#mental illness implication tw

[caseyarchived]

thomas   weatherall.     he/him.     cis   male.      ›      spotted   at   the   met   steps   ,   casey   rutherford   ,   most   likely   listening   to   if   so   by   atlas   genius  with   their   airpods   pro   .   the   twenty   four   year   old   gained   quite   a   reputation   ,   known   to   be  - closed   off  yet   + amiable   to   anyone   who   knows   them   .   you'll   easily   spot   them   when   you   hear   about   overworking   and   restless   nights   ,   vegan   recipes   ,    being   forced   to   become   an   adult   when   you   were   just   a   kid   ,   playing   the   piano   at   three   am   ,   followed   by   dark   woods   by   joseph   abboud   .   latest   nepoupdates   article   talks   about   our   theories   on   why   casey   rutherford   shaved   his   head   and   eyebrows   that   one   time   (   are   you   currently   doing   okay   casey?   )  ,   but   i   guess   any   reputation   is   good   reputation   . 

basic stats ;

⟶ full name: casey anthony rutherford  ⟶ nicknames: usually just goes by casey  ⟶ three things he likes: passion fruit boba tea, australian accents, dreamcatchers ⟶ three things he dislikes: hospitals, his father, the idea of anyone bullying his little brother ⟶ gender: cis male ⟶ height: 5 ‘ 9 ⟶ age: 24  ⟶ birthday: february 14, 1999  ⟶ zodiac: aquarius sun, virgo moon, capricorn ascendant   ⟶ right handed or left handed: right handed   ⟶ eye color: dark brown ⟶ hair color: black ⟶ piercings and tattoos: no piercings, a tattoo of the name ‘lukas’ on his left wrist ( little brother’s name ) ⟶ languages spoken: swedish and english ⟶ sexuality / romantic orientation: bisexual / biromantic ⟶ place of birth: brisbane, australia ⟶ last five songs listened to: change ( in the house of flies ) by deftones, stand by me by oasis, lesser things by barcelona, broken by lund, stadium arcadium by red hot chili peppers ⟶ five aesthetics: restless nights attempting to write, crying out of stress, a smile so kind and warm it can cure it all, the best kind of hugs, warm vegan cupcakes ⟶ character inspo: lexi howard from euphoria, maeve wiley from sex education, malakai mitchell from heartbreak high

background story ;

casey was the first born son of corey rutherford and amalie peterson in brisbane, an accident if you must, as his parents never intended to have him. his mother lived in sweden but was in australia visiting some relatives when she met corey, one thing lead to another, and nine months later, casey came along

his mother was infatuated with his father, while his father liked his mother, but not in the way that she liked him. regardless, his family forced him to marry amalie to give casey a ‘stable’ life, but it was anything but that

growing up, casey really loved his mother. the same thing couldn’t be said for his father. from a fairly young age, he got the feeling that his father considered him the reason that he was ‘forced’ to stay with his mother, treated him like garbage, making casey strongly dislike him from early on

he was emotionally abusive, to him and to his mother. casey didn’t know why she stayed with him. things were cool when it was just him and his mother, but as soon as his father came along, the vibe shifted

things only worsened when amalie became pregnant again, with casey’s little brother, lukas, who was five years younger than casey. from that moment on, casey was determined to defend his little brother from whatever emotional abuse his father could even think to throw at him

but when lukas grew a little older, they knew that he was different. he didn’t like to talk much and whenever he did, it was avoiding eye contact. he didn’t like to be touched often, he had melt downs, and well, after several tests and doctor visits later, lukas was diagnosed with autism

from that moment on, things drastically changed. his father didn’t know how to handle the news and ended up leaving. his mother didn’t have much in australia without him, so she moved back to stockholm with casey and lukas when casey was ten and lukas was five, where thankfully, lukas got the treatment he deserved

casey thought this move was for the better, but things only seemed to worsen from that moment on. his mother was severely depressed over what his father did and on some days, refused to even get out of bed

casey was forced to become an adult when he was just a kid himself. clean up the house, look after his little brother and mother, it was really hard for him, and as much as he loved his mother, she only added onto the baggage he felt forced to carry

