Realistic or Modern 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵

[weldherwings]

do you feel lonely? have you had your heart broken repeatedly? have you considered that there is only one way out?

will you join
the lonely hearts pact?

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This fictional story covers several mental health issues, including depression and suicide. If you or anyone you know need help finding support and crisis resources in your area, click here to a list of suicide crisis hotlines for more information

  
  
  

  
  

  i'm aware

  
  

  
  
  
  
• TRIGGER WARNING

  THIS IS OUR FINAL WARNING!
  
  If you are under 18, we ask for you to refrain from reading this story. However, we are unable to control everyone who wishes to read. This is our final trigger warning (there will also be trigger warnings on posts) so you have been warned about the content of this roleplay.
  
  This roleplay will explore the following topics:
  - Body dysmorphia
  - Malnourishment
  - Drug abuse and overdoses
  - ARFID
  - Anxiety
  - Depression
  - PTSD
  - Suicidal ideations/attempts/self-harm
  - Histrionic Personality Disorder (HPD)
  - Delusions
  - Dissociative amnesia
  - Waardenburg Syndrome Type 2
  - Pyromania
  - Antisocial Personality Disorder
  - Borderline Personality Disorder
  - Manic episodes
  - Substance abuse
  - Separation anxiety disorder
  - Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)
  - Paranoia
  - Alleged psychopathy behaviour
  - Depersonalization-derealization Disorder
  - Paranoid Schizophrenia
  - Autism
  - OCD
  - Harm OCD
  - Dermatillomania
  - ADHD
  - Functional c-PTSD
  - Abandonment issues
  
  

  love, weldherwings

  
  
  

  welcome to saint margaret private hospital

  Welcome to Saint Margaret Private Hospital, the only private stand-alone psychiatric teaching hospital in the state of Ohio. Located on a 10-hectare (25-acre) site, this hospital tends to 178 patients with 320 nurses on staff. Saint Margaret is a fully accredited psychiatric teaching hospital and has research and educational facilities located on campus; and has been used as a central training facility for medical, nursing and other health professionals specialising in mental health.
  
  As part of its ongoing research, Saint Margaret has focused on the impact of group therapy sessions on individual patients. They believe that healing begins when placed in group settings and through exercising empathy for others. Patients are split into randomized groups and often made to eat together, participate in team-building activities, spend their free time amongst others, and speak their truth publicly within group therapy sessions. Of course, it’s not for everyone, and you will find someone with a couple of loose threads. Although solitary confinement is frowned upon, sometimes it’s just what’s best for those in pain.
  
  One loose thread, Andrew James, has made his name known amongst the patients and staff in Saint Margaret. While the doctors and nurses find his ramblings that of an unstable person, some of the patients have come to realise that maybe - just maybe - Andrew is the sane one. After being brought back from solitary, Andrew has been placed in a new group. Soon after meeting his new friends, Andrew announces to them that come New Years Eve, if he’s still stuck in the hospital, he’s planning on ending his life. He invites others to join him, in making a pact. Because they can stop one person from trying to end it all, but they can’t stop all of them, right?
  
  The crazy thing is… people are agreeing.
  
  And so, that is how The Lonely Hearts Pact began.
  

  it's time to heal together

  
  
  
  

© weldherwings.

 

[weldherwings]

OCTOBER 2022

s

m

t

w

t

f

s

1

X

1

X

2

X

3

X

4

X

5

X

6

X

7

X

8

X

9

X

10

X

11

X

12

X

13

X

14

X

15

X

16

X

17

X

18

X

19

X

20

X

21

X

22

X

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

October Birthdays

2nd - Iosefina Williams
30th - Akira Kasuga
31st - Celeste Archambeau

It’s a new day at Saint Margaret Private Hospital!

The sun is up, the birds are chirping, and the hallways are filled with patients making their way to their first therapy session for the day. As part of the ongoing study at the hospital, patients have been split into new groups each week and must participate in their sessions together like one big happy family.

Our first team is off to the outdoor area with the lush green grass, decaying wooden seats, and overcast clouds shadowing the small piece of outdoor freedom. From here, they will be participating in an hour of mindful yoga, followed by a slow pace dance lesson to keep their bodies moving and their minds active!

Our second team are making their way to the art room, where they will participate in creating sock puppets with the art teacher. Art is an excellent way for our patients to not only express themselves creatively with no boundaries but did you know it also exercises their brains? One side being the creative side (where patients think of what their creation might look like), while the other is the logical side (where patients start to think about how they’re going to create their puppets and how will it work).

Meanwhile, Andrew James is being his typical self, rushing around trying to recruit new patients to join their Lonely Hearts Pact. It’s only a matter of time before the nurses catch on and send him back to solitary.

our word of the chapter

fairy!

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[weldherwings]

"you're an inspiration."
no. i'm sick

LUCA SEONG

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post may make mention of binge eating, body dysmorphia, malnourished, phentermine abuse, depression, anxiety and afrid. whilst not in full description, please note that there are mentions of these ailments and the character's inner thoughts throughout the post.

  
  
  

  
  

  i'm aware

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    i'm so draining to everyone else

    An endless staring competition with beige-painted walls was in progress. Scars ran deep through the foundations of this establishment, echoing the years of patients who had come and gone before them, lashing out their anguish and frustrations at such an innocent victim. Patched up by well-trained maintenance men who spent five minutes on the job and an additional twelve trying to decide which radio station to play on their crackling portable cd player from the eighties. Sunkissed and aged paint stood weathered and outdated in comparison to its scars which triumphantly showed off its battle wounds. Umber irises traced each scar as if running a finger over creases, curious of how they came to fruition and what type of person had been the ones to create such markings.
    
    “Luca?”
    
    Conviction came in the form of an endearing young nurse who sat by the man’s side. Now dragged away from observing the maps that trailed these hospital walls, Luca Seong brought his attention to the woman who sat next to him. Brows raised, he released a hummed ‘mmh?’ in the hope that spending all his time fascinated by the foundational structure of the building had somehow wiped her memory clear of what he was meant to be doing. Her rosy cheeks puffed out as a soft smile radiated on her face, her eyes crinkling as she did so.
    
    “We need to keep going” the nurse encouraged him in a calmful, tender manner. Her voice oddly resembled the television hosts of the children’s programs he acted as a child. He wouldn’t be too surprised if she pulled out a fairy tale book and started reading it to him with her soothing, warm voice to send him off into a daytime slumber. She extended her hand and tapped upon the plastic dish that sat dreadfully before him. His attention was now re-directed to the food before him; scrambled eggs on thick, buttered white toast.
    
    “Yeah… about that…” he exhaled, drawing out his words to pass time; every second counted, filling up their time limit to finish their breakfast. He turned to the nurse with a pained expression upon his face as he did so. “They didn’t cook the eggs the way I like them. They’re a bit too soggy for my liking, you know?”
    
    “All we ask is that you at least attempt two bites” Her angelic voice, sweet enough to give you a toothache and soothing to set a baby to sleep in seconds, filled his ears; however, it was the last thing he wanted to hear. He could feel his heart beginning to triumphantly race in his chest, attempting a new speed record at the thought of potentially placing something of that texture into his mouth. As a child, he adored eggs in this form and fashion. But over the last few years, thanks to his ongoing “medication”, the taste of certain foods no longer sent that dopamine hit, and he was often left with a chalk-like taste in the back of his throat. At this moment in time, he was convinced that these eggs would do the exact same thing. Even just thinking about it made somehow manifested the taste to creep into the back of his mouth.
    
    “You know…” he began slowly, a charming grin spreading across his face as he leaned against the table, attempting to smitten her with his puppy-like complexion and demeanour. “Has anyone told you that you could model?”
    
    Her cheeks began to glow as she returned the charming grin with one of her own. “You know what - yes, they have. You want to know who has told me?” her brows raised in suspense, letting the silence linger for a moment before her big reveal. “My husband”
    
    Luca’s grin dropped instantly. Well, these tactics were falling on deaf ears. “The pair of you… happily married? Like… not in some sort of brink-of-divorce, polygamy or open relationship?”
    
    This looked like a game he wasn’t capable of winning.
    
    As painful as each second was in the canteen hall, it was finally over. Silent cheers of celebration echoed within his head as he stood from the table, followed by his lucky one-on-one nurse who could at least celebrate that she had witnessed the man eat two fork-sized amounts of scrambled eggs and three bites of his toast. It was onwards to the next part of today’s routine schedule; physical therapy. When he had first heard the word physical, his heart had skipped a beat from pure happiness. There was nothing better than storming up a sweat to get into a place of serendipity and bliss in your mind. Sure, it was yoga and dance, but it was still finding ways to challenge them physically, was it not?
    
    Travelling down the corridors, he was damn well glad he had Jelle by his side to direct them through to the main yard. Despite having a full tour last night of the establishment when he had entered, Luca had been in a place of shock and feeling utterly betrayed by his family that he had barely attempted to keep any information retained. But, luckily he had his roommate, Jelle, to answer all his questions and to direct him; almost like a buddy system, established by elementary schools.
    
    “I can’t believe you can’t have drink bottles. That’s total bullshit” He uttered his discontent, his hands buried deep into his pockets as they walked side by side. “And this stupid one-on-one crap. I’m going to feel sorry for the day some lovely, poor nurse has to stand by the bathroom door and smell my stinky shits. Maybe I just won’t do a crap while I’m here. I’m most likely going to be leaving in a few days, I can hold it in” His mouth continued to pour out all the thoughts his mind had to hold, forgetting that he had literally only known Jelle for eighteen hours. Luca made no attempts to filter nor consider that maybe not everyone was as open about their bowel movements as he was. “You know what. I thought of this game to pass the time. It’s called guess the diagnosis, and you have to guess why people are here. Has anyone else ever come up with that game?”
    

    and I've been told i'm heavy to hold

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    Mouth can't keep up with the amount of thoughts! running through his head
    
    

    Location:

    Walking to physical therapy
    
    

    Mentions:

    Jelle
    
    

    tags:

    riddle .
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Chimney Swift]

I want you to notice
when I'm not around.

MAX BERKOWITZ

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Brief mention of suicide attempt, mention of bullying, internalized homophobia.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    I need a little room to breathe.

    
    
    "I want you to go to at least one of your groups tomorrow," Max's social worker Linda had said to him yesterday afternoon, the stiff motions of her hands matching the forced expression of concern that she always wore on her face when she spoke with patients, "Does that sound like a realistic goal?"
    
    This morning, as he pushed the remaining crumbs of his breakfast around on his tray with a plastic fork, he was sorely regretting agreeing to that goal.
    
    When Max Berkowitz had first been brought to St. Margaret's from the nearby general hospital emergency room 2 weeks ago, bandages still shielding the dark purple-red bruises on the front of his neck from view, he was more like a ghost than a living patient; as if somehow he himself didn’t quite believe that he had actually survived what had happened. He spoke to no one except his assigned psychiatrist, avoided groups and activities like the plague, and spent all his days hidden away in his room with the thin smother-proof blankets pulled over his head, only ever seen out on the ward when the nurses would come to drag him out for meals and medication and mandatory team meetings.
    
    By the time the 3rd week rolled around, though, he’d slowly started to come back to life. The bruises had faded into light yellow-brown splotches that he unsuccessfully tried to hide by pulling his shirt collars up, and he occasionally even dared to come out of his room for a while to hang out in the recreation area. He didn’t speak much to other patients, but that was to be expected. Out of the two dozen or so patients on St. Margaret’s Young Adult Ward, he was one of only two patients who were deaf. The other one was Miyu, a girl around his age who didn’t know much ASL. Still, though, he ended up talking with her occasionally, and with his roommate Ambrus, and with Jelle, who sometimes played cards with him and Miyu… actually, oddly enough, he was starting to along with his peers much better here in the hospital than he had been at Ohio State University.
    
    But still, his habit of chronic absenteeism from group therapy was worrying his team. "We want to see you making progress." They kept saying to him, vaguely, as if that even meant anything at this point. So, at his last meeting, they challenged him to show up to art therapy this morning and color or whatever with the rest of his patient group. Just thinking about having to make art, and possibly having to show it to other people, made Max’s stomach twist up in knots.
    He’d learned a long time ago, way back in elementary school, that expressing himself creatively was just another way of inviting his classmates to mock him. As long as he kept giving people reasons to see him as soft and vulnerable, they’d keep finding joy in tormenting him. Perhaps Max really was just a laughing stock, or something about him was so repulsive that his classmates and so-called friends thought he deserved the things they did to him, the things they called him…
    Fruit.
    Sissy.
    Fairy.
    Cocksucker.
    F...
    
    He wasn’t going to make any art in this group. No way.
    
    He was just going to sit there and watch, just to make his social worker happy that he met his goal for the day by showing up.
    
    Steeling himself for the worst, Max stood up from the table and slid his empty breakfast tray back into the old metal cart, following the trail of patients back out into the long beige hallway to find his dreaded group. As one of the first ones to make his way into the art therapy room, he took a seat at the round table as far away from the crafting supplies as possible, staring at the fabric and construction paper and glue and buttons with heart-pounding apprehension.
    This could easily just be a trap for yet more humiliation. He didn’t know if he could convince himself that it wasn’t.
    
    
    

    'Cause I'm one step closer to the edge, and I'm about to break.

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    
    
    

    Mood:

    Nervous
    
    

    Location:

    Art Therapy Room
    
    

    Mentions:

    Miyu, Jelle, Ambrus
    
    

    tags:

    
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[riddle .]

"there's comfort...in the nothingness."

jelle drukker

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post contains mentions of depression, PTSD, and dissociative amnesia symptoms, as well as thoughts/feelings associated with them in the character. Please keep this mind before reading.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    days fade into a watercolor blur

    Mornings at the hospital were always an ordeal. Jelle deeply missed when he could sleep in and wake up when he wanted. It took nearly two full weeks from when he first arrived for him to get used to strangers coming in to wake him. Then there was the touching. Though it was just to take his blood pressure and temperature, it still made his skin crawl and had his eyes closed to fight the urge to push the poor nurse away from him. Now, nearly four months in, he was already awake when the nurses would come by to get everyone started for the day.
    
