, and there’s no one to help.

I want something to end one way or another, and if I have to take things into my own hands, if I have to snap and do something irreparable to escape this living hell, then so fucking be it. I can’t do this.

#pyre talks #personal #negative #fuck #fuck fuck fuck fuck

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