#sorry why do i keep making these depressing

[vanishingstarrs]

loss of my life ( k. bakugo x reader, anxiety, depression, mourning, stages of grief, character death mentioned, some self deprecation OR your boyfriend laments the loss of his life and struggles through the reality of being the one left alive ) ( and what if i was feeling sad ) ( i’m actually so sorry omg xx ) ( play loml by taylor swift if u want this to hit extra hard </3 )

The sky was crying.

Katsuki Bakugo disliked nothing more than the rain, the whole concept of it made him feel extremely weak— useless. Not only did the heavy downpour make it harder for him to produce sweat and therefore harder to use his quirk, but being drenched made everything much slower and heavier, so cold and lifeless. He never understood what you liked about it so much.

Not until he was sitting on a bench, tears and rainwater blurring his vision, the two liquids blending together and making it hard to distinguish whether he was crying. He tilted his head back, letting the water pelt against his skin as he finally released his breath.

For a moment… it almost felt like the clouds were doing all the hard work for him, he didn’t even have to cry. A sudden crackle of thunder snapped against the sky, screaming so he didn’t have to, angry for him over life’s injustice.

He didn’t understand it. And then he did.

He could understand why you’d sit at the window for hours, staring out at the rain with a serene look in your eyes, your whole body at ease.

The text cursor blinked up at him mockingly as he remained frozen, looking at his phone, your contact pulled up. It was still favorited on his phone. He hit call after a few seconds, letting the other phone in his hands (one he paid for solely so he could keep doing this) go on and on, the special ringtone you’d picked out specifically so you’d know it was him calling played out. Over the speaker he heard it… your voice.

“Hey! It’s Y/N, I’m off saving the world right now so leave it at the beep and I’ll call back… or not ‘cause I hate phone calls… unless you’re my boyfriend… I’ll text ya! Okay bu— beeeeep.”

The recording cut off before you could fully say bye in that signature cute way that was simply so you, it was more of a buh-bye, with you dragging out the final vowel. If anyone else had said it that way he would’ve found it annoying, told them to speak normal. With you… well, he thought anything that you did endearing.

He wished he’d been strong enough to save you.

His finger twitched, and before he knew it his whole hand was shaking. He stared helplessly at it while his heart went haywire inside his chest.

Dying… he was definitely dying. He was dying and he would get to see you again—

“Kacchan?”

It was overwhelming. The tightening in his chest, the sense of nostalgia washing over him, the longing he felt for someone whose blood had run cold months ago.

A familiar voice broke him out of his reverie, Katsuki looked up to meet green eyes.

How he wished they were yours… he’d often get lost in the world behind your eyes, picturing where life would lead the both of you, together.

“What are you doing out here? You hate the rain.”

He was crying.

It was obvious to his childhood friend, even with the rain trying to disguise it. Izuku Midoriya knew him like the back of his hand, and he knew how much he was hurting with your loss.

“I know you don’t feel like celebrating right now, why don’t we go back inside?” Deku continued,“I’ll walk you to your room.”

He’d rather be in yours… a room now empty, it used to be filled with all your things— books, knickknacks, posters on the walls, photos you’d force him to take that he secretly loved being in because it meant you felt he was worth remembering for years to come… he used to love spending time in your dorm if not only for your scent, being enveloped in it made him feel warmer than he’d ever known before…

“She’s gone.” He finally spoke.

You really were gone. You weren’t coming back. You wouldn’t appear once more someday, jumping up from behind him to yell “sike” and laugh off just how good you’d gotten him. You’d never hold his arm again, or force your freezing cold hands under his shirt. Never text him from across the classroom how much you missed him despite having spent the whole morning in his room, getting ready and taking over his whole bed with your makeup. You wouldn’t whine about making the wrong shoe choice for the day and wait for him to begrudgingly let you jump on his back for him to carry you back to the dorms. He’d never hear your annoying laugh again, or stare at the little mole you had under your left eye. The days of flushing in embarrassment when you forced a bit of pda on him in the hallway before class were gone, and so were your secret moments behind closed doors. There was no more holding back, he was crying again.

