#tw: depression

[mournfulroses]

Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer featured in "Letters to Felice,"

#lit #franz kafka #letters #felice bauer #words #letter collection #fragments #quotes #writings #tw: depression #p

[alessiasfreckles]

chocolate chip cookies (alessia russo x depressed!reader)

when you quit the team, feeling lost, no one knows what to do, including you. you spend days curled up in bed, alone, until you meet alessia, your replacement, who brings you out of your shell and helps you find yourself again.

warnings: depression is a big topic in this one! no mention of s/h or suicidal thoughts, just overall depression. if you're feeling depressed, don't hesitate to reach out.

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When you tell the team that you’re quitting, the room goes silent. Then someone bursts out laughing. You’re not sure who, you’re staring at the ground, not wanting to look into the faces of your now former teammates. They think it’s a joke. It’s only when you turn around and leave without another word that they realise you’re being serious. 

And you are. You've already spoken to Jonas - he tried to convince you to stay, but you’d made up your mind. He told you that whilst he couldn’t guarantee there would always be a spot for you on the team, there’d always be a spot for you at the club. You nodded, thanking him quietly. You won’t be going back, you know that, but it seems unnecessary to make this harder for everyone else.

You don’t go back to the training ground after you tell everyone. You’ve already packed all your things in your car, wanting to make your departure quick and easy. On the drive home, your phone keeps buzzing with messages and calls from your former teammates. When you’re at a red light, you turn your phone off.

You decided to leave a while ago. You’ve lost any passion for the game, and when you realised that you were just going through the movements, you decided it would be best for the team if you left. You were dead weight, taking up a spot that could be used by someone else. Someone better. Someone who cares.

When you get home, you leave everything in the car, even your phone. You go inside and go straight to your room, getting into bed. you’re just so tired. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, feeling slightly more peaceful now that you don’t have the prospect of quitting looming ahead. 

You wake up to the sound of someone banging on your front door. Most of the day has passed, it’s getting dark outside. You lie there for a minute, waiting to see if the banging will stop, but it just gets more insistent. You sigh, dragging yourself out of bed and to the front door. When it opens, you see the faces of your teammates. Beth, Viv, Leah, Kim, Katie. The core five. They ask what’s going on, say that they’ve been trying to call you and message you all day. You walk past them to your car, get your phone out, shrug. 

“I left my phone in the car,” you say. You watch them exchange glances.

Still, you don’t want to be a bad host. Or a bad friend - if they still consider you a friend. You decide that it’s understandable if they don’t. You invite them in, and they pile onto your sofa. Leah pulls a stool in front of the sofa, telling you to sit down. You sit. Five faces stare at you, expressions ranging from confused to worried to something like anger. 

You didn’t mean to make anyone angry. 

“What’s going on?” Kim asks, her captain voice on. 

You shrug.

“Why would you quit?” Katie asks, frowning. 

I’m not good enough, I'm bringing the team down, I don’t care about playing, the team deserves better, you all deserve better, runs through your head.

You shrug.

“Y/n, is something going on?” Viv asks, her voice gentle. 

I’m tired, I don’t want to do this anymore, I just want to sleep, I wish I didn’t exist, life would be easier if I didn’t exist, I don’t understand why any of you are here, why do you care about me, I don’t care about me, I’m not worth caring about.

You shrug, then shake your head. 

“I just don’t want to play anymore,” you finally say. You’re not sure if it’s the truth or not. You loved playing, once. You loved the feeling that you got when you were on the pitch, the way it made everything else melt away. But you haven’t had that feeling in a while. When you’re on the pitch, the voice telling you you’re not good enough follows you. 

Your former teammates frown. They’re not convinced, and honestly, neither are you. You say that you’re tired, you want to sleep. They get the hint and leave, but not before each hugging you tightly, telling you to call them if you need anything. Beth and Viv promise to bring Myle around at the weekend, and Leah says she’ll come and see you tomorrow. 

They keep it up for a few weeks, but the season is starting, and you know they’re busy. You spend your days at home, curled up in bed, cocooned in a blanket. You watch tv and scroll on your phone for hours. You order the food shopping to be delivered so you don’t even have to leave the house. Someone usually visits you on their day off, and the girls message you. You go over to Beth and Viv’s place, cuddle the dogs, watch tv there instead of in bed at home. It's okay. You’re fine. You don’t feel any better, really, but it’s fine.

It starts when you’re forced to go to a movie night. Leah promises it’s just a small group of the girls, she knows you don’t want to be faced with the whole team. She tells you that there’s one new girl there, the new signing, but that she’s really nice. On the day, you think about ways to get out of it - surely Leah can’t just force you to go? 

She can and she does. She shows up at your house, tells you that she will pick you up and put you in the car if she has to. You crack a smile at the image. It’s the first time you’ve smiled in a while. Leah notices. 

The movie night is at hers. She's picked you up early, and when you get back to her place she sets you to work, chopping fruits and veggies for a snack board. The doorbell rings, the first person arriving. You expect it to be maybe Beth and Viv, who are usually pretty punctual, but it’s the new girl. Alessia. You've seen her in person a couple of times, when the team played against Manchester United last season, but you were already feeling out of it and hadn’t paid much attention to her then.

She comes in, hugs Leah and smiles at you. You smile back. She asks if there’s anything she can do to help, and Leah directs her to some meat and cheese she’s put out that needs slicing. She's been seeing charcuterie boards on instagram a lot lately and wanted to try making one.

“You mean, you wanted to get us to make one for you,” Alessia teases, and you let out a small laugh. It surprises you, and Leah, whose mouth drops open slightly. Alessia doesn’t think twice of it - why would she, she’s never really met you before. She wouldn’t know that it’s the first time anyone has made you laugh in, well, months. 

The evening goes well. It's nice to be around the girls. You don’t pay much attention to the movie, your brain feels too foggy to keep up with it. The mean voice returns, telling you that you’re just there because they feel sorry for you. You start picking at your nails. 

“I like your nail polish,” Alessia leans over and says to you quietly. She’s sat next to you on the sofa. 

“Oh, thanks,” you reply, taken aback. The nail polish is chipped and worn, remnants from Katie coming over and painting your nails a few weeks ago. 

“It's a great colour. I like having my nails done but I'm terrible at leaving them alone. I fidget too much and I'm clumsy so I usually end up breaking at least one,” she tells you, looking at her own nails. 

You nod, not saying anything. You wrack your brain, trying to think of what to say or how to act. It's been so long since you talked to anyone new that you feel like you’ve forgotten how to be normal.

“Um, you can borrow it, if you want,” you say. “The colour, I mean. I can give it to one of the girls to give to you.”

“Really? That’d be great!” she looks at you with a big smile. You feel an odd sensation in your stomach, like you’ve just had a hot drink and the warmth is trying to spread throughout your body.

You nod shyly, giving her a small smile.

After that night, she starts messaging you. The first message you write off as being about the nail polish. After all, why else would she message you? She keeps going, though. After she sends you a message thanking you for the nail polish, she mentions a book she’s reading. You’ve read it too, so you figure the polite thing to do is to ask her what she thinks of it so far. Then she asks you for recommendations. You’ve been reading a lot, lately, now that you have time. You send her a detailed list, then realise that maybe that’s too much, but you’ve sent it now. She replies with heart eyes and exclamation marks, so you think that maybe it was okay after all. 

She asks if she can come over to borrow a book you’ve told her about. After a moment of hesitation, you say yes, she can come over tomorrow afternoon, if that works. You spend the rest of the day cleaning and tidying. The next morning you find a chocolate chip cookie recipe. You used to bake a lot, but you didn’t really have time for it anymore after becoming a professional footballer, and you weren’t meant to be eating that kind of thing anyway. The thought crosses your mind as you mix the ingredients that maybe Alessia won’t want any, since most of the team eat pretty healthily. You keep mixing. It’s too late now, you might as well finish making them.

You’re nervous, waiting for her to arrive. You’re not sure why, probably just because you haven’t interacted with her alone before. You’ve put some cookies out on a plate in case she wants any, and you’ve already got the book she wants to borrow lying on the table. 

When the doorbell rings, it makes you jump. You open the door and she steps inside, immediately giving you a hug, then quickly stepping back.

“Sorry, is hugging okay? I need to get better at checking with people before I hug them,” she says apologetically.

“Hugging is okay,” you nod, and she grins and pulls you into a hug.

“Oh my god, it smells amazing in here!” she exclaims, looking around.

“I made chocolate chip cookies,” you explain, and brace yourself for rejection. “Do you want one?”

“Absolutely!” she says, and you try to hide the surprise on your face. You offer her the plate and she takes one. When she bites into it, she lets out a moan that has you blushing. “Holy shit, y/n, these are incredible! You really made these yourself?”

You feel that warmth pooling in your stomach again. You nod, smiling shyly. 

“You should be a professional baker or something, these are so so good!” she tells you, polishing off the cookie. You can’t help but smile. There are crumbs on the corners of her mouth and a smear of chocolate on her chin.

“You’ve, um, got something,” you say, pointing to your chin. “Right there. A bit of chocolate, I think.”

“Whoops,” she blushes, wiping the chocolate away with a sheepish smile.

“Oh, I have the book you wanted,” you say, figuring that she probably has things to do. 

“Trying to get rid of me so quickly?” she asks.

A pit opens up in your stomach. “No, no!” you quickly insist, but she laughs and waves you off.

“I’m just teasing,” she tells you, smiling. 

You smile back, but it’s forced. It doesn’t seem like Alessia notices, though. 

“You have a lot of books,” she says, eyeing the large bookshelf in your living room. “Have you always read a lot?”

“I used to, when I was little. I didn’t really have time to read as much when I joined the team,” you say, and wince at the mention of your leaving. She’s never brought up the fact that she essentially replaced you, and you don’t want her to.

“I’m guessing leaving the team has given you a lot more time for things like reading?” she asks, and you nod. 

“And baking,” you add, not wanting it to seem like you’ve just been sitting at home not doing anything since you left. Even if that is the truth. She doesn’t need to know that today is the first time you’ve baked in, well, years.

“True, that one is very important!” she says, taking another cookie from the plate. “Seriously, y/n, these are amazing.”

She keeps asking you things, about yourself, about books, about your life, and you don’t realise how much time has passed until you look outside to see that it’s gotten dark. She follows your gaze out of the window and jumps up.

“Shit, I didn’t realise how late it was! I really should get going,” she says apologetically.

You hold out the plate of cookies. “Want one for the road?”

The two of you message more after that. It’s weird, how easy it is to talk to her. You chalk it up to the fact that she never met you before you left. This is the only version of you she knows. She doesn’t expect anything from you.

A couple weeks later, she asks if she can borrow another book. This time she wants you to recommend something for her, and you pore over your bookshelf for hours, trying to find the perfect book for her. Once you’ve decided on one, the next task you’re faced with is what to bake this time. She didn’t mention anything about it, but after she enjoyed your cookies so much, it feels like it’d only be right to bake something again. 

This time you make pumpkin spice cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. You carefully mould little pumpkins out of marzipan to decorate the cupcakes, and you can’t help but feel a swell of pride at the look of astonishment on her face when she eats one and lets out a moan at how good it is. She keeps commenting on the little pumpkins, in awe at the fact that you made them by hand, and the warm feeling spreads throughout your body, making your fingers tingle. After she leaves, armed with a new book and two more cupcakes, you get a message from Leah, inquiring about where her cupcake is, and how come Alessia gets cupcakes but you’ve never baked anything for her, and you smile to yourself.

The days in between visits are not as good. You still spend a lot of time curled up in bed. Sometimes, you think about the future, and you usually end up falling asleep trying not to think about it, brain spiralling. 

This goes on for a few months. Every couple of weeks, Alessia visits you for a new book and some new baked goods, and every time the two of you spend a little longer talking. You both avoid the topic of you leaving the team and what you’re going to do next. You have enough money in savings that it’s not something you have to worry about, for a while at least, and thinking about it makes you want to cry, or sleep, or just not exist anymore.