    His first action every morning was looking over his notes that he made to himself - as to remind him of things he may have forgotten. He had gotten into the habit before being admitted, but when his days were filled with the same white walls and talks, they tended to blur more easily than before he came. The newer notes were of small details he was likely to forget, like what he had for dinner last night or how he felt. Jelle knew that everyone usually told how they felt in daily groups, but he couldn't always count on himself being lucid like he was now. There had been plenty of times he would wake up and read his past notes in confusion because even though they had his neat cursive handwriting, they were far too chipper to be all his. So, it would point to him having one of his "relapses". He'll never forget the one day he came across one with a crude drawing of a particularly unhinged fairy. He had promptly thrown that one away.
    
    He didn't feel that when going over them, able to remember each one from yesterday and even earlier in the week. No forgetting so far. His psychiatrist will be thrilled.
    
    Breakfast was bland. Food hadn't much taste for him now. Sometimes he would go to meal times hoping that he might find some enjoyment out of it, but those times were rare and hospital food rarely did anything new or crazy to invigorate his absent tastebuds. Never thought he'd see the day when even eating became a chore.
    
    Speaking of chores, Jelle glanced over at his new roommate, Luca. He had arrived the day before and Jelle had promptly been pulled aside by one of the nurses who asked him to help Luca get accustomed to his new situation. Saying no seemed like a rude thing to do, and Luca seemed nice enough, even if the idea of having a new roommate in his space made Jel's stomach swim with nausea. He didn't remember his previous roommate as they had been gone for a bit now, and their name was now lost to Jelle. He'd have to go back through his notes to check on that later.
    
    Luca had a nurse trailing him during breakfast and Jelle had kept a polite distance from them, avoiding looking. He didn't want Luca to feel more uncomfortable than he probably already was with a nurse breathing down his neck. Jelle knew he didn't with the few times he had one keeping an eye on him after a few incidents that he can't remember and has no notes for.
    
    He and Luca were on their way to their first group together. Physical therapy. Jelle had to stop himself from outwardly blanching when he read his name on the group bulletin that day. Luca seemed happy with it though if his chattiness was anything to go off by. Jelle listened to him talk, lip quirking up slightly when he mentioned having some nurse have to deal with his bathroom issues. His face quickly dropped back into a neutral position when Luca mused further, especially at the idea of him leaving in a few days.
    
    "Wat een optimisme..."➊ He hoarsely mumbled to himself, before perking up when Luca brought up the idea of a game. Jelle cleared his throat before answering, mentally walking through the English of it. "I'm sure someone has thought of it before. The nurses don't like when we talk about those things, though." Jel informed, but his eyes had some mirth in them when he looked up at Luca. "Unlike them, I like games."
    
    
    
    ➊Such optimism
    

    memories swim and haunt you

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    tired and not at all ready for the therapy activity
    
    

    Location:

    walking to the outdoor area for physical group therapy
    
    

    Mentions:

    luca
    
    

    tags:

    weldherwings
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    rises the moon by liana flores
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Miaow]

you look at me
with those hollow eyes

NAGASE MIYU

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post includes a PTSD nightmare and implied abuse. Please proceed with caution.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    and it seems all a lie

    Miyu sat in the back of the art room, quietly painting on the circular table she normally chose. The tip of her tongue peeked out between her lips as she focused, watching the watercolours mix and swirl together. Whatever she did, she couldn't quite get the shapes she wanted, frowning as they warped on the page.
    
    As she reached for a thinner brush, her elbow knocked her cup of paint water onto the ground. Her stomach turned as she helplessly watched it spread. She tried to swallow the guilt she felt rising in her throat. She opened her mouth to apologise but... she wasn't sure what noises had left her mouth. All she could hear was ringing.
    
    Her eyes flickered upwards. A shadow stood in the corner. Her face felt hot, her fingers and toes tingling as panic set in. She shot to her feet. She wanted to clear up what she'd done, or simply run before he could punish her... but her legs were frozen, and her muscles turned to stone. He turned to her. Their eyes met, and the air was sucked from her lungs.
    
    She awoke in her bed, her back facing the rest of the room. She tried to catch her breath without her roommate noticing something was awry. She swallowed, rolling onto her back and pushing her fringe out of her face. She hadn't slept well in a long time, and that night had been no different. She knew the morning wasn't going to get much better.
    
    She sat on her bed as one of the staff took her vitals. She stared at the floor, resisting the urge to shove their prying hands away. She fidgeted anxiously, her fingers restless as thy gripped at her pyjama bottoms. Her temperature was the same as it was every other day. Her heart rate was a little high, obviously because this stranger was touching her without her permission, but the nurse jotted it down anyway, as she did every morning. She took her meds, changed into some different pyjamas, grabbed her notepad, and moved on with her routine.
    
    Next was breakfast time. The same array of food they had every morning... Fruit, cereal, pastries, toast... She shuffled drowsily from her room to take a look, her slippers scraping along the floor. She'd gotten into the habit of trying to pick the cheapest option she could... With her foster father and now with Akari, the guilt of costing them money still ate away at her. She settled on jam on toast, trying to calculate what a slice of bread and a packet of blueberry jam would add up to as she found herself a quiet corner to sit and eat in.
    
    Once she was finished, she neatly put her tray away before heading towards the art room, dragging her feet as she went. Her stomach knotted as her eyes met with a tray of watercolours. She wasn't sure she could paint today... she didn't want to make a mess... though as her eyes wandered further, she saw felt, glitter glue, pipe cleaners and... socks! She loved art, but on a day like this, maybe sock puppets was the only thing she could handle.
    
    Her eyes lit up as she saw Max across the room. He didn't do many of the group activities, she mostly only saw him during free time when they had time to play cards. She wondered if she'd get to see some of his art... Although, if it was sock puppets today, he wasn't exactly going to be creating work the level of Van Gogh. She signed "Hello" to him from across the room as she headed over, taking a seat beside him but still keeping her distance. Max had been teaching her a little ASL, as well as one of the nurses, but she was still inexperienced.
    "How you?" She signed, setting her notepad and pen down on the table, just in case.

    what they've told me so far

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    I can't sleep properly but boy am I excited to make sock puppets
    
    

    Location:

    Art room
    
    

    Mentions:

    Max
    
    

    tags:

    Chimney Swift
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[neon reverie]

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian because I care

SEFINA WILLIAMS

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post will have descriptions of past abuse and a mention of suicide. Proceed at your own risk.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    don't I deserve love, even if I'm too broken to hold it

    Nightmare, nightmare, nightmare; it lives in these walls, always closing in, never setting free. It breathes the same words from the same faces, painful and boring, always repeating because truths are theirs to tell and hers to break. It welcomes ghosts without care, their phantom hands tightening around throats and licking blood from lips. And you smile a trembled smile, terrified, all while hiding new gritted teeth sharpened by anger. You smile still, weakened by a treacherous belief darker and deeper than the shadows you keep. Keep using my blood and bruises as your paint and ink, so long as you find it pretty. So long as you keep looking.
    
    Terrors old and new crumble castles into ruins too dirtied by many for acts of preservation ; people have tried to build it back together, but every time, things crash like waves on battered shores. Is it worth every bit of false hope? Didn’t you know that some weathered beings, some wreckages, are simply cursed? Cursed to home forever nightmares you cannot pinch to shake. Instead, there are nails digging into your skin, silencing the screams roaring in uneasy chests, a cold whisper in your ear.
    
    “You are already awake.”
    
    Sefina is a mere prisoner on a plane inhabited by liars and lunatics— i am neither! something inside her continues to scream, before being petted on the head like an ignorant child. All the monsters grin from their corners, pretending their human facade doesn’t have its cracks showing every time their lips stretch too far. Horrible concern swims in every ocean, and two sirens glance at each other, waiting to see who will drown first. We want to help you feel better, is the lyrics that they croon over and over again.
    
    But… you choke on something that feels like shattered glass hearts and polluted souls. What if I feel worse?
    
    Sefina lives in a nightmare, one she tries hard to twist into a dream. And dream she shall, no matter how much is woven by delusions of grandeur. No matter how many she plays puppets with, hands shoving them into roles that fulfll lavender haze fantasies. Oh how realms stretch to fit the universe composed by one’s mind; venus spins, stardust gathering on her being like glitter on a dress. Somewhere else, Mars calls for war. Two things colliding and co-existing at the same time; it’s an existence that could only be beautiful in the way most doomed things are.
    
    “Halloween is in little over a week,” she reminds him over breakfast, the current main lead in her play. Ostin, dark disaster in heavenly shell , never fails to dazzle in her starlights. He stares blankly, and like always, she writes poems in his lacuna.
    
    “We should do a couple costume Ozzy. What do you think? I can be a fairy princess and you, my prince.” They aren’t a couple, she knows, and probably never will be. It is what makes this a fantasy; she will pretend they are, will pretend she doesn’t hear a voice hissing in the back of her mind. You disgust me— she doesn’t know who it is directed to, herself or him — and he will push back, leaking in enough reality to make everything feel all the more authentic. Sefina plays this game because she is bored and starving still. Feeding off of dreams just feels better, and you wonder— if it wasn’t meant to be, why do lies taste so much sweet than truths?
    
    “We are not…”
    
    She hushes him, finger pressed against pale lips. Not yet. Our scene is not finished. A bright smile of crushed stars. “Awesome! Let’s discuss the details over dinner, okay? I have to get to my group activity. You have fun making sock puppets! Ciao love~” And this is the art of living with a ticking heart— a grenade you throw through windows to make a point that language has no room for. This is how you got destroyed. This how you live. Sefina blows a kiss his direction, knowing it will be crumpled and discarded the very next moment. She doesn’t care. Sefina pockets the rejections, brittle entities saved to disects to construct again. The words will be rewritten later on.
    
    It is a fantasy after all.
    
    Yoga and dance were not the worst activities to do during the week— that is if the latter wasn’t taught like they were crippled seniors. A trampled flower of excitement sighed in the wind, its frail blossoms carried to lands she could not reach. At the very least she wasn’t suffering alone; familiar faces, tainted by the same kind of malice— all with their hands tied behind their backs. How nice. Sefina reaches her roommate and friend Beth, arms dramatically being thrown over the smaller frame as a loud complaint leaves her lips.
    
    “Ugh if this is going to be as slow and boring as the last time, I will go to the nearest tree and hang myself.” A morbid thing to say around these people, but she knows dark humour fits Beth like a glove. “Shouldn’t we shake things up? Go scream and shout and dance a little crazy?” the suggestive whisper sneaks around, careful to avoid uninvited ears. Eyes search the brightest star in the sky, scheming to take its place.
    
    Sefina smiles.
    
    It’s showtime.
    
    

    Put on your records and regret me.

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    let's be wild
    
    

    Location:

    near the outdoor area
    
    

    Mentions:

    ostin & beth
    
    

    tags:

    cavitea neverbackdown
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Ticl]

if you do it right, once is enough

Forbes Atwood

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post includes mentions of mental health and its challenges. Please proceed with caution.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    If I was two-faced, why would I be wearing this one?

    
    
    For Forbes delusion rolled in like a slow fog, becoming thicker as the day went on. At first, the morning was bright, the sky was clear, the sunlight warmed his shoulders. Nothing stood in the way of normal, everyday life. But soon, he would notice, a haze beginning to gather around him, and the air felt not quite so warm. After a while, the sun would change into a dim light bulb behind a heavy cloth. The horizon blurred in a gray mist, and he’d feel a thick heaviness in his lungs as he stood.
    
    First order of business, just like every morning, was the pills. Despite the fact that they did next to nothing to reduce his symptoms, a nurse still dropped them off in their plastic cup at his table during breakfast, crossing her arms and waiting until they were gone. Usually Forbes was pretty talkative with the staff in the morning, but after speaking with His Psychiatrist, Dr. Menzies, he was feeling annoyed. Once again he was trying to get clear answers out of the man but… once again couldn’t decipher the words he used.
    
    It was frustratingly annoying and in retaliation Forbes refused to talk for the rest of their session. He found ignoring the problem helped anyways. When he wasn’t talking about it he at least knew that his mind was playing with him. But when he had to explain the hallucinations he quickly began to question reality. And that made the situation far more uncomfortable than it ever needed to be… seriously, taking crazy things seriously was a serious waste of time.
    
    Thankfully, he put aside his mental backflips that morning in favor of the group activity. Art.
    Forbes really enjoyed participating because that meant there was always someone to talk to. And the more he talked, the more he did, the more time he wasted and the easier institute life became. And the people he’d been thrown in with weren’t all bad either. Some were fresh faces, some trapped within the hospital walls like him for more time than necessary. But the people he did get along with were there, particularly one man with the complexion of a god and the personality of a street lamp.
    
    “Ostin,” He barked, catching up with the guy and strolling alongside him into the art room. “When are you gonna tell that girl to piss off?” He lowered his voice slightly, flicking a lazy look behind his shoulder at the piece the model was just talking to. Sefina had a ripe good obsession it seemed. She got those often, usually to play a part in her little stories. Ostin caught her eyes recently and… seriously how could he not? He was regular ass Prince Charming material. The clean cut pristine type that would have any woman (crazy or not) crooning to be swept up into his arms.
    
    “She’s been following you around like a damn bad smell for days.” He commented, kicking out a chair so Ostin could sit before sliding into the one next to it. “Stick up for yourself?.”
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    Calm
    
    

    Location:

    Art room
    
    

    Mentions:

    Ostin
    
    

    tags:

    cavitea
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Twin Fantasy]

i'm sick and tired of praying,
i just wanna get better

DANTE NARVAEZ SANTA MARIA

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post contains discussions of body dysmorphia, body-checking, depression, self-harm, suicide, and body horror. Proceed with caution.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    you tried to pull the trigger but your hand began to shake

    The shatterproof mirror showed the squirming image of a wretched beast. The Pennsylvania Squonk, twisted into rolls of body fat. Each layer was oozing some sort of thick slime, and painted with red dots of acne on its light-brown flesh. Its hair stuck in a few directions. Its hair gel was left at home, since a low toxicity point is still something to be considered, so its follicles were flattened into the shape of its pillow. Its chin was almost inflated, skin sticking out miles and miles towards the floor. A monster.
    
    No. Dante tried to convince himself. It's just me.
    
    His therapist told him to avoid looking at himself for too long. He knew the mirror wasn't there to torture him -- every bathroom has a mirror, for god's sake. And yet, it called to him. The thing he gravitated towards hurt him. He felt like a moth flying around the tantalizing, burning bulb of a lamp.
    
    Dear Boss, I met a moth the other night who loved to play with fire...
    
    It was impossible to dig the husky little Latino boy out from underneath the wrinkled, meaty image in his reflection. It was impossible to see himself through kinder eyes. He was starting to think (and fear) that the therapist saw him the same way he saw himself, and so did everyone else.
    
