#apparently this happens when you get childhood trauma in a psych ward??

[anxiously-avoiding]

Okay seriously need someone to explain this to me. I finally started Takin' over the Asylum and how the actual fuck did they have the budget for The Beatles, but Doctor Who, with their big fancy Disney budget, couldn't afford it. What the fuck. Did they just not charge as much in 1994? Was it really not in the budget or did RTD make that up because he thought I should have "I've got a dog" on loop in my head?

[goffilolo]

Revival of Midoriya Izuku: Chapter 4 "My depression may be chronic, but my ass is iconic"

I bet you didn't think you were ever gonna see an update. well neither did I. What can I say? writing with a broken hand is a struggle.

Link to the fic on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/81090403

Izuku’s first day of high school was interesting, to say the least, or it would’ve been if he actually went to school instead of spreading mayhem amongst UA’s first years. Shinjuku Metropolitan has been rather lenient in regards to his attendance or lack of thereof, thanks to whatever bullshit Shin wrote to the school on his behalf to ensure that the faculty would accommodate his ‘condition’. Which is just fancy wording for ‘I got a get out of school card’. Truth be told, this is probably the best thing that the doctor has ever done for him since Izuku was nowhere near ready to return to mainstream education, not after everything that has happened in middle school. The last thing he needed were looks of pity and guilt-induced niceties from people who otherwise had no problem laughing at his misfortune.

So instead Izuku has decided to spend his time productively - if you could count tormenting your ex-childhood friend and having an accidental family reunion as such.

Uncle Shouta always had a bit of a mean streak to him, although it never really felt as such when Izuku himself interacted with him. From what little of his childhood he could remember that didn’t involve trauma and discrimination, his uncle was a somewhat kind, but grumpy man. He believed in a brand of tough love - that somehow did not correspond with the way his mother raised him in the slightest and went above and beyond for things and people he held close to his heart. Sure they haven’t seen each other since Izuku was 4, but if his uncle’s empty threats from today’s Quirk Apprehension Test are anything to go by, not much has changed.

Which brings him back to now; sitting in an empty classroom that he does not belong to - a school that he does not belong to, writing down his ever-so-detailed notes about the quirks he will only be able to admire from afar. Not much has changed , indeed.

It almost feels like a betrayal. Almost , being the operative word, because he has no reason to cling onto the things that he no longer cares about - should no longer care about, for they had died along with him that day on the roof, and were properly buried within the four walls that Izuku called his own during his stay in the hospital.

But well...looks like today Izuku is in a mood to dig up old corpses.

Metaphorically, that is.

“God, you’re still here!”

“Kacchan we’ve talked about this” he replied, rather dramatically “God is dead and all that’s left is me”

Kacchan clearly did not appreciate his superior sense of humour, if the lack of response is anything to go by. “No seriously, why are you still here?”

“I could ask you the same”

“I actually study here you fuckwit!” the blond exclaimed in his ever explosive fashion “Besides I had to come back and get my change of clothes since that demonic pet of yours was sitting on them when we were all leaving for the test”

“Huh, that actually reminds me...where’s Bandit?”

“Oi, don’t change the subject you shitty Deku” replied Bakugou, as he kicked one of the chairs over towards the desk that was currently occupied by Izuku and slumped down in it in a way that would perhaps appear as non-caring to absolutely no one “I didn’t know your uncle was a pro-hero.”

Ah, so that’s what he was bothered about.

“That makes the two of us”

“Wait, really?!”

“Honestly Kacchan! Did you really think that IF I knew my uncle was a pro-hero that I would be able to ever shut up about it?”

“No way in hell!”

“Exactly!”

Well, now that the topic of his uncle has been cleared up, there wasn’t much else to talk about, at least not much that wouldn’t result in collateral damage or a Bakugou shitshow 2.0. Both of the boys were well aware of it of course, but let it never be said that either of them could be stopped by things like common sense, especially when it came to avoiding conversational land mines.

“So...what are you scribbling over here?” asked Bakugou in a rather poor and possibly the most awkward attempt at establishing small talk that has ever been known to man and sheep kind alike.

“Ok, no! That is not happening” snapped Izuku, who very much saw where this was going and was having none of it “We are NOT having a civil conversation!”

“Why the fuck not?!” replied the blond, his anger as booming and apparent as his quirk.

“Because that is not something we DO Kacchan!” shouted the teen, banging his hands against the desk, his notebook long forgotten.

