mralwaysuseless

this is a vent account unfortunatly

[mralwaysuseless]

Don't really know how to write bio but I'll try

im rude unknwowingly so feel free to correct me

i also don't know how to talk

pronounes : he/him/they/them

gender : mingender or non-binary (not sure yet)

i feel like im both non-binary and genderfluid also a male but in neoboy fashion

amab

im asexual amd aromantic qpr

im a adult

warnings : will try to update

sucide

hateful

ed(rarely)

toxic behavior in gendral

self hatred

vent

body issues

mean language

self harm

here's my goats🫶💛❤️🩶💚

[mralwaysuseless]

im sorry homie im afraid i only know peak

[mralwaysuseless]

i want to make something beautiful whether its me or something else

[mralwaysuseless]

its ok cuz im gonna die soon

[inkzbat]

As someone who likes being alone all the time usually, you know shit is getting bad when feeling alone starts to actually hurt you for once and you just want someone to hold you and be there.

[moonshadow-thoughts]

Do you ever feel like you were not meant to be here on this planet? That you don't belong here? That you should be at another place?

[becherdireinen]

nobody talks about how exhausting it is to live in that space between "things will get better" and "i can't handle this anymore." it's like your emotions are constantly swinging. leaving you both hopeful and defeated in the same day.

[mralwaysuseless]

it's a little scary how i dont care anymore who even is this

[brucedefender4eva]

Did somebody say angst? I think I heard it somewhere over there (・・?)

I wrote this a while ago in the middle of class on a piece of paper cause it just came to me and I knew if I didn’t get it down I would forget it

This is separate from my connected stuff

——

——

“Ah…” Bruce stilled, flinching at the sudden sting of pain radiating from his wrist.

Where was he?

Bruce looked around in confusion. His bathroom. Why was he in his bathroom? He can’t remember. He can’t remember his entire day, and judging from the sunlight glinting through his windows, it was just turning to evening.

“Shit… shit, shit, shit!” Bruce cursed under his breath, finally looking down at what had shaken him from his stupor.

He was holding a razor in his hand. Something Alfred had banned him from for the entirety of his early adolescence and late into his young adulthood for this exact reason.

He knew he was having a bad day, week, month, but he hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten till he unconsciously fell back on his old habits. Till his days were passed in autopilot, his mind a haze, and his thoughts growing darker and darker.

Bruce fumbled for the knobs of his bathroom sink, hissing as the hot water washed away the blood on his wrists and irritated his fresh wounds. His razor clattered somewhere on the tile floor, useless, like him.

“This is… this fine.” Bruce breathed, glancing at himself in the mirror and wincing at the state of his self. Fuck, he looked pathetic. But, not unsalvageable. “I can- I can make this work. I can fix this.”

If there’s one thing Bruce can do, it’s pretend. But… maybe in a household of detectives trained by him- no! No one would notice. He had hidden his mental state from his family before; this would be no different.

He was fine.

Bruce carefully finished bandaging his wrist before tucking it away under the long sleeves of his turtle-neck. He tested it, raising his arm and reaching for things across the counter, making sure his sleeve wouldn't accidentally slip down and reveal what he had done to himself.

“Master Bruce.”

Bruce flinched, biting down on his tongue and almost drawing blood just to avoid an uncharacteristic yelp of surprise from escaping.

“Yes, Alfred?”

“Dinner is ready. It is Friday, family dinner. Your children are waiting for you.”

“Alright, thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.”

And with that, Alfred left. Bruce waited, breath stilted and quiet, wondering if Alfred would suddenly turn around and-

Nothing.

He fooled him? Okay… okay, this was good. He could do this. No one would know. He was acting normal, and no one would figure it out.

Just keep acting like normal.

By the time Bruce made his way downstairs, his children were still rowdy and unseated, laughing and talking to each other about everything and anything. This was fine.

Just like usual, Bruce took his seat, waiting for even a tiny crumb of acknowledgment, yet nothing came. He couldn’t fault them; they looked as though they were having interesting conversations. Why would they want to include him?

Bruce sat, hands tucked under the table just in case his sleeve rolled up, waiting for Alfred to set the table.

And suddenly dinner was on its way. The smell was overpowering and assaulted his senses in a way that made him nauseous. Each bite Bruce took felt like a stone settling into his stomach. His throat worked against him; swallowing was a battle only aided by taking gulps of water to wash everything down.

No one talked to him.

No one asked him how his day had been, or the week when they hadn’t seen each other. No one asked him to pass the potatoes or the pepper. No one asked if he wanted a refill or if he could get them one.

Bruce wasn’t there. He didn't exist in their world.

Bruce blinked, and suddenly dinner was over. Half of his plate was still full, and everyone was moving on, going their own separate ways.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice was level, but there was a disappointed tone underneath as Alfred came over to take his plate.

