ur local over the counter drugs connoisseur

become an oracle or an omen. you decide.

[eatcursedspirits]

bleed me a ballad,

sob me a symphony.

[ account's & user's scent notes ]

top: grapefruit, red currant, guava, raspberry.

middle: strawberry, melon, passion fruit.

‎base: musk, sweet pea, passion flower.

[ where & when u can find the user ]

under the indigo-scarlet sky, in the liminal hour, the shorelines cradle her presence.

[ what the user posts about ]

photography, rants that ferment into essays, stories, playlists that hums like novels, OCs, fanfics, and her sidequests and shenanigans in life.

[eatcursedspirits]

"For the first time, I truly felt free."

‎The sea breeze pressed against me, steady and cool, carrying the sting of salt and endings. At the cliff’s edge, I felt the ocean’s pull, its voice deep and serene, almost unrelenting. It no longer asked me to fight, only to rest. For years I had resisted every tide, every curse, every burden. Now the waves whispered that it was enough.

‎

‎I sank to the ground, my body heavy, breath uneven. Wildflowers bent in the wind, fragile stems bowing but refusing to break. Above them, the sky burned with the last light of day, gold bleeding into violet, colors clashing and dissolving like memories I could no longer hold steady.

‎

‎Two truths wrestled inside me, both heavy. The first was bitter on the tongue: that I was leaving the fight unfinished. The other oozed with sweetness: that I was finally free, that I had done enough.

‎

‎Then came the guilt. It struck harder than any curse. Was I really leaving while the world was still crumbling, while curses still devoured lives? My comrades would keep fighting, keep bleeding, and I would not be there. I had sworn to carry my share, to stand until the end. To walk away now felt like betrayal. The thought gnawed at me like the curses’ teeth and fangs, sharp and merciless.

‎

‎But alongside the guilt was something else, something I couldn’t deny. Was it relief? Was it happiness? Or was it the quiet truth that I had given enough, that I had carried burdens long enough, that I had earned this moment? For the first time in years, I let myself imagine a life beyond duty. A life where mornings began with the sound of wind chimes caressed by gentle air, not cries or scream. A life where peace was not a dream but a reality.

‎

‎I had always dreamed of a world without curses. Maybe it was naïve. Maybe impossible. But as the wind brushed against me, I let myself hope. I hoped the gods might be gentler, that they might grant me this wish, even if only in death.

‎

‎My vision blurred, the sound of the waves growing louder, closer. I thought of Haibara, his smile, his youth, the way he had been taken from me too soon. I wondered if he was waiting for me, standing at the shore, the tide brushing against his feet. I wanted to believe that when I arrived, he would be there, smiling and welcoming me, just as he had waited for me in the school halls and corridors.

‎

‎The curses lunged, grotesque shadows twisting in the chaos of Shibuya. My body moved on instinct. Blade cutting, feet shifting, each strike precise despite the exhaustion gnawing at me. Blood slicked my hands while the roar of battle pressed in my head and chest, yet my mind was elsewhere.

‎

‎I was not in the station. I was at the shore. The cries of curses blurred into the sound of waves, steady and eternal. Every swing of my blade was another step along the shoreline.

‎

‎Yuji’s face flickered in my thoughts. Young, determined, still carrying the weight of too many deaths. The guilt pressed in, the knowledge that I was leaving the fight unfinished. But alongside it was something gentler… trust. Yuji would continue. Yuji would endure. Mahito’s presence loomed, cruel and inevitable.

‎

‎“You’ve got it from here.”

‎I wasn’t handing Yuji a curse. I wasn’t chaining him to grief. I was passing the torch, offering belief instead of bitterness. My final words carried no malice, only quiet faith.

‎

‎As Mahito’s hand closed in, my vision did not linger on the battlefield. It lingered on a beach. This time the sun wasn’t drifting away behind the blanket of waters it stood high in the sky, like a king before its throne. The waves brushed against my ankles, the sun burned gently and the sky reflected the ocean’s soft blue.

‎

‎I exhaled slowly, the last of my strength leaving me and when I took my final breath, I was no longer in Shibuya. I was at the beach. The sand warm beneath me, the ocean endless before me, the azure sky glowing with peace, and at a distance, a familiar silhouette was waving. The gods listened, Haibara was there, smiling. The guilt softened. Peace took its place. I had fought enough. I had given enough and now I could rest.

do not plagiarized or repost it outside tumblr

gif taken from tumblr/google

i got inspired from a tiktok edit of nanami with the song starting over again by natalie cole (edit was by @solyizso_cool on tiktok)

[eatcursedspirits]

Aoi's Lantern

"Tell me, Akane... was I ever more than the armor I wore? If I could stand beside you again, would you still reach for my hand once more? "

I used to think rage was a flame I could control. A flicker behind my ribs, a warmth I could summon when the world turned cold. But here, in this place, at the boundaries that breathes like a wound I realize it was never mine to wield. It wielded me.

The heavy still air hum with memories I never asked to keep. Echoes of laughter that curdled into mockery, of kindness that felt like bait. I press my palm against the surface, and it ripples not with escape, but with reflection. My own face stares back, warped and weary. I don’t recognize her. I don’t know if I ever did.