One day, though, Alessia is sitting on your sofa, eating a slice of lemon cake, when she asks gently, “What are you doing, y/n?”.

The question is enough to make you burst into tears, tears that you didn’t know you’d been holding in. 

“I don’t- I don’t know,” you sob helplessly as she rushes to your side, pulling you into a hug.

“Well, what do you want to do?” she asks after you’ve calmed down a little.

The question makes you stop. You haven’t thought about that in forever. 

“All I’ve ever wanted to do is play football,” you shrug. 

“But… not anymore?” she prompts you. You can understand why she’d think that. You quit, after all.

“I don’t know. I think I do still want to play, just… not at that level. It was too much. I feel like I-” you trail off, sighing. “I feel like I lost myself. And I still don’t know where I am, or who I am. Everything just feels so hard, like it’s all so much effort, and like there’s nothing I can do to stop it all from happening, like it’s a huge wave and I’m just getting tossed around under the water, barely able to come up for air.”

She nods, not saying anything, and you feel a sudden rush of embarrassment for opening up like that.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said all that, I-” you say, but she cuts you off.

“No, it’s okay! I asked, I want to know. And it makes sense. A friend of mine struggled with depression a lot when we were teenagers, and-”

“Wait, depression? You think I’m depressed?” you ask, confused. Alessia laughs gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, I’m 99% sure you’re depressed,” she says. 

“Wha- I’m not depressed,” you insist, shaking your head. “It’s not like I want to hurt myself or anything.”

“Okay, but do you ever feel like it would be easier if you didn’t exist?” she asks, and you frown. “Or, like, have you lost interest in things you were previously passionate about? Do you feel tired all the time?”

“Okay,” you say, slowly. “So, maybe I’m a little depressed.”

The mean voice at the back of your mind laughs. 

“What if I’m just being dramatic, though?” you ask. “Plus, I have no reason to be depressed. I have a good life, I have nothing to worry about.”

“Look, what if you go and see someone? A doctor, or a therapist?” she suggests, and your cheeks burn at the thought of burdening someone else with your problems.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that serious,” you say, waving a hand. “There’s definitely more important stuff they have to deal with. I’m fine, seriously.”

She raises an eyebrow but drops the topic. She brings it up the next time she comes over though, and the next, and the next. You think about it a lot.You look stuff up online, look at social media accounts talking about people’s experiences, buy books dealing with the subject. 

The next time she comes over, you tell her you’ve made an appointment with a therapist, and she hugs you tightly. 

You start seeing each other weekly, after that. Sometimes she’ll go to yours, sometimes you’ll go to hers. She’s on a mission to help you figure out what you want, and nothing is going to stop her. She buys you baking books and equipment, goes to galleries and museums with you, watches documentaries on pretty much everything and anything the two of you can find. When you mention that you’ve been thinking about learning how to play the piano, she helps you find a teacher nearby. 

Things are looking up. You still don’t know what you want to do, but you’re feeling better. Your therapist is good, and you thank your lucky stars that you’re in a position to be able to pay for private therapy. 

When Alessia rings your doorbell, you don’t think anything of it. You’d planned for her to come over to watch a documentary she’d found about llamas (you weren’t sure what revelation you were going to have about your future from watching something about llamas, but who were you to deny her?). When you open the door, she’s smiling from ear to ear and holding a box.

“I have a surprise for you,” she says, closing the door behind her gently as she comes in.

She carefully sets the box down and opens it to reveal a small ginger kitten. It looks up at you with wide eyes and lets out a small meow, then puts its paws up on the edge of the box, looking out curiously.

“Alessia, what is this? Whose kitten is this?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yours?” she asks, smiling sheepishly. 

“What do you mean, mine?” 

“I mean, she’s your kitten. If you want her? Oh god, please say you want her. It’s just, you talked about having a cat when you were younger, and how much you’d like to have one again, and I figured they’re a lot lower maintenance than dogs, and-” she’s cut off by you hugging her tightly. Tears prick the corners of your eyes and you try to blink them away fiercely, still hugging Alessia. 

A small mew alerts you to the kitten, who has jumped out of the box and is rubbing her head against your leg. 

“I have her stuff in the car,” Alessia says, nodding towards the door. “I’ll just go get it?”

You nod, unable to look at anything but the tiny kitten now trying to clamber up your leg. 

You’ve been seeing your therapist for about 6 months when Alessia asks you to be her girlfriend. It’s a couple months after she got you Dorothea - Dory for short (or Dorito, occasionally), as you’d named the ginger kitten. You’re stunned, but quickly nod yes as she starts to bite her lip, looking worried at your lack of answer. You hug her, feeling her breathe a sigh of relief against you, and when she kisses you she tastes like the chocolate chip cookies you’d made earlier that day, the same recipe as the first time she’d come over. 

Your therapist has been helping you figure out what you want, now that you’re slowly regaining some of the passion you’d lost. You decide that you do still want to do something with football, just, as you’d told Alessia, not professional football. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed having time to yourself, having other hobbies outside of your work. 

You get in contact with Jonas, who puts you in contact with some other people, and before you know it you’re back at the club. Not on the team, you've made it pretty clear that that’s not what you want. Instead, you’re spending the day at the youth program. You already know by lunch time that this is what you want to do. 

Before you know it, you’re settled in as a coach for the Academy. Your days consist of working with kids, young people who have the whole world ahead of them. You still have bad days sometimes, where it feels like you can’t get out of bed. On days like that Dory cuddles up next to you in bed, and Alessia holds you close. She moves in after you get the job, claiming it makes sense, since you’re always either at her place or she’s at your place anyway. She insists that she’s still very much a dog person, but you catch her asleep on the sofa one evening, with Dory curled up on her lap, and you smile.

#alessia russo #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo fanfic #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #awfc #also i know this is a pretty 'good' image of depression #and that it's usually much messier than this #but for the sake of the fic i left it fairly 'mild' #tw: depression #hannah writes fics

[star-writez]

Jax x depressed gn angst to fluff

(This oneshot was requested by a user on wattpad so if you want to let yourself be known)

(Anyways enjoy!)

~2nd person pov~

Jax has always had a crush on you and it was quite obvious to everyone

Well...Accept you of course

You were the only person he was actually somewhat nice to you

Yes he still teased you a little here but he was still super friendly to you

You two were best friends and you two were basically inseparable

But lately it's been different

You started staying in your room more and you started acting more hopeless and empty on the inside

Which was weird cause you always were full of happiness and hope for life even when it got rough

Jax was quite cornered by this point

It's already been a week since you started acting like this

So jax decided to finally do something about this

Jax was walking down the hallway looking for your room

He had only been to your room a few times but he couldn't really remember that much about it

Jax continued to walk picking up his pace getting more worried

It was weird for jax to act like this most of the time jax acted like a jerk but he was actually...acting sort of nice?

After he finally found your door he pulled out a key

He had keys to everyones rooms which was actually a good thing in this instance

Jax finally unlocked your door quickly running into your room

"Hey y/n are you in here?" jax asked quickly looking around trying to find you

Starting to get a little cornered again

But after a few seconds you came out from under your blanket

"Hey...." you said looking very miserable and a total mess

"Oh my god y/n you look like a total mess!" jax exclaimed still seeming very cornered "are you actually concerned about me?" you asked seeming a tiny bit shocked that jax could actually act nice "of course I am you're my friend!" jax said crossing his arms getting a little annoyed you thougt he didn't care about you "I know...I know...." you said yawning and rubbing your eyes looking very sleep deprived "are you ok y/n?....you look absolutely miserable?" jax asked putting one of his gloved hand on your cheek making you look at him "just...a little bit tired and depressed..." you said sighing again blushing a tiny bit at the physical touch "why didn't you tell me?!" jax asked getting annoyed again not wanting you to suffer in silence "well I didn't want to bother you..." you said sounding very guilty trying to look away but jax had a tight grip on your cheek "you never annoy me y/n...I want to tell me if you are ever struggling with anything...I'm here for you...." jax said his words sounding very genuine like he REALLY cared for you "ok...." you said still blushing a little feeling a tiny bit better now that jax was here "this may sound a bit weird but um...can I give you some cuddles?" jax asked becoming a bit awkward realizing that maybe he shouldn't have said anything "....that actually sounds very nice....sure" you said starting to smile softly

Jax started to get a tiny bit excited then he scooped you up in his arms carrying you over to your messy bed sitting you down then he sat down rapping his arms around you keeping you close to him

"I hate it here....I wish I could leave" you said pausing for a moment as you looked at him directly in the eyes "but... being with you makes me actually feel slightly happiness..." you said starting to smile again but then jax became a dark shade of crimson becoming very flustered at your words but he didn't look away he just stared back at you

There was a awkward silence for a minute or two but then jax spoke up finally

"Do you uh...um.......love me?" jax asked becoming very flustered and awkward again "yes....yes I do..." you said starting to blush s lot again being overwhelmed by emotions

"Do you love me?" you asked your eyes starting to sparkle a little as you continued to blush your heart pounding quickly

"I love you a lot..." jax muttered not used to loving someone or even being loved his ears trying to cover his face seeming slightly embarrassed then you grabbed his face giving him a quick but loving kiss which made jax's heart melt (not literally don't worry)

"So does this mean we're like officially together?" jax asked seeming a little confused not really knowing how relationships really work

"Yes does does mean we're together..." you said holding jax close to you hurrying your face in his chest which made him wrap,his arms around you trying to keep you as close as possible

After a few minutes you finally fell asleep getting the sleep you obviously needed

Jax sighed looking down at you smiling softly

"Sleep well darling...."

#jax x reader #jax x gn reader #jax x reader tadc #tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #jax tadc #jax the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tw: depression #angst to fluff #x reader

[bookshelf-dust]

let the light in

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2,177

warnings: (this is a heavy fic! please be aware before you read if any of this is triggering for you!) swearing, reader suffers from depression/is in a depressive episode, allusions to passive suicidal feelings and self harm (not explicitly stated), trouble eating/drinking, wooziness, side effects of self-neglect, trouble with self care, one use of y/n, slight hair description—essentially reader is just very depressed

a/n: hello! it’s been quite a while since i wrote anything, but alas i have remembered how. i used this fic as a way to deal with things i’ve been going through and provide myself some comfort, but i’m hoping that it will reach anyone else who needs that or understands these sort of feelings. i really need a steve, and maybe you do too. please be kind! this is a tentative attempt at getting back into writing. also as a small note, this is meant to bet set in the mid 90s, so reader and steve are in their twenties. happy reading <33

————

The phone is ringing again. For the third time. 

You know who it is without having to answer. It’s not like there are a plethora of people with your number anyway. 

But for the third time, you let it ring. When the shrill noise stops, you think you’re in the clear—only for the sound of Steve’s voice to reach your ears. He’s leaving you a voicemail.

Fucking answering machine. 

You stare at the wall, your arm dangling off the bed, while you listen to him say everything you knew he’d say. That he’s worried. That he’s coming to check on you because your lack of an answer is freaking him out. 

And you gave him a key all those months ago, so it’s not like you can stop him. You wouldn’t have the energy to anyhow. 

You roll over and tuck your hands under your cheek. You have no idea what time it is, but the little light your curtains had let in is gone, leaving your room dark. There is a small night light though, just under your window, that Robin bought you because it looks like your favorite flower. Other than that, your small apartment has succumbed to the darkness of a winter evening.

That pressure behind your eyes builds, and without knowing why, you begin to cry. Steve is going to see you like this, and you want to be alone. You don’t have it in you to talk about it or be berated for letting yourself go. 

But you’re also angry. You don’t understand why he gives a shit about you, or why he can’t just leave you alone. Why he can’t just let you go. Why he won’t let you go.  

Most of all you’re angry at yourself for being this way. For being so fucked up. For being alone and for having to watch everyone else be happy and content. 

In your emotional haze, you fall back asleep. You’re not sure how though, considering you shouldn’t even need the rest anymore. But that tired feeling ever goes away, does it?

You wake to the sound of footsteps, to the feeling of your mattress dipping behind you. There’s a gentle weight on your side. Steve.