    His roommate, of course, looked like he was carved out of sheer white marble. Not quite a Polykleitos -- not muscular enough to be -- but willowy and faelike in that way that made him almost impossible to look at. Dante almost wished his parents had sent him to some kind of fat person ward for fat people. But talking about yourself like that, it isn't "constructive". Always the same shit at group therapy. He needed to be "constructive" and say "constructive" things.
    
    I'd like to constructively get hit by a bus.
    
    As he was poking and prodding at the scars that adorned his arms and legs, a loud knock on the bathroom door awoke him from his stupor. Stammering out an apology, he finished getting dressed, and breathed a sigh of relief as at least one elderly patient narrowly avoided shitting on the floor this morning. He didn't like to get dressed in his room. That was one of the only things he didn't like doing in his room.
    
    He was tempted to skip the day's activities. He didn't much care for the obligatory art projects, found most of them kind of... juvenile? But he couldn't keep letting his social worker down by hiding in his room all day and drawing crude monsters with crayons. So fine. He'd show up, he'd take part in whatever stupid shit they talked him into, then he could go home faster. He'd been to plenty of wards before. It wasn't about getting better, it was about pretending you had. It was a game, a push and pull of social interactions that would eventually lead to his freedom. But he had intentions this time.
    
    He wasn't gonna fuck up his next attempt.
    
    A few people were already there. Including Dante's roommate, which he couldn't say he was particularly stoked about, but c'est la vie and God forbid he not spend 24 hours with some guy he already has to share a room with.

    and you dodged a bullet that you wanted to take

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    shitty
    
    

    Location:

    art room
    
    

    Mentions:

    ostin
    
    

    tags:

    Chimney Swift Miaow Ticl cavitea
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[qunqun]

You're boring.

MATT WRIGHT

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Trigger Warning: Mentions of delusions and paranoia. Depiction of smoking and depression. Also allusions to bullying due to one's mental illness.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    It's an indigo night, there's a chill

    The gray smoke curled from the dark haired man’s lips as he breathed up into the sky. Another puff of a cigarette as the smoke took a ring shape. Perhaps if he stayed out here for long enough, he could skip the day’s activity. Out here on the smoking deck, where he was allowed his two cigarettes of the day in order to slowly wean him off, break the habit of going out for smokes… Personally, he thought it was a personal grudge held against him with the knowledge that if he could smoke whenever he wanted, he’d never show up to any of the “events” that were held. Art therapy, yoga, music therapy, all of it provided some entertainment at first but eventually led to a dulled out tiredness that seeped into his bones.
    
    It was useless, all of it.
    
    “Mr Wright” The jailer had come with her bleached blonde hair and only there for aesthetics thick rimmed glasses. Matt turned for a moment and then turned back, thoroughly and somewhat petulantly ignoring the nurse as she called again: “Mr Wright. The art therapy is about to begin.”
    
    “... And?” Matt asked, hand holding the cigarette between his index and his middle finger.
    
    “You agreed to go in exchange for another nicotine dosage according to Dr Martin”
    
    “And you think my word means something.” Matt said with a snort, lips pulled back into a grin as he looked down, administering some taps to the burning nicotine between his fingers, watching bits of red and gray ash flutter from his cigarette like feathers.
    
    “I’d hope it’d mean something, otherwise that means we can’t trust you.” The quiet threat looming in the air, wrapped in candy coated sugary sweetness. He was going to have to go to that fucking sock puppet making workshop wasn’t he?
    
    He stared at the nurse for a while, the dark stare of a disappointed professor who was tenured and had seen too many children try to get shit past him to be surprised by anything anymore. The nurse met the frigid gaze with a sickening smile. Bitch. “Fine. Cigarette’s almost done anyways.”
    
    As a bit of defiance from the prisoner, he threw the butt of the cigarette into the pot of a plant. Gave the nurse a tense wolf-like smile, daring her to say anything in regards to his poor behavior. Littering, apparently, was a more excusable crime than tardiness in the world of St. Margaret’s.
    
    Bribery whispered in the hopes of brown and white sticks which would only lead to an early grave, he was led to the sock puppets and sat down next to… Dante. That was his name.
    
    They put him next to someone who was going to bore the shit out of him by themselves. Dante was just… annoying, to be completely frank. Some people in this hospital had little idiosyncrasies that made them fun: delusions about creatures skittering in the walls, a forgetful memory which allowed Matt’s own creativity to come up with fantastical lies about their relationship. A breeding ground for Matt’s wretched curiosity to run wild and provide him entertainment for a short amount of time in this world of static and gray.
    
    Dante was too… timid. Too… in his own head to really be any fun unless Matt felt like being actively antagonistic. So Matt side eyed the man, took in his appearance, and then didn’t say a word as he was handed a sock to decorate.
    
    Never really the talkative type unless he found some kind of enjoyment out of the conversation, and definitely never one for the exchange of pleasantries, preferring instead to get straight to the point.
    
    He continued fiddling with felt before he paused.
    
    The most dangerous thing in Matt’s entire existence was occurring: he was growing bored.
    
    So he turned to Dante, lips curling back into the smile of a cat approaching a bird before it pounced, hand in the sock
    
    “You think they’ll let me get away with turning this sock into a dick?” Not even a hello or a how are you doing. “What’re you making.”
    
    He didn’t care, he just wanted to alleviate his boredom.
    

    Come out and haunt me, I know you want me

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    I'm booooorrred
    
    

    Location:

    Sock Puppets
    
    

    Mentions:

    Dante, Jelle, Forbes
    
    

    tags:

    Twin Fantasy
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    indigo nights by tamino
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[qunqun]

oh hey you single?

GRAHAM BYRNE

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Trigger Warning: Patient-Staff relationships, heavy flirting

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    You won't stay with me, I know

    A woman walked out of the storage room, looking somewhat flustered. Ten minutes later, a large Irishman walked out, fixing his hair as he started walking to the courtyard where yoga was going to take place.
    
    Graham was a man of simple pleasures, really. He kept his eyes out for fellow patients, and immediately locked onto someone that he thought he’d have a fun time chatting up. One of the people who hadn’t fully gotten the Graham experience just yet - he loved chasing new people, after all.
    
    “Hey love.” He said with a winning grin, the kind of bright smile that could replace the sun with its warmth and radiance. Bright green eyes full of mischief and trouble looked Celeste up and down appreciatively, no mistaking for what he was doing exactly. Though quick enough that if it weren’t for a pink tongue wetting his lips it could’ve been passed as a quick once over. “Looking ravishing today as always.”
    
    Because he was insatiable at the end of the day. He had a pleasant enough voice, somewhat husky, heavily accented with Irish brogue.
    
    “Are ya ready for yoga?”
    
    It was a confusing thing, the reasons behind Graham’s hospitalization. Something in his eyes and his continual smile, while warm and inviting, bleeding charisma from every pore in his lightly freckled face, didn’t really speak to too much depth of character. A skirt chaser if anyone had ever seen it. A shallowness, and a certain… appreciation for bad ideas.
    
    Decidedly not the type of person that should be stuck here… Maybe he was bipolar going through a manic episode, maybe he just did something incredibly stupid and got labeled a danger to himself as a result. Who knew, he refused to talk to the staff about his feelings, and point blank didn’t talk about it with other patients. But it was hard to imagine him having the capacity to be anything other than… well, a horny fuckboy
    
    “I won’t mind if you feel like going behind me, watchin’ me bend over an’ all that.” He said with a small wink, tongue pressed against his cheek in a fascinating display of maturity. At least, most of his flirtations were somewhat jokingly - a nice dance upon a line of genuine advances and banter between friends. He let the other person decide how serious he was being, after all. “Can’t keep your eyes offa me, it’s a curse. I know.”
    
    Arrogance bled from his self-aggrandizing manner, even if he was mostly joking about people not being able to take their eyes off.
    
    “Should also know by the way” And he made eye contact again, soft spoken like he was actually getting serious, a strange mix of caring and glee reflected in the green eyes. “I’m rather… flexible, y’know. For whatever you’d like.”
    
    He laughed a little bit. Somebody stop him.
    

    But you can have your way with me till you go

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    u wanna fuk?
    
    

    Location:

    Walking 2 yoga
    
    

    Mentions:

    Celeste
    
    

    tags:

    floralmoon
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    let's fall in love for the night by finneas
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Sugarnaut]

My father understands the demons I wrestle with in my daydream...

TRINITY ADORA
SALVADOR-CARSON

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post contains content written about a character who has Dissociative Identity Disorder by someone who does not have D.I.D. This is not a true reflection of living with the disorder and is a work of fiction. Other content warnings include: Depersonalization, derealization, mentions of eating disorders, foul language, anxiety, amnesia.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    And knows what to say when they are winning

    Fronting:

    Lorelai
    

    Co-conscious:

    Sasha and Dodge
    
    Were there no birds this morning? The gentle meadow always woke Lorelai with the softest drift of sweet chirps into the waking world but instead her eyes only peaked out to see the back of an unrecognizable head of hair five feet away in the dampest beige room. She was grateful the sun still beamed warmth like in her cabin as she sat upright to keep still of the body. She would tell her heart was beating fast with her forcing an exhale longer than her intake of this sterile air. Lorelai was oh so quiet in her movements as she got up early in the morning. She wanted to be courteous to her roommate, even if she last remembered a different girl, letting herself pick out clothes that made her feel more herself.
    
    Truly, it was a distraction for the distorted state she was in. Trinity had too many black clothing for her liking but Lorelai still folded them better. Is it really "folded better" if they weren't folded at all? The girl didn't take care of herself as much as Lorelai wished. The outfit for today would do, Lorelai thought to herself in content of her comfy outfit that wa surely more thought out than her usual, darting her eyes up when the nurses walked in for "the routine". The eye contact was weary as these nurses were new too. How long has the body been here? She didn't know but she whispered to not be a bother still, "

    Good morning.

    " Her breathy voice never projected well anyways but she remembered routine from before, sitting on the edge of her bed to allow them to check her with no issues. Lorelai didn't speak, letting the past experiences, whatever they may be, let the nurses do them as quickly and efficient as they were. She didn't bother to even say good morning to her new roommate before preoccupying the bathroom they shared. Lorelai just needed one more minute alone, both to change into her clothing for the day and to let the medication take some control.
    
    There was something greatly wrong if she was fronting.
    
    Lorelai never lifted her feet too far from the ground, letting her body glide as the flowy skirt hid her legs. Nuisance was not a word Lorelai wanted to be describe even in her state of... haze, so she followed where the noise and smell of breakfast lied. Quiet and unfocused, she went to sit at anywhere... "Real world" food was plain but she still ate it. Was the body eating properly? She noticed how the nurses whispered as she ate her eggs and toast... Right, drink some coffee too. Lorelai could only smile when she pressed the paper cup against her lips, whispering out loud like he was sitting right beside her, "

    Good morning to you too.

    ". Although Lorelai wouldn't admit to giving into anxious behavior, she did feel a sense of relief with Sasha now here to help. They were a tag team in navigating but his words didn't ease her either.
    
    I have not one ounce of a clue on why you're here. We'll have to figure it out... together.
    
    Together. Lorelai was caught up in listening to realize she was of the last to finish her meal, well cup of joe. Maybe the mumbling to herself gave the nurses ease that she was "normal" today. Their words, not hers. If she had a decision, inclusive wording would be mandatory within interaction, but instead, Lorelai kept her head down and mouth shut. Today was a "Lorelai" day and she was going to enjoy it even if she needed help from Sasha to answer the simple questions of their psychiatrist. The moment she sat down, she knew the man could tell the difference in aura with her.
    
    "You're smiling." He was interested today. Apparently, Trinity didn't smile. Lorelai thought she had a great smile, crooked teeth and all. Lorelai's smile had closed lips but the corner of her mouth curled up to show the apple of her cheeks. When Lorelai smiled, she meant it with pearly eyes and a dimple exposing itself. She didn't remember this doctor's face either but she had a fascinating conversation about her house chores today - and how the doc hated doing the dishes at home but a man had to help out in the house just a little. Right? Dodge applauded Lorelai's waste of the psychist's time although she didn't notice he was here the entire time. Lorelai didn't think their nice homestead conversation was a "waste of time". Did Dodge watch quietly during these sessions on the regular?
    
    A nurse waited for Lorelai right out the door, monotoned in telling her to follow this way. She was still quiet when she peered through to see a group of fellow patients... An outdoor activity with... yoga mats. Lorelai was sad- no, disappointed? Not quite that correct word either... that she wasn't participating in an activity like that. Yoga kept her mind at ease, although she preferred it at the top of the nearest hill to her house instead. Lorelai thanked the guiding nurse to her activity, seeing the circle tables full of crafts and some people already starting the childish activity of sock pupperty.
    
    Assholes just want to see us switch to the kid that bad. Fucking pedos.
    
    Disappointed was the correct word as Lorelai glided to a table. She didn't know where to sit but Dodge insisted the one with the younger patients. She wasn't going to deny simple requests like this so she took a seat. The girl was her roommate and she didn't say anything mean in the morning so... This would just be the activity today Lorelai had to bear through like any other with Child. Lorelai was respectful in letting the two of them interact without her, in earshot away, an immature joke peaked Dodge's interest.
    
    I picked the wrong table, let's sit over there. Let's make dick socks too!
    
    "

    I'd prefer to not make something vulgar, thank you.

    ".
    

    and I've been told i'm heavy to hold

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    A little sad she's not doing yoga.
    
    

    Location:

    Art Therapy Room - table with Miyu and Max.
    
    

    Mentions:

    Miyu and Max
    
    

    tags:

    Chimney Swift Miaow
    
    

    ooc:

    i kinda just placed her anywhere if that's cool.
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Gao]

[/border]

"TO BE IMMORTAL; LIKE GOD."

AMBRUS MIKSA

THE WIDOWER

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post includes: drug abuse, implied needles, body horror, death, mentions abt his lanky ass spider body.
  

  
  
  

  
  

  CONTINUE

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    
    Mulberry fruit still reddens at its ripeness.
    
    

    Sleep was a ceaseless tide.
    
    Mind tethered an impassable veil, its divide was formed of saltwater and foam. A soupy brine that formed paralysed resistance between surface and asphyxiation, Ambrus had grown well-acquainted with the feeling that served as an obsolete reminder, for in sedimentary detritus it would sit, inhabiting the regoliths of his body and resonating recitation of an unanswered hymn:
    
    You said together.
    