He wouldn’t see you again.

Izuku gulped, frowning deeply,“I’m so sorry, Kacchan…”

He looked up, eyes somber.

You were the loss of Katsuki Bakugo’s life.

[zonatcannibalism]

Thinking about fiyero from the movie (not sorry, this will keep happening)

Like im genuinely not kidding when i say that Jonathan bailey absolutely kicked this role out of the park. And its really interesting to me because fiyero was always implied to be someone dealing with depression but i don't think ive ever seen it delivered and interpreted this well. This man is absolutely terrified of letting himself feel his feelings without the sugar coating of partying and being wanted for being fun and sexy. Which actually really ties in to my interpretation that his feelings for elphie here are 100% platonic. Have you seen this mans face before im not that girl? During the "i was thinking" scene? That is not a guy in love, thats a guy absolutely terrified of the concept of emotional honesty. Elphaba made him confront his real feelings for the first time in years and basically launched into his very slow and tedious process of healing. He is a MESS. This bitch isnt in love, hes looking into potential therapists for the first time in years and being forced to acknowledge just how bad hes truly doing. Like, "thinking" making him such a mess? He is absolutely not thinking about being with elphaba lmao. which actually makes the end of act 1 sadder bc knowing the rest of the story and that he goes back to comp het and repressing his mental health issues right after elphaba is gone is really fucking sad and continues the theme of elphaba positively impacting characters in a way that their character development regresses when shes gone.

Anyway on a different note i absolutely love his and glindas relationship. They are both such cold hearted manipulative bitches, and they love each other for it. Fiyero literally just looked at her being manipulative as shit and went "yeah i gotta have a beard relationship with her". They understand each other and how the other acts and why and whats their tactics and its fantastic. I also love that he never had any problem with glinda and elphaba being the most important person to the other instead of it being him, in the way that hes literally never jealous of them and is just like "yeah girls go get some ill be here to gossip about the other when youre done". He definitely knew that glinda is a lesbian wayyyy before glinda knew.

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter three: ONE TASTE of the LIFE

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm.

Word Count: 2,945

CW: Supernatural themes, Star Wars spoilers, Hand Jobs (male receiving)

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. For the past several months, I've been dealing with job issues and major burnout depression. Whereas that's still hanging around, I think I might be in a better place to write more. If you're still hanging on despite my hiatus, thank you very muchness.

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

“Taylor? Are you listening to a word I said?”

I jumped, nearly knocking my water bottle over. “N-No. I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I asked sheepishly.

Rachel smiled sympathetically. “Still worried about the break-in?” she asked. I nodded, as I had told everyone that that was the reason why I was so jumpy.

I liked Rachel. Despite being almost twenty years older than me, she was sort of my only friend outside the circle of misfits and monsters I had embedded myself in. She also didn’t live in New Hope, thankfully. She was a transfer from a bigger town, since our library desperately needed one after one of our librarians “mysteriously disappeared” last August.

Said librarian’s assistant had also “mysteriously vanished” as well, leaving a job wide open for me to fill. I didn’t mind it, being Rachel’s assistant. I might have to do grunt work a lot of the time, but at least she helped instead of just dumping it all on me.

“Anyways, as I was saying, I’m pretty sure no one has gone through the donation bin this decade, if you want to make a dent in it.”

Sitting on my ass while I sort for the next two hours? “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I said, earning a chuckle from her as I stood up and left the front desk.

There were several boxes. She wasn’t kidding. This was going to take longer than I thought. Setting my phone off to the side, I pressed play on one of my safe-for-work playlists and started humming along to some Chappell Roan.

It had been a few days since the incident with the pale creature that had come onto my porch. There had been no repeat occurrences at our place, but someone had said something about seeing a sick-looking coyote at the edge of their yard. I hadn’t mentioned that to Nick, since I wasn’t even sure that it was the same thing that I had seen. 