“Hey, honey,” he starts. “Did you get my message?” 

Steve’s hand rubs softly back and forth over the dip of your waist. You hate the pitying tone in his voice. Even if you know it’s not pity. It’s pain. He’s too big of an empath, and he hates seeing you this way. It breaks his heart, not knowing what you’re feeling and having to see you in a way that embodies nothing more than a shell of the you he first met. 

“You need to go home, Steve,” you say, refusing to face him. He’s turned your lamp on, and something about that pisses you off. 

Your voice is pleading, and it brings tears to Steve’s eyes. He pushes his glasses up onto his forehead. 

“You know I can’t do that. I won’t leave you here like this.”

You roll your eyes and shift onto your back. Steve’s stomach drops at how drained you look. 

“I want you to leave. I need to be alone,” you say, staring at his hand where it’s moved to your stomach with the change in position. 

Your words are harsh, thick with emotion, and you look at Steve like you’re begging him to see how much you’re hurting and need him to go away. You want him to listen and leave you here to slowly disappear. That’s all you’re asking for. So why can’t he give you that much? 

It’s killing him to see you like this. To watch you try and push him away. He knows that’s part of your plan. That way it’ll be easier, in the end. But this is not the you he’s always known. There was a time before it got this bad. Before you lost yourself in it. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks, rather than fueling your frustration. 

You roll onto your side, completely facing him now, and pull the blankets up to your chin. Your eyes fill with tears, so you close them. Something about being asked that upsets you. You don’t feel like eating and he’s going to make you.

Steve puts a hand on your leg and waits for an answer. 

“Yesterday. At breakfast. I had a Pop-Tart.”

He keeps himself from sighing, but his heart might as well have dropped out of his ass. You haven’t eaten in 36 hours, and he’s sure that if he hadn’t shown up you might’ve made it more. You’re clearly not worried about eating, and there’s not a single cup in your room either.

“Please don’t make me eat, Steve. I don’t feel like it. Please don’t make me do anything.”

You look up at him with pleading eyes. You want to be left here until your body gives up on you.

“Honey, I’m not going to force you. But I came here to help you, and I need you to try and let me.”

Your vision goes blurry, tears rushing to the surface because the idea of taking care of yourself in any way upsets you more than anything. You cover your eyes, but can’t hold back the sob that lurches up your throat. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, come here.” 

Steve slips a hand around your back, coaxing you upwards. You oblige, happy to let him hold you for a moment. You ignore the fact that your vision blurs again, due to the fact that you haven’t sat up in who knows how long, and fall into him. 

“I can’t, Steve. I can’t do anything or remember a damn thing. I’m so tired. I don’t feel like being alive. I don’t want to move.”

Hearing you express those feelings through your cries, hearing you tell him how bad it’s gotten tears him apart. He wants to make it all better. He can’t bear seeing you like this. And he doesn’t want to imagine what you might’ve done to take these feelings out before he got here. 

Steve holds you until you stop wailing, and even when you pull away the tears still come, hiccups making you hold your breath. Your eyes are swollen and your nose won’t quit running. It doesn’t bother him one bit. 

“I know you probably don’t want to do anything, so I have a plan for you, okay? I’m gonna turn the shower on and let you hop in while I get you something small for dinner. I’m gonna take care of everything.”

You sigh. You can’t leave your bed. Besides, who knows if you’ll even be able to stand with how little you’ve put in your body lately.

You press your face into Steve’s shoulder and shake your head. “I don’t think I can.”

He places both hands gently on your cheeks and lifts your face to get you looking at him. 

“You can. I’m going to help, I promise. You won’t have to do anything too demanding.”

Steve slides off the bed and stands. He gently pulls the blankets back from your lap, revealing criss crossed legs and socked feet. He taps your knee and you brace yourself against the mattress, moving your legs over the side, toes feeling for the floor. 

He holds out his hands and you grab hold of his forearms, letting him pull you upwards. Just as suspected, your vision swirls and your body goes all tingly. You sway a little, but Steve holds onto you still, waiting for the moment to pass. After a few seconds, your sight clears, your ears stop ringing, and you can stand on your own. “I’m okay now,” you say. 

He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You don’t deserve this. He needs to stop being so good to you when you’re falling apart.

“Stretch a little, alright?” Steve looks at you over his shoulder before going for your dresser and opening your pajama drawer. 

You try to do as he says, ignoring the way you feel compelled to tell him not to take this so seriously. You press your hands to your back and lean so your hips pop, raise your arms so your shoulders do the same, and bend so harshly that your vision goes out again. Your body is so angry with you.

You’d closed your eyes, but open them when you hear the shower start running. Steve leaves your small bathroom and walks toward you.

“I laid everything out for you, okay? You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want, you only have to cover your bases. You’ll feel so much better after, I promise.”

You nod, and Steve is surprised by the way you hesitantly walk into the bathroom and mentally prepare yourself to shower. 

“Yell if you need me,” he says, smiling before he closes the door behind you. 

You’ve never wanted to shower less in your life, but the water is already running, and you have to get it over with. You quickly undress, avoiding the mirror and anything that might cause an extra ache. Though you do run a hand over the tender skin of your thigh before opening the door and stepping in. You know you have to be kinder to yourself. 

As for bathing, you’re quick, but you wash and condition your hair and make sure to wash your body just as well. You’d never admit it, but being clean does help some. At least you’re physically taken care of. 

When you’re finished, you realize you hadn’t gotten a towel, but your eyes soon find what Steve had laid out for you.

Two towels. Underwear. Your robe. Clean pajamas and socks. Not to mention the lotion and hairbrush he slid forward on the counter so you’d reach for them. He did all of this to make things easier for you. And that makes your heart grow in size. 

You towel off and make the effort to put lotion on as best as you can. Usually you can haphazardly do your back on your own, but you’re so tired now, you realize. You haven’t moved this much in days. 

You gently pull the bathroom door open. “Steve?” you call. He’s there within seconds. 

“Yeah? All done, sweetheart?”

“Almost. Do you think you could put lotion on my back for me? I might need help with my hair, too. If you don’t mind.”

He smiles so sweetly at you. “Of course I don’t mind. Come on.” 

You watch as he pumps some of your lotion into his hands, sniffing it just to make you grin. You move your robe down off your shoulders so that he can get to your back, careful to keep your chest covered. Not that he’d dare look anyway. 

His hands are gentle and soft against the nape of your neck, up and down your spine, on your lower back. He covers the area for you, taking the time to massage it in and hopefully provide you a little relief. 

When he’s finished, you pull your robe up and tie it around your waist. You don’t have the chance to reach for your hairbrush because he’s already got it, fingers gathering your mass of hair towards your back. You can feel the heat of him behind you, and the ache for physical contact surfaces in your chest.

Steve is incredibly gentle when detangling your hair. He starts at the bottom and works your way up, apologizing each time it snags. It feels so nice, so mundane and comforting, that you close your eyes and let yourself feel his hands on your scalp, on your shoulders. You let him take care of you without complaint. 

When that’s over he allows you to finish dressing. You slip into the pajamas he’d chosen for you, not disregarding the fact that the shirt is one of his. 

You patter out to the kitchen, where Steve has fixed you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut into triangles. You sit next to him on your couch and eat in the quiet of the evening, you enjoying being less alone and him glad to see you eating. 

He takes your empty plate from you shortly after, noticing how sleepy you look. 

“Come on, honey. Let’s go lay down, yeah?” He helps you up and holds your hand on the way to the bedroom. He’d changed your sheets while you were showering.

You sit down on the bed, watery eyes looking up at him. “Are you leaving?” you ask.

“No, sweetheart. I was going to offer to stay.”

“Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Steve slips into bed beside you. “You don’t have to worry. I’m right here.” He takes your pinky in his. “I promise you won’t have to suffer through this on your own. I’m not going anywhere.”

You squeeze your pinky against his, and in that moment, the pain in your chest eases just a little bit. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#tw: depression #tw: depressive thoughts #savannah’s fics #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x depressed!reader #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: self harm

[the-kingshound]

On the same note of @elegantunknownphantom 's post, I will take a little time to shake this off my chest.

TW: discussion of mental health issues

The past years were not easy for me. At times - no, most of the time - they were unbearable. When the dread became too heavy, though, this was my escape place. A community that welcomed me and made me feel more at home than anywhere else I have been.

When I hated myself, I could come here and be Kal. Be an author writing silly things, interacting with my community.

It might sound... well, desperate, a bit pathetic, but for years when I was spiralling and asking myself "what good am I for? What have I accomplished in my life?" I answered myself "this. At least I made this."

I remember with clarity living through the end of 2021 and 2022 with nothing to look forward to, but this.

There was a time where I almost gave up on everything because it was too painful and I felt so alone. There was one thing I couldn't give up on, though. My WIPs. I thought about all the people who followed me and I told myself, day after day "I have to keep writing. I can't leave them hanging. I have to finish this game."

And so I kept writing.

And I made through those years. Mainly, I like to think, because of this.

So this is a reminder for myself. A confession, kind of. A thank you to everyone who is here and reading. Everyone who sent me asks, who interacted with me, who supported me in any way, who wrote wonderful IFs where I could escape to, who made my life a little more bearable for a very long, dark period of time.

I don't want to tag people, because I would be here all day. But know that I owe you. That my heart is filled with fondness and gratitude to you.

#i am still in a very weird place #but not nearly as bad as those times #because when 2023 i realized that for the first time in a long while i was not dreading the new year #so... i'll take that as a win #but really #thank you #i wanted you to know that #i can't confess this anywhere else but here #tw: depression #tw: sucidal thoughts

[mininovia]

drabble [1]

c.w. f!reader, fluff-ish, hurt and comfort, mental health themes like depression, depressive episode, self-isolation, self-deprecation; just todo being todo

todo aoi is the most stubborn man on earth.

granted, it comes more from a place of idiocy than it does his unwavering determination, but it’s almost inspiring how he refuses to back down in anything he says or does. over-confident and bold. nothing ever feels impossible when it comes to him—and it’s double so when it involves anyone that he cares about.

and whether you both like it or not, he’s grown to care for you.

so you shouldn’t be surprised when, after missing over a week of classes and refusing to communicate with anyone outside of sparse texts between miwa and momo, he’s determined to find out where you’ve been hiding and demand why. he’s got an inkling, of course, but he wants to hear it first-hand from your lips.

and you’ll come to appreciate it, later down the line. because even when you’re at your worst, stuck in bed and refusing to get up to even shower or brush your teeth, he’ll be outside your dorm knocking so damn hard you’ll have to open the door to not wake up your neighboring classmates. doesn’t even blink when you open the door, disgruntled and messy and oozing self-deprecation.

just one look and he knows. stares you down with his arms crossed, announcing brazenly, “get dressed. i’m taking you out right now.”

he doesn’t care if you’re taken aback, or if you’ll refuse, or if you're seconds away from threatening to call utahime-sensei to kick him out of the girls' dormitories. he won't budge. practically tells you he won’t let you continue to rot in your room, waste your days stuck in this abysmal, crushing cycle.

and he'll wait, after you agree. lingers outside the hallway by your door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. quiet. even if it feels like an eternity, he'll be out here for as long as it takes for you to get ready.

just for you.

#jujutsu kaisen #todo aoi x reader #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo #todo aoi #drink: hot chocolate #tw: mental health themes #tw: depression #i've had this in the drafts for weekssss #it was only fitting i post it after *that* episode

[ohdeerfully]

Thank you so much for adding Sir Pentious to your blog 🥹🎩🐍 I’m new to fic requests, and either a drabble or HCs would be amazing no matter which you pick, so here goes…

Could I please request platonic Pentious with a hotel resident reader who’s new to hell and visibly going through a rough time? Between being dead, dealing with their new demon body, and facing another extermination after just surviving the last one, they’re clearly struggling despite putting on a brave face. And secret softie that he is, Pentious decides he ought to intervene, whether it’s drag them along on activities take their mind off of things, or just stick with them until they open up enough to vent to him?