    The pathetic nature of grief had Ambrus tracing them amongst dreams, searching amidst silhouetted souls. A ship of Theseus only to be sloughed bare against the same cliff-face. He was the same as he was then, appearing simultaneously young and old, aimless as light yet weathered as a northern mountain.
    
    Over the constellated mappings of his arm, scar tissue dug into flesh soft as butter at room temperature. He sometimes rubbed at the etchings of history. Not to tear the tracks from skin, nor curl nails beneath pocked epidermis and pull it still shaking, warm and wet from the bone, but for the nostalgia of its slow and measured pressure.
    
    A hovering prong, teeth ringing with ache as they imprinted crescents into a strap of dry cow hide taut upon the tongue. In this place, those memories were rendered nameless. A subtle agony that’d wring his neck like a cloth, how he still couldn’t hear her name without flinching.
    
    Left a hollow body of devotion, now exhumed of patron deity. Bones stripped down to a sun-bleached carcass that cradled a cage of grief, he’d tend to it like an apple orchard. Watching, prosaic, as weeds sprouted from between each rib rung and coiled suffocatingly fervid, each knoll of his spine a beacon of lethargy sharpened on a whetstone of crushed poppy opium and needle-point bliss.
    
    In the tension before every sunrise, tar blotted undereyes. The room was still, did not breathe, nor turn to reach for his hand. A room of two bodies where he’d harbour his grief, one bound by frost and one a pair of white-knuckles. He held grief from the teeth, in calling their name like a plea of worship, held grief long after warmth ebbed from their body, held grief in the silence of a lifeless thing that demanded recognition.
    
    How does he map the space at his side, now that it is vacant? Without compass nor star, he’d been unmoored. Left to drift and found himself unable to be hauled back into the light. He could chase hollow entertainment, sink nails and drag others down to the level of bedrock, but nothing would account for feeling the world split apart at the seams and being left to drown in its aftermath.
    
    A widower masquerading unperturbed, the gold cast to ring finger remained even in Saint Margaret. Glinting ascetic lighting as his thumb kneaded its smooth slope, he took all the likes of a bookstore cat, sharp eyes and languid grin veiled in regular brazen candour.
    
    Faces and names of newcomers had reduced to the importance of gouache, but there was always a charm to targeting fresh decay. Those not yet settled to the environment, pinched by splinters of uncertainty only to be met with the undesirable likes of Ambrus.
    
    At breakfast he’d catapulted a lump of viscid porridge towards an unfortunate woman. Watched the brain-matter grey be dashed over the table and corner of their tray with no more than a serpentine, “oopsies.” Elbow to surface and jaw propped on hand, he’d shrug blame like an unwanted coat as the spoon came to rest back between the click of smiling teeth. “Clumsy me.”
    
    Was it mean? Yes. Did he care? Only when reprimanded for it.
    
    And as he meandered into the art room, fingers smacking flat to the crown of the doorframe upon entry,— common tradition for whatever divinely masculine urge compelled him to do so, —another rare face fell into the hellion’s orbit.
    
    Roomie.
    
    It was not an ideal arrangement, accommodation with the deaf boy. Disinterested in coaxing their troubles or body from the coffin-esque solace they’d found in the hidden cave of their bed, Ambrus had left the kid mostly to his own devices.
    
    Hopefully those devices had nothing to do with the topic of dick-socks currently ruminating from the group.
    
    Lathering an annoying hand through the boy’s hair upon passing— a hello, —he dropped into a seat next to Maxmillian. Reclined his spine into the rigid back of the chair, and kicked sock-clad feet onto the table. A vision of insouciance contrasting with apprehensive neighbour, it’d be near impossible to not notice the waves of disquiet seeping from the boy.
    
    He thought kids were meant to love glitter and googly eyes. Who knew hand-puppets could be so intimidating.
    
    Spindly fingers locating felt-tip, large letters were scrawled to beige paper before being slid over to Max.
    
    A man of silken charm, Ambrus always knew just what to say:
    
    

    YOU SNORE LIKE A FUCKING FREIGHT TRAIN.​

    And the ashes rest, sat in a common urn.
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    MOOD:

    Hi puppet gang xoxo
    
    

    Location:

    Art room.
    
    

    Mentions:

    Penelope + Max
    
    

    Interactions:

    Chimney Swift
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Bury Me
    THE LUKA STATE
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Chimney Swift]

I want you to notice
when I'm not around.

MAX BERKOWITZ

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Contains some mild self-deprecation and social anxiety. Overall, though, this post should be safe for most readers.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    I need a little room to breathe.

    
    
    Just a few seconds after Max found his seat in the back of the art room, his friend Miyu appeared in the doorway after him, signing a cautious “hello” to him as soon as their eyes met. He almost smiled, a faint half-expression briefly crossing his face. “Hi, Miyu.” Max spelled out her name slowly and clearly on his fingers, to make sure that she had enough time to recognize each of the letters. Whenever he could, he tried to assist her in learning his language by making it easy and accessible to her. “I’m good. Thank you.”
    
    He wasn’t doing good at all. It was an unforgivable bald-faced lie, but “good” was one of the small handful of words that he was sure Miyu knew. Besides, he didn’t want to upset her by admitting that he was nervous about participating in a group. He knew that she enjoyed art, and was impressively good at it as well… he’d seen a few of her paintings from other art therapy sessions. If he had her talent and creative spark, he wouldn’t have to be sitting here worrying about making a fool of himself. It must be nice, he thought, to be able to express oneself through art without being laughed at.
    
    “How are you?” He repeated her question back to her, wanting to give her a chance to use her newly-learned vocabulary words if she felt confident enough to do so. Max could easily sympathize with her shyness, but he couldn’t imagine the struggle of having to learn a whole new language to communicate when she was already in such fragile mental health.
    
    As the other patients assigned to art therapy accumulated in the room, the two of them were soon joined by two more: first was a small curly-headed young patient that Max had seen around but never interacted with openly. They appeared to be deep in thought, saying nothing to Max or to Miyu, not that Max minded the lack of confrontation. Soon after them, though, came someone much more recognizable.
    Ambrus.
    
    Max’s eyes widened and he straightened up, waving awkwardly to his roommate, who did not return the wave– rather, he ruffled his fingers across Max’s scalp, tousling the younger man’s messy brown hair, before slumping down into the seat next to him with his feet up on the table. Instantly feeling his heart rate spike, Max let out a quiet nervous laugh, unable to think of anything to say while staring at his roommate’s patterned grip socks. Fortunately for him, though, Ambrus was willing to initiate the customary polite table conversation.
    
    With a piece of construction paper and a blue felt-tip marker, Ambrus scrawled out a message for Max and slid it sideways across the table to him. Without picking it up, Max’s eyes passed slowly over the note…
    …He turned crimson, his jaw dropping before he could bring a hand to his mouth to try to hide his mortified reaction.
    
    Did he really…?
    No one had ever told him that before. Not his roommate at Ohio State University, not even his own parents.
    But it wasn’t like he had any way of knowing for himself, right? For all he knew, it was true.
    
    I’m never going to sleep again.
    
    Hands trembling, Max grabbed a nearby pink glitter gel pen from the table and hastily jotted his sparkly neon apology down onto the margins of the paper before sliding it back to his roommate.
    
    I am so sorry.
    
    He noticed, immediately afterward, that he’d accidentally gotten glittery pink gel ink on the side of his palm. The curse of being left-handed: always smudging his lettering.
    Attempts to rub it off were futile. His hand was stained like a sparkly Lady Macbeth.
    Great. Now he looked like even more of an idiot.
    
    Maybe it wasn’t too late to leave. He could just tell his social worker that it was too much and he’d try again tomorrow or something. If so much as a minor inconvenience struck him now, he was going to drop dead.
    
    
    

    'Cause I'm one step closer to the edge, and I'm about to break.

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    
    
    

    Mood:

    Mortified
    
    

    Location:

    Art Therapy Room
    
    

    Mentions:

    Miyu, Trinity Ambrus
    
    

    tags: Miaow Sugarnaut Gao

    
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[floralmoon]

"where do broken hearts go?"

celeste archambeau

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Contains mentions of avoiding recovery, medication dosage increase, and light flirting, proceed with caution.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    i tell them my story, it's never enough.

    The dark circles under her eyes have only gotten darker since her admittance to the hospital. Despite her medication being upped to 150mg of Trazadone, the girl still struggled to sleep at night, tossing and turning in a constant battle with her thoughts. The sessions with her therapist seemed to drag on, seeming to talk about the same things over and over, but getting nowhere, as though running on a treadmill that just wouldn't turn off.
    
    It was roughly 5 am when the nurses came in to do their last check for the night before waking all the patients up within the next hour, but for Celeste, this just gave her permission to climb out of bed and request her cosmetics. Slinking out of her room, she shuffles to the nurses' station, her slippers clopping against the cold tile floor, she reached the desks that sat behind glass windows, arms crossed against her chest. There were minimum words exchanged since this was a daily routine at this point, the nurse opened a drawer and pulled out a Ziplock bag, handing it off to the patient.
    
    Quietly, she returns to her room and begins to carefully apply the makeup, adding extra concealer to her under eyes to give the appearance of some sort of sleep. After concentrating for about an hour or so, she could hear the nurses going around, waking up the other patients, one of them enters her room, "You have a lot of dedication in waking up early to do your makeup every day."
    
    Celeste quietly shook her head, it wasn't about dedication, it was about keeping up her appearance because God forbid she looked anything less than perfect, even in the hospital she felt as though she had a reputation to uphold, the same as she did while attending school. With one last look in the mirror of her compact, she snaps it shut and returns everything back to the plastic bag, carefully sealing up the bag to avoid disturbing the contents inside. With a quick outfit change, Celeste was ready for the day, or at least as ready as she thought she would be.
    
    The group of patients all made their way down to the cafeteria where they would sit and enjoy breakfast along with some conversation, some would happily talk the morning away while others would much rather sit in silence. Celeste was one of the people who refused to speak with others while having breakfast, taking in the conversations of the patients around her, and trying to get intel on what is going on currently in the hospital.
    
    Breakfast was coming to a close, and it was time for their first activity of the day to begin, according to the paper that was on the notification board, Celeste would be attending yoga today with a few other patients. As they made their way down the hallway, a giant red-headed man steps into stride with the girl, he spoke up with a thick Irish accent, "Hey love.. Looking ravishing today as always.”
    
    Her eyes roll hard, but a grin spreads across her face, "Not looking half bad yourself." He continues to speak, asking if she was ready for yoga, which resulted in a quick nod, as he explains to her that he wouldn't mind if she stood behind him and stared and that he was flexible for... anything. Celeste smirks at him with the last comment, "I'll keep that in mind for future reference." Followed by a wink, and moving her hair behind her shoulder, at least the person flirting with her was attractive, which honestly, most of the people here were.
    
    That was just one of the many things that kept her mind off a complete recovery, though she knew how to play along pretty well. She was determined to get out soon, especially with the way that she had been playing things up to her therapist, but whether they believed it or not was a completely different question. Entering the room where the group would be doing yoga, her mind swapped to the task at hand, looking the best while doing some not-so-pretty stretches, there was no way that she would be caught looking unattractive, even in the hospital.
    
    
    

    i'm losing myself again.

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    oh hi mister
    
    

    Location:

    otw to yoga
    
    

    Mentions:

    Graham
    
    

    tags:

    qunqun
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Twin Fantasy]

nobody believes me,
but i'm always right

THELMA AINSLEY

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post contains discussions of delusions, obsessive compulsions, self-harm, and conspiracy theories.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    but will they know, when the morning comes

    "Did you take your meds?"
    
    "I did. Y'just watched me swallow 'em."
    
    "Open your mouth."
    
    Thelma curled their lip a bit and opened their mouth. The nurse at the medicine hand-out desk stared at them. "Lift up your tongue." Thelma rolled their eyes and did as they were told. The nurse scratched his chin. "...Your cheeks?" Oh. Dammit. Thelma pried their right cheek away from their gums, so the nurse could see inside. (He flashed his tiny penlight just for good measure.) "The other one."
    
    "No."
    
    "Mizz Ainsley."
    
    They sighed, and admitted defeat. Three pills clung to the inside of their left cheek. They were given another glass of water, and then had to go through the whole ritual again to make sure they weren't hiding them a second time. They were running out of places to hide the pills, so they had started re-using them. They packed pills in their lower lip like chewing tobacco, in their upper lip like... some other really weird place to put things. Every edge of the space below their tongue, in their cheeks and behind their teeth.
    
    The antipsychotics worked to clear their mind. But then they'd start thinking too hard, about the things they knew were true, the nanomachines in the pills started crowding up their brain. Telling them things weren't real.
    
    They were dangerously powerful.
    
    After that fiasco, they collected their breakfast and horked it down despite not really being hungry. Then they had a brief chat with their therapist about "delusions". Missus Therapist liked to ask questions, and Thelma didn't like to answer them. Missus Therapist didn't explicitly use the word "delusions", but Thelma had heard it be thrown around.
    
    "Thelma, I've got a challenge for you today." Missus Therapist smiled. Thelma went rigid. "Just go to one of the daily activities, okay? I promise nobody's allowed to microchip you or read your thoughts in the hospital." Thelma's hand flew to the back of their neck, and found that it felt the same as yesterday. Smooth and flat. They gave it a quick prod with their middle finger, hard enough to feel a bit of pain.
    
    "Ow."
    
    "Careful."
    
    "You'd like if I was careful, wouldn't you?" Thelma wrinkled their nose before getting up to leave. They shut the light off with Missus Therapist still in the room. Then they turned it back on... One two three four one two three four one two three. Then they left for real.
    
    Fingers tangled in their own hair and they gave their scalp a quick tug as they tried to rationalize going to the daily activity. It was obviously a trick, right? But they didn't want to get in any serious trouble and be probed or microchipped or lobotomized or-- ow. They took too hard of a pull at their hair. But they decided to play it safe and go for the outdoor activity -- that way the government dogs couldn't gas them to death.
    
    Their clothes weren't really made for yoga, but whatever. They ran outside, hastily passing by their newest roommate and some obnoxious guy who seemed really horny.
    
    Another government tactic.
    