as soon as he was old enough, he had a job. between going to school, working, and practically being the parent in the house, he always lacked sleep, he was always tired, but he swears, he worked really hard than anyone his age, it’s not like he had a choice

it was a lot to deal with, and soon enough, he was finding ways to try and stay up. coffee only worked for so long, even strong shots of espresso became nothing to him. through this desire to try and stay awake during long shifts and school, well, this… this is how he discovered the ‘wonders’ of adderall, through one of his classmates who would sell his prescription to make an extra buck. casey soon realized that it worked perfectly for his dilemma, it kept him going for ages

so this is how he became a frequent customer. it was an unhealthy habit of red bull, adderall, under eating, not sleeping, repeat – he was practically a zombie at one point. this went on for a while. a little over a year of this unhealthy cycle is when it caught up to him, in the worst possible way

! tws for hospitals, eating disorder and stroke ! to be clear, he can’t recall a lot of what happened beforehand. the headache, the dimness in his vision, soon followed by him passing out, are all very faint memories in his head. the thing casey remembers most is waking up in a hospital, and being informed that he had a stroke… a stroke. he was also told he had malnutrition and was underweight which was most likely linked to an eating disorder and his abuse of adderall, but he didn’t hear anything else, all he heard was stroke. frankly, he didn’t even think someone his age could have a stroke, it was all really scary news for him. this happened two months before his graduation, and thankfully, he had all the credits needed before this, but he still had to finish school virtually

the aftermath of it all is what sucked the most for him. the therapies, medications and countless check ups even though he swears, he felt fine, the way his family was treating him like he was made of paper or something, even his grandmother, aka his mother’s mother, got involved, which was a huge mess because all she did was blame his mother for dumping all of their problems on casey and causing all this. long story short, but his grandmother didn’t think his mother was mentally well enough to take care of casey and lukas, which wasn’t exactly a lie. after casey’s graduation, they moved with her to her house in new york, which his mother didn’t even fight her on, claiming she had to work on herself

and as much as he didn’t want to admit it because a part of him really missed his mother and he didn’t blame her for what happened, but, casey really liked new york, as much as he wanted to hate it. he felt a lot calmer there, he wasn’t constantly stressed over taking care of his little brother, or his mother, and still finding a way to make ends meet, he was done with high school, eighteen, had everything in his favor, took a gap year but didn’t travel the way other people do, really just focused on his therapies and bettering himself, focused on writing and playing the piano and sundae sundays with his grandmother and little brother, practically became a whole different person ( crazy how not being completely stressed 24/7 can drastically change someone )

he ended up going back to school when he was nineteen, to nyu to be exact, majors in literature because he wants to be a writer, even if it won’t make him much money in the long run

he really had no intention of ever going into the spotlight. even with his first published book heart shaped box ( literally his pride and joy, a horror novel he’s been working on for over three years ), he only made a decent following on social media when his book hit new york’s best seller list, with most of his followers being book nerds which, he was okay with. he just wanted to write and hopefully one day, publish another book. he didn’t care if he made it to the best seller’s list again or not, he just wanted to do something he was passionate about and stay under the radar

anyways, long story short but that under the radar shit doesn’t end up happening when he meets abel in nyu, when he’s twenty one. they date for a little under a year before he says he has to leave and then just… stops answering casey’s texts and calls altogether, whatever, fuck him, is all casey can think. but then people somehow find out they dated and he starts getting all this attention because they used to date and really, he didn’t even know abel had that influencer status, so the attention just annoys him. he feels like he’s worked so hard to even get his first book published and instead of being only recognized for that, he gets recognized for dating a boy, literally… wants to stab himself with a fork

the past two and a half years have just been him working on another novel, and a comic book, illustrated by his little brother, that he has hopes of finishing and hopefully releasing one or the other by next year. now the question is, will people soon enough recognize him for his talent in literature, or will he forever be known as ‘that guys ex boyfriend’?