Thank you very much again!

Signed 🪼 Anon

Hii 🪼! Thanks so much for requesting my very first Sir Pentious oneshot >:3 I hope i wrote him okay! I don't know his character super well, but he's super fun!!!

Do His Egg Bois Know He Eats Egg Sandwiches

Sir Pentious x Reader (platonic)(fluff) TW: reader is depressed ):

join my discord!

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You had been at the hotel for a year or so now, having been found by Charlie during your first night in Hell. Ever since then, even in the comfort of the hotel and surrounded by the kindness–and chaos–of Charlie and her friends, you still couldn’t really believe or cope with where you were. Thinking about it, and the fact this was eternity–it made you feel like shit. And that goddamn tail of yours that kept getting in the way of everything, and the pair of hypersensitive ears that forced you to listen to the “screams of the damned” all night. You wondered if you’d ever get used to the new limbs. 

You currently laid flat on your bed and staring at the ceiling, not really thinking about much in particular. Honestly, the boredom you currently felt was comforting; better than the depressive episodes you’ve been dealing with, at least. It has gotten worse lately because of the impending extermination, but you took care not to think about it too much, less you choke and breakdown in anxiety.

A neat rapping of knocks roused you from your mindless comfort, and you slunk your way to the door. Before opening it, you made sure that your appearance was as neat as possible. You heaved a breath, smiled, and opened the door.

Sir Pentious stood on the other side, his sharp fangs peeking under his lips in a bold smile. “Charlie hass asked me to…” You smiled slightly at that appropriately snake-like lisp of his. “...take you out in town! For some… fun,” His bold smile slowly quivered, becoming more and more uncertain and anxious as his invitation became quiet, nearly dying on his lips. His hands were nervously folded behind himself.

You quirked your brow at him, leaning softly on the doorframe. “Why would Charlie ask you to take me out?” You replied, not intentionally aggressive, “Wouldn’t she usually just… do it herself? Or at least tell me first?” You noticed the way Sir Pentious nervously flicked his tongue a few times as he considered your words.

“Well… I… er,” He struggled for a moment, until suddenly his eyes lit up with an idea. “Well, Charlie wass, and I wass going to take EVERYBODY out! But, eh, they’re all busy.” His head tucked slightly, sheepishly, and you watched as the hood on his neck seemed to squeeze closer to himself. He was so obvious.

You ran your hand through your hair, thinking for a moment. Sir Pentious stared at you expectantly, with a mix of anxiety and excitement in his narrow eyes.

You could either stay inside, locked in your room, waiting for nothing, melting in your own depressive thoughts and worries; or, you could just go out and try to have some fun with the snake standing in front of you. You haven’t been out in town much, despite being in Hell for a year–you were always too worried. You didn’t have the energy to go out in the first place, so the anxiety you felt made it all the more difficult to drag yourself out of bed to explore.

Ah, what the hell.

“Sure,” You accepted, albeit a bit apprehensively. His spine immediately straightened out as you accepted his offer, his eyes practically glowing with pride at himself. He gave you a curt nod, a grin, and turned to slither away.

“Meet me in the lobby in twenty minutess!” He called, before disappearing around a corner.

And, so, you did. You had quickly washed yourself, and scrounged around your dirty laundry to find a decently clean outfit, making note that you should get to work on washing everything when you got back. Hopefully this outing would give you a bit of energy to do some chores.

He was waiting by the bar, his fingers rapping against the countertop. He was obviously trying to be patient; you knew he had a temper. You appreciate him trying, though.

“So,” You began as you came near him. He whipped his head around when he heard your voice. “What’s your idea of… fun?”

“Follow me!” He declared boldly, ushering the both of you out of the hotel. You saw his airship was ready to go, a small ramp leading to the entrance. You nervously smiled at the sight, wondering what he had in store for you. You briefly wondered how Charlie would react knowing Sir Pentious was, very likely, up to no good.

Those eggs of his were already waiting inside, as you saw one peek around the frame of the door. It jumped at the sight of Sir Pentious ascending the ramp, skittering away before coming back with the others. They all watched from the doorway.

Your worries of Charlie were dispelled when Sir Pentious explained that he wanted to go to a strip of stores a few blocks away. You decided not to ask him why he chose to take his airship to just go a few blocks away; he seemed very excited to show off the interior to you, explaining what this button did, and oh, did you notice this lever? Just wait till you see what this knob does! You were genuinely surprised at how complex his build was. Sir Pentious was a lot smarter than everybody gave him credit for.

His eggs were always in your way, and you had to take extreme care not to stumble over or smash one. They were always getting up close to you in order to examine you, or touch your clothes. You were growing irritated at them, honestly, but clenched your jaw to ignore the growing frustration.

It had taken a short time to get to the street, and Sir Pentious ‘parked’ his airship in the air, hanging down a sturdy ladder for the two of you to descend onto the street. You stared down nervously, air whipping at your face.

“Sir Pentious… I don’t think…” You timidly looked down, and then back up to him. He stood there proudly, hands on his hips. He frowned at your apprehension.

“Nonsense!” And he shoved you, his toothy grin quickly disappearing from your vision as you staggered out of the opening below. 

“What the fuck!” You cried, tumbling for a brief moment in the air, your tail whipping wildly to try to straighten yourself out. You were able to grab a rung of the ladder, probably just a few seconds away from smacking into the road. Your heart was beating so hard you were worried it would give out.

“What. The fuck.” You said again, venom practically dripping from your words as you glared at Sir Pentious, who was easily using his two arms to make his way down, tail curled on the ladder for extra stability. If you could kill him with your eyes, you would. 

You continued the last few rungs, arms shaking so hard with adrenaline that you had to make a few attempts to grab the rope with every step.

“Now,” Sir Pentious began, looking around after you were both firmly on the ground. “I believe there iss… some sort of place for foodstuff. There!” And he quickly left you behind after eyeing the shop. You quickly followed when he paused to wave you forward.

It was a pretty standard lunch spot, with the standard Hell foods that you saw for sale in the hotel’s own cafeteria. You ignored the description of the food, knowing that if you thought too hard about what the meat was made out of you would be too sick to eat. Food was another thing in Hell that you just couldn’t get used to.

Sir Pentious ordered some sort of egg sandwich with a soda, and you opted for a salad of sorts with some mystery meat and a colorful array of toppings. You tucked yourself neatly into a chair, poking at the contents of your bowl for a minute before trying it. It really wasn’t that bad.

Sir Pentious was tentatively sipping at his soda, his tiny nostrils flaring at each intake of the carbonated drink. You saw the level of soda go down, up, down again, up again, as he tried desperately to keep the drink in his mouth.

“Do you… not like soda?” You asked behind a laugh. He put on a face of shock at you.

“Of coursse I do! Everybody drinks it! How weird it would be if I couldn’t!” He went back to daintily dragging at the straw. You saw the up and down of the drink continue. You rolled your eyes at his attempt to seem hip. It really wasn’t that serious.

You had ordered some tea, and you pushed the glass towards him.

“Wanna trade?” You asked, and his eyes lit up. “I like soda more than tea.”

“Yess!” He said, a bit too excited for his own taste, obviously, because he immediately lowered his voice. “Of course, only for you. I don’t care either way. But ssince you do,” He swiped at your glass, quickly replacing it with his soda. You honestly weren’t really interested in drinking it, knowing that a lot of it had already been in his mouth and spit back.

After you had both finished, a bit of casual small talk between bites, Sir Pentious paid, to which you thanked him multiple times for, and he simply stuck his nose up and dismissed you, saying it was his responsibility for being the one to offer to take you out.

You actually enjoyed your time with him, which surprised you, because you never thought you’d enjoy the company of the temperamental snake. But, you could tell he tried his best to remain level-headed with you. You wondered if he knew how shitty you’ve been feeling.

When you arrived back at the hotel, you were incredibly thrilled that Sir Pentious was able to park his airship on the ground. No more getting shoved out of tiny holes from the sky. You saw Charlie carefully eyeing the two of you as you came inside, her focus mostly on a conversation with Vaggie. She was likely trying to see if there were any signs of “bad behavior” coming back into her hotel.

Sir Pentious  leads you back to your room, rambling about some invention of his, his words dripping with pride. You were only half listening while you fumbled for the keys to your room.

His words stopped for a moment when you opened the door, and you could tell he was looking at the terrible disarray your room had come to during your periods of doing nothing during depressive episodes. You let out a nervous laugh, closing the door just enough for you to block his line of sight as you leaned against the door.

“Hey, thanks for taking me to get some food,” You smiled at him, and he returned your smile with his own. You could tell there was a softness in his expression, and you kind of hated it, knowing that it was probably coming from a place of pity after seeing the state of your room.

“You know, if you ever need somebody to talk to, I conssider myself a great listener,” He began, and you felt weird hearing the softness and genuineness of his voice. Though you weren’t to sure about the ‘great listener’ part. “Of course I offer my earss to everybody here!” He quickly added, trying to prevent himself from sounding too touchy-feely. You grinned at him and shot him a quick thumbs up.

“Thanks, Pentious,” You backed up into your room, giving him a short wave. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He waved back at you, giving you that fanged grin of his, before you shut the door. You turned on your heel, and stared at the mess you called a room.

Time to do some cleaning, I guess.

#ohdeerfully #🪼 #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #sir pentious #sir pentious hazbin hotel #sir pentious x reader #platonic #fluff #tw: depression #depression

[breannasfluff]

Lost Without You

Whump Rating: 2/5 TW: Depression

The shadow is defeated. A portal appears and the Chain knows, this is the final one. Tears are shed, promises and light-hearted threats are made, and everyone gives a last hug goodbye. Then, one by one, they step through the portal and vanish.

They were already in Wild’s world. He’d already gone through his last portal without realizing it. The blackness swirls, sucks in, and vanishes. The champion stands in the grass field, alone. The breeze blows through the grass, turning it into waves over the low hills. Far away, a wild horse whinnies. Then silence falls again.

Wild stares at the spot where his family vanished for a long time before finally turning in the direction of home.

Things aren’t the same after the journey ends. Link—no need for a nickname, now—goes through the motions. He helps Zelda, speaks with Purah, and tries to fall into the rhythm of life. The little house in Hateno, despite how he loved it previously, is too empty, now. Each corner is filled with memories of eight other boys and men laughing, joking, and filling his life with joy.

He can’t sleep in his bed without remembering times Wolfie curled up at his feet, or Hyrule crawled in and clung to his arm after a bad dream. The horse shed reminds him of Time, chewing on a piece of straw and telling ridiculous stories they couldn’t discount. With the old man, anything could be true.

Finally, Link gives the house to Zelda for her research and sets out to circle Hyrule. He’ll check in with the other races and towns. Maybe there he’ll find the meaning he lost. Yet each place holds the happiness of people moving on, while he is stuck in the same place.

Friends marry, break up, learn new skills, and build homes. Families change; growing and shrinking, yet never dying. Their lives are ever-churning onward. With each town, Link finds himself looking forward to the next less and less. He no longer has a family to visit. Well, it’s not a bad idea to travel the wilds. He’s often more comfortable there than anywhere else.

At first, it’s a good idea. The wilds are quiet and he falls into the rhythm of nature. There are no travelers out here and he can go days without needing to speak. After a while, he starts chatting to the air, telling his missing companions about his travels.

“There’s a fox mother in a den over there. I snuck up and looked at the kits. I think she noticed me, but I made sure not to get too close. Oh, some grasshoppers; I should catch them for making elixirs in the future. You know, I really cleaned out my stores making potions for everyone.”

The only answer is the wind. Link is quiet for the rest of the day.

The weeks blend together and he fully gives up on seeking out towns. Even traveling is losing its appeal. What’s the rush? There’s no goal; no people who need him to check in. He told Zelda when he left he’d be off the grid for a while.

What’s the use of a hero after the journey is over? He’d barely had time to settle after the first one before he was dumped into the Chain. Now, an eternity without his family looms. Each day, Link rests a little more. For each meal, he has a little less. He’s just…not hungry.

