#implied depression tw

[autisticzenitsu]

Giyuu: They don't ID me at the liquor store anymore because they see the light has left my eyes.

[plumassieres]

location: stage of the local theatre content warnings: death, graphic imagery of violence and well, essentially, murder, implied depression and related triggering content.

February.

The month he lost his first tooth and almost swallowed it. The milk tooth, as they used to call it, had barely wobbled at first until it finally gave into the pressure of his prodding curiosity. He was like that, to poke and jab until it bruised, but the damage was already done, all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again. The month he found salvation at the dinner table, but there was no God, unless God was a home, his siblings’ laughter. The month that was forgotten, but still rooted within like sprouts of memories awaiting the rain. Mundane things, like eating arroz con leche on a Monday morning, buying Mickey Mouse band-aids for his scraped knees; painful things that were covered with a cadaver pouch of grief. The month his mother died.

Stuart’s life was an ode to those who stayed and didn’t. And he’d stayed, by some miracle, so the biggest piece was dedicated to himself. His mother was kind, but the world wasn’t kind to her; but it was the world in which Stuart did not exist, the upside down in her ailed mind. He would tell her tales of a kingdom come, about princesses carried into the light—come out, come out, mama, I can feel you, but I want to see you. Then come out she did and the world was right again, mother and son aligned on the same axis. Until an earthquake shook the Earth, a tsunami towered over to wash her away. 

Stories woven with threads of life. His last one unraveled by death.

The ladder swayed with the tremble of his startled hands, then grew steady to the beat of his heart; the dim glow of the stage highlighted the enigmatic shadow backstage to shape a silhouette of familiarity. He climbed down the ladder and they talked. They laughed. Embraced. A temporary distraction defused his bomb of frustration. 

Pause. Rewind. Frame by frame. 

He climbed down the ladder, then felt a crushing weight pinning him against the hard metal. An electrical jolt coursed through him, but it dulled the ache of the stab in his chest cavity; in his imagination, his lung hissed like a deflating balloon, and with each breath, he felt like his head was being pushed underwater, minutes ticking by like hours. Betrayal surfaced in his eyes and he was nine years old all over again, the attic window was ajar and the February wind stung his cheeks like a bullet ant burrowed into the skin. 

“Mother—” Stuart gasped out in a plea, but then it wasn’t “—fucker.”

The film reel was cut and dry, but he was the tortoise and reality was the hare. There was no moral of this story and the tortoise did not win. But the tortoise did try, relying on the pressure of Stuart’s hand around the person’s—hare’s—throat. Pump. That was the adrenaline. Squeeze. That was the hand. Pump. Squeeze. Pump. Squeeze. Pump. Pump. The more he prodded, the harder it was to breathe like they were mirror reflections of each other; bruise, bruise, bruise, chanting in his head. His siblings’ laughter echoed distantly in his mind’s hallway, growing louder with each step. Don’t come, you shouldn’t see this. His own voice was alien yet familiar, his mother’s lullaby. He’d said something, he was sure of it, but his words bubbled like a witch’s potion in his throat, choking on the metallic tinge of his blood that poured, poured, poured until it filled up the frame. Why? was his silent scream.

He closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them again, there would be no slit in his throat, no puncture in his chest. Maybe he would be a nobleman or a thief, a cowboy or a priest, a dog or a father. A better son and a better friend. A friend turned lover. 

It had meant to be his show, but someone else had told the story for him, using his lifeless force as a ventriloquist dummy. His wrists, tied up against the beams of the makeshift balcony, made a biblical icon out of him that rained all over the stage. No! This performance was going south, he had to put a stop to it. But he could take a break, they could laugh and talk, and embrace again. A temporary distraction to defuse his bomb of frustration. Sleep. 

A story he wanted to tell.

There was a bed in the middle of the tortoise’s path. He’d traveled such a long way, he wanted to rest. His family and friends gathered around his bed, they wiped his wrists and neck clean and tucked him in. 

“Sweet dreams, little tortoise,” they all said and, one by one, they kissed him on the head.

And so the little tortoise slept.

[omorial]

Overwhelming Emotions

cws: dead character mention, unwarranted blaming, yelling, implied neglect, implied depression

Spoilers for the first graveyard scene with Kel

•••

It had been… hard, recently. For everyone.

Mari was… gone. They were never gonna see her again… 

It made Kel really sad. It made everyone sad. He hadn't seen Sunny in… since it happened. 

But, um, it was fine! He had to try and stay optimistic, 'cuz everyone was sad and he wanted to be able to make them not sad, even if only for a little while. Especially Hero! He wanted to be able to make him happy, because he was really sad.