Anger was my armor. It kept me upright when compassion felt like a trap. I wore it like silk, like steel. I let it sharpen my tongue, my gaze, my silence. I let it drive me into corners where no one could reach me and now I’m here cornered by my own design at the boundaries made of everything I refused to feel.

But I am not just fury. I am not just the echo of betrayal. I am not just the girl who learned to flinch before she learned to dance. There is love in me. Quiet, stubborn, aching love. It shows up in the way I remember names I was never supposed to care about. In the way I trace the shape of someone’s smile long after they’ve turned away. In the way I still dream of holding hands without bracing for impact.

Then, there is Akane Aoi. My heart folds differently when I think of him. He is not a flame, not a wound, but a steady pulse. He is the reminder that I am more than my rage, more than my exile. Loving him is not easy, it is jagged, it is terrifying, but it is real. It is the proof that I can still give, still reach, still ache for someone outside myself.

I think of the way his presence steadied me, even when I was unraveling. The way his voice carried a gentleness I didn’t believe I deserved. The way he looked at me not as a monster, not as a burden, but as someone worth holding. My love for him is not a plea for rescue. It is a confession that even at the boundaries, even in the silence, I can still choose to love.

I imagine what it would be like to stand beside him again. To hear him laugh without bitterness, to feel his hand brush mine without hesitation. I imagine the life we could have built, fragile but luminous, if only I had trusted softness instead of rage and yet, even here, even now, I carry him with me. His memory is the lantern I hold against the endless vast of debris. His love is the pulse that reminds me I am not beyond saving.

But choice is all I have. I cannot undo what brought me here. I cannot rewrite the child I buried or the rage I embraced. I cannot step back into the world where Akane walks forward, beginning again. What I can do is remain. To wander. To let the boundaries become my companion instead of my cage.

I will stay here, barefoot on broken glass, tracing the twilight that leaks through the cracks. I will walk with the endless dawn, not as a prisoner, but as a witness to my own complexity, to my own love, to the possibility that even in exile I am still alive.

So I choose to remain. To wander. To carry my rage and my love together, side by side, until the boundaries itself learns my name and if Akane’s memory is the lantern I carry then let it burn quietly within me, guiding me through the silence. I will not escape. I will not beg. I will walk, endlessly, with love and rage braided together as they're my eternal companions in the boundaries that has become my home.

do not plagiarized or repost it outside tumblr

photo taken from pinterest

inspired from the song no one noticed by the marías

[eatcursedspirits]

"Yohoo! Gojo, do you still see me?" Geto smiled, his voice carrying that familiar feel, still playful, as if nothing had changed.

‎That day remains carved into me. You wore your customary uniform, hair tied loosely as if you were still the boy I once knew. Your eyes seemed tired, and yet you were ethereal. I kept the wrapped bandages around my eyes, pretending it was to rest them, but in truth it was to shield myself from what I already knew. Because if I looked too closely, if I let the six eyes pierce through the the veil made of false hopes and desperation, I would see that you were no longer Suguru the man I love and I wasn’t ready for that.

‎Maybe it was the golden rays of the sun bathing you, or maybe it was the ache blooming in my chest, knowing this was the last time I would sit so close to you. ‎Both explanations were true, and both were unbearable. We passed the remaining few minutes at the local rundown park, where the swings creaked with rust and the benches carried splinters. Children’s laughter had long faded from this place, leaving only the sound of wind brushing through broken chains. We sat there with canned soda, ‎the same brand Suguru used to drink, except not quite. Your fingers moved differently. Your breath carried a rhythm that wasn’t his. Even muffled through my bandages, my eyes saw it. They saw the truth but I turned them blind, let them blur, let them lie. Because if I admitted it, then Suguru was already gone and I wasn’t ready to bury him.

‎Burning our vows peacefully till they were nothing but cinders and ashes, while the sun cast a blanket film of orange tungsten light across the sky, highlighting hues that clashed and danced against each other, was far from the scenario I had imagined. I thought there would be rage of curses tearing apart everything we have built. Instead, there was silence. A silence so loud it pressed against my ribs. The sound of uneven breathing, the fizz of soda sliding down our throats, the rustle of leaves in the neglected trees, the whispers of wind through rusted swings, all of it became a requiem I couldn’t bear to name.

‎The sun began to vanish, stretching shadows long across the park and with it, my denial cracked. I felt my chest tighten, ‎my hands tremble, my breath falter as seconds go by. I told myself you were still there, that Suguru was watching me through borrowed eyes, that the curse's shadow inside you was only a trick of the light but the more the sun bled into the horizon, the more the truth screamed at me. I broke down in silence, pressing the palm of my hand on the bandages harder, as if blindness could save me. As if refusing to see could keep you alive.

‎You stood, smiled at me, and waved your hand, a goodbye gesture, simple, cruel in its gentleness. I mirrored you, my hand trembling though I forced it still. You turned your face away, and I watched your slim back vanish into the distance. Not swallowed by chaos but by the rhythm of the world of you moving forward without me. ‎And still, I said nothing. Not when I saw the cursed energy ripple wrong. Not when I felt the soul inside you was not Suguru’s. ‎Not when the curse’s shadow flickered behind your smile. I lied to myself. I told myself it was still you because if I didn’t, then I had already lost you and I couldn’t bear that truth. Not yet. Not ever.