    "You know," they said, suddenly, ignoring the fact that the two were clearly occupied, "men hired by the g-g-government will often utilize their sex appeal to bring others into the fold, so- so if you aren't careful you're gonna be anally probing rioters before you learn to drive." Then they began speeding away to avoid possibly getting accosted by the charming Irish assailant. Though whether or not they were fast enough is anybody's guess, the man had legs like a spider.

    we are still human, how will they know?

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    a little nervous
    
    

    Location:

    on the way to yoga
    
    

    Mentions:

    celeste, graham
    
    

    tags:

    qunqun floralmoon
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[neverbackdown]

The world fucked me enough it got to see the goods


Beth Howard

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post mentions drug use, attempted suicide, depression, anxiety, PTSD, along with thoughts and feelings of the character.
  Viewers discretion is advised.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    Having a threesome tonight

    So Beth do you think we can get through this session without the usual level of sarcasm?. Beth's eyes flickered from the roof towards her therapist, a small shrug was given, well the best she could do while lying on the couch, before she turned her head back towards the ceiling above her "That depends can you ask questions without the usual level of stupidity" an almost silent yet frustrated scoff could be heard and Beth smirked to herself as she crossed her ankles, placing her hands together over her stomach contently, if she was going to suffer through these sessions then so was the therapist.
    
    To an outside eye Beth would seem like just that, content, calm and collected, a facade that greatly hid the true turmoil and pain the girl was experiencing deep down. To be honest, she didn't know where one trauma ended and the next began, a collection of static jumbled wires all crossed over each other making it impossible to even think straight somedays. Talking about it will help, how are you, open up.. the mantra of the ward, the same words said over and over until they lost all meaning. Opening up just didn't seem viable, it was too late, she was over exaggerating she'd be laughed at, no-one actually cares, the voice in her head drowned out all other reason and logic, leaving only its cold haunting voice at the forefront of her mind, it was just easier not to talk.
    
    Beth you're not going to get any better until we start addressing your trauma and pain The silence was broken as Beth lifted her arms, her eyes skimming the scars on her wrist. It was a night that she revisited frequently, wondering how she had been "saved" although that's not the word Beth would use, had she locked the door? or did he kick it down? the details blurry from the concoction of drugs Beth had also been on. Sometimes Beth had to wonder if she actually had died, had succeeded that night and was now being punished in the afterlife, Hospital, Hell it's all the same thing.
    
    "Ahh see I'm a fan of ignoring a problem until it goes away so addressing it doesn't work for me but thanks Doc" Beth's eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, standing up as she noticed the time, another session with very few words said, it was like Beth was going for a record "Time to twerk out the demons" Beth nodded towards the clock as she stretched before saluting her therapist goodbye and hurriedly leaving the room before another word could be said.
    
    She didn't understand why dance and yoga was being used as therapy tool but it was actually humourous for her to think about depression running away scared of the salsa, anxiety shaking in fear at jazz hands, ptsd hiding from the downward dog, the last thought struck a nerve, a little too close to home and Beth was relieved to be shaken from her thoughts as arms wrapped around her. A smile lighting up her face as she looked at her friend and roommate, while it had been rocky at first, Beth was beyond grateful to have been roomed with Sefina, the only good thing to come from this place of misery.
    
    A laugh escaped her lips at Sefina's comment "aerial dance gone right" she mused an amused smirk present on her lips "awh its so stupid like how is slutdropping meant to cure my problems" Standing up tall and pushing her shoulders back Beth did the best impression she could of their instructor. "Cant be sad if your doing the Trikonasana, yes Karen i can be still sad and sore"
    
    As Sefina suggested they shake things up a devilish glint flashed across Beth's eyes as she bit her lip "now that could make it more interesting" her eyes scanned the crowd around her as amusement crept back onto her features. She was sure everyone here was thinking the same thing, how stupid this therapy was.
    
    
    
    

    Me, the Bath and the Toaster

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    Fanfuckingtastic
    
    

    Location:

    Courtyard
    
    

    Mentions:

    Sefina
    
    

    tags:

    neon reverie
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[cavitea]

"They say I look like him; a shame."

OSTIN BAEUR

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post may make mention of dissociation, self-deprecation, substance abuse, an past traumatic relationships.

  
  
  

  
  

  I accept

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    It's just lighting, texture, body movement, and your soul's expression.

    
    Once he could have sworn that every shambling mound of flesh had a soul attached by balloon strings, a weight that lifted higher for those pious and weighed down those of sin. He was convinced once that this was how the world simply worked, that they all fit into a box of good or bad, light or a swallowing endless night.
    
    Now he wasn't sure and that sucked.
    
    Ostin liked to be sure of things, to handle himself and put control on what he had and mold it into the shapes he saw in his head. Lungs were meant to breathe in air once, exhale after cheeks turned a bruised color and the slaps of his betraying hands brought back the reality. Life was meant to have this sort of order, this sort of path that could be followed and walked along with trepidation sinking into waddling steps.
    
    This place, with blanched walls and bleaker futures sat instead on its curling stool an omniscient force; it was suffocating. There was a reason he had to stalk in a reminiscent haunt along tiled floors and scratchy carpets. All this had been done to him by the misstep between love and a spiral towards a pit he thought himself free of. White lines and trailing smoke were all but a memory now, a haze only reached through by the almost manicured hands of another, laughter that didn't belong in his head yet stuck there all the same.
    
    She called him Ozzy and he sat there, an alien to the captures of flesh, staring blankly ahead.
    
    She wanted to be matching fairies and he wanted to remember what it was like to feel rain.
    
    In a way she was rain, droplets falling on hands outstretched, eager and naïve of the torrential downpour awaiting them. Her eyes reflected it despite the winks and crooning bats of lashes. Almost he considered her, another figurine kept on a shelf in a case to spin around. Briefly he mused if that was where she found the audacity of all of her actions, no less than smothering with a promise for dinner and hardly words out of his mouth. Again his lips tightened into the lines he found himself hating on the face of his mother, a crease that refused the steam of iron and soaked with displeasure.
    
    Sefina was unpleasant, something Ostin was sure he wanted to convince himself of as fingers took their steps and he ghosted back along the floors. One step before the other, a trail he knew wouldn't leave a mark or shadow, something frigid and cold and —
    
    “When are you gonna tell that girl to piss off?”
    
    His head raised and he was walking into a room, hands held before him before they stuffed away into the escape of pockets. Time had passed he was sure of, biting on bruised lip as a chair made contact with his shins and he hid the shaking behind a grip on the back. More and more time spaced itself apart, stars travelled between planets but not offered in the same to his head.
    
    A sigh, disguised over a trembling breath as eyes looked at messy hair and the messier words.
    
    A bad smell.
    
    "I don't think she's all that sinister. Besides, she's told me we're wearing 'matching couple costumes' for Halloween, can you say that much?"
    
    The smile offered was stolen from another, practiced in a mirror his roommate couldn't see. A roommate he caught sight of and offered a beckoning grace towards, if only for the sake of 'friendliness' as they called it. Clenching still to a chair untaken he offered back his attention to Forbes. He hadn't given much thought to any of them really but Forbes gave off the air of something okay, another doll that hid cracks a bit better.
    
    "Why don't you also go as a fairy and then ruin her very Disney-esque wicked schemes? I'm but a damsel with very weak ankles." Sarcasm he tried, knuckles unbinding themselves from the plastic of chair until they pressed against the cool fabric of pants and he settled in a tilt on the seat.
    

    All i ever do is drown.

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    Here there, the time doesn't match the one in his head
    
    

    Location:

    a sock puppet hostage
    
    

    Mentions:

    Sefina, Dante, Forbes
    
    

    tags:

    neon reverie , Twin Fantasy , Ticl
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Harrowhark]

Oh no! I blinked! Can I retake it?

Jackson Flores-Belrose

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Moderate depictions of doing drugs, needles, vague vomitting mention? Wanna cover my bases

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    There will always be a light at the end of the tunnel.

    
    
    Life took a turn in September. A holiday weekend house party, first of someone else's senior year in college, and the only fun thing to do in Ohio. Jackson wouldn’t miss it, not for the world. Newly single, unchained, he needed to get back out there. With the lights down and music up, it was hard to meet anyone. Not that it mattered, Jackson was too coked up to even see his ex just 5 feet away. Anything to take the edge off. Anything to-
    
    In the bathroom, Jack could hardly feel the pain as his arm was tied off. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he shouldn’t be spending so much money on a substance that didn’t last for shit. This was the good shit. All he had to do was find a vein-
    
    Sirens played in his ears long before Jax could will his eyes open. Bright lights blurred together as a halo came into view. A golden crown atop his guardian Angel. If he’d known that was Beel’s bleach blond hair, he’d have fought him off. “You’re such a fucking mess.” A voice he could hardly place until-
    
    Everything was cold. The hospital gown left most of his body uncovered when he awoke. Needles in his arms felt like ice. Even the starry sky out the window seemed to leak into the room, chilling his skin a hue of blue. Feeling his stomach threatening to give way, Jackson ran, only to be pulled back by his life support. Kneeling on the cold tile floor, time was up and his mouth gave way to-
    
    Back home, as soon as he could be discharged, Jackson only remembered hours of yelling, in English, in Spanish, somehow in a language he could only define as “scientific bullshit.” None of which he understood. A plastic baggy full of pills only complicated the situation. Was he in trouble for not taking drugs or for taking them? One being a prescription he had been selling did not clarify the situation for him. Shouldn’t rules be-
    
    Sleepless nights plagued his days withdrawal sunk its claws into his skin. Jax was no longer human when he felt this way. He was a creature that’s only purpose was to obtain cocaine. He’d give his life for it. As long as he got a hit, he’d do anything. He’d even-
    
    Police don’t care when you’ve turned into a drug seeking animal, they don’t see the changes in your DNA. They still get you one way or another. No longer a minor, Jackson could be tried as an adult. Full legal repercussions. What was discussed that day, he’d never know. What he did know was the silence in the car. Only the squeaking of the suspension as he sat clueless. Even the radio was tuned out by-
    
    St. Margrets. That was the place that would help him. And if it couldn’t? Jack wasn’t sure. Nothing good. This was it, the last chance he had. Somehow, it had started out hopeful. Ever since the first, Jackson’s life had been perfect. If you didn’t count the sweating, shaking, vomiting, night terrors, migraines- Well, things were bad, but not as bad as they could be. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
    
    Julian Price did not glow very bright. He came dressed in all black with no expression, but he was a light, and Jackson desperately needed him to stay on.
    
    ~~~~~
    
    That lasted all of under three weeks. Something about putting two never-well-meaning boys together hadn’t gone well. While Jackson’s first roommate at St. Margrets hadn’t stayed long, there were more to come. Graham lasted all of four days. A perfectly pleasurable four days. They should’ve been quieter, but what was the fun in that. Next was Ko, who Jackson had yet to get a read on. It hadn’t even been 24 hours yet, but with the last two being immediate connections, he’d expected something magical.
    
    Another night of insomnia was spent staring at Ko while he slept, trying to read his vibes. The vibe in question: there would be no fun antics to keep Jax awake at night. Oh well, he could keep himself entertained. That’s why he’d been squirming around all morning, peaking out the window every five minutes, just waiting for the nurse this morning. He was close to scratching his forearm raw when the door opened. Thank God!
    
    “Gabriel, my favorite caretaker.” Jackson had never met Gabriel before. “Don’t keep me waiting bud, let’s get on with it.” His feet took him to the cafeteria before he’d even realized he’d started running, Gabriel gasping for breath behind him. “Jeez doc, can’t stand a little cardio?”
    
    ~~~~
    
    “And then they moved my fuckin room again. Can you believe that?” Jackson stabbed his fork into his breakfast.
    
    “That’s fucked up.” Gabriel nodded, keeping his eyes on Jackson as he slid the coffee away from him.
    
    “I mean, it’s none of their business what happens between two consenting adults. Those girls who complained are just homophobic light sleepers.” Speaking with his mouth full, Jack seemed to hardly notice his drink being scooted to the other side of the table.
    
    “Uhuh…” Gabriel agreed in the way people do when they’ve stopped listening, but Jackson kept talking, even as his coffee sloshed in the trash. “Don’t you think you should take your meds?” A couple pills and a Dixie cup of water were slid back towards him.
    
    Jackson let his fork drop, staring at Gabriel long and hard. “You’re better than this Gabriel. What would your mother say if she found out you were silencing gay voices?” He ignored the pills entirely. “Pass me the jelly, would you?”
    
    Getting what he wanted, Jackson wiggled his shoulders with glee, peeling the strawberry goo open and popping it straight into his mouth, licking the edges to get what was left over. Satisfied, he slammed the empty container on the table, beaconing the nurse to come closer.
    
    “Tell you what, I take the pills, and you put in a good word with whoever to get me my old room back.” Jackson grinned, sharp teeth inches away from Gabriel’s face. “With Julian- not ginger accent guy.” Yeah, Graham might’ve been a brighter light, but their fates weren’t tethered. Not like him and Julian. Not in the way that he could feel the string that bonded them.
    
    Without waiting for Gabriel to speak, Jackson filled his mouth with water, putting the pills in his hand and holding it up to his mouth before swallowing. Letting them slide into his sleeves was so easy, worked every time. Made him look more agreeable when he wanted to be.
    
    “Open.” Jax did as instructed, opening his mouth wide, doing the oral gymnastics he knew they’d want. Tongue up, jaw left then right. So easy when his sleeve was on his arm. He slid the pills in his pocket, same trick he’d been doing for years. Some sucker would pay for these. Someone who needed the high. Not Jackson though, he wouldn’t let them control him.
    
    “Well, Gabe, it’s been fun, but it’s almost art time and I heard we’re making sock puppets. Don’t worry, I’ll think of you the whole time.” Jackson gave his nurse finger guns before seeing himself out. Before they could catch him, he was long gone.
    
    ~~~~
    
    Of course Jackson came to make a fucking sock puppet. Who would skip this shit? Ideally, he’d have an edible to go with it, but sober art could be cool too. Especially a fucking sock puppet. Yeah, dope session today, doc.
    
    He scanned the room for faces, grin easing into a flat line. Damn, there was no ass in here. Well, there were several, but no ass he wanted to fuck with. With both buddies in physical therapy, Jack was left to bother strangers, something he was actually really good at. He could talk to a brick wall if it was the only person in the room.
    