“Well, maybe we should?!” exclaimed Bakugou, who was quick to anger, yet quicker to notice his ex-friend’s unusual mood as he tried to make an effort to de-escalate the situation.

“Oh? Should we really? !” sneered Izuku, feeling the kind of anger and disdain he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since that fateful day in the ward.

“That’s rich coming from you” he continued as he stood up form the chair, unable to keep still in his fury as he circled the classroom “All you ever did was shout at me, insult me and throw baseless accusations at me left and right for god knows how long, but suddenly YOU want to have a conversation with me? Isn’t it enough that we kinda talked about our feelings that one time when I was still stuck in the psych ward?!”

Honestly, what do you expect Kacchan?” asked Izuku, feeling raw and hysteric and all kinds of wrong, spilling his metaphorical guts to his ex-bully/friend “That we will just start having normal conversations like nothing ever happened, act like we’re friends or some shit? Because let’s be honest, we haven’t been friends for a very long time, that ship has sunk long before I even attempted suicide! ”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” screamed Bakugou, feeling equally angry, but mostly out of his depth in the situation. He expected Deku to possibly mock him for his awkward attempts at small talk. What the blond didn’t expect was for him to snap, in a way that was somewhat familiar but not quite, as even the few times they’ve spoken back when Izuku was in the hospital or when he got released, his tempter felt controlled in a way it was not at the moment. Katsuki wasn’t sure what exactly triggered such a strong response, but he was not looking forward to having another fight, at least not one initiated by him.

“I’m not trying to pretend it didn’t happen” he explained “I just want to move forward. I’m not the same asshole I was last year and neither are you, so I don’t want to be stuck on how things used to be ! It makes me feel like I’m going nowhere.”

“Ok! Fine! You wanna talk?! Then let me fuckin TELL you something! You asked me what I was ‘scribbling’ over here?” exclaims Izuku, as he stomps his way back towards the desk and snatches his notebook, waving it aggressively in front of Bakugou “IT’S THE SAME STUFF I’VE BEEN SCRIBBLING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME!” he screamed “Those quirk analysis notebooks you used to mock me for? It’s another one of those because as it turns out  I still AM the same asshole I was last year! Now then, can YOU tell ME how many of those I’ve had?”

“Thirteen…” mutters Bakugou, feeling like he’s walking into a proverbial trap.

“Good boy, you can count! Now, can you tell me what number does it say on this one?” sneers Izuku sarcastically as he points once again at the notebook in question.

“Is this a trick question? There’s fuckin nothing on it”

“EXACTLY! And you want to know why?” screamed the distressed teen, no longer feeling angry, but tired and vulnerable, unable to stop himself from having a conversation he didn’t even want to be a part of “Because these notes used to serve a purpose, a purpose I no longer have. Hero Analysis for the Future , to be exact. But guess what Kacchan…” he whispered, no longer looking at the red eyes that used to bring him so much pain “...I no longer have a future…”

The blond hung his head in shame as he listened to his childhood friend break down in tears while hiding his face behind the very notebook that started their argument, all the while Trash Bandit who woke up due to their screaming was trying to get his owner’s attention with pathetically quiet ‘baaah’s.

“You have the right to be angry with me, after all this shit I put you through” stated Bakugou after what felt like an endless silence broken only by Izuku’s stuttering sobs. He never thought of himself as a coward, but at this moment he could not find enough bravery to sit face to face with the crying teen.

“I KNOW that you shithead-” replied Izuku as he shakily tried to take a breath in between the sobs “-but what good is that gonna do?! You’ve actually admitted that the way you treated me was wrong, hell you even voluntarily went to therapy! You’re basically going through a whole-ass redemption arc and what do I do? * sob * I’m still stuck in the past and I can’t let go of my grudges, which isn’t doing me or you any favours. I’ve told you to get your shit together, and this is exactly what you’re trying to do and instead of being h-* hic *- happy for you I’m mad-”

His rant broke off as he took another breath with tears still rolling down the freckled cheeks despite the boy’s best efforts. Izuku slumped down in his seat and with shaking hands he took out a cigarette and lighter from his backpack that was still hanging by the hook on the side of the desk. And although putting the cigarette in his mouth was relatively easy, lighting it was another matter. As Izuku grew more frustrated with the quiver in his hands, so did Bakugou. The blond became impatient as he grumbled “give it here damn it” much more quietly and gently than he normally would’ve done as he leaned forward, all the while grabbing the other teen by his shoulder with one hand, as he used to the other to quickly light the cigarette with a small explosion. Izuku’s flinch at the sudden but familiar noise and heat did not go unnoticed.