headcanons ;

he’s a vegan! became one about five months after he had a stroke and has never looked back. his health has gotten a lot better since then, been a vegan for over five years already

casey really doesn’t like entitled people who have just had stuff handed to them and never had to work for anything, so basically... most nepo babies let’s be real. he’s had to work really hard for everything, even getting his book published was hard as hell, and then lots of people recognize him for a guy he dated forever ago rather than his hard work which really, really makes him angry

he isn’t a mean guy, he’s really patient and kind and understanding and will never be rude unless provoked, but if you get him to a certain level of angry, he can literally be the worst person ever. very nice and sweet and people tend to think they can walk all over him because of that, but if you really do something to upset him, he’s like a different person. black and white in that sense if you must because he can go from one extreme to the other, especially if you’re a mean or manipulative person, he see’s right through that shit

he writes about anything, romance, science fiction, fantasy, but his favorite genre is fantasy and horror based. his career claim is similar to joe hill, and his upcoming comic book will basically be the first comic of the ‘locke & key’ series, basically joe hill but modern day

he doesn’t tell people he had a stroke. mostly because he doesn’t want sympathy, but also because he wants to make a new life here. no one really knows about his life in sweden. no one really knows about his life before he was eighteen and he likes it that way

doesn’t do anything besides occasionally smoke weed ( boring boy i guess ), mostly out of health but also because he has alcohol intolerance. alcohol, even in small amounts, makes him really sick so he prefers to just avoid it, obviously would never go to serious drugs because that incident he went through scarred him

he see’s his little brother frequently, he’s literally the illustrator of the comics he plans on publishing soon enough. he has a really big soft spot for little kids, especially if they have special needs. he would probably be an amazing dad if he ever decides to go that route

he loves music, especially old school music. the idea for heart shaped box literally came to him when he was listening to heart shaped box by nirvana. he has a very old soul, literally owns a type writer and a vinyl player

he has a female dog named opal, named after his favorite australian stone, opal. the dog is a goldendoodle, he loves this dog with his entire heart, she is two

the rumor in his app is true. he once was undergoing a mental breakdown so bad, he impulsively shaved his head and eyebrows, it was a true monstrosity. this happened like four months after his break up with abel, so he was around twenty two. thankfully, hair grows back because otherwise... no comment

wanted connections ;

heart shaped box lover: a book lover or horror fanatic who liked his novel and just wants to be his friend, wholesome connection

it’s meant to be, look, we’re both vegans!: simply put, a fellow vegan. watch them go to vegan restaurants together and let each other know about the hottest vegan spots

not your biggest fan: someone who doesn’t like him. could be because they think he’s boring, because they think his book sucked or because they just don’t like him, i’m open to it all

dog sitters: someone who walks their dog at the exact same time as he does, and they’ve just bonded over their pets, bonus if their dogs really like each other

devil on my shoulder: a bad influence, or at least, tries to be because he isn’t easily convinced. a muse who just wants him to let loose

former college friends: someone he went to college with, they could be friends or not

...perhaps something more?: maybe friends with benefits, one night stands, something romantic?

or we can brainstorm!

birthchart ;

[cozyqueerchaos]

i'm sure this is old news but im hyperfocusing so hard on the worldbuilding here that i wanna talk about it anyway-

so, if i'm reading the lore here correctly, the initial meteor hit caused the development of psychic abilities in humans, but also, caused the NEED for psychics (as opposed to, like, therapists) as the meteor's fallout increased the development of mental illness in the population to such a wild degree. (not exactly sure in what way it increased it, but that does seem to be the implication here)

which could explain why people in these games can have breakdowns over such seemingly odd things (looking at you fred), as well as the blasé approach that everyone has to mental illness and dysfunctional mental processes

(^ obligatory sasha screenshot)

that difference in their societal development is also probably why raz (and all the kids, really) can witness and say shit like this without flinching:

[mad-hunts]

[fecto-forgo]

i should really just go to sleep but the once and future king books 2 and 4 are just so fucking funny.white will give you some actually really good psychology on childhood abuse trauma and morgause literally molding mordred into being a puppet for her even after she dies then turn around with takes like "anyways agravaine specifically isnt sympathetic because hes scared of pain and cries too much the fact hes like 12 isnt important" and "you should hate mordred not because i randomly made him a nazi for a couple minutes but because he cries too much and doesnt like it when his father he was groomed into thinking is an abusive rapist agrees with his suicidal thoughts"

[to-live-in-misery]

sometimes, I try.