‎The sun was gone and with it my last defense too. The bandages around my eyes felt heavier. It's denial, it's grief, it's the only shield I have left. I told myself that if I kept them on, if I refused to see, then maybe Suguru was still in there, trapped, waiting, and breathing. Maybe he hadn’t left me. Maybe he never would.

‎"If you’re still in there, Suguru… just answer me once." Gojo whispered as his hands pried the bandages away from his eyes.

this was inspired by the song lie to the truth by the young veins

art by g00ling from x found in pinterest

do not plagiarized or repost it outside tumblr

[eatcursedspirits]

alexa play me and my husband by mitski

[eatcursedspirits]

"Every story begins with a spark, a trembling hand, a word that dares to bloom. I wrote you in the margins of my life, not knowing that the love we share would both hurt and mend us."

Chapter I: When the Day Met the Night.

Knowing how horribly our story will end, I will never again write poetry for the person I’m hopelessly in love with. I’ll stop stitching and piecing together tens of thousands of lovely words, squandering a sea of ink on smooth ivory pages, growing flowers in our garden of words, and illuminating the night sky with tales that twinkled like stars and grew into constellations over time.

I should have known better than anyone that we were no good. But humans can be foolish and selfish once they’ve tasted the venom of love. I hoped and hoped, turning a blind eye to the truth. Yet everything has an end—running out of words to sow, ink to spill, space to plant flower buds, and room for newborn stars in our makeshift heavens.

And still, I whispered: my first love.

Chapter II: Disenchanted, Fearing the Ghost of You.

When I see these stacks of papers covertly packed inside an envelope, my heart quivers in pain. I read each and every one with a sad grimace, knowing I never had the chance to present them to you; the sheets where I wrote the songs, poems, hues, and flowers that I associate with you.

As I threw away these traces of you, I couldn’t help but think of how lovely you were when our hands were intertwined. The heartwarming contentment it gave me was immeasurable. Unforgettable midnights: every nook and cranny of my memory is scratched by images of the moments when our bodies synchronized flawlessly, quenching our carnal desires.

And I thought: my first love, how could I ever forget you?

Chapter III: The Patron Saint of Liars.

Now, as I look back, I see that I shouldn’t have deluded myself. In the end, you were the one who felt betrayed and suffered the greatest pain. Allow me to be self-centered one final time. I apologize for twisting my final memory of you, one that falsely encompasses a moment where you are vehemently angry with me—your eyes filled with resentment and rage, tearing straight through my heart. I apologize if this is how I will remember you. It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to forget us. Please forgive me.

Even in anger, you remain my first love.

Chapter IV: Behind the Sea and Drowning in Downpour.

I keep finding remnants of you in places I swore I’d cleared: creases in old notebooks, the scent of a song, the way my hand hesitates before writing anything beautiful. You were the blueprint for every metaphor I stitched into my skin, and now I’m left cataloging the ruins.

I’ve become the archivist of our almosts: the letters never sent, the glances that lingered too long, the dreams that dissolved before morning. I file them away like sacred relics, knowing they’ll haunt me in the quiet hours when memory becomes ritual.

And still, I confess: my first love lives in every archive.

Chapter V: The Shipped Gold Standard.

There’s a map I’ve drawn in my mind, tracing every silence between us. Each pause, each breath held too long, each word swallowed before it could bloom. I charted the distance between your heart and mine, and it was always wider than I dared admit.

I walk the terrain of our unspoken truths, barefoot and bleeding, hoping that if I name the voids, they’ll stop echoing. But silence is a language too, and I was never fluent in yours.

And so I whisper to the silence: my first love, I still hear you.

Chapter VI: Truce, Anathema.

I visited the shrine of forgetting today. Lit a candle for the version of me that loved you without armor. Whispered prayers to the wind, asking it to carry away the fragments I still clutch like talismans.

But forgetting is not erasure it’s transformation. I will not unlove you. I will transmute you. You will become the salt in my poems, the shadow in my laughter, the ghost that teaches me how to stay when I’m tempted to vanish.

And in the transformation, I honor you: my first love.

Act VII: Grateful for Your Dangerous Blues.

I am grateful to have met you. Grateful for the way you taught me how love can bloom even in fragile soil. Grateful for the laughter, the warmth, the nights when the world felt small enough for just us.

I accept the ending not as a failure, but as a closing chapter. You were my first love, and that truth will never fade. The ache is real, but so is the gratitude for the chance to know you, to hold you, to write you into my story.

And so I bow to the memory: my first love, thank you.

"What remains is not ruin but residues: ink-stained fingers, a heart that still beats, a voice that still writes. Love was the fire, memory the smoke, forgetting the wind. And I carry the ashes as proof that I lived, that I loved, that I let go."

interact + credits if ur gonna use the edit

do not plagiarized or repost it outside tumblr