Slowly, he numbs to his surroundings. He takes an infrequent wash when he comes across a lake, but there’s no one to worry about. Link wakes tired and lays on his bedroll for hours, debating getting up and moving further. He collects less until he’s only depleting his supplies, not adding to it. Well, that’s easy enough to fix; he’s not hungry anyway.

Link doesn’t know how long he’s been out here. He could warp home; warm to a shrine or a town. Maybe he should be around people. But the idea of talking to people? Socializing? Keeping up the persona of a hero? It’s exhausting.

Mostly, Link sleeps. Maybe, one day, he’ll climb back into the shrine and they can suck the life back out of him. This body is on loan, anyway. Maybe next time, they’ll find a better hero to fill it with. Someone whose family is still around to support him.

Someone is screaming.

This is odd for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that Link is in the middle of nowhere. Someone could have encountered a rare enemy, but the scream is…excited? And raising in pitch and volume.

“Where is he?”

“The gem should take us right to him!”

“Do you think he’s underground?”

“What—where do you come up with these things?”

“Like a cave—wait, look over there.”

Huh. That sounds a lot like Wind and Warriors. Silly, because they are gone. Everyone is gone. Maybe this is it. His mind snapped and now he’s hearing voices.

Footsteps get louder and Warriors looks down at him in the grass, hands on his hips. “What in hyrule are you doing down there?”

Wind’s face pops into view, showing off straight white teeth when he grins. “Hey Wild! We missed—hey.” The smile fades, excitement seeping out. “Did something happen to you? You look, uh…”

“You look like shit,” Warriors finishes. He leans down, reaching out a hand. “You good? What happened?”

Link doesn’t take the hand, just stares at them. “That’s it,” he whispers. “I’ve gone crazy. Hallucinations.”

Wind socks him in the shoulder, much too hard to be a hallucination. “Get up! Warriors got a crystal! We need to get the others!”

“What…?” Link finally sits up, then stands. Woah, his legs are kind of shaky. Warriors grabs him, then hisses as his hand closes on a shoulder.

“How skinny are you? Wild, seriously, what happened?”

He transfers his gaze to the captain, slowly tracing over familiar features. “You left.”

“Yeah? Didn’t you have people to come home to?”

Link shrugs. “Not my family.”

“Wild? Are you okay?” Wind tugs on his tunic sleeve. “Did you miss us?”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes for a long moment. “A lot. How—how are you here?”

The captain snorts and waves a gem on a chain. Took a while, but I got Cia to make a gem that will let heroes open portals. We’re picking everyone up to see how things are going.” He looks Link up and down. “You, my friend, are in dire need of some help.”

Link stares at his feet. “I don’t…know what to do anymore.”

Wind leans against his side, wrapping him in a half hug. “You rely on your brothers. We’ll get you back on your feet, okay? Twi is never going to let you out of his sight again.”

For the first time in a while, Wild smiles. “Let’s go see our family.”

#tw: depression #found family #whumptober2023 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu whumptober #breannasfluff #mywriting #lu wild #lu wind #lu warriors

[mournfulroses]

Friedrich Nietzsche, from a letter to Franz Overbeck written in February 1883

#lit #friedrich nietzsche #letters #franz overbeck #tw: depression #p

[undercoverpena]

this could be the anxiety-induced depression talking, but: if you’re wandering aimlessly unsure what you’re doing—you’re not alone. if you feel like you’re surrounded by people, shouting and screaming, but no one can hear you, and you feel so alone, i promise, it’s going to be okay. if you’re staring at an empty document, the curser blinking and blinking, feeling like you can’t write, like you’re broken, I promise you’re not—and there’s always tomorrow, or the next day, or the one after that where words might flow. and if you’re thinking you’re a fraud, like a massive imposter—like you’re being weighed down by rocks, sheets and your own expectation—it’s okay, I am too. while I’m not sure if any of that brings any comfort, I hope it does. because you’re not alone, and neither am I. and sometimes, we just need to hear that, and be told that if the best we can do is take an hour at a time, a day, a week that is very much okay. and sometimes, just admitting that it’s not okay, is also okay. okay? 🩷🫂

#tw: anxiety #tw: depression #personal #jo’s thoughts #I promise I’m okay #I just overthink when I’m sad and then I wonder if others feel the same #and then I don’t want them to feel alone #and this kinda thing flows out of me #and here we are

[ifonlyitwasmidnight]

Because I see you

Hi. Am I back? Eh. But I miss y'all. <3 I'm okay. Promise.

Fit 'n ship. Whoever you want.

TW: Depression, deep, deep, depression.

He could tell when the days were too hard for you to smile. Somehow, he always knew that days when rain fell in torrents were the days you needed to hide the tears you refused to let fall, breaking quietly, letting the rain wash them away. Too many days when you would look up to the sky, silently begging for the pain in your chest to lessen for but a moment so you could just breathe.

He often wished he could somehow snatch the pain away from you. Bury it deep within the caverns of his chest to save you from the torment that kept you awake too many nights, legs pulled to your chest, and a blanket draped over your shoulders. It was those nights that a quiet knock on his door left him sitting on his bed, silently holding you until you fell asleep.

It was an old hurt that you carried. Put there by someone else who never bothered or cared to fix it. 

“Why do you care?” You had asked him one night, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Because I see you.”

It was the only time you spoke of it. Maybe you were content with that answer, and it was enough to soothe the ache. Perhaps you didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind. 

Sometimes he would find you silent even when the sun was shining. Holding an arm around your middle to block the pain from seeping into the ground at your feet, afraid it would infect the soil and spread like black flames. You often startled easily on those days when he would drape an arm around your shoulder, tucking you in tightly to his side. 

“I’ve got you.” A constant reminder. 

The thought of being a burden, too much, too you, plagued you. A buzz which settled in your ear, growing louder and louder and louder until it was all you heard, drowning out the sounds of leaves and laughter. It wasn’t always. Often you went long without the scares and shakes that brought you back to the darkness that greeted you like an old advisory, once again ready to do battle. 

But he never let you give up. You never gave up. Fighting back against the darkness, scraping, clawing, teeth bared to return to the light. To the life you had breathed into, stroking the flames of your soul until it was ready once more to burn on its own. 

It wasn’t in him that you found your will to fight. It was beside him. It was with him through laughter and the rare moments of quiet that you were able to exist in everything that you are while he sat with you, ever your protector. 

You didn’t believe in knights in shining armor. If anything, you simply believed in him, knowing he would slay the monsters at your back with his two bare hands, refusing to let them break him to steal you once more.

Only those who care about you can hear you when you’re quiet. Words he had spoken on a rainy day when it all became too loud. 

xx This was written with Draken in mind 'cause I feel like he would be the one to understand. But, as always, whoever came to your mind is him.

Also: Itachi, Ichigo, Shikamaru, Sesshomaru, Mitsuya, Aizawa.

#tw: depression #tokyo revengers #draken #draken headcanons #tokrev draken #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya takashi #ken ryuguji #draken x you #draken x reader #mitsuya x you #mitsuya x reader #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #ichigo x reader #ichigo x you #naruto shikamaru #shikamaru x reader #sesshomaru x reader #aizawa shota x reader #my hero academia

[raplinesprince]

Somebody Does Love | MYG

Pairing: BestFriend!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Idol au

Synopsis: You never wanted to burden Yoongi with your problems, he was healing and you weren’t even close but he was your best friend and he’d always turn up for you.

Warnings: Depression, self depreciation, implied self harm.

WC: 2.1k

Posted: 18 August 2023

It didn't take much for Yoongi to worry about you. He could tell something was wrong by something as simple as the way you worded a text or how you carried yourself on a particular day. In fact, he knew you better than you knew yourself. Habits, tastes, quirks. Some of which he'd tell you, others he kept to himself because he didn't want you to stop doing them, because he knew you'd stop if he did.

He knew you well enough that you'd stop all the things he loved most about you if he uttered a word about them, it was a habit of yours he hated. You never did it consciously, of course. It was like it was programmed into you that the second someone told you they loved a feature, you’d change it or one of your quirks, you'd stop doing it almost instantly.

And that list of things he loved was long. He'd probably have to write a book, but there were things he hated, one in particular.

You never wanted to bother him with your problems.

It drives him mad.

He's your best friend, Yoongi would remind you constantly. You're problems were his problems and vice versa. someone broke your heart? They broke his. Someone mistreated him? They mistreated you.

One thing always remained certain for both of you, no one would argue it. You'd take a bullet for each other in a heartbeat.

"You've been staring at the same screen for twenty minutes, hyung." Namjoon broke the silence of Yoongi's studio, interrupting the elder's thoughts.

"Sorry, You wanted something?" Yoongi asked nonchalantly as he swung his chair to face Namjoon, greeting him with a forced smile.

Namjoon held up a set of headphones he'd taken from one of the shelves in Yoongi's studio. "Mine broke, I knew you had a spare."

Yoongi rolled his eyes endearingly, a small breathly laugh slipped out.

"It wasn't my fault this time!" Namjoon protested his innocence.

For once, it actually wasn't the clumsy man-child’s fault.

"Ah yes, it's the little man that mysteriously comes in your studio and breaks all your stuff," Yoongi teased.

"Uhm, It was, actually." A blush rose on Namjoons cheeks, whether he wanted to admit it or profusely deny it, he could give a tomato a run for its money. "Jimin was in.. he.. sat on them."

"Suuure," he teased further, "I'm sure that’s what he, no, the two of you, were doing."

"Hyung!"

"Dongsaeng?" Yoongi hummed, giving Namjoon a knowing look.

"Back to the original point," Namjoon deflected. "Are you okay? You were miles away."

"I'm fine," Yoongi looked back at the lyrics on the screen, his expression changing instantly. "It's y/n."

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know" He rested back on his chair while running his hands through his long, fluffy hair. "I haven't heard from her in two days. I was meant to have dinner with her and got really into writing this song and I had an idea for the beat and went all in. She knows I get like that sometimes, and that's the reason when I don't reply."

"Sometimes." Namjoon rolled his eyes jokingly.

"I messaged her that I was sorry and we should have breakfast, no reply. I text about dinner an hour ago, and it's not even delivered."

"You're telling me this like you've never just welcomed yourself into her apartment a million and one times." Namjoon reminded him with a raised brow.

"I really have to fin.."

"GO!" Namjoon ordered his hyung. "Leader privileges," he defended quickly when he realised how abrupt he was while still pointing towards the studio door.

He didn't wait a second longer. Even leaving the studio in his slides, forgoing the Nike dunks by the door. Leaving Namjoon to save his work and sort all his equipment which he gladly did. He was worried about you too, more so because you meant so much to someone that meant equally as much to him. Thirteen years isn't easily forgotten, and you were there too.

He made it to your apartment twenty minutes later, letting himself in like it was his own home.

The sight he saw was enough to cause an ache, vice like grip on his heart.

Quickly making his way to be by your side.

With gentle calloused fingertips your best friend tilted your chin up, his smile was warm and inviting, but his eyes were filled with worry and sadness, even guilt for not noticing something was wrong sooner.

The pad of his thumb wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks, neither set of eyes straying from the others, you only briefly cut eye contact to blink away oncoming tears as they clouded your vision.

You weren’t there, not really. Yoongi knew better than to pressure you into talking, so he stayed silently knelt in front of you for a moment, his large hands engulfing your little ones before bringing them towards his lips for a quick peck before he took a seat beside you. He took you into his arms and kept you close until you stopped crying, not a care for the time that went by or the fact that his phone kept going off. It wasn't important, not right now.

“You're gonna be okay,” He talked softly, quiet as a mouse like he was afraid to startle you.

He repeated himself over and over, followed by 'i love you', 'you're safe with me" and every other sweet thing he’d ever told you. Your cries eventually turned into quiet hiccups to unsteady breaths and eventually a quiet calm, the room filled with nothing but your breaths and the noises from the street outside.

You stayed like that, in the comfort of his arms, in silence. An hour went by, maybe more.