    Eeinie meenie minie… oh that looks fun. Gel pens! And they work! Hospital miracle. Jackson pulled a seat out with his foot at a table with some very polite looking… was it mean to call them losers? Did he care if he was being mean. “Hello, roosters.” Close but nice. “What’s chilling in the coop?” He turned the chair around backwards and sitting, legs on each side. “Laying I should say.” And he would say any word in association that came to his mind. “Chlaying?”
    
    It didn’t matter if they’d accepted Jackson into their group or not, he’d already moved on to better things. “Fuck yeah! I got a brown sock!” One of the nurses gave him a warning for his language, but he brushed it off.
    
    “I’m going to make god damn Bigfoot.”
    
    
    

    Bigfoot

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    
    
    

    Mood:

    Bigfoot is love Bigfoot is life
    
    

    Location:

    Art Therapy Room
    
    

    Mentions:

    Miyu, Ambrus, Max + briefly Julian, Ko and Graham?
    
    

    tags:

    
    Miaow Gao Chimney Swift
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Ticl]

if you do it right, once is enough

Forbes Atwood

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post includes mentions of mental health and its challenges. Please proceed with caution.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    If I was two-faced, why would I be wearing this one?

    
    
    Forbes squinted, resting his elbow on the table as he watched Ostin’s porcelain features. The model mentioned the couple's costumes and he snorted in response. It wasn’t a costume for Sefina, even if she said it was, she’d use that fake playful story to feed that delusion of hers. The one she so desperately plays out in hopes it might one day become her reality. Due to his own attempts to deny his illness, Forbes often felt he was entitled to deny the same to others, at least as long as they refused to keep their fantasies to themselves.
    
    Ostin smiled, lips curled perfectly like he was an actor of some rom com. And Forbes sent a grin back, a grim sneer next to the soft lips of the poster boy.
    
    “Whatever, prince charming, and if you wanna wear couples costumes you can just ask.” Forbes cocked his brow playfully. He couldn’t explain why he disliked Sefina, maybe because she somehow, deep down, knew her delusions were pretend, that she could drag herself out of them at any given moment, even if she was obsessed. Forbes however, didn’t have the luxury. When they came to him they were just there, and they weren’t pretty. It was a strange reality that he couldn’t trust himself. There was no foundation for anything. The faith he had in normal things like gravity or logic or love was gone because his mind might not be reading them correctly. Sefina couldn’t possibly know what it meant to actually doubt everything. To walk into a room full of people and pretend that it was empty because you're not actually sure if it is or not.
    
    To never feel completely alone even when you were.
    
    His eyes trailed across to Dante when Ostin regarded him, giving him a once over. Dante had been around for a couple months, just like him, so Forbes knew he existed but never tried talking to him. Probably because he had an aura of ‘leave-me-alone..ness’. Despite being Ostin’s polar opposite in looks though, Dante still appeared pretty devine in a comfortable and homey sort of way. And Forbes was drawn towards what was comfortable and homey.
    “Surprising isn’t it, Dante?” He mused, “He still thinks he’s got a choice here,” There was no choice when it came to that girl's fantasies. He nodded his head at Ostin, pushing his shoulder to grab his attention. “You’ve forfeited your right, Damsel, but I’ll pray for you.”
    
    The sock he was given was blue and as Forbes tugged it onto his arm to see how it fit he wondered whether it was a good idea to let these people make little monsters. They were already terrorizing each other, some more than others. And Forbes didn’t think the introduction of a demonic being such as the sock puppet was going to move along anyones progression. Move it back a couple steps? Absolutely. For example; the animal that just barged into the room throwing himself around like godzilla terrorizing the people of Tokyo.
    
    “Yeah, don’t fuckin’ swear, stupid.” He snapped at the guy, Jackson? Pointing his sock puppet at him and moving it around like it was talking.
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    Calm
    
    

    Location:

    Art room
    
    

    Mentions:

    Ostin, Dante, Jackson, Sofina
    
    

    tags:

    u know
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[weldherwings]

"you're an inspiration."
no. i'm sick

LUCA SEONG

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post may make mention of binge eating, body dysmorphia, malnourished, phentermine abuse, depression, anxiety and afrid. whilst not in full description, please note that there are mentions of these ailments and the character's inner thoughts throughout the post.

  
  
  

  
  

  i'm aware

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    i'm so draining to everyone else

    
    
    

    additional trigger warning!
    mentions of suicide (jokingly), internalised fat phobia, body dysmorphia, pro-ed affixation + affirmation​

    
    
    
    The corner of his lips turned in annoyance upon hearing the nurses and their displeasure of discussing the illnesses of the patients with the hospital. “The nurses really are out to make this place a living hell” Luca muttered under his breath, his gaze trialling to his shoes as they continued to walk onward to their desired destination. However, hearing Jelle’s remark of how he liked games brought joy back into Luca’s face. Nose scrunched in delight as his lips turned upright and his dimples dug deep into his cheeks in euphoric delight. Pulling a hand that had been buried deep in the pits of his pants pocket, he reached out and placed his arm around the other male’s shoulders, allowing it to hang off of him loosely. “You know what,” he mused, looking from Jelle to before them with a shimmer of hope that their future was full of optimism. “I’m really glad I got someone cool like you for a roomie. I probably would’ve off’ed myself if I was stuck with some sociopath or someone who peeled and ate their own skin.”
    
    There was a scurry of patients before them, venturing onwards to their allocated groups for the morning. Amongst the group was a male who would take ten hurried steps, pause on the spot for a moment as he counted all of his fingers intensely, before moving another ten steps and counting once more. His sullen eyes screamed the desire for rest, and his greasy hair echoed the lack of self-care. Luca pursed his lips for a moment, observing the patient from afar before slightly tightening the grip on Jelle’s shoulder and dragging him just a bit closer. “Take Snape over there,” Luca said in a hushed tone between the pair of them as they walked side by side with the much taller boy’s arm over Jelle’s shoulder connecting them. “He’s an easy one. OCD, right? Like, look how he’s walking and stuff. That one was way too easy. Let’s try another”
    
    Turning the corner, they arrived at one of the entrances to the courtyard. Many of the other patients were already flooded to the outdoor area, greeting others like old friends and family. The sky above them projected an intense hue of greys, tempting the clouds to come forth and release their tears upon the already depressed patients. Surely, it’s going to rain Luca thought to himself as he gazed upwards before turning his attention to their next victim - Sorry. Not victim. Target? A woman in her sixties was frantically on the hunt for something. Lifting up prepared yoga mats, searching for her heart’s desired item with an anxiety-riddled posture. Her bob-cut blonde hair twisted in dread as she plotted along with a frown sketched upon her complexion.
    
    “Bet you she’s in cause the Doterra oil seeped into her brain” Luca mused, smirking in delight for that zinger he had delivered. The smirk didn’t last for long as the distraught woman’s eyes met with his own gaze. Her face, which was once smothered with panic, faded into a sea of nostalgia as she looked upon Luca’s face. Eyes slightly squinted and a smile morphing, ripples of wrinkles following in alignment on her aging, sunburnt skin.
    
    “Luca?”
    
    His eyes widened, and a wave of shock ran down his spine. How does she know my name? the alarmed voice in his head questioned. Her smile widened, pulling her leather-like skin as her complexion shifted from panic to joy, and she began to make her way over to the two boys. Oh, shit. She knows me. How does she know me? His mind flickered through an array of possible situations where he may have bumped into the Doterra oil lady before. As his brain previewed snippets of old, outdated memories like an old film covered with thick dust, there were slices of moments that were scratched and burned, only making it even more so challenging to comprehend how he may have known this woman who was apparently so excited to see him and making her way over to him. Even as she stood before the two boys, her hands on her hips and with a way too enthusiastic grin on her face, the movie continued to flicker, hoping to find the face to a name, and then to a location.
    
    “My gosh, Luca. Look at you!” She gushed, raising her hand and giving his arm a firm squeeze before returning it back onto her hip. “All those classes did you good. You look fantastic!”
    
    See. The doctors are wrong. What you’re doing is fine. She said it herself. The classes were going you good
    
    A wave of smugness fell upon Luca, a self-satisfied smile creeping upon his face. And then it finally clicked; Annette! Like a light bulb switching on in his brain, someone as finally home in there. “Annette!” his voice was almost fake, attempting to hide the fact he had completely forgotten who the woman was. “How are you going?”
    
    “Oh, I’m good love. I’m good. I’m at that Orangetheory Fitness on Prospect Ave. Yeah, love. Much better staffing conditions” the women began to overshare, nodding each time she said ‘love’. “And yourself? You here visiting Jelle or-” Her voice trailed as her eyes moved from the boy’s face and followed his arm that was resting comfortably on the other male’s shoulder. Finally, her gaze rested on his wrist, catching the sight of a bright orange wristband attached to it. Once Luca had caught on to what had caused her to cease her talking midsentence, dread and embarrassment instantly showered over him. Without a moment of hesitation, he removed his arm from Jelle’s shoulder and buried his hand back into his pants pocket, nesting it deeply in there. “Oh, love” Annette finally spoke, placing her hand upon his shoulder “I didn’t realise the break up was that hard. It’s okay, pet. It gets better. Believe me. After sixty years of getting your heart broken, it hurts less and less every day ”
    
    Pressed lips held in everything that was on his mind, raging and screaming internally to cry out. Instead, Luca slowly nodded, feeling his face flare up from the shame of the situation. Annette smiled at him sweetly, patting his arm once more before turning around to the group of patients waiting around for their class to begin. “Okay, class,” Annette’s hoarse smoker’s voice crackled as she moved to her position at the front “Pick your matt. Now, if there’s any funny business today, I’ve been told it’s straight to the white rooms.” She pointed her finger, motioning to each person individually as she gave out her warning “And the lovely nurses and orderlies on duty don’t deserve having to deal with dragging you today. Pick your spot, and if you find the back of my earring, you have permission to bring it up to me at any time”
    
    Still overcoming the moment Annette had essentially knocked him off his high horse, Luca turned to Jelle and motioned towards the closest mats with a simple head nod. Like a dog with its tails between its legs, Luca shifted towards the mat and stood upon it. Just… remember what Annette used to teach you. Just… breathe… Inhale… and exhale… the voice inside attempted to calm him. Inhale… exhale… It would be a lot easier if you weren’t an overweight piece of shit and your lungs and other organs weren’t being strangled by the visceral fat… Inhale… exhale…
    

    and I've been told i'm heavy to hold

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    well... that was embarassing
    
    

    Location:

    Walking to physical therapy
    
    

    Mentions:

    Jelle
    
    

    tags:

    riddle .
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[riddle .]

"there's comfort...in the nothingness."

jelle drukker

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post contains mentions of depression, PTSD, and dissociative amnesia symptoms, as well as thoughts/feelings associated with them in the character. Mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts as well. Please keep this mind before reading.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    days fade into a watercolor blur

    
    Jelle withstood the urge to squirm away from the arm that slung itself over his shoulders, schooling his expression into its usual indifference. Luca was just being friendly, he knew that. It still didn't calm his frayed nerves from having the other man, a stranger, in his space to start. Of course, he had to be the touchy-feely kind because Jel's luck loved to evade and laugh at him in its absence.
    
    Jelle couldn't even remember the last time he had someone this close to him. The heat of Luca was seeping into his side where they were connected, and it struck Jel how odd it felt. Logically, he knew he'd been touched before and from experience, his mother and sister had taken him in their arms plenty of times. It was the where and when that escaped his ever-fleeting memory. He didn't count the minor contact he had with the nurses when they did his blood pressure as it was always clinical, and professional. Luca's bright dimpled smile was the complete opposite and Jelle swallowed hard, a certain unnamed feeling rising in his throat as he stared up at his roommate through his messy fringe.
    
    He blinked mutely at Luca's casual comment about offing himself, followed by other colorful statements. Jelle quirked a brow at him but took the...compliment? Well, he'd take it, he guessed. At least Luca's friendliness was easier to stomach than Matt's, which was a roundabout way of saying it was subtle bullying. Jelle had been grateful he was able to avoid the other male after reading he wouldn't be in his therapy group. He had a sliver of sympathy for poorer souls than him who would have him for art therapy. Nothing rarely good comes from having a bunch of mentally unsound individuals around each other in that room. For the times Jelle had been in art therapy, it usually resulted in more rowdiness than tranquil artmaking. At least Jel was allowed his knitting needles in the art room otherwise he'd skip the whole thing altogether.
    
    The sudden tightening of Luca's hold on him had his passive face break out into an uneasy one, his bony fingers reaching up to lightly brush against Luca's arm around him, unsure if he wanted to pull it off or keep it there. That disquieting feeling from earlier came back, but again he forced it back down to focus on what his roommate was saying. Jelle shifted his tired eyes towards the man Luca dubbed "Snape". The shorter of the pair watched the man's calculated steps and hushed mumbling. OCD, Luca guessed, and Jelle was likely to agree with him. It appeared as so, and Jelle's eyes crinkled slightly with pity. Jelle nodded in agreement, blinking as he adjusted to the natural light as they entered the courtyard.
    
    Jelle looked around, spotting a few familiar faces, and new ones, in the small crowd of patients waiting to start. He noticed Sefina next to her roommate Beth. She looked just as excitable as Luca had, but Jelle knew her better than Luca and her excitement was usually followed by some sort of chaos. Jel had yet to decide whether he liked that about her or not, but for the most part, he enjoyed watching her antics.
    
    Once again, his attention was drawn away as Luca pointed out an older woman seemingly searching for something. Jelle returned his gaze to Luca, remembering that Luca was new and had accidentally identified Juf➊ Annette as a patient, rather than their yoga instructor. Jel went to correct him but halted when said woman greeted Luca rather enthusiastically.
    
    Jelle's eyes widened as he watched the two interact, noting how they seemed to know each other. Well, Juf Annette did anyway. Luca had a look on his face that hinted he may have forgotten her, though he recovered quickly with an easy smile Jelle was coming to get very familiar with after accurately picking her name. However, he felt annoyance when the woman placed a hand on Luca twice, most likely in an attempt to console him, but it still had Jelle mentally sneering at her. She had the same problem with over-touchiness with him. She should have enough sense to know when someone was uncomfortable, and given Luca's tension against him, he was overwhelmed with it.
    
    Luca freed Jelle from his hold as the instructor brought up break-ups and heartbreak. Jelle, despite the constant brain fog that plagued his mind, began to connect some things about his new roommate. A new feeling of quiet outrage began to rise. Annette casually bringing up something so personal with disregard to Jelle's presence made resentment bubble up for the woman he already had little care for besides learned politeness instilled from his mother for one's elders. Jelle knew how he would feel if someone began to blab about his business, especially since he couldn't even remember half of it - with so little care.
    