To say that Izuku was shocked by his ex-friend’s action would’ve been an understatement, but he was pleased nonetheless. If anything it proved his point that Kacchan was trying to be nicer to him, even if the attempts were somewhat awkward. The freckled teen, feeling only marginally better, leaned back in his chair facing the ceiling as he continued to blow circles of smoke up into the air, trying to regain his original train of thought.

“You’d think they would have a fire alarm in here or something” mused Bakugou as he stared at the disappearing circles.

“Hmm” replied Izuku, absentmindedly “You’d think”

The silence has once again stretched between the 2 boys, although this time it felt less oppressive in its need to be filled. Bakugou was happy to wait for Deku to finish what he started, it was the least the blond could do seeing as he was at fault for the current state of things between them.

“I’m so fuckin angry...” stated Izuku as he crashed the burnt out cigarette against the desk, which Bakugou conviniently ignored seeing as the desk was his. “I’m so fuckin angry-” he repeated despite his tone and words not matching at all “-because this proves that you could’ve gotten your shit together this whole time” he continues while gesturing vaguely between the two of them.

“You could’ve stopped this bullshit and apologised to me!” exclaims Izuku in a tone that is half resigned and half accusing “You could’ve spared me the misery, and yet you didn’t. I feel like I’ve suffered for nothing-”

“You did!” interrupted the blond.

“What?”

“You’ve suffered for nothing” clarified Bakugou “There’s literally NO good reason for you to have gone through even half the shit you did”

“I dunno about that Kacchan” teased Izuku “I’m pretty sure the reason is sitting right in front of me”

“I said no good reason damn it, don’t go around twisting my words you fuckin Deku!”

And Izuku couldn’t help but break out in laughter, because he was pretty sure that this was the first time ever that Bakugou had made a joke at his own expense and this moment was going to live in his brain rent free from now on.

“Oh God, Kacchan-” he wheezed, trying to stop himself from laughing “You were right, you really aren't the same asshole that you were last year!”

“I sure fuckin hope not” replied Bakgou who was just as close to laughing “Otherwise I would’ve had to demand refund for all of those shitty therapy sessions”

“Look at us Kacchan” said Izuku, his laugh now subdued “We’re still a fuckin mess”

“I guess we are” agreed the blond as he stared down at his friend’s notebook in a thoughtful expression.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the truthfully embarrassing heart-to-heart with Kacchan, Izuku wanted to do nothing more than sink into the void for the next eternity, or at least until he gets his reminder text that he’s running late for yet another therapy session. Unfortunately neither of these options were viable seeing as he was on a self-appointed mission to catch up to his uncle. The boy hoped that uncle Shouta would still be somewhere on the premises seeing as his ugly-ass sleeping bag was still in the classroom. Izuku used that to his advantage as he gave the sleeping bag to Bandit who promptly sniffed it and began to follow the scent of a premature-midlife-crisis. Who knew that sheep could make such good hounds?

Bandit had dutifully led their owner through an ever inconvenient maze of corridors, which eventually ended with the two entering the teacher’s lounge like they had every right to be there (which they kinda did, shoutout to Nedzu!). As expected, Izuku’s uncle was in the lounge, surrounded by fellow members of staff as they tried (unsuccessfully, at least by Izuku’s standards) to get any information out of him regarding his class this year. Uncle Shouta for the most part looked like he’d rather be doing anything else and so Izuku has made an executive decision to insert himself obnoxiously into the situation.

“In my humble opinion-” he said, as he sat down next to his uncle, while Bandit jumped up on his lap “that Mineta kid should’ve been expelled. Like, we get it uncle, he has potential ” continued Izuku, as he spat the word distastefully “But how far is that potential gonna get him when all he does is harass the entire female population, like every other mediocre straight guy with self awareness of a sea cucumber?”

“A sea cucumber? Really?” asked uncle Shouta, sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he is.

“I mean don’t get me wrong” he continues, completely ignoring the unnecessary commentary “Straight people are already embarrassing as they are, but this guy is on another level, the kinda level that usually leads to a straight jacket, am I right?! Hah- I just made a pun!”

“The little listener does have a point, Shouta” replied Present Mic.