And Nick was… I couldn’t burden him with any more problems. Between his time at the new tattoo place, townspeople coming to him for remedies to their ailments, and not being able to sleep very well, he was exhausted. I had woken up to him passed out on his couch this morning, Lydia loafing on his back. If I could make him sleep for an entire day, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I pulled the next box towards me and dug through the dusty contents. I was sure now that most of these donations were just from older ladies dumping the contents of their attics off on us just to free up some space. Several of these books so far were the same cookbook in different states of decay. 

I was just about to ask Rachel for a mask since I was tired of sneezing out dust when my hand pulled out a book that was different from all the others. A quick flip through revealed it was a journal. Either their handwriting was terrible or it was written in a different language, because I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was saying. But some of the drawings in it intrigued me, so I set it in the Keep Pile, with the intention to ask Rachel what to do with it. If someone donated it without knowing, they might want it back.

By the end of my shift, my back and lungs didn’t appreciate what work I had gotten done. “Being in your thirties must be rough,” Rachel laughed as I tried popping my back several times. “Maybe you could get that cute boyfriend of yours to help you out later tonight.”

I felt a brief flush rise to the surface of my skin as I thought about Nick’s skilled fingers. “Quit it,” I mumbled, earning a cackle from her that would normally get someone in a library in trouble.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the journal in my hands.

“Oh, I found it in one of the boxes. It looks like somebody might’ve accidentally put it in the donation box. Should we ask if they want it back?” I said.

Rachel shook her head. “Sorry buttercup,” she said, using her nickname for me. “Those were anonymous, and who knows how long ago it was donated. There’s no way we’d be able to trace it back to its owner. Unless it has historic value, we’re supposed to throw it out.”

Something in my face must’ve changed her mind. “Well, if you don’t want to, I could conveniently look the other way when you leave,” she said. 

I was about to say that no, that it was fine, that I didn’t need another written book in my house when Nick was still combing through Granny’s hex books, but the words caught in my throat and I thanked her instead. Maybe if I could find its owner, that would be one good deed I’d done for this town, since they were still wary of me several months after I had moved in.

The library closed at seven, but I didn’t get to go to my car until half an hour later. Late April still meant that it was dark out when I left work, but the building was in the middle of New Hope, the forest a ways off. I dashed to my car through the rain, the water from the puddles splashing up as my feet crashed down in them. 

My fingers were wrapped around the car’s door handle when  a cold rush of air blew through my denim jacket, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I froze as the door automatically unlocked, the sound as loud as a gunshot despite the sound of the rain. Something in the reflection of the car window caught my eye.

Someone was behind me.

I slowly turned around, trying not to startle it. Meanwhile, my mind was racing in confusion and fear. Nothing came out of the woods. The town was safe.

The boys couldn’t help me if something were to happen to me out here.

So what was the shadowy figure doing in the middle of a parking lot?

It didn’t move as I stared at it. It was almost formless; I could just make out the thin, vaguely humanoid shape of it. Even if I wanted to say something, my throat had closed shut. The chill of the night increased, the wind picking up and sending some bits of trash skittering across the asphalt. But it didn’t disturb the shadow. 

I opened my mouth to say… something? Shout at it to scare it away? But another voice startled me into screaming. I whipped around. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Taylor!” Rachel swore, hand on her heart. She was standing a few feet away under her umbrella. “What’re you still doing here? Are you okay?”

“Uhh… yeah. Just thought I saw something,” I said. I turned back around.

Other than us, the parking lot was empty.

The smell of food coming through a cracked window greeted me as I stepped onto the front porch. My knees felt weak at the thought of Nick cooking after the heart attack I had had. I took a moment to compose myself, exhaling as I turned the doorknob and stepped into our home.