    Quietly, he followed Luca and set up next to him with their respective matts. Jelle remained stoic as Annette met his stare when she warned them against any funny business. Mentally, he was rolling his eyes. Once she broke away to someone else, Jelle turned to Luca, expression morphing into concern, albeit a tad strained and awkward.
    
    "Are you...alright?" He asked lowly, hands clasped together with his nervousness of anticipating Luca's answer.
    
    
    ➊ Miss
    

    memories swim and haunt you

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    uneasy & worried??
    
    

    Location:

    courtyard
    
    

    Mentions:

    luca, matt, sefina, and beth
    
    

    tags:

    weldherwings
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    rises the moon by liana flores
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[.wren]

私の全て？いいえ、いいえ、あなたはしたすることすっかり違ったを理解する。私は何ないあります

KO YASUTAKE

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  this post contains various mentions of suicide, needles, medicine, and more. content warnings are dispersed throughout, as well as summaries. read at your own discretion

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    one step forward...

    
    His first day at St. Margaret’s Private Hospital was interesting, to say the least.
    
    From the second he arrived, it was clear that they wouldn’t tolerate his ‘jokes.’ He was loaded out of the ambulance and wheeled through the door still strapped down to the gurney with only a hospital gown and underwear to call clothes. He was still fairly drowsy, not enough to inhibit his only slightly obnoxious jokes, of course, but enough to the point that he was not going to be 100% there during his intake. Once he was wheeled inside, they finally unstrapped him and let him hop off the gurney, only for a security officer to escort him behind the large locked doors that connected to the unit. He sat down in a waiting room, with the officer still beside him, and it was two very long hours before he began intake. It was awkward; he was silent. There were other people there, too, though he didn’t bother to ask for their names, just as they didn’t prod for his. After what felt like ages, he was called into the intake room. The officer remained in his seat, watching until he was completely inside the other room, door shut, before taking his leave.
    
    He sat in the chair across from the lady that had called him in, still silent, as she shut the door and took a seat at the desk, which had a significant stack of papers on it. Once she had sorted the papers and put the first on top, the questions began.
    
    “Do you know why you’re here?” she asked.
    
    “Perhaps.”
    
    “Then by all means, please share.”
    
    “You already know why, though. Why do I need to remind you?”
    
    “So myself, and the staff that is here to assist you, can have a better understanding of your experiences. We want your words right now, not anyone else’s.”
    
    “An accident.”
    
    “Elaborate.”
    
    “It was an accident.”
    
    “So?”
    
    “So what? That’s all there is to say.”
    
    “Let me get this right, you’re trying to tell me that you ‘accidentally’ made a cocktail of melatonin and vodka, then drank it until you blacked out. After that, you also just happened to rip out the medical equipment that was attached to you, then tried to run out of the ER and punched a couple of nurses.”
    
    “Potentially.”
    
    “The longer you try to be difficult with me, the harder it’s going to be to accommodate you. We want you to benefit from the care here.”
    
    “Fine.”
    
    “Then let’s continue. Seriously, this time.”
    
    
    The questions continued for what felt like hours upon hours, though it really was only about an hour and a half before a medical exam was conducted.
    
    The medical went like every other. Vitals, body check, etc. A plethora of scars were found, and Ko found himself willingly explaining the meaning behind each one. The woman had, in fact, knocked some sense into him. He knew that he was making things more difficult for himself by being a smartass, but it also was just… instinctive. Being back in the hospital after such a long time shed light onto so many thoughts that had been buried in his mind for so long. He wasn’t safe from anything here, actually, and the location would make things worse, if anything, from what he had remembered. Optimism would be a hard sell.
    
    It was past lunchtime by the time he was finished with the admission process. Of course, admissions came with being put on unit restriction (UR) and gowns, until he no longer poses a risk to the safety of himself or others. He ate lunch alone on the unit, with nothing but a couple of nurses that were at their station doing whatever desk work there is to be done, the tech tasked with the ever so heavy burden of supervising him, and the saddest lunch he had ever seen. The food looked repulsive compared to every other piece of hospital food he had ever had. It was just a mystery meat pasta plus a side of white bread with some half-thawed steamed broccoli and an apple that looked the furthest thing from natural. Worst of all, there was no rice. Of all the foods in the world, rice is by far one of the cheapest, so the hospital being unable to afford it would be a ridiculous lie. It’s practically impossible to mess up, and something that’s easy for everyone to eat. Instead, he had a literal two slices of bread. He especially did not want to know just what that meat was either. Could he be exaggerating, to some, maybe, but the meal in front of him was perhaps the worst thing he had ever seen. At this rate, the food might just end up killing him before whatever’s going on in his wacky mind can.
    
    After lunch, lo and behold, he was called to meet with the doctor assigned to him. The woman brought him into some random room, made the tech watching him sit outside the door, and wasted no time when it came to getting her point across.
    
    “Let’s talk about your current medications.”
    
    Ko paused, looked at the woman, then slumped down in his chair. “Man, not even a ‘how are you doing?’ because currently, I’m not very thrilled to be here.”
    
    “So I’ve heard. You’ve clearly been making your voice known.” the woman retorted.
    
    “Wonderful, so how about we just do a seventy-two and call it a day.”
    
    “No. Back to the discussion, when I was looking at your file, I noticed that you weren’t actually on anything for your BPD, is that correct?”
    
    “I thought those random big pills with the high-ass dosage were for that.”
    
    “They technically could be, but would have little-to-no effect on what you’re struggling with the most right now, which seems to be impulses, if I’m reading into your situation correctly.”
    
    “So?”
    
    “So I’m going to gradually lower the dose for the Zoloft, only to seventy-five because it does seem to help with your depression. I’ll keep the Buspar at thirty and slowly add a new medication, brand name Tegretol, or carbamazepine. The starting dose is two-hundred milligrams twice a day, in case you’re wondering what the new medications you’re being given are.”
    
    
    (NOTE: THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS CONTAIN BRIEF MENTIONS OF NEEDLES)
    
    “Two hundred is the starting dosage? That’s a lot. Uhhhh, as a side note, did anyone get that medication that was in the bag I came in with? Like— the black case with the vials of medication and needles.”
    
    “The medication won’t actually do anything in small concentrations. That’s why the starting dosage may seem high. As for the medicine you mentioned, I can check afterwards for it. Do you know what it’s called, the dosage, and would you mind sharing why you take it? If it’s something important to you, you’ll have to tell me otherwise I won’t be able to clear it. An injection, especially.”
    
    “Tsk. What a pain. It’s my testosterone injections, alright? It’s a weekly thing. One hundred milligrams to the naval; um-bi-li-cus, if I have to be specific. Here, I have a deal for you. I’ll take whatever medicine you’re trying to put me on if you just let me have this one thing. I will become a real pain in the ass, as many love to call it, if I don’t. I’m a man of my word, at least right now.”
    
    “Right, well…” the woman started with a sigh, “I’ll put it in, but this is a privilege, not a right. I’ll let you know that, the second that you try to pull something, I can cancel the script.”
    
    “うん、うん**。 No need to try and act like you’re my fairy-godmother for displaying basic human decency towards me. I’ll take my meds.” (**TL: “un, un,” yeah, yeah. very casual and informal tone.)
    
    “Then the problem’s solved. When would you be due for your next dosage, Ko?”
    
    “Today.”
    
    “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to get the order processed until tonight, so you’ll have to get it tomorrow. I’ll put a note in with your order so the nurse giving out meds will know to administer it. If there are any problems, tell them to call me. That goes both ways, of course. If you give any of the nurses any problems, they’ll let me know.”
    
    “Mmm. Can you stop assuming that I’m gonna do something stupid. I’m so tired of being judged like that.”
    
    “Your record speaks for itself on that. It’s reasonable for anyone you encounter like this to be wary.”
    
    “It was like— two times. Not even necessarily intentional, either…”
    
    “We both know that’s a lie, Ko. Why don’t we leave that thought right here and take a moment to calm down before returning to group. Before the next time I see you, I want you to have a couple of notes jotted down about your thoughts each day in your journal. Got it?”
    
    He nodded in response, “Mhm. I don’t have any of that stuff though because I’m high risk or whatever. Can I have it, and preferably some actual clothes.”
    
    “Nice try. You’ll get a journal, but when it comes to clothes and belongings, you can stick it out three more days, can’t you? You’ll be reevaluated then. If you’re no longer posing a safety risk to yourself and/or others, then yes, you can. If you need fresh gowns, just ask anyone on the unit to grab you some. You can layer them if you get cold.”
    
    “くそ。” (TL: “kuso,” profane/informal interjection. used in this context as “dammit.”)
    
    (END CONTENT WARNING)
    
    

    ————————————————————————​

    
    Soon enough, bedtime had arrived. He was brought to his new room, with a new tech that had fallen victim to the job of supervising him, and was given a bit of a surprise. He had a roommate this time! ‘Jackson,’ he thinks his name was. He didn’t actually know, but he’s eavesdropped on so many conversations that it seemed like he was right. Nonetheless, he was tired, and it was very possible that whatever drug they gave him at the hospital was still weighing him down. He was going to try to sleep as much as he could, despite being in nothing but a hospital gown and given only a suffocation proof blanket, plus having one pair of eyes on him at all times, until yet another pair of curious eyes laid themselves upon him. Jackson. He was staring. Ko shrugged it off, rolled over and tried to sleep yet again, but he was still watching. One burning gaze was already plenty, but two? He couldn’t do it, and on top of that, he could only try to escape from the public eye for no more than five minutes all night! It was rough. He got maybe fifteen minutes of sleep total. It was safe to say that once morning arrived, he was moving. He’d rather be alone than on exhibit.
    
    His first full day at St. Margaret’s had just begun, and it was already off to quite the eventful start. Intentionally, he went last for meds so he wouldn’t hold up the line by needing a nurse to watch him give himself his other medications. Was he nervous that he would be denied it? Surely. Regardless, he went up there anyways, and before even accepting his medications, made his request.
    
    “Medication— I have another one.” he muttered, already off to a fantastic start. “Yeah, uhm. It’s in the system. That’s what the doctor told me.”
    
    The woman sighed, less than thrilled to be dealing with another medication request. “Name and dosage?”
    
    “Testosterone. One-hundred milligrams.”
    
    The woman searched for a moment. “Yep, I do have an order for that in here.”
    
    “Great. Can I have it?”
    
    “No.”
    
    Ko’s expression slumped. “Why?”
    
    “Because it doesn’t say that you’re supposed to be administered it today.”
    
    “Yeah, that’s because I was supposed to get it yesterday but the script had to be processed. Go call my doctor and waste her time or whatever because you can’t read the file.”
    
    The nurse sighed yet again and shook her head in annoyment. “You know what? Fine, let me go grab it. I can’t give it to you here, clearly.”
    
    (NOTE: THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS CONTAIN MENTIONS OF NEEDLES, SUMMARY WILL BE AT THE END OF POST)
    
    Ko grinned, not mischievously, however, it was a genuine grin. At least he was able to get one thing out of this place. On top of that, he was satisfied that he didn’t have to make a scene to get some actual care for once. He did as he was asked, and waited outside the med window until the woman walked out of the nurses station, case in hand. He followed her until they had reached their destination, one of the medical rooms. As the nurse began to open the case and look through the surprisingly organized content, Ko gently pushed her aside and began the prep himself. He made sure that the nurse could watch him, however, as he wasn’t about to let this be taken away from him as well.
    
    “Put the sharps down. You’re not allowed to touch them.”
    
    “It’s my medication. I can administer it myself.”
    
    “Maybe at home, but not here. You’re the patent.”
    
    “Tough.”
    
    Irritated, the woman grabbed the still packaged syringe out of his hand. “Stand against the wall while I go ahead and administer it for you.” The woman said as she pushed Ko aside and began to open the first wrapper around the syringe. Once it was open, she turned her back to Ko so as to prevent him from trying anything.
    
    This, actually, made things worse. He stormed her way and snatched it back before beginning to uncap it and fill it himself.
    
    “Hey! You better put that down right now.”
    
    “なんともうざい。I already told you I was going to do it myself, dammit!” he replied. “I administer my own meds. You can watch all you want, but keep your hands off!” (TL: “nantomo uzai,” how annoying/so annoying)
    
    “That's not how this works. Calm down and just let me give it to you so we can both be done here and go on our merry ways.”
    
    Calm down? Yeah, right! He knows their tricks. One look away and it really would be swapped out for something to make him calm down. He is not falling for that again. “I’m not stupid. Let me give it to myself so we can both be done here and go on our merry ways.”
    
    The woman sighed, but considering that Ko’s guard was clearly up and he was, in fact, willing to fight over it, she had to change the approach. “Alright then, let’s compromise. How about I do the actual injection, but you can do everything else. We can stand in front of that mirror so you can see what I’m doing, and you can tell me to stop at any time, but just know that if you really want this, you’re going to have to let one of the nurses, whether myself or anyone else on shift, give it to you eventually, and I don't know just how lenient they’re going to be.”
    
    (END CONTENT WARNING)
    
    After a moment of consideration, Ko accepted and stood in front of the mirror whilst the woman brought over the case. She kneeled down, grabbed a wipe from the kit and did a quick clean of the injection site. Following that, she asked ko for the medicine, to which he hesitantly obliged, and watched her intently the entire time. In the end, he was relieved when the nurse did stay true to her word and didn't try to trick him. He then put a bandaid over it and made his way back to the common area once the medication was all locked away and he knew it hadn't been tampered with. By the time he was done, everyone was already leaving for breakfast. Of course, there was a tech waiting for him with his breakfast, and it looked just as appalling as his last two. He better be able to prevent himself from having to eat the eggs here, because they might as well just ruin his perfect relationship with the food. He ended up eating a sad piece of toast with butter and jam, which definitely would not hold him over. A nice bowl of rice sounded really good right now, even if it wasn't cooked properly. He would take it over whatever they served here any day. In fact, he doubted it was even edible.
    