“Also, did he just say uncle ? Shouta, is there anything you’d like to tell us?” asked Midnight, you know, like a traitor.

“No”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t until they walked past the gates of the school that his uncle finally stopped in his tracks to voice at least a portion of the questions that have been bubbling in his mind since the impromptu family reunion with his nephew.

“Izuku” says Shouta, with as much concern as an uncle-who-you-haven’t-seen-in-almost-a-decade is allowed to voice “What the fuck?”

“Look, I heard that question far too often in my lifetime, mostly from my therapist, so you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific” replies Izuku sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he hopes to evolve into through the sheer power of genetics and generational trauma.

“Look kid-” says the hobo looking man that has the privilege of being related to Izuku as he puts his hands together, takes a deep breath and prays to whichever God he believes is not yet dead for some guidance on how to handle this “-as much as I’d love to elaborate on the sheer amount of confusion I am experiencing right now due to your questionable way of life, I do actually have to go on a patrol so this conversation is gonna have to be postponed. In the meanwhile give your mother my regards, and I’ll hopefully see you in the near future when you decide once again to wreak havoc in my classroom.”

“No” replies the freckled teen in a total disregard for other people’s prior engagements, thus truly earning his title of a problem child.

“What do you mean no ? Izuku, I have a job to do!”

Instead of replying, Izuku has decided to simply pull a pro-gamer move, by quickly taking out a familiar pair of handcuffs from the side pocket of his backpack, cuffing one side to his uncle’s hand and the other to his own. That on its own is probably not particularly impressive, however it is the speed of the action that has earned it the title of a pro-gamer move, which Izuku is quite proud of. His uncle on the other hand is definitely less so, looking at his cuffed wrist like it has somewhat betrayed him.

“Please tell me you did not just do that”

“I did not just do that”

After wasting about 10 minutes of his life on fruitless struggle of trying to get the handcuffs off like an untrained dog trying to chew off its own leash, Aizawa Shouta; the underground hero Eraserhead, the infamous Erasure Hero has slumped in defeat, internally swearing to himself to one day get revenge on his unruly nephew.

“God, I am so going to have a talk with my sister about this” he says, as if a threat of authority had any meaning to the green headed teen.

“Yeah, no shit, that’s the whole point, we’re going to my house now” replies the teen, completely disregarding any attempt at ‘ an adult asserting their authority ’ over him.

“I still have to go on a patrol tonight” repeats Shouta, as if it was somewhat relevant.

“That sounds like a you problem”

[brielleinstitutehq]

DEXTER STAVROS is a 24-year-old PATIENT in the PSYCHIATRIC WARD. He has been diagnosed with RENFIELD’S SYNDROME (SCHIZOPHRENIA), NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER, & PSYCHOPATHY. He looks a lot like Domnic Sherwood.

MAYBE THEY’RE HIDING

Dexter’s story starts off like everyone else’s. Born to a mother and father. He lived in a middle class, working society. The only difference was the lack of communication between parent and child. Dexter will be the first one to tell you his parents never gave a shit about him. As far as he was concerned, they had children so they could claim a decent chunk of change at the end of the year during tax time. Dexter was given things to survive, sure, but being ignored 24/7 really does tend to isolate any child faced with the situation.

As a child, Dexter sought out other means to keep himself from feeling lonely. It started off with stuffed animals, then slowly - but gradually - moved to domestic animals. It didn’t matter if it was the neighbors dog, or the stray cats running around the neighborhood. Often times, he would bring them home, hording them inside his room, leaving his parents and brother oblivious to the fact they were even around.

When he was asked about the odd smells starting to overtake the house, he would lie to anyone that asked. “It’s not my fault" he would tell them, and most of the time, they’d be in too much of a hurry to argue about it with him.

Some would question rather or not Dexter actually felt some sort of connection to these animals, and he’ll always tell you the same thing. He did, at the time. It wasn’t until he started taking his anger out on the animals that things started to take a turn for the worst. Those strays, he would cut them open and watch as they took their last breath. He would shove the carcasses in plastic bags to relieve the smell, and he’d leave them piled up in his closet.

WE HOPE THEY ARE PLAYING A GAME

When the police came to his house the first time, he was eleven years old. The neighbors dog had gone missing and the moron living next to them was so sure that Dexter had something to do with it. Dexter’s parents gave the police permission to search his room, and what they found was disturbing for all parties involved. Not only did they find Dexter’s hidden stash of dead animals, but they also found the neighbors dog. Arresting an eleven year old was awkward, and instead of sending him to jail, they sent him to a psychiatric hospital, where he underwent outpatient therapy for the next several years. They tried to make him a normal, functioning member of society and for a while, they succeeded.