He looked down at you, almost falling asleep from exhaustion, your entire face red and puffy from so much crying. All the overwhelming feelings all on your own, so intensely burst like a dam. He wasn't leaving your side, music would have to wait. For as long as you needed him, he was going to be there.

"Don't sleep, jagiya. Let me make you something to eat, alright? We'll get you cleaned up and in some fresh clothes. You can sleep after that."

You shook your head.

"Yes," Yoongi told you sternly, not too harsh, but he wasn't going to let you keep doing this to yourself, not on his watch. "I will chew it for you and spit it in your mouth like a mother bird, if i have too."

You scrunched up your face in disgust, causing Yoongi to chuckle softly.

"That's what I thought."

You didn't protest when Yoongi ushered you into your room, you didn't want to hurt him. He was getting you in the bath regardless. It wasn't like he hadn't seen you naked before, definitely not under the same circumstances, but it didn't faze him then, and it won't faze him now.

He went into the bathroom and starting filling the bath, picking your favourite bathbomb and dropping it into the bath, smiling to himself as it turned purple and a light lavender scent began to fill the air. He grabbed some towels and put them in the dryer to warm up for you before coming to help you out of your clothes.

"Do you trust me?" He asked.

"Always," you replied in a coarse whisper.

He was careful, gentlemanly, checking your face for any sign you were uncomfortable. You were okay until he went to help you out of your tracksuit bottoms, he watches your hands clutch tighter to the bedsheet and the faint hitch in your breath.

"I'm sorry," you tell him before nodding in permission for him to take them off.

He took one look at your thighs before looking up at you, leaning up to press a light kiss on your forehead. "Don't ever apologise for how you feel, I just wish you'd told me it was getting this bad again."

He wrapped his arm around your body, helping you toward the bathroom and helped you step into the bath. He relaxed a little when he heard you hum as you lowered into the water.

"Is it hot enough?” he asked, watching for any discomfort.

“S’good.” you hum, tracing over the bubbles with the tips of your fingers. Yoongi watched on with a little smile before he sat himself on the edge of the bath, reaching for your favourite body wash and a soft sponge, opting for the soft option rather than a loofah.

He squeezed a drop of soap onto the sponge and scrunched it together in his hands until it was covered in vanilla scented suds.

“Tell me to stop if you want me too,” he told you, leaning forward to get a look at you when you didn't reply. You nod for him to go on, even though you were miles away. He could tell by your eyes, he decided to just get on with it. He moved gently around your back, air in the bathroom filled with it's vanilla scent, mixing with the lavender. It was even making him sleepy. He watched you close your eyes beginning to relax as he continued on.

Once he had you covered in bubbles he rinsed you off with a cup he had sitting near by in the water and began washing the bubbles off. He saw your back rise and fall with a deep breath, a yawn he came to realise. He glanced at your face and your eyes in a fight to stay open as you moved your hands up to your face slowly and rubbed at your eyes for a moment before dropping your hands back into the water. Yoongi smiled. You looked adorable, if he was honest.

He was equally as gentle when washing your hair, missing some of your routine but the goal was to get your freshened up and comfortable, not Miss Universe.

“You can lay back now if you want.” Yoongi offered, you sighed and slumped in the tub, body sinking into the bubbles.

"Why do you do this for me? You're always there." You finally spoke more than one word.

"Because even if everything else was to disappear, I know you'll always be there."

"What if I'm not strong enough?"

"You are," he told you, leaning down to kiss your forehead again before he left for the kitchen to make you a quick snack, knowings it’s probably all you could stomach or be bothered to eat.

Crackers and a makeshift topping would have to do because it was all you had.

He brought everything you two would need for the night including the hot towels from the dryer to the bedroom before Yoongi helped you out of the bath, taking you into the bedroom wrapped up in the toasty towel to get you dried off and into some PJs.

“Which Pyjamas do you want?”

You pointed to him with a sweet, innocent smile.

“My top?” he chuckled. “Really?”

“Please?” and like clockwork you put on your best puppy dog eyes. Jungkook taught you well because Yoongi could never say no.

He rolled his eyes playfully and took off his shirt, pulling it over your head for you and smiled contently when he took a look at you. “You’re so adorable,” he smiled up at you before instructing you to sit between his legs with the hairbrush he had in hand.

You sat in front of him, lightly snacking away on the food he gave you when you sat down while he brushed through your hair, effortlessly putting it into two french braids. He’d watched you do it enough times and he was a quick learner, especially if it was taking up his cuddling time with you.

When you finished eating, Yoongi went to tidy up while you got yourself into bed. Half asleep when he came to join you, he switched off the light and climbed into bed with you.

Instantly cuddling into him with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you began to drift off to sleep.

“Can I play you a song I’ve been working on?” he asked, cuddling you in close.

Yoongi presses play on his phone as you nod.

Somebody does love but I'm thinking ‘bout you.

He watched as you drift off to sleep, running his hands through your hair, softly singing along until his eyes fell heavy and he drifted off too.

Maybe one day he’d tell you the song is for you.

Authors Note: A huge thank you to @sopebubbles /@sopebubbles-replies for encouraging me to write this fic and proof reading, it's been a long time coming for her, you have no idea! also my bestie @lifeinakpopbubble who never thought she'd see this day.

#yoongi #bestfriend!yoongi #min yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #min yoongi #tw: depression #tw: depressive episode #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #reader fic #tw: mental health #bts #raplinesprince writes

[arecaceae175]

Wind: I want to grow up and be just like Warriors!

Warriors: that is called Acquiring Depression.

#lu incorrect quotes #linked universe #lu wind #lu warriors #tw: depression #depression #depressed #poor guy 😂 #he’s got his brothers to help <3

[hanaotaku95]

Hazbin Hotel: Self care edition

So I’ve been obsessing over Hazbin Hotel for a hot minute now and the first thing that really comes to mind for context is self care.

To elaborate, I mean the fact that these characters often have animalistic features as part of their designs. Well, imagine them having to maintain the care of said features?

1) Hooves

To start us off, l want to bring attention to the fact that both Alastor and Charlie have hooves. Yup, both are hidden pretty well, but they are there.

If anyone has ever been around farm animals like cows and horses, you’ll know that hoof care is extremely important for the health of the animals. So why not apply this to Charlie and Alastor.

Imagine them having hoof care kits and Charlie wants to take the opportunity to bond with Alastor more so this is basically like having a nail care day at a salon!

2) Wings

Next are wings and we have three winged characters in the Hotel: Lucifer, Vaggie and Husk. Wing care must be extremely important for them to be able to fly well.

Starting with Lucifer, it’s important to note that the man has Depression and has Dissociative periods where he can’t pay attention for the life of him. So it’s unfortunately easy to imagine that he would often forget to preen his wings.

Well, after moving into the Hotel, I can see Charlie taking this opportunity to strengthen her bond with her dad by doing something that she has always wanted to do. She loves her dad’s wings and ends up helping him preen while they talk about anything and everything.

Next is Vaggie and it would be a similar premise with Charlie wanting to bond more with her girlfriend and reforge their relationship. Yes, she is hurt that Vaggie wasn’t truthful but she still loves her.

Also, apparently, Vaggie and Charlie have been together for around 3 years or so, meaning Vaggie likely hadn’t taken out her wings at all until the battle. So she is way behind on taking care of them. Charlie uses her experience with her father’s wings to assist here and the women can talk.

Finally, Husk and honestly this could be a Huskerdust moment with Angel helping an all too tired Husk preen his wings and make sure they’re healthy and in flying shape.

3) Fur

Both Angel and Husk have fur, which means fur brushing!

Angel looks like he is the king of hair care, maintaining short and soft fur and making sure to remove any mats, knots or shed fur.

Husk has a bit more to get through with his, as he has relatively long fur. Like with his wings, I can see Angel helping Husk brush out his fur and remove any clumps, loose fur and knots. It would be a good Huskerdust moment!

4) Ears

Finally, we have ears and both Husk and Alastor have them.

This is one both boys want to take care of by themselves. Ear care is important for all animals and in people with such large ears, it’s easy for either of them to collect dust and other stuff, meaning wax build up. So in the privacy of their rooms, they dedicate part of their time to cleaning out their ears and maybe even applying ear drops for extra health benefits.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar #alastor #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #vaggie #self care #meta #I love concepts like these where characters bond over self care #tw: depression #tw: dissociation #demons #angels #animal parts

[dreaminginpencil]

Found this in my drafts and had forgotten to post it soooo...

This art is based on a twitter thread drabble I wrote about Steve and his soft toy Bunny and growing up in difficult situations and loving people that are sick the best that you can.

It's also posted in full on AO3 if you wanna support me there ❤️

(CW: depression and neglect of a child) Steve’s mom suffered with poor mental health and Steve didn’t understand. Eddie does too, and maybe Steve understands better now.

When Steve was small, his parents’ door was open a crack most of the time, the sweet grown-up scents of perfume and cologne drifting out. Their bedroom was a treasure trove of wonders, their expansive closet full of clothes that swished and slipped over his little fingers, his mom’s dressing table cluttered with ornate glass bottles of perfume, sweet-smelling waxy lipstick, and delicate compacts of powders, her silver-backed beautiful hairbrush. Sometimes his mom even brushed his hair like hers, til it gleamed, shiny and soft.

When the bedroom door was closed, Steve knew to knock first, knew he should probably wait and ask for their time later.

Sometimes though, sometimes his mother would shut the bedroom door and she would not leave the room for days. His father would sleep on the couch, or make excuses and go away on “business”.

There would be no sweet smells of perfume, only dark and silence. His father told him that his mom was sick, to let her rest. Steve didn’t understand why she didn’t want to see him. When he was sick, he wanted cuddles and toast and hot drinks with honey and his Bunny with one ear loved almost all the way off.

Steve would sit outside her door with his Bunny and wait. He would wait and wait and eventually when he was lonely and tired he would knock quietly and creep into her room.

With the heavy damask curtains drawn, it drowned the room in blue shadows, the looming frame of the four poster and it’s mounds of blankets piled up. Steve felt like he was climbing a mountain to find his mom amongst them all.

“Are you sick? Do you want toast?”

He would offer her his Bunny, cuddle close. She did not smell like perfume, just something stale and forgotten.

“Mommy’s tired Stevie.”

Sometimes she wouldn’t speak at all, just touch his hair. Sometimes she would tell him to leave her.

“Go and play Stevie.”

Steve didn’t know how to explain with her there was nobody to play with and that his father had gone away somewhere and he was hoping she would make him macaroni.

Steve learnt to get to the high up pantry shelves for snacks until his father got home, or til his mom stopped feeling tired.

She seemed more than tired, but what did he know?

The older Steve got, the more often his mom was tired. He learnt not to ask anymore, just to lie down with her, to be patient, to be sweet.

He learnt to bring her food, even if she would not eat it, to make her tea and open the curtains up. He learnt to coax her from bed and to her vanity, so he could brush the dark tangle of her hair until it gleamed and fell like silk down her back. He ran her hot baths and always gave her his Bunny.

When his parents started to go away and not come home, Steve wondered who took care of her. If his father still left her alone.

She would sound far far away when he called her. “I’m tired Stevie, we’ll speak soon.” The dial tone felt heavy.

Steve gets tired too, but there is nobody who will come to check on him, so he cannot sleep through it.

Eddie is like his mother was, sometimes.

After the Upside Down, after Vecna, Eddie is dogged by the shadow of consequence. They won, yes, they won, but Eddie is scarred and scared and sometimes he is very tired.

Steve knows how to take care of Eddie when he’s tired.

He can come to Eddie in his quietness, in his tangled unwashed sheets and his dark bedroom and he can offer, piece by piece, the things he knows.

He can kiss Eddie’s clammy forehead, his tangled hair, curl up with him and pay no heed to the mortification of dirty sheets for a while. He can crack the blinds and bring him his painkillers and water and coffee. He can coax Eddie to a shower, washing the sleep and the sadness from his skin. He can change his sheets, trade them for clean soft cotton and comfort.