I clean my room and I make my bed. I wash my face, put on some perfume and I pretend like nothing is wrong.

I pretend to like my life. I pretend like everything is okay.

but it’s not, is it? Nothing, nobody, is ever really okay. Every day as I wake up and go about my routine, my mind will slip and I will find myself wanting to crawl back into my comforting hole of sadness and darkness. I’m not actually Better, I’m simply pretending. I’m living a lovely little lie.

[sanestakaashistan]

“ Whyʼd ya hold back? ”

|| hawks — keigo t.

hawks x reader but you just came back from an overseas mission. you immediately get excited once you're back to japan, barging in to your shared apartment, unbeknownst to hawks' state and the fact that it's.. spring.

tw: implied s3x, a little cursing?, suggestive themes.

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI !!

The smell of Japan's fresh air fills your lungs while you take your step out the international airport. After partaking onto a few Pro Hero activities on Brazil, you've finally returned to your home country, Japan. To come home back to Keigo was all you could've ever wanted as a reward.

The cab arrives at yours and Keigo's apartment complex. You immediately ran off and paid the cab, going in the classic elavator up to the apartment's floors. Excitedly, you slam open your door right after you unlocked it, only to be greeted by silence. The usual welcome home Keigo gave when you go overseas for missions is unusually gone tday. You grinned, thinking Keigo must be in the shower to freshen up. It was uncommon, but Keigo loves to take baths, so you thought it as normal and brushed it off.

Hurriedly, you took off your shoes and coat and hung them into their rightful places. Staying with your socks on, you ran to your shared bedroom and peeked through the door, only to see the room made dark and dim. “Keigo?” You softly called out, starting to feel concerned for the boy. Observing the sight before you, you were stunned. “Kei.. go?” You muttered in shock. There lies none other than Keigo, on the bed, buried in several blankets, surrounded in a sea of pillows, panting and gasping heavily for air. “Damn it..” He lightly cursed under his breath, covering himself whole in the blankets in order to unshow his such vulnerable state.

Just then, you only realized it was Spring.

The season where Keigo's kind are usually in heat. You perked up, cursing yourself, as you didn't realize it sooner. “Keigo? What can I do to help?” His immediate response was a barely a whisper: “Please.. go away...” His body curled, as if in pain. You immediately noticed the implication, so then you hurried to the kitchen and made hot chocolate to somehow comfort him(?), as you didn't know what to do, either. You couldn't just possibly leave him alone like that? You mentally slapped yourself even only at the thought.

Back at the shared bedroom, you placed the hot cup of chocolate on the bedside table and satt at the edge of the bed. “Keigo, what can I do to help?” Gently, in a soft delicate tone, you asked. He only replies with: “No. D-Don't..” Though you were confused, you only kept asking as concern washes over you. “Keigo.” You made him sit up properly as you speak, —

“I'm trying to hold back, you dimwit.”

Said Keigo, right after pinning you down the bed. You were shook— no, maybe even more shock than the word shock. His tone was rough, which was much, much different than his usual classic laid-back demeanor. You couldn't help but be by far be speechless, with both his actions and words. What did he mean by 'trying to hold back'? Why did he pin you to the bed? Why is he holding back—? Oh.

OH! You finally figured it out.

You smirked at the final realization, and while Keigo sits up himself, you immediately got on top of him, your legs surrounding his waist. Now, it's the opposite position around, while you place your hands in both sides of Keigo's head on the bed. “What-.. are you doin-..” He lightly gasps, now the one who's shocked. How the tables had turned.

“I'll make you feel so good, birdie. I'll make you so satisfied to the point that you'll be asking for more. To the point that even when it's not spring, you'll come running to me..” You whisper in his ear as his breath hitched.