By the time he was fourteen, he decided to drop out of high school (his parents even granted permission), figuring he’d do better doing online school. In his mind, he didn’t actually need an education to become the various things he wanted to become and this was one way he didn’t have to leave his home. He never had any friends, so being bummed out about that was never a problem, either.

Hell, Dexter til this day doesn’t know what those are. The only real friend he can ever say he had came in the form of his older brother. Although they weren’t super close, they were close enough to talk about things that concerned them. His brother was a known drug dealer and while Dexter didn’t necessarily care what he did in his free time, he did have a problem with him bringing the buyers to the house.

One day while they were home alone playing video games, Dexter’s problem became even bigger. Not only did his brother continue to bring his buyers to the house, but during a drug deal, his brother was shot dead. To any fourteen year old, that probably would have caused some sort of emotional turmoil. For Dexter, it was just another piece of the puzzle he didn’t know existed. He remained in the house with his dead brother for hours, unsure what he was supposed to do in the situation. His brain didn’t work like everyone else’s, so his need to call police wasn’t there. It wasn’t until his parents came home and he was still covered in blood that shit hit the fan. The cops were called again and Dexter was brought in for questioning – although this time – he had nothing to do with the crime. His first emotional outburst happened during the interview process. Something had set him off and instead of listening to what the police wanted, he threw a fit, tossing multiple things into the air and shouting about how they didn’t know how to do their jobs because his brother was dead and his killer would probably remain uncaught. Needless to say, he was taken home shortly after. Trauma, they labelled it.

His second emotional outburst was against his parents and it led to two counts of second degree murder at just sixteen years old. Things had changed in his home. With his brother dead, his parents were trying to become more active in his life and he didn’t like it. The yelling and screaming sent him over the edge and the only thing he’ll tell you is that they deserved what happened next. He bludgeoned them both to death and left the scene of the crime, not even trying to cover up what happened. His impulsive nature left two people he could care less about dead. The police, on the other hand? They cared quite a lot and Dexter became a mini celebrity as his photograph flashed along television and media screens.

He was able to stay hidden for about a month before the police found him. That’s when the real fun started. The prosecution had to decide rather or not they’d try him as an adult. It took a lot of negotiation, but Dexter managed to plead insanity with the help of his lawyer and his childhood therapist. Instead of painting Dexter out to be a monster, they painted him out to be a child who grew up ignored in a family. They painted him as someone that had lost his only friend and had suffered a childhood trauma that clearly left him unstable. They stated various things from his childhood twisted Dexter into becoming the individual he was today, and he soaked it up. He was able to fake remorse, even crying during his sentencing at certain points. The book wasn’t thrown at him, but he didn’t get to walk off scot-free, either. For the next five years (until he was legally 21), he would be forced to see another therapist paid and hired for by the state. He was also forced to undergo a psych evaluation by a forensic psychiatrist who reported his findings back to the court system. Not only did Dexter have an insane illusion that he had somehow become better than everyone, he had grown an unnatural attachment to the taste of blood and would often cut himself in order to receive the substance. Renfield’s Syndrome – or so they claim. To the forensic psychiatrist? Schizophrenia. Or at least a sub-category based around it. The true diagnosis? Psychopathy.

BUT THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING

He’s not sure how he ended up here at Brielle Institute. Dexter will be the first to keep saying there’s nothing wrong with him, but there are people that will disagree. He’s here simply because he returned back to his old antics. Animals came up missing and his anger got the best of him. His impulsive nature caused him to fight with the police when they were called and he was arrested, again. Only this time he wasn’t so lucky. No jail time, of course. But now he’s facing time in a psychiatric hospital that he can’t escape. Brielle Institute. Full of mystery and conflict, but apparently, capable of helping even the helpless. He’s not aware of the stories that cloud the place, but even if he was aware, he probably wouldn’t care. The only thing he does care about is putting up a facade, so he can get the hell out of here as fast as he can. Yet, he knows there is always going to be some doctor to challenge him. He was challenged often by the forensic psychologist that looked at his case the first time, and he can’t help but feel this place will be the same.

CONNECTIONS: none

Unfortunately, Dexter is TAKEN!