When Eddie is clean and so tired again, Steve can brush his long hair until it’s free from tangles and falls long and dark down his back.

Sometimes Eddie needs time to be tired, but Steve can care for him still, with quiet affection and patience.

Eddie may need time, sometimes, but he never entirely closes the door to shut Steve out.

#steddie #steddie art #steddie fanart #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve's bunny #stranger things #stranger things art #stranger things fanart #steddie drabble #steddie fic #stranger things fic #steddie fanfic #tw: depression #tw: neglect #cw: depression #cw: neglect #jess writes

[courtforshort15]

My Own Worst Enemy

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Word Count: 5,400

Summary: There are some things that are just too shameful to talk about, each mark on your skin a testament to a sense of pain and desperation that you’re unsure how to talk about.

Trigger warning: This is a bit of a heavy one, so read with caution. Self-harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and mentions of suicide (reader does not commit suicide, but it is brought up briefly.)

Masterlist

You were a hypocrite. A dirty rotten hypocrite. To the highest extreme. For all you spoke about Matt needing to talk to someone, to develop healthy coping mechanisms for all the pain and trauma he had endured, you've struggled to do the same.

Struggled, and often failed.

The first time you slipped since you’d started dating him, it was easy enough to pass off as an accident. The man was a human lie detector, sure, but you had learned by now that if you spoke enough of the truth, he couldn't always pick up on the part you kept hidden from him. You hated to admit it, but you sometimes took advantage of it, telling yourself that it would hurt him to know the truth, that he was better off not knowing where your thoughts sometimes strayed into a depression so encompassing that you struggled to breathe.

"What happened here?" he asked as he cradled your wrist gently in his hands. Your wrist wasn't bleeding, per se, but it was rubbed raw to the point where it was red and patches of skin were missing. It was sore and agitated, washed with a bar of soap that had left it stinging even more, the flesh angry in the face of your failure to seek help instead of hurting yourself.

"Oh," you said, eyeing the mark as casually as possible, voice wavering just the tiniest amount, "I just scratched myself. No big deal." He pressed a kiss to the skin next to it tenderly, before sliding his fingers through yours and focusing back on the notes his computer was reading back to him through the ear buds that were squished into his ears.

No further questions on his end, and you sighed in relief, masking it as a yawn and leaning back into the couch, energy zapped out by a seemingly simple question and a feigned simple response.

You'd scratched yourself, yes, so that part wasn't a lie. But he didn't know it had been done on purpose.

He didn't know that the pain had soothed you at the time. Matt was a bit of a masochist himself, ending most of his nights bleeding and bruised, not because he necessarily enjoyed it, but because he believed it was a small price to pay for keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. He may not enjoy the pain, but he enjoyed the release of anger, the letting go of every frustration experienced by the law not being enough to help innocent people, enjoyed the opportunity to use his abilities and not be forced into the lie of being an ordinary blind man.

If Matt knew that you purposefully hurting yourself, for nothing other than taking your mind off the ache in your heart, there might be a part of him that understood, but it would not stop the overwhelming sense of horror.

When he noticed the second time, it was during a night out at Josie's, celebrating the end of a grueling work week with Foggy and Karen, both of whom were sharing a bottle of the worst tasting liquor you had ever had the displeasure of drinking. Sometimes you weren’t sure if it was because they actually enjoyed it, or if they were still trying to drink frugally despite the recent success and profit of Nelson, Murdock & Page. You joined halfway through the night, stumbling up to their table in desperate need of a drink after a meeting that had lasted far too long into the evening hours. 

By the time you got there, they were all halfway on their way to drunk, Matt included, his lips tilted into a relaxed smile that was far too charming. He stood up with a loud exclamation of your name, reaching forward to pull you into him and laying an enthusiastic kiss on your mouth as you laughed. When he stepped back, his hand drifted down your arm to pull you by the wrist in an effort to bring you to the empty chair by his, but you hissed as his fingers inadvertently trailed down the large scratch that had been carved into your forearm.

Matt seemed to have noticed it at the same time you tried to pull away, frowning as he pushed your sleeve up. His head tilted curiously as it always when he found a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

"What happened here?" His words were slightly slurred, and you were grateful that while his attention was on you, it definitely wasn’t the typical extreme laser-focus you were used to, likely due to the liquor coursing through his veins. 

You gave the same excuse.

"Nothing, just scratched myself." A pause, a nod, and the subject was easily forgotten. Matt, normally so astute and observant, smiled when he was assured that you were ok, and pulled you back in for another kiss. Foggy and Karen took turns greeting you, Josie handed you your normal drink order, and the night passed on without incident. 

It wasn't like you liked doing it, enjoyed hiding things from him, enjoyed hurting yourself. He didn't make it easy to keep things from him, at any rate, usually so perceptive and in tune with your every word and reaction. And it wasn't like it happened all the time; it was spaced out enough that it didn't seem like a pattern. The marks were definitely not bad enough to warrant much attention, unlike the cuts and bruises and fractured ribs he came home with. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you knew. Something you did, something you felt like you’d always done, even while telling Matt that he had his own unhealthy coping mechanisms he needed to watch out for.

This was just something that had followed you for years, decades even. Medication. Therapy. A brief stint in a psychiatric hospital. You'd done it all. And it wasn't like your depression was something you were afraid to talk about. It was just something that never came up, and you didn't know how to work it into a conversation.

How did you bring it up to Foggy, who had literally walked in on his best friend bleeding to death on his apartment floor?

How did you bring it up to Karen, a woman with a past drug addiction that had been partly to blame for the death of her brother; a woman who had been forced to kill a man just so that she could keep herself and her friends safe?

How did you bring it up to Matt, beautiful, adoring Matt, who treated you like you were the most precious thing in his life? How did you bring it up to a man whose father had been shot in an alley not too far from his home, a man who had held his ex-girlfriend in his arms while she died, not once, but twice?

They...they had real things they were dealing with, had already dealt with. And you...you were just someone with a brain whose hormone imbalance was off, which sometimes led to days where you couldn't get out of bed because you were so depressed.

Compared to them, what did you have to be depressed about?

And yet...it was this shadow that was always hanging over you. A monster hiding within it, behind your back, waiting for the right moment to sink its claws into you. You liked to think that you were able to fight it off 90 percent of the time.

But sometimes you failed.

Being with Matt was the easiest thing in the world. It was like breathing, like the puzzle pieces of you were always meant to find the puzzle pieces that made up him. Where he moved, you moved. Where he went, you followed. You were a well-oiled machine together, something that would run to the very end if it was given the right care and attention. 

He made it easy to forget the way the depression sank in occasionally. He was good at unintentionally, unknowingly chasing it away, though he had no idea of the monster he was inadvertently fighting on your behalf. But sometimes even he wasn't enough, just like you weren't always enough to pull him out of his head. It was just the reality of how things were, you supposed. 

He was a busy man, though he never made you feel like anything less of a priority. But sometimes life happened, and his attention was forced elsewhere, or you had deadlines you had to make, and things just got lost in the shuffle. You couldn't be around each other all of the time. And even if you could, these feelings would still find a way to sink in, like they always did.

You could feel an episode coming on. You'd felt it for the past few days. Sometimes the depressive episodes snuck up gradually, as if they were giving you a warning, and other times you ran head first into one. You weren't sure what was worse: being given time to prepare, with the sinking feeling of what was coming, or living life like normal, only to be smacked so hard in the face with it without warning. 

You found yourself instinctively drawing in on yourself. It was relatively easy to do this time. Matt was in the middle of a large case, and you'd made the decision to give him space to focus on the trial. You knew how much you meant to him, even while you could see that he was grateful for the extra quiet time at home to prepare. 

Foggy was in the same situation as Matt, and Karen was off visiting Frank in some undisclosed town in the Midwest. Three of your major support systems were currently wrapped up in other important things that absolutely deserved their undivided attention, and it was just a perfect time for the depression to sneak up, ensnare you in its clutches, and yank you back into its hold, this time without anyone to hold your hand and protect you against something they didn’t even know about.

You could feel it clawing up your throat, the tears and panic, and you knew it was going to be one of those nights. A night where you'd struggle to breathe, struggle to think, struggle to ground yourself in a reality where you knew you mattered and had people who loved you unconditionally.

Sometimes, all the support systems you had thoughtfully and carefully selected and put into place were knocked down by the force of a tornado that ran through your brain. Utterly paralyzed by the panic and sadness that was roaring through you, its force stronger than you'd felt it in a while, you found yourself needing to...scratch. 

So you did, and the pain grounded you, as it always did, pulling off layer and layer of skin with nothing but a fingernail and desperation to carve deeper into flesh. And when you were done, the relief was equally matched by the failure and shame.

"Sweetheart?"

A gasp tore its way out of your throat as you turned sharply around, reaching out to grab the kitchen counter as your balance wobbled. You’d gotten up to wipe the mark down with alcohol wipes, wary of an infection setting in. He was standing in all black, no doubt in the middle of his route through Hell's Kitchen, given the time of night.

"Hey, Matt," you said weakly, moving in front of the alcohol wipes still on the counter, as if placing your body between them and him would actually hide them from his senses. "Are you...did you finish for the night?"

He didn't say anything as he slowly removed his mask. Once it was in his hand and no longer over his face, you winced as his head tilted, his unfocused eyes landing on your hip, just a few inches above the line you had just carved into your thigh, skin bare except for the thin pajama shorts you were wearing. 

"I..uh. I was making my way through the city when I heard you crying," he told you softly, his focus still on the patch of skin that was on display and blood he could no doubt smell. "What is that?"

"Nothing, I just--"

"Don't tell me you just scratched yourself on something," he said, heat slowly seeping into his voice. "That's what you've been telling me, hasn't it?"

"I--"

"I thought maybe I was imagining things." Matt's voice was gradually getting louder and you couldn’t help but wince again, eyes shifting away from the downturn of his mouth. "But I wasn't, was I? You did this to yourself on purpose."

"Matt," you managed to choke out as your fist tightened around the alcohol wipe you’d briefly used to clean the scratch to prevent infection. "Please don't--"

"Please don't what?" he asked incredulously, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the tone, eyes lowering again so that you couldn’t see the look on his face. "Please don't get upset? You hurt yourself. You made yourself bleed, and you want me to...what? Not talk to you about it? Pretend it's not what it is?"

"Please don't yell at me," you whimpered, burrowing your head in your hands, unable to stop the tears from coming in full force, shame lighting up your skin like a failed firework that does nothing but burst into flame. "Please don't be mad at me."

"Mad at you?” he asked with a gasp, the words still somehow sharp. “I'm not mad....I'm horrified." You jerked back so hard your knee almost gave out, hurriedly opening the distance between the two of you blindly, your hip bumping painfully into the counter behind you. "I'm horrified that this has been happening for months and I...I didn't pick up on it."

Matt sounded so broken that you dropped your hands from your face, eyes trailing over his form through your tears. His head was bowed, and his hands were shaking. It only made you cry harder.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice every bit as broken. "I'm so sorry."

"No, sweetheart," he whispered as he tilted his head back in your direction. Something in the way you whimpered caused him to finally take a few steps toward you. "Don't be sorry. I just...I just don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything," you told him quietly with a sniffle. "This is my thing to deal with, I'll be ok."

"Bullshit, that's bullshit," he said adamantly in a tone that displayed a tiny amount of frustration. It made your heart speed up for just a moment, the fear of his impending judgment too much for you. "You're not okay. And this isn't just something that you have to deal with, not anymore. It's mine, too. I have to deal with it now, too."

You flinched, the words somehow indicating that he was now burdened with something that should be just your problem and was angry about it. You could see the look of horror that crossed his face as he realized how it had sounded.

"No, that's not what I meant by that. Fuck." His hands were suddenly cupping your face before you could think. You tried to pull away, but he stepped forward when you stepped back, latching on to you, though his hands remained as gentle as they always were when he touched you. "I meant that this isn't something you should have to do alone. This is my thing now, too. Anything that's yours is mine. This is something we will work on together. Ok?"