It was indeed Nick cooking, as he stood in front of the stove. His long black hair was tied up in a bun, and he was wearing his thick-rimmed glasses. “Hiya,” he said, not even turning around. 

I dropped my backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table, immediately walking over and hugging him from behind. “Woah, hey. Everything alright?” He asked. His hand moved down to cover both of mine.

I should tell him; I need to tell him. Instead, I nodded into the space between his shoulders. Even though a part of me knew that the creepiness of the town's legends were true, I still couldn't believe that something would come out of the woods and into the safeness of the streets.

So what I said instead was, “I missed you,” into his shirt. 

“Missed you more,” he said in return, despite seeing each other this morning. 

“What are you making?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. 

“Just some hamburger pasta. Thought it would be good for an easy night, since it's just the two of us until later tonight.”

“Really? Not even Folio?” I asked. 

Without looking up, Nick pointed over at the kitchen calendar with the spoon in his free hand. A little black circle was drawn on today's date and the next two days. The New Moons meant that Folio was stuck in his Grim form until the first sliver of the moon shined. Kind of like a werewolf but opposite. 

“It'll be done in a few. Go get comfortable and I'll put on a movie,” he said, his own way of shooing me out of the kitchen. As I parted with him, I saw that he hadn't done the same with Lydia, who was watching from the floor with her hungry eyes. 

As I changed into some lounge pants and an old sweater of Nick's, I tried to think of a way to bring up the encounter with the shadow person. There was no way that he wouldn't get upset about it, that was a fact. Maybe after we ate.

When I came back out into the front room, Nick had helped himself to making my plate and putting it on the coffee table. I sat down next to him, I pulled my plate onto my lap. He had pulled up Rise of Skywalker for us to watch.

“So who’s coming later?” I asked as he started the movie.

“Noah,” Nick mumbled. There was an undercurrent of something in his voice, so I guess Noah had transferred something to his mind that annoyed him. 

“That's fine,” I said, squeezing his thigh. 

After eating, I curled up into Nick, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We should dress up as Kylo and Rey for Halloween again,” he said.

“Your hair’s getting too long for you to be Kylo,” I said, poking the side of his head.

“Yeah, because Rey is totally a blonde.”

“It was last minute!”

We kept up the light commentary for most of the film. I was fine up until the part when Rey sacrificed herself to kill the Emperor. As Ben Solo sacrificed himself to resurrect her, I threaded my fingers through his. A moment passed, and then Nick squeezed my hand. 

When the credits rolled, I tried to get up to take our dishes back to the kitchen sink. Nick pulled me back down. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me.

“Was gonna do the dishes, since you made dinner,” I said.

He pulled my head gently to rest on his shoulder. “Just stay here. With me,” he said, quietly. He would do this if he thought I was about to have one of my moments. 

He started playing with my hair, making my eyes flutter shut. “Okay,” I said. 

He kissed my forehead, but as he was pulling away, I reached up to cup his face and direct him further down. His lips brushed mine before pressing down once, soft and tender, but then he tried pulling away again. “Are you su–”

“Nick,” I pleaded, his name coming out in a rush. If he had any resolve before, it came crumbling down within milliseconds.

He was still a bit hesitant, flicking his tongue against my lips. But I wasn’t made of glass, so I pushed his chest until his back was pressed onto the couch cushions. I crawled up him until I was straddling his hips, my knees pressing into the sides of his waist. The kiss never broke.

It didn’t take long for him to harden beneath me, and I couldn’t help the small, satisfactory grin that rose to my lips. I ran my hand down his chest, down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. When I finally parted with Nick, his hand shot up to curl around the back of my head. “Bun–”

“Can I touch you?” I asked.

“Oh, fuck yes. Please,” he pleaded.

I lifted myself a little bit, just enough to give me some room to slip my hand underneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. The angle might’ve been a little bit awkward, but it didn’t really matter when I wrapped my fingers around the considerable size of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the pillows. The movement caused him to bare the pretty tan skin over his throat, and I practically descended upon it. The minute I mouthed over his pulse point, his hips rolled up, rutting into my hand. On the upstroke I rubbed my thumb over the tip, and he made my favorite sound of–

Click.