Hero deserved to be happy again. But since Mari's gone now, he isn't happy at all.

Kel didn't know how to help. It had gotten worse as time went on, and… he was worried. Was Hero gonna be okay? He never wanted to get out of bed to go to school, and Kel noticed he wasn't eating either… mom or dad usually had to come in there and convince him to eat something.

It was like he just didn't care anymore… he barely left their room, and he looked really sick all the time. Kel noticed that he wasn't cooking either… and Hero loved cooking! He didn't know what was going on… 

He tried to help, too! He would talk to Hero sometimes, or bring him food so he didn't have to leave their room if he didn't want to. Him and mom and dad all tried to be supportive. But… nothing was helping. 

Kel frowned, pulling his blankets closer around him and looking over at Hero. He was just sitting in his bed, huddled in his blankets like he had been for almost a year now… 

He wanted to help. Hero was always helping people, helping him, and Kel wanted to help too! Maybe he could help Hero feel better. 

His mind made up, Kel walked over to his brothers bed and sat on the edge, trying not to disturb Hero too much. He cautiously put his hand on Hero's back, and when nothing bad happened, he settled in more. He chewed on his lip, trying to think of what to say.

"Um…" Kel glanced over at Hero, then looked down at his lap. "I- I know you haven't been- been feeling well, but… we all miss you, Hero. We all, um- we all want you to get better… we're all worried too- um- I don't really know what's going on but- I'm worried, and, um, I just want you to get better."

Kel looked over at Hero, who hadn't said anything. He hadn't moved much, either. Kel took a deep breath before continuing.

"Um… I- I hope you feel better soon, Hero… no one likes seeing you like this, uh- um- Mari wouldn't want to see you like this either…"

Kel looked up when Hero started shaking, and he got off his brother's bed quickly, tripping and falling back. He- he thought he was helping, but… Hero- Hero looked so angry. Did- did he say something wrong?

"Just- just stop, Kel!" Hero's voice was scratchy, and Kel pulled his knees to his chest when Hero yelled at him, feeling tears building up in his eyes.

"I- I'm just trying to- to help-"

"Well you're not helping! You're not helping, and you just need to- need to stop! All you try to do is help, and- and it can get so annoying! Sometimes it seems like you weren't even affected by Mari's death!"

Hero was crying. Kel was scared, and confused. Why was Hero getting so mad at him? Of- of course he was affected, he just…

 

"You were happy again so quickly, and you just expected everyone else to bounce back too! You always act so happy and like nothing affects you or anyone else!"

"He- Hero, please- I- im sorry, c- calm down-"

"You're always sorry. Just stop trying to meddle! It isn't helping, it isn't doing any good."

Kel was shaking now, and crying, though he tried to hold them back. He- he needed to help Hero calm down… 

"P-please! I-I'm sorry, Hero, I'm so-sorry-"

"Boys? What's going on we heard yelling- oh! Oh, Hero, honey, what happened?!"

Mom and dad ran into the room, running over to Hero and hugging him. Kel scrambled back, leaning up against his bed. He was still shaking. That was so scary… why did Hero get so mad…?

A few seconds passed as Hero calmed down before he broke away from mom and dad, running over to Kel. His eyes squeezed shut instinctively, but Hero just pulled him into a hug. He was still crying, but he wasn't yelling anymore… 

"Kel I'm sorry I'm so sorry I shouldn't have yelled at you like that I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-"

Kel returned the hug, letting the string of apologies wash over him and not really listening.

They stayed like that for a while before Hero pulled away, going back over to his bed. Kel climbed into his own bed, still shaken up.

He didn't get much sleep that night.

[casuallydyinginthecorner]

Nothing's Going To Hurt You- a Kiribaku Oneshot

I already posted this, but it was kinda hard to find, so... here it is again! Check the tags for tws!

Rating: PG-13

The dream started out familiar enough. The class was in the middle of training, and Bakugo had just blown through a row of cement blocks. He shouted triumphantly. His record was beaten for the second time today. Then All Might came into the room. No, he decided. He could do better. He tried again, but instead of exploding like the previous shot, the blocks caught the explosions and transformed into hands.

At first, the hands came towards him in a motherly caress. Then they turned gnarled, grabbing him and forcing him into a chair.

“You want to be a hero?” Shigaraki said in his mother’s voice. “Let’s see what you can do.” His grip turned to iron as the scene changed once again.