He tried to relax his face and made sure not to look the older man in the eyes, which wasn’t unusual for him. “I ate earlier.” The lie slipped out of his mouth before he could think about it. "I'm just not hungry."

Alfred took his words with a simple nod before clearing his area.

Then he was alone.

So fucking alone.

There was nothing else to do but leave. Go back to his room and not exist somewhere else in the manor.

He felt his legs shake as he climbed the stairs that seemed to go on forever. Somehow, some part of him hoped that someone would come after him, to notice. To ask if he was okay.

But no one did.

Bruce felt tears sting at his eyes. No one had noticed a single thing. Not a look of concern, not a question of his quietness, not a glance at the tremble in his hands.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He didn’t want them to notice! He purposely made sure to act as if he was fine. He was hiding it; this was the best possible outcome.

Still, against his will, Bruce felt his throat start to close up and burn as an unwanted pressure built behind his eyes. His stomach turned.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-

Things were supposed to be getting better. Bruce tried to suck in a breath of air, but it felt as though his lungs were collapsing in his chest.

He clambered to close his bedroom door behind him, locking it with unsteady hands. Not that it would stop anyone if they truly cared. If they truly…

Bruce stumbled to the bathroom, vision going black around the corners just as it always had moments before he would pass out. No, just like it had moments before, he had a major panic attack, one that had branded him as insane for months in the media.

He needed… he needed-

The toilet seat slammed open, and Bruce was already heaving. He needed the heavy dinner to get out. He couldn’t keep it down any longer. He would die, he would fucking die.

He had been so good. He had promised Alfred he wouldn’t go down this path again, but… but even with that, here he was again. Alfred wouldn’t get mad, would he? He’d spent so many years being good, he could slip up just once.

Bruce grimaced at the bitter taste of bile and puke coating his tongue. Instead of feeling lighter and getting rid of the hole in his stomach, he felt… dirty…

Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal?

Why was he like this? He was supposed to be better, to be fixed, to be perfect, not only in public but in private as well.

Everything would be better if he weren’t around. His children would be happier, Alfred could finally go home and leave Gotham, and his parents… they would still be alive if it weren’t for him.

Everything would be better if he were just fucking dead.

The visceral thought shook Bruce from his spiraling, with how intense it was. He hadn’t thought that way in quite a while, at least, not so bluntly.

Bruce shakily stood and looked at himself in the mirror.

Yes… he needed to…

Bruce glanced down at the abandoned razor he had dropped hours earlier, still coated in his dried blood.

He picked it up slowly and stared.

If this… if this would fix his family, then he would do it. If this is what it takes.

Bruce had sworn since that night in the alleyway that he would do anything to protect the ones he loved, no matter what. If that meant taking himself out of the equation, so be it.

He’s always known it would come down to this.

He was a disease, a pestilence on those around him. He needed to be taken care of. To free the world of his cancerous form.

He was right. He could fix this.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

Something something any of the kids having a panic attack and Bruce is on that shit. 

He knows can tell from a mile away.

It might slip under the radar from the others but he knows.

Dick who's eyes are flickering to the side and tugging at his tie in the middle of a gala. Bruce is ready moving his eldest out of the room, and helping him breathe.

Jason in the cave, going at still when Damian dropped his sword Bruce is already clearing the room and catching the fist his second oldest just threw. Doesn't mind the tears soaking his shirt.

Tim eating breakfast surrounded by the family Alfred in a uncharacteristic moment of clumsiness falling catching himself by grabbing the front of Tim's shirt. By the time his mug shattered to the floor Bruce already hearded everyone out and Dick is kneeling at his brothers side exaggerating his own breathing.

Damian sparing in the cave everything going well until Dick catches the side of his back his youngest eyes glazing over Bruce already on his knees and Tim holding the bucket as Damian heaves, both giving gentle reminders that Damian is safe and they have him.

Bruce Wayne who has trained himself to recognize any sign that his children are struggling. That can ignore his own trauma but made sure theirs is treating with the seriousness it deserves. Even if that means dropping everything to remind them to breathe or answering a 3:00 AM phone call to talk them out of a permeant decision.

[karagod]

I dont want to do this anymore.. I can't do this anymore.. I'm fuckin exhausted, I want it all to stop.. I need it all to stop..

[echoesofsaturn]

I don't want my life to be a perpetual load of trying to recover from something after something and someone after someone. I don't want recovery to be all that I am.

[mralwaysuseless]

ok i may be autistic

[mralwaysuseless]

update im not

[mralwaysuseless]

i can't love without feeling amxiouse so i'd rather not love at all

[mralwaysuseless]

i've officially given up on being a good person im gonna be selfish unbothered uncaring apathetic

[mralwaysuseless]

it hurts i don't no where or whyi donno what im doing wrong

[mralwaysuseless]

tw sucide

can't wait to die! sucide letter is almost done too(＞∀＜)