We both froze, my hand down his pants. I quickly raised my head and our eyes locked on each other at the sound of the door unlocking. As the front door opened, I quickly rose up to stand on my knees. Noah stopped dead in his tracks, confusion written on his face. 

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said immediately, Nick echoing my words from below me.

Noah’s eyes roamed over me for a second, and his face hardened. “Please, continue. I don’t want to interrupt you guys making out in–”

Nick sat up, crawling out from underneath me. If he stood up, Noah could easily see that we were doing more than making out. “When we agreed on later, I mean late.” 

“It’s after eleven. I think that’s late enough,” Noah said, striding across the kitchen to the fridge, where he took out a beer. 

As Nick straightened himself, I caught the look on his face that said he was communicating with Noah through the bond that he had with everyone. Was there something agreed upon that didn’t require me knowing about? 

My thought was all but confirmed when Nick put his hand on my waist. “You wanna go to bed, Bun?” he asked, looking up at me with big green eyes. In this lighting, they were dark as the evergreens outside.

“No, I’m not tired,” I said. I fixed him with a look that said that I wasn’t going to be kept in the dark. Again.

He sighed. “Hang on, I gotta get the hex book,” he said, standing up. He then walked to the spare bedroom.

I looked over at Noah, who was leaning back against the fridge. He perked an eyebrow. “How was work?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I was gonna tell him.”

“But you got distracted, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off, Bambi.”

“Oh, I’m about to do worse than that.”

I tilted my head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Nick came back with a small, leatherbound notebook. He tossed it onto the kitchen table, as if it personally offended him. “We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he said. He practically collapsed into one of the chairs. 

“Doing what wrong? What is ‘this’?” I asked.

“There’s a reason why the Valley has been getting worse these past few years. More things showing up, resurfacing, growing bolder enough to where people can catch glimpses of them. Pale Things showing up shouldn’t be a surprise, really.” He was babbling, practically. But then he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Those sacrifices weren’t just for Vessels. They were also to keep the Woods from getting worse.”

Noah’s lips thinned. “I told you, I’m not killing any more innocent people.”

“Yeah, I know, and I think I found a way around that, but…” Nick trailed off. He then silently opened the hex book and flipped to a page he had marked. He then held it out towards me.

“Why me?” I asked.

“I’ve already seen it,” Noah said. 

I took the book and glanced at the pages. It wasn’t in any readable context: Granny wrote in some kind of “language” that had been passed down through her family as to keep their practice a secret from others. Nick had been slowly translating them over the past few months into his own notebooks.

“What is this?” I finally asked. 

“It's a… Fertility Ritual.” Nick swallowed thickly. “My ancestors would send someone into the forest so the Forest would be… sated.”

“A sacrifice. Like what happened with you guys.” I waved a hand over Noah. 

“No! Well… sort of,” Nick said. He bit his lip. 

“That was more the Black Stag's version. Though it wanted sacrifices so it could take a mortal form.” Noah folded his arms over his chest. “This is a… less bloody version.”

I skimmed over the page again, and it finally clicked. “When you say ‘fertility’, you mean… Noah's got to knock someone up?”

“No!” The two shouted at the same time. “God, fuck no,” Nick sighed. “But the baby making process is the main part.”

“He has to have sex with someone?” I asked incredulously. 

“Not just someone…” Nick lowered his voice to a mumble. “Someone with a… someone of the opposite sex.”

“Well how the fuck is he gonna do that?” I asked. “Everyone around here will recognize him, and then you got the antlers to deal with.”

The two were quiet suddenly. Nick put his head in his hands. “Bun…”

“What?”

“He's talking about you,” Noah put bluntly.

tysm for reading! If you enjoyed this, please reblog to share the word of the Revered Father. Next chapter coming soon.