Now Bakugo was at the sports festival, his body chained to the pole, thunderous applause deafening his ears. The crowd around him faded and solidified into a person- first Half-and-Half, then Deku, then All Might. They extended a hand, the temperature rising around them.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

The heat grew from intense to suffocating, until soon enough it became so hot that the world around him contracted into a ball. No, the ball. He was trapped again, but this time Bakugo was too big to fit. Too big, yet so, so small. No matter how hard he punched and kicked and hit the walls, they only got harder, thicker, absorbing all the air. Bakugo’s face watered. If he didn’t find a way to get out now, he would die.

The walls expanded, turning into a stern hand that slapped his cheek.

“You think talking will get you what you want?” his mother scolded. “No. If you speak so quietly, cry so often, you will never get what you want. Stand up, Katsuki. Your crying is pathetic.”

But Bakugo couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It wasn’t his fault that he got kidnaped. It wasn’t his fault that he lost to Half-and-Half. It wasn’t his fault that he’d lost the chance to be more to his enemy, a quirkless, slower, pathetic person, who was somehow more brave, more courageous, more persistent, and somehow stupid enough to reach his hand out when Bakugo could get out of this mess himself, because he was supposed to be better. Than. This.

Bakugo shoved the hand aside and started running. But he couldn’t escape it. The hand melted into a new, expanding darkness, taking a new form in vague but recognizable blobs- his classmates. As he ran forward, they moved farther away. Bakugo jumped into the air and used explosions to propel himself, but to no avail. They surpassed him, and he was left behind. No. Not like this.

He extended his arm out and grabbed one. When it turned around, its face was made of tape. Bakugo jerked his hand back. The fire in his second hand sputtered out, landing on another blob, this one pink. Another seized him from behind, this one sparking waves of electricity. When he got pushed down, down, down into the darkness, the blob was bright red.

No. He couldn’t take this anymore. His limbs were numb, hair matted to his face with sweat and tears. But he had to endure it. He had to get through this. He couldn’t lose; not to All Might, not to Deku, and certainly not to some dream.

The darkness became more pressured as he fell. Bits of the blobs fell with him, turning into staticy bits of memories. The pressure increased as he took them in-a glimpse of his kindergarten teacher whispering a warning to “be careful around Bakugo, his behavior lately is erratic,” one of his mother and father shutting the door to his room until he could “get over himself” after a tantrum, one of All Might, pulling him away from Deku, not saying anything, but his expression saying enough.

As Bakugo fell down, the pressure in his ears turned to humming whispers, all saying one thing: you’re worthless.

Then, as a final parting gift, the dream changed one last time. He saw the bits of static form into one large person, floating towards the almost microscopic Bakugo-different now, older, but it had the same evil, chilling smile. It wasn’t until his body started crumbling into dust that he recognized it as Shigaraki’s.

“You’d make a fine villain someday.”

Even though Bakugo knew it was a dream, he could still feel the tingling of Decay working its way up his body. His lungs were constricting, filling with sand. He couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard he tried. Around him, the darkness became crushing, creating a void in his mind, threatening to suck up everything until he became nothing, just an insignificant speck. But wasn’t that all he was? Katsuki Bakugo would never be a hero, never rise to the top and become number one (1). Why should he even try? If all he would amount to would be worth too little, why should anyone believe in him? It was his fault he was kidnapped. If only he had trained faster, stronger, pushed himself harder and harder until he couldn’t anymore, maybe he would have-

“Bakugo?”

Suddenly the pressure eased, but the Decay didn’t stop. His lungs began to dissolve, droplets of blood filling the air. This was it. This was how he went out. A stupid, stupid dream.

“Bakugo, listen to me.” Somehow, this voice seemed different than the ones in the dream. Stable. More sure.

Something came out of the darkness. A hand, unfurling in his direction. After what he’d seen, Bakugo should have scrambled back and fired explosions at it. But this hand seemed different. It wasn’t suffocating or pressuring. If anything, it was inviting. Reassuring. Reaching out, not to harm, but save him.

He felt something on his arm. A faint, warm pressure, keeping him from fully drifting away. The hand moved closer.

“Focus on my hand. It’s warm, right?” Closer.

“It’s warm, just like the room. You’re in the common room, on the couch that faces the TV. The heater is going off, and it’s making a rumbling noise.” Closer.

The voice continued. “You’re lying on the couch, and one of your hands is on the floor. Can you feel it?” Closer. Slowly, the darkness faded to a lighter gray.

“It’s 1:24 a.m. No one else is here. It’s just you and me.” The hand was so close that Bakugo could almost see its jagged lines. If he jumped up now, he would reach it.

“You’re fine. You’re safe. You can open your eyes and nothing’s going to hurt you.” The hand became attached to a torso, which became attached to a face. Unlike the others, he could see this one clearly.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

As Bakugo jumped from the ground, the face called out. Come on!