“You could've just asked, and I would've gave you what you wanted, baby.”

a/n: ill edit this later to make it more appealing...... im too tired for this okay bye thanks

honourable mention: @nessgasm , my pookie for life

[vinegar-rights]

Also I’d love to see the other doodles you have of that headcanon !! I love ur art <3

Im so glad u do! Heres some :3! Tw for skinny seymour (older art). Ill add more to this headcanon that ive been cooking in my mind here:

Seymour would use sh to cope with his seated anger and self deprecation. I feel like im being so edgy when i say this… but pricking your finger on a thorn wouldnt produce that much blood to feed a budding plant. As twoey grows, eventually it wasnt a coping mechanism anymore, but to only feed audrey ii. Hed wear his gardening gloves more often to hide swollen fingers and bandaged wrists, and then taller gloves as it becomes more intense. Audrey would begin to notice and become worried, and seymour would just brush her off, explaining that whenever he holds gardening shears he “slips”, or just blaming his rampant clumsiness. With audrey ii, i see her as a representation of his desires and fantasies. She’d keep coaxing him to indulge in this behavior

Eventually twoey doesnt need to rely on seymours blood anymore, but the power is still there. She still uses him and hes still dependent on her.

Seymour in both films are not squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, but the guilt and self awareness is what makes him sick. Hes letting himself be used by twoey, and dig into this hole he will never come out of. Hes easily manipulated and coerced, an example would be mr mushnik using seymours dream of having a parental figure in order to keep him in the flower shop and take away that chance of seymour leaving skid row, *his dream*. I see this as a read on how vulnerable seymour is, and how easily he can be taken advantage of.

Hes very quick to try to kill himself in the ‘84 film, which i take into consideration for. In the musical he does technically kill himself, entering twoeys maw as he vows to kill her from the inside. His recklessness and spiraling mental health at the end of the show is something I acknowledge for this headcanon.

So in conclusion: seymours vulnerability, self deprecation, unsteady mental health, unusually calm reaction to blood/gore, and some implications in the musical have lead me to believe that seymour has/had self harmed 😗👍

[riggedtraps]

IT'S ALL BULLSHIT, IT'S ALL A LIE...

...AND I'M JUST A PAWN IN YOUR STUPID GAMES.

Hi, I'm Amanda. Or you can call me Mandy, I don't care. I'm 29. I guess I'm a woman, but I don't care about that either. She/her or they/them is fine, maybe even he/him if you want. Definition of the 'mean lesbian' stereotype.

I work for Jigsaw, so watch what you say around me. He helped me and maybe He can help you, too. DMs and asks from anyone is fine.

I should probably mention I have BPD. Petulant, impulsive and self destructive. So if I'm rude, it's probably me being a cunt, not you.

that intro better be in character or ill cry </3

anyway ooc introduction!!

i'm gia, i use they/them pronouns. im agender (and so is amanda, she just doesnt know it yet!). i also have bpd too, so yes, will be accurate to my experiences. im a minor so nothing too nsfw or gross.

literally anyone can interact! whether ur a rp blog or not, i will literally roleplay with anyone, even oc blogs (y'all are so cool). send me asks or dm me, whatever works. any ships too, i dont mind, though ofc mandys only romantically interested in women and nonbinary folks, but platonic ships with anyone works! :3C

i'm making this because im obsessed with saw rn its my special interest and i kin amanda so hard <3 first ever roleplay blog ive ran, so excuse any mistakes. gonna try keep amanda in character as much as possible, but may add a few headcanons in here and there. if she's ooc, please excuse that too. 🙏

of course, it's amanda so there's gonna be triggers for self harm, suicidal tendencies, mental health, and then general triggers for the saw franchise. will tag things such as self harm with 'tw self harm' or 'tw cutting' so block those if you don’t wanna see it.

also gonna reblog stuff i think amanda would like, so stuff like punk, goth, music stuff—but also blood, weapons, horror. not full gore but implications of it. will trigger tag them, so block those if you don't wanna see it.

gonna use ❪ ❫ for when out of character. e.g ❪hii!! :3❫

'꩜—mandy rants' : making in character posts

'꩜—gia rants' : ooc posts

'꩜—mandy answers' : tag to keep track of answering asks

'꩜—mandy rps' : for roleplay threads

'꩜—mandy writes' : short stories i imagine amanda wrote as a hobby/vent

my main blog: @messyscarletdreams

'♫—mandy's playlist' : songs i associate with amanda/think she'd like

each blog i interact with will have their own tag of their user for easier tracking

each character i interact with has a tag with amanda e.g '❪ john & amanda. ❫