    Group was next, and he was secretly dreading every moment of it. Arts and crafts was what he was doing that day. Even better, it was sock puppets. Hooray! He couldn't wait for all of his ailments to be cured by making a little demon out of some (hopefully) new socks! In all honesty, he was betting that someone would take the activity a bit too far and hurt their poor sock, ending the activity. It wouldn't be him, but it would be fun to watch, and he was all for it. A tech was still following him around everywhere. When he walked in the room, surely enough, everyone was pretty unfamiliar. Sure, he had seen most, if not all, of them at one point or another, but he didn’t actually know anyone. He had only been at St. Margaret's for a day, though, so no one could blame him for that. There was one person he did recognize, however, and that was his former roommate. He had gotten his room switched that morning, so not much had happened, and he didn't even know if the other had realized yet, but either way he felt kinda bad. It wasn't his fault that his roommate had a staring problem. Yeah. That’s right. He probably just couldn't handle taking his eyes off of such a sexy man. Ko agreed with the thought, and just told himself that instead of thinking about it too much. There’s no harm in a little self confidence.
    
    Regardless, he took a seat that had a decent amount of distance between him and everyone else, with the tech still following him, and got comfy. He wasn’t gonna participate, in fact, he was exhausted. It was time to take advantage of moments like these for as long as he can.
    
    Maybe he could even pretend that he didn’t speak English so he wouldn’t be bothered either way. He hadn’t actually spoken in front of Jackson before, had he? Ko was so tired, he didn’t even know anymore.
    
    
    
    
    
    SENSITIVE CONTENT SUMMARIES:
    
    - Ko asks about a medication he's on (testosterone) and if he can have it. Doctor puts in the script for it after a bit of explaining.
    - Ko asks for his dose of the medicine previously mentioned, nurse eventually says yes. He gets paranoid that the nurse will swap the medication out for another, they come to a compromise and Ko trusts that nurse just a bit.
    

    ...two steps back.

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    tired, hungry, bored
    
    

    Location:

    art therapy room
    
    

    Mentions:

    Jackson
    
    

    tags:

    Harrowhark
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[jinxxes]

He's a dick... I'm sorry.

JULIAN PRICE

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  This post contains mentions of Bullying, Hospitalization, Self-harm mention, Medication, Attempted Suicide, Depression, and other Mental Health Issues. Read at your own discretion.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    Time to chew gum and kick ass

    
    

    Oh, to love the fall
    
    
    Where winds caress the blessed like a gentle kiss
    Granting the comfort of a young lover
    Dionysus acknowledges his eager followers
    With drunken festival and song
    He whispers tales of lust to them
    Of all the joys autumn may bring
    
    
    Oh, to love the fall
    .
    .
    .
    But it not love me​

    
    White, uncharacteristic for an Ohio fall, was the first thing Julian Price could see. Penetrating white burning into his skin, enveloping him in a fiery wrath of eternal damnation. Hell, the hospital. All the same.
    
    October 1st, 2:38 A.M
    
    Julian Price managed a few lucid moments to understand a couple things: One, hospital beds were just as uncomfortable as always. Two….. He probably tried to kill himself. The memories weren’t really there to confirm, though for the hospital the case was probably straight forward. Dark, hazy eyes spent on and off hours agonizing over his bandaged arms, trying to tell where the pain began and ended. That perhaps he could solve his missing time from the wounds, to understand his own thoughts behind the workings of violence.
    
    It should have been simple. But a nagging ,dare he say fear, unlabeled feeling kept his mind racing. Everything was about control, and somehow, that managed to slip out from under him. Like a betrayal by his own shadow.
    
    The thought was sickening.
    
    October 1st, 7:03 A.M
    
    Julian Price transferred to Saint Margaret’s, signing over his life under voluntary admission. The least he could do to regain some dignity. Going back was failure, was a lasting reminder of suffering.
    
    October 1st, 8:46 A.M
    
    Julian Price met Jackson. A scrappy head full of bad decisions, the two had been brought in around the same time. Of course, Julian didn't believe in fate. Putting such a thing to a chance encounter didnt make sense. But there was something more he would describe all 5’3 of chaos that got shoved into his life…. Some kind of equivalent to hope.
    
    Gross.
    
    —
    
    Waking up to another early morning of disgustingly monotonous routine, Julian put on a dazzling (horrifying) smile to greet the poor soul tasked with handling him. “Mornin’ David.” A voice somewhere between bored and venomous… That was not the orderlies name. Julian may have been more than willing to come here on his own, but that did not make for an obedient patient. Sick satisfaction found its way through at every chance of making someone uncomfortable. Sometimes that was by antagonizing another patients' paranoia, sometimes it was enticing Jackson to get himself in trouble, and sometimes it was just being the fucking worst.
    
    “Chop chop, Ryan. I get angsty without my drugs.” Quite troublesome, dependency on a drug was not something Julian preferred. Being a… rational enough person he could understand the positives in some medications. But this time around his genius therapist decided to go with Duloxetine. Not that it couldn't be a good drug, in fact, the shit worked pretty well in the antidepressant category. But with a short half-life, and Julian himself having some pretty impressive drug resistance, withdrawal symptoms ended up…. Rather unfavorable.
    
    Monitoring himself, Julian guessed his body took about eight to nine hours before reaching the half-life, compared to the average twelve. That meant a shaky evening before his second dose and more often than not, waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat…..
    
    But yeah, did great for most of the day!
    
    If Julian would be honest with the psychiatrist, it was probably time to add another medication alongside it as to mitigate withdrawal symptoms…. But that was pussy-talk. With this level of stubbornness, he’d probably last another two weeks at least before even considering discussing the problems he was experiencing. Change was worse than having to take them in the first place. Dealing with his own depression was one thing, being sent on a rollercoaster of side-effects or withdrawals made him feel out of control. Managing those few hours seemed preferable to the unknown… He wasn’t quite ready to give it a chance yet.
    
    Clammy hands grabbed out as ‘David-Ryan’ presented a dixie-cup of water and meds. One hand dangerously wrapped around the extended wrist, yanking the meds away and dry-swallowing them like a freak. No particular reason other than being a mini nuisance. Only when they were all down the hatch did he let go, leaving a disgruntled employee to rub his wrist free from the ghost of Julian’s grip. Mission accomplished.
    
    “This is why I like you, Christopher.” No he did not. Not in the slightest. What Julian liked was fucking with ‘David-Ryan-Christopher.’ A man of few words, he was a nut not yet cracked. He’d continue to toe the line of harassment as long as possible, till consequences or boredom took over and forced a change of course. “You don’t fuck around, and you’re just so easy to talk to.” The more someone wanted nothing to do with him, the more he was willing to speak it seemed.
    
    “Let’s just finish this up, Julian.”
    
    “Straight to the point, it almost feels like you don’t like me much. Is there something wrong, Frederick?” The names seemed to be getting worse. So sad that this appeared to be wrapping up. There were still plenty of names to go through!
    
    Only now going for the water, seeming ready to grab breakfast and be on with his day, perhaps ‘David-Ryan-Christopher-Frederick’ was catching a break.Until Julian’s fingers didn’t actually grasp around the cup upon the release to him, leaving it to fall to the floor in a sad splash. Was that on purpose, or from needing his drugs? Either way was entirely possible knowing him. “Ooooh, you should be more careful there, Gerard.” The annoyance was palpable as Julian patted him on the back, his dear nurse taking it as the latter situation. “I’m starved, be a dear and handle your mess, okay Bob?”
    
    With that, Julian slid past to escape among ‘friends.’ Poor, poor ‘David-Ryan-Christopher-Frederick-Gerard-Bob,’ left to deal with the consequences of Julian just existing as an entity.
    
    Breakfast was a simpler endeavor. Perhaps he could have spent his time with another poor soul, but no, meal-time was for peace. Not as something he wanted, but as he had to work through a bit of nausea, slowly eating along the allocated time so as to not upset it further.
    
    What a hassle. A reason he probably should communicate the issues, but alas. It was not the time yet. So it was spent in silence, boring. Though probably a good thing for the rest of the staff and patients.
    
    Soon that would be fixed though.
    
    With today’s agenda being yoga, Julian was at a toss-up whether or not it would be interesting. It wasn't his usual method of exercise but would provide some feeling of accomplishment. Less on mind-clearing and more on stretching his aching body though. But of course he wouldn't be so lucky as to have his partner in crime paired along for the adventure.
    
    So, hello tall, ginger, and stupid.
    
    Julian and Graham… hadn’t officially met. Some little bullshit kindergarten ‘talk about your day’ groups sure, but not any good ole ‘polite chattin.’ Mainly because for most of Graham's time here he spent it…. Intimately with Jackson. A hell of a couple days as roommates, and Julian had been told all the juicy details of after hour roommate ‘bonding’….. Honestly, it was a surprise they lasted as long as they did.
    
    Targeting him had nothing to do with his ‘affectionate’ nature though. The reasoning was far simpler. Graham had a head over most people, bright red fucking hair, and an accent that managed to carry his voice despite the fact Julian was a good bit aways and behind.
    
    Again. Tall, ginger, and stupid.
    
    Someone who stood out that much, oh, Julian did tend to enjoy engaging with. Everything he learned from Jackson was just extra icing on the cake.
    
    Whatever the two… no three? Thelma seemed to have exchanged some words as well, that was an interesting one. At least, in standards of Julian fucking with paranoid delusions like a favorite toy. Indulging such thoughts was just always a trip. But it seemed dear Thellie wanted to run away though. How sad.
    
    Julian made his approach, sliding up right between Graham and Celeste to force his way between. One hand rested on Celeste’s shoulder, the other thunked hard into Graham’s back before settling there. (Too tall to rest comfortably on his shoulder.)
    
    ”Well, well, look at these two lovebirds.” Spoken in the worst Irish accent. Its only redeemable quality was that, yes, it was in fact identifiable as Irish…. Somehow. Perhaps some sad off-brand Lucky the Leprechaun?
    
    “Mind if I join in on the party? Great.” Still amused with a purposeful horrid accent. His guiding hands gave lead to his victims friends to the appropriate spots. Graham was sent forward to a mat, Celeste had fingers dig into her shoulder as if to say ‘stay put.’ Then, the small menace went to his own mat to the right of Graham.
    
    “Gotta keep yer’all where I can hear.” A tap to his ear. But… That accent was devolving. Fast. Southern bits mixing in as some disgusting chimera dialect. The blond laughed at his own mistake, not having intended to do that. More than a laugh, it was a cackle: Out of place and crackling in his throat.
    
    “Ears are shite, darlin’. Speak up.” Now purposefully trying to emphasize that same kind of mishmash mix of Irish and Southern. It tore another laugh out from his chest, out of place and just wrong sounding.
    
    Wow, had he been complaining about his meds? He felt….. feckin’ great. Ha.

    And I'm all outta ass

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    Just silly-funny
    
    

    Location:

    Yoga Bitches
    
    

    Mentions:

    Graham, Celeste, Thelma, Jackson
    
    

    tags:

    qunqun floralmoon
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[qunqun]

oh hey you single?

GRAHAM BYRNE

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Trigger Warning: Hospital stuff, bullying

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2

  • 
    

    You won't stay with me, I know

    
    Green eyes opened.
    
    There was a nurse standing over him - female. Rosy painted lips and a soft blush to her features. Dark curls over her face as she pushed them behind her ear.
    
    Green eyes narrowed, squinted uncontrollably as stimulus flooded in from the fluorescent lighting to the sterile sleekness of the white tile floor. It smelled bad, like cleaning supplies. There was the sound of a heart monitor next to him.
    
    Flirting? In a hospital?
    
    The thought crossed his mind, and he suddenly felt dull pain everywhere. Right. Hospital. Must’ve been a crazy night.
    
    “Hey buddy” She said, there was a small scratch of ivory teeth against pink lips. Soft voice. So pleasant. He could float away right now. “How’ve you been?”
    
    Good. He felt good right now.
    
    “Well that’s good.” Her laugh was musical. “Do you mind if you sign these papers?”
    
    Anything for you, darling.
    
    He signed them without looking.
    
    Hey, do you want to know a fact about space?
    
    Stars go through entire life cycles, isn’t that neat? Humans in general are made up of all the same things that stars are, really when you get down to it. We’re all just a bunch of floating star dust.
    
    That is to say, when it came to Graham, he really liked space and how everything was unified in the end. And he really tried to believe that everyone was one.
    
    Hey isn’t that a nice sentiment? He should write a fecking book or something.
    
    Graham really liked the idea that everyone was connected - he himself chased after fleeting moments of connection and togetherness in an isolating world of alienation.
    
    Sorry, that was a bit heavy. Another fact about space was that stars can take on different colors depending on their heat and their size. Wow! So many colors!
    
    Anyways, there weren’t many things that got under his skin when push came to shove. That was something that he knew deeply, that people had one hell of a time trying to irritate him in any way.
    
    He was getting a positive response from Celeste, at least. That was nice, most people usually were split dead in half on his wandering eyes: some people thought he was slimy and horrible, others charming and flirtatious. He learned to not mind either a long time ago.
    
    Anyways, he was about to ask if she wanted to meet up later, when all of the sudden he felt something very solid collide with his leg and-
    
    “Fecking hell, Christ Almighty-” Timed perfectly with his natural gait, it was really all that Graham could do to not eat shit at that very moment.
    
    And then he began talking in a horrible accent. Was that supposed to be his?
    
    “Nice accent, mate. ‘S it Scottish?” Horribly bright smile and extremely warm and vacant eyes followed that statement. A display of genuine goodwill and stupidity as he grinned at Julian. “Me ‘n her were just chattin’ the day away.”
    
    He was equally uninterested in where Julian had decided to put his mat. “You want t’ be able to hear me better? I can be quite loud”
    
    The instructor, mercifully, cut Graham off from making any sounds that he might regret later.
    
    He made eye contact with one of the lads in the therapy as the yoga began. Instructed to do so, he bent over and stretched out his back and his legs. He could imagine that the guy might be getting an eyeful right now.
    
    Graham threw a quick wink his way. Made sense that people were staring at him, he was usually the biggest object in the room and his hair made him stand out… a LOT.
    
    And that’s when the lad from before kicked him again. Graham’s eyes shifted to where Julian was.
    
    He’d regained balance quickly, he had a good sense for it. Pinwheeling his arms, a continuous struggle to regain balance as he purposefully overcompensated and immediately fell backwards, taking the much smaller man out with him.
    
    Hah. Take that.
    

    But you can have your way with me till you go

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    information

    
    

    Mood:

    u wanna fuk?
    
    

    Location:

    Walking 2 yoga
    
    

    Mentions:

    Celeste, Luca, Julian
    
    

    tags:

    floralmoon
    
    

    
    
    

    outfit

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    let's fall in love for the night by finneas
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.