“Nothing’s going to hurt you.” The darkness turned to white as Bakugo took the hand. His eyes opened. The common room came into focus, and with that, someone else.

“Sh*tty Hair?”

“Yep.” He moved closer. “How do you feel?”

“Why do you care?” Bakugo sat up. Someone had set a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him.

“Drink this.” Sh*tty Hair handed him the glass. Bakugo downed it gratefully. With a start, he realized that Sh*tty Hair’s hand was still intertwined in his.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Bakugo asked, tearing his hand away. He decided to ignore the look of hurt on Sh*tty Hair’s face.

“I was getting water and saw you fell asleep. I was gonna leave you be, but you were breathing so quickly…” Sh*tty Hair trailed off. “A panic attack,” he finally said. “I get those sometimes, too. What I just did? It’s called grounding. It helps.” His gaze went to the glass. “Oh, are you finished? I’ll get you some more water. And then,” he said, “we can talk about what happened? If you want?”

Bakugo said nothing. Why had he stepped in? His dream, or panic attack, or whatever it was, wasn’t any of his business.

Sh*tty Hair shrugged. “I don't know. It helps me to talk about it, sometimes.” He went over to the kitchen area, first grabbing another glass, then filling both with water from the sink. It wasn’t until he came back that Bakugo asked his question.

“Why did you help me?” he grumbled.

“What?”

“Why did you help me?” You’d think he told Sh*tty Hair he wanted to play chess, he was so shocked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He chuckled. “You needed help-and there’s nothing wrong with that- and I know how it feels when you’re alone and panicking, so…”

What had he said? Nothing’s going to hurt you. Tch. Like he would know. But still, if what he’d said was true…

“I need to be alone.” Luckily, Sh*tty Hair seemed to understand.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me. Door’s unlocked.” With that, he set off towards the staircase.

Bakugo hesitated. Nothing’s going to hurt you.

“Sh*tty Hair?”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

A small smile spread across his face. “Anytime.”

[takinghisbow]

@ahogedetective​ asked: ❝ “ you don’t need to be fixed.  ” ❞ ( you know the vibes | memes. )

Kokichi still didn’t know how to explain his bad days—not even to Shuichi. The best he could do was 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, which was precisely why he was curled up on the couch besides Shuichi, convinced to not stay in bed. It was why he had let some 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 slip out, both thankful and bitter about not having to go through it alone. He was supposed to be cocky to the point of arrogance, not full of self-hatred.

(In reality, both were true, but he didn’t know how to explain that to Shuichi either.)

Head lolling against Shuichi’s shoulder, positioned so the other couldn’t see his face, he replied, “𝐈𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭.” A pause. He pressed a faux smile onto his face as he met Shuichi’s eyes and added, “You’re definitely the only one who feels that way!” He bit down the instinct to insist Shuichi was lying, that he couldn’t possibly accept Kokichi for who he was. Despite how nerve-wracking letting Shuichi see this part of him was, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.

His smile slipped away into something more honest. “Sorry.” One of his rare apologies. “This does. . . help.” Shuichi’s presence and affection, the trust that he would stay by Kokichi’s side and support him—𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢'𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬.

[ether-chosen]

At least my pets have made comfortable beds while I've been sprawled on the bear fur thinking where my life went horribly diagonal for the past 2 hours.

[damianwayneasksandrp]

❤️- How would you describe yourself?

//If I'm being honest? Extremely stupid, disassociates way too much, people pleaser by nature and how I was raised, bottles up emotions, ugly, tries to be friendly, probably very naive, seriously how do people stand me

//As for Damian? He would describe himself as a bent-but-not-broken perfectionist when it comes to himself and a bit too cold and mean for his own good.

[liapark-blog1]

— by the time she noticed she wasn’t alone at the pharmacy counter, it was too late - several idle minutes of bubblegum browsing and studying magazine headlines with vague interest had left her completely oblivious to her surroundings, specifically the surrounding customers, and before she can make a less than subtle dash to her range rover the innocuous white paper bag with “PROZAC — PARK, JIYEON” printed in stark navy letters is being slid across the counter to her. as the pharmacist begins giving her instructions she can’t force herself to pay attention to, there is a sinking sensation in her stomach that seems to reach her knees, half embarrassment on her mother’s behalf and half overwhelming distress that she hadn’t been able to pull this one simple task off for her. quickly, ophelia composed her features into a bright smile, casually shoving the prescription into her purse and practically bouncing over to the familiar face, ready to do some damage control.

             “ oh, hey !! how’s it hanging ?”