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[agentroz]

Monday, November 13 -- #OOTD: Come up with five significant full outfits from your character’s wardrobe/life and describe them in detail. 

Warnings: Body image issues, objectification, sexual harassment, misogyny, references to murder (not described)

Dispatches from Disguises and Alibis, 1983-1984

Agent 100:

Enclosed you will find your materials for your upcoming mission. please see that they are returned in a timely fashion.

-D&A

Date: 16 February 1983 Mission Location: Manchester, UK Target: Redacted Contents: Nurse's uniform (dress, stockings, shoes, headpiece)

Roz runs her fingers over the starchy blue material, standard-issue for women in the profession. There's an accompanying headpiece that Roz can't imagine serves a medical purpose as well as some white stockings and nonslip shoes that seem much more practical. There's an irony to it, the way this uniform is supposed to be for people who save lives instead of ending them. But the target deserves it, Roz is certain, and she had better act fast before he can cause any more misery and suffering. She slips the syringe into a hidden pocket in her uniform dress, takes one last look in the mirror, and goes outside to await her transport to the hospital.

She almost freezes when the doctor gives her an up-down look. Does he suspect something? Is she going to bungle her first solo mission?

And then she realizes. No one's ever looked at her that way before. She thought she'd like it more.

Date: 10 July 1983 Mission Location: Palma, Mallorca Target: Redacted Contents: Bikini, sarong

HQ must have made a mistake. There's no way this minuscule bikini was actually meant for her. There's an accompanying floral sarong (and thank goodness for that, because Roz needs somewhere to hide the knife) but it barely covers anything, and Roz feels entirely exposed. Not in the way agents are supposed to be— she knows her story backwards and forwards— but she's acutely aware of the curves of her body, the way she seems to spill out of the thin material. Like that cheesy old song about the yellow polka-dot bikini— except this is a turquoise one, with little strings that tie in the front.

When she raises this with the handler, he shakes his head. "No, that's correct," he says, double-checking the notes. "It's perfect, actually. the less you're wearing, the less likely anyone'll suspect you're hiding anything. And, I mean, it'll certainly distract the target. Why, have you got a problem with it?"

Roz shakes her head. She wants to be a good agent, a good killer. She can put up with some men staring at her ass. How hard can it be?

Date: 29 August 1983 Mission Location: Atlantic City, New Jersey Target: Redacted Contents: T-shirt, khaki shorts, crew socks, fanny pack, trainers

A scratchy cotton T-shirt, a pair of khaki shorts, a fanny pack, and some chunky New Balance sneakers. Another resort town, but this time Roz isn't bringing men cocktails on the beach, she's standing watch outside Caesars Palace pretending to take photos. Another agent leapt at the chance to go into the casino and carry out the deed, and Roz didn't think the handler wanted to give it to Roz anyway after the near-disaster that was Mallorca.

She feels much more herself, standing here and blending into the scenery. Until she hears a man yell something vulgar— and as much as she'd like to pretend otherwise, it's definitely aimed at her. Despite her training, Roz flinches. The man's far away, and he's already set his sights on someone else, but she feels a twinge of fear.

She doesn't understand it— she's always thought she was so good at blending in. Is it the shorts? Are they too short? Does it even matter, or will they just find a way anyway? Maybe it's the seedy nature of this boardwalk, or the fact that it's so late at night... Roz is quite good at cracking codes. She's sure she'll crack this one.

Date: 31 December 1983 Mission Location: London, UK Target: Redacted Contents: Evening gown, pearl necklace, pearl earrings, pearl hairpin (poison dart)

Roz doesn't like this dress either, but she doesn't say anything about it. She's one of the newest, youngest recruits, after all, and she still hasn't forgotten about Mallorca. She doesn't think anyone else has, either. So she sucks in her stomach and squeezes into the shiny blue Gunne Sax dress and pretends to like the way it hugs her curves and dips low in the front. The full skirt leaves plenty of room, anyway, for a concealed weapon, though all she really needs is the little pin that's going into her teased blonde hair. That's where the tranquilizing poison in, which will perfectly set up her associate for the kill.