"You don't even know what it is, Matt," you said weakly. You put your hands over his and tried to pull them off and break contact, but he refused to be moved. 

"I thought…I know enough about depression to recognize it," Matt told you softly, blank eyes landing on your cheek. "I should have...I could feel it. I could feel something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I let things distract me from asking the right questions, and now you've..." he finally moved his hands so that he could gesture vaguely at your thigh. 

"It's not your fault, Matt." You moved to take a step back now that his hands were off, but upon recognizing your intentions, they were back on you, holding your waist this time. 

"I still should have--"

"No," you interrupted him as you shook your head quickly, rejecting his idea that he was somehow to blame. "I should have. This...I should have said something. We've been together for what, a year? Plenty of opportunities for me to say something, and I chose not to. You take responsibility for things out of control all the time, Matt. Don't take this on, too."

He took a shaky breath, one that rattled his entire frame. "Can I ask how long you've been..."

"A while."

"Did it start while we were together?" You shook your head and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, the look on his face suggesting that he was somewhat relieved that the habit hadn’t started since he came into your life, the idea that maybe he was what led you to start hurting yourself for the first time. "Before we met?" He flinched when you nodded, somehow realizing that this was a long-term habit. "How long, sweetheart?"

"Pretty much since high school," you admitted quietly as your eyes trailed a face that was far too pale. He shuddered, as if in pain, and you knew the admission hurt him. You felt incredibly guilty, and it reminded you of the day your mother found out what you’d been doing, her tears and anguish still haunting you years into your adult life. 

"Okay," he mumbled, his eyes closing again. He let go of you and took a small step back. "Okay. Is it alright if I hold you? I don't...I don't want to touch you anymore if you need the space right now." 

Your eyes welled with tears again. "Please do." You were in his arms before you even finished speaking. He was warm, and despite the heat inside your apartment, you found you needed the warmth of him pushed up against you. One of his hands slipped around your waist, the other around your shoulders, where it reached up to cradle the back of your skull. His fingers wrapped themselves in your hair, something you knew he loved doing, something you knew he did when he was trying to remind himself you were next to him and safe. 

"Do your parents know?" he asked quietly as he held you to him, the side of your face pressed against his shoulder. Your arms were snug around his waist, your hands gripping the back of his sweat-soaked black shirt. You didn't know how much you'd needed him to hold you until this moment. 

"About what part?" Your voice was equally as soft.

"Any of it."

You sighed and you felt him tighten his arms around you. "They know about pretty much everything besides the...recent scratching. I spoke with my mom earlier today and she knows I've been slipping a bit."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me I could come to visit for a few days if I needed to," you responded. "I told her I couldn't, but she refused to hang up until I promised I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I have a virtual appointment on Thursday." He nodded and you felt more than heard his sigh of relief. 

"Good. That's good, sweetheart." You felt him place a kiss to the top of your head. By the way his chest expanded to take a deep breath, you knew a big question was about to come out, something that had probably been weighing on his mind since the moment he noticed the mark on your thigh. You had a pretty good idea what it was going to be before even he asked it. "Have you done more than...these scratches in the past?"

You winced, having guessed the question correctly. "I have." 

He tensed. "How much worse?"

You gulped, not wanting to give him the answer. He could feel your reluctance, but pushed on. "Please tell me. I'm not…I'm not going to judge you. I just want to help you, but I can't do that if I don't know."

Taking a deep breath, you forced it out, eyes squeezing shut as you revealed something you haven’t shared in years. "I was once...hospitalized. I was placed on suicide watch." 

You felt Matt shake against you, body trembling as he took in your answer, and grimaced when his arms tightened around to the point of pain. He apologized immediately, loosening his grip just a tad, but the shaking didn't stop. "Matt, I'm okay. I promise. I haven't felt that way in a long time."

"How long ago was that?" he asked you, seeming desperate to wrap his mind around it. "Last year? A few years ago? How recent?"

"It was ten years ago," you whispered as you clutched the back of his shirt in hands that weren’t steady, either. "I got a lot of help. I went through a shit ton of therapy. Put on some medication, some of which I'm still on. I'm okay."

"You have to promise me you won't do something like that." He was still shaking and it was making you tear up again. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he cradled your head there, hand still buried in your hair. "You have to promise me that if things get that bad again, you'll say something. You'll tell me."

You swallowed loudly, before slowly nodding your head

"I promise, Matt." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when you pulled back slightly to look up at him, it tore at you to see the tears that were making their way down his face, stark against a bruise that bloomed on his jaw. Gently, you tilted your chin up so that you could kiss his cheeks. First one, then the other, pressing all the love you felt for him into the simple connection of lips to skin. He pulled back to place a kiss of his own on your forehead, and took a deep breath.

"I think you should come stay with me for a bit."

You pressed your face back into his shoulder, your strength seeping out of you slowly, feeling safe and secure for the first time in days, the depression sliding back just enough so that the red flare of the devil could warm your skin. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I need you close. I need you to be with me where I can keep an eye on you."

"You don't--"

"Please," Matt whispered, the tone pleading and desperate. "Please...just don't argue with me. Not on this."

"I'm not arguing with you, Matt," you said gently, lifting a hand from his waist to run it through his hair. He caught the hand and brought it to his mouth instead. "It's just...you have a big case next week and--"

Matt jerked away, looking aghast, a sense of realization seeping into his pores, though you knew it was an incorrect one. But he took the idea and ran with it, once again trying to take the blame for something that was not his to bear "Is that--is that why you didn't say anything? Because of this case? Because you didn't want to distract me?"

You winced. "No, Matt. But it did make things...easier for me not to admit that things were bad. I didn't want to say anything in the first place, and I’m not sure if I would have said anything at all."

"Oh my god," he said, seemingly horrified. "You can't...you can't do that. You can't hide things like that."

"You understand the irony, right?" You mouth quirked up in the corner. His eyes widened drastically at the comment, lips parting in a mixture of alarm and frustration.

"That's not funny!" He exploded, tightening his grasp on you. Your mouth snapped shut. "You have to tell me these things. You can't use my job or my work at night or anything to hide this. Do you understand? Tell me you understand."

"I understand, Matt. I’m sorry."

"Promise me."

"I already--"

"Promise me again," he demanded, and your eyes widened at how frantic he sounded, your eyes sweeping over a face that housed haunted, red-lined eyes and drying tracks of tears. "Promise me a thousand times."

"I promise, Matt. I promise." You found yourself crushed back against his chest.

"You're my priority," he whispered adamantly into your ear. His hand was shaking again as it rested on your lower back. "You're the priority. Everything else...it doesn't matter, none of it matters if you're not here. I need you to understand that."

You hesitated, and he caught on to it. 

“Sweetheart,” he said with a quiet moan that sounded far too grief-stricken, his cheek pressing to yours, the scruff of his beard nothing but a familiar, welcomed feeling. It spoke to you of love and adoration, his beard often rasping against your skin while he kissed you, or even while he slid down your body to put his mouth on the most sensitive part of you. “I don't care if it's the biggest case of the century. I don't care if I'm one second away for finally catching the most important drug ring and tearing down their entire organization. If you need me, I'm there. No questions asked."

"But--"

"No." He pulled back to place his hands on your shoulders while his head tilted towards you, unfocused eyes landing around your mouth. "No buts. You call me. You tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. I'll be there as soon as humanly possible, everytime."

"Matt," you whimpered with a shake of your head, mouth tilting down in a frown. "You can't just--those things are important to people, I can't let you--"

"You're not letting me do anything. I choose you. Always."

You shuddered at the declaration, wondering what you had ever done to deserve this man, but unwilling to ever let him go. Eyes welling with a new batch of tears, you held on to him with everything you had, energy leaching out of you as you leaned against him. He took your weight easily without a word, no objection to being your sole source of strength and balance. 

Matt cleared his throat as held you, breath fanning out across your cheek. "Can I...will you let me check it?" he asked quietly, the question almost hesitant as if he expected to be rejected. "I can smell the antiseptic, but I just need to be sure."

You were absolutely helpless to deny him anything."Yeah…yeah, you can."

He took a step back and pulled you over to your kitchen table where he gently pushed you into a seat. Once you were settled with your leg outstretched and balanced on another chair, he grabbed another alcohol wipe and a large bandage from the first aid kit. Bending down so that he was kneeling next to you on the hardwood, Matt leaned forward and placed a kiss directly below the mark on your thigh, your skin turning into a field of goosebumps despite the fact that Matt had had his lips to every inch of your skin at this point in your relationship. There was something so gentle, something so reverent about the kiss that you mourned the loss of his lips the second he pulled away.

 You watched as Matt turned his attention to the long scratch on your thigh, frowning when you hissed at the alcohol wipe he ran gently down it. His finger traced the outline gently as his sightless eyes roamed over the room, and you knew he was testing the temperature of your skin as if he’d be able to trace the possibility of an infection. When he was satisfied, he took the large bandage and placed it over the scratch.

He placed the trash on the table with fingers that had steadied as he focused on making sure you were okay, the mission to help you overpowering the horror and concern he’d been feeling since he made his way into your apartment. Grasping your hands in his, he turned his face towards you, tilting up as he licked his lips in a tick you had long since noticed was often an indication of anxiety. He pulled your hands into his, the heat of his palms warm and soothing he held them. Within a gentle kiss placed on the back of each hand, Matt’s form finally seemed to relax as a small smile broke our across his face. 

Unable to help yourself, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

"Thank you," you whispered quietly as you slowly sat back up. He chased your lips for just a small second before he settled back on his haunches and let his eyes rest over your shoulder. "For always taking care of me."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "You don't have to thank me for this."

"I do," you affirmed gently. "And I'm sorry for...not saying anything."

He was silent for a moment as his thumbs traced over the back of your hands. "I understand what it's like. The depression. I've told you how bad it got, after Midland Circle. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. And part of that is thanks to you."

You opened your mouth to object, but he cut you off. "No, it's true. You make me want to be...better. Do better. And I know that I'd be struggling a lot more than I do if I didn't have you in my life. All the good that I do, all the good I try be, is partly thanks to you."

“Matt–”

He continued on gently even as you shook your head in denial, squeezing your hands tightly in his. "You do this for me every single day without even trying to, and I'll never be able to express how grateful I am for you, for how much you love me. So whatever you need, whatever you need from me, it's yours. Ask me for anything, ask me to do anything, and I'll give it to you."

A stray tear warmed your cheek as it fell. “You know I feel the same way, right? That I’d do the same for you.”

Matt’s smile was faint as he answered. “I know, sweetheart. You’ve told me.”

“And you–you believe me?”

“I do.” The sentence is small, a simple three letters and only two syllables, but it causes you to sigh in relief and sag against the chair as he finally stood up, your fingers entwined with his.

“Okay,” you whisper as you glance up at his face, taking in the tender look in his eyes and the smile that was equally gentle. “As long as you know the feeling is equal.”

Matt was quiet as let go of a hand to push back a few pieces of hair. "I know,” he said softly with a sigh, the flush of his skin finally bringing some color back to his face. “I think you should come stay with me for a bit, where I can look after you and make sure you're okay. We will make things work. No matter how busy I may be, this is the priority. Okay?"

"I….yeah, okay,” you answered with a nod of your head, eyes shifting to look out the window that he had left open, suddenly grateful that he’d been able to hear the tears that had left you feeling hollow for a few short moments. 

Only a single moment passed before he took your face in his hands and tilted it up so he could place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll help you pack your things."

When he pulled you out your front door, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and tshirt he had left at your place weeks ago, one hand in yours and the other holding the small duffle you’d thrown your things into, you somehow knew the move would be permanent. Your lease was nowhere close to being over, but the idea of swapping an empty apartment for one that was filled with silk sheets, record albums labeled in braille, and Matt’s smile was exactly what you needed.

Your bouts of depression would come and go, of this you were sure, but Matt would be unwavering and solid, standing in front of you in the face of whatever nightmare headed your way.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x gn!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #tw:self-harm #tw: mentions of suicide #tw: depression