She establishes herself in a quiet corner, hoping, as usual, to blend into the scenery. An older woman brings a martini over.

"All these young girls, made up like street whores. All clamoring for the same kind of attention." the woman snorts, which confuses Roz. They all looked like they followed the same instructions from HQ that Roz followed. And through her cat-eye glasses, she can see plenty of them looking less-than impressed with the men who seem to want their attention. And yet nobody's commenting on them.

She just nods, though, instead of disagreeing, because she is supposed to blend in.

Date: 20 February 1984 Mission Location: Cambridge, UK Target: Redacted Contents: Biohazard suit

Roz feels safe behind the big bright biohazard suit, her face barely visible, every inch of her body covered. Not just from the fumes in the lab, but from the other technicians as well. Until she doesn't. And that's when she realizes: there is no code to crack. Because it's not about clothes, or bodies. It's about something else, and it's forever.

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

It's missing my father hours rn so imma just dump a bunch of pictures here and cry

( sorry i don't know the source of anything I just had them on my phone)

(also dont read the tags i just need to let it out lol)

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Fuck I hate being an adult. I need a more adult adult to help with the volatile emotional situation.

[littlesadzap]

I'm in a really bad mood and I feel like I need to share this list of things I learned as a mentally ill ex-teenager in a toxic home and with friends as "found family"

Things that I hope are obvious but are not always so obvious

-Your parents are victims and perpetrators at the same time

-Your mental disease allowed you to survive and killed you at the same time

-Your mental disease have made you what you are

-No one will ever truly understand how you feel, and that is okay

-If someone laughs and cries at the same time, it's not funny, it's a wake-up call.

-From some things you can't recover and you have to learn to live with them

-Loving someone can't heal their depression

-If someone you love refuses to seek professional help, forcing them will not help them, a person can heal if they really want to heal

-The only person who can help you is you, you must want it first.

-If a person who needs your help is bad for your mental health, walking away from this person is not selfish,you don't live for others

-If a person with mental illness shows excessive and toxic co-dependence toward you, then you are not helping them, you are sinking with them

-Feeling anger toward the person who traumatized you is human, but letting that anger consume you will not help you

-Some things cannot be forgiven and cannot be forgotten, you are not a bad person for that

-Life owes you nothing

-Manic episodes are not always just funny but can be dangerous

-You can't justify yourself for hurting people just because you were hurt but you can forgive yourself and try to do better

-People you have hurt sometimes cannot forgive you, if they hate you let them but don't allow yourself to hate you for the same reasons

-Loving a person with mental illness is difficult

-Healing is fucking painful

PS. These are just random thoughts that came from my personal experience, I'm not a psychologist, I have no professional knowledge for this, this is all just personal

[evangelistofmurder]

Sometimes I feel like nobody wants me around especially if I'm upset or not of use to anyone

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Hungarian Grand Prix - Lewis Hamilton(ft. Martin Whitmarsh, Mark Webber & Kimi Räikönnen)

+ Seb & Fernando post-DNF

[acedavestrider]

does anyone have any advice on how to feel alive again

[candlebel]

I cared. I still do. I still think of you and I still cry over you. You were importat to me. You still are.

[eebi-after-hours]

do NOT let Blanche get into the X-ray glasses jar!!!!!!!! /j/ref

[m--bloop]

.

[yuunnikko]

Saying Goodbye to My Mask event on project sekai may have been a premonition of having my own mental health tank to the same level as Mafuyu's because well. Let's just say. The depression. (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

[mochiwrites]

i hate my mother.

[nutmeg-cider]

how to reconcile a lifetime of everyone building you an identity around being “the smart one” with the fact that you’re turning out to be the dysfunctional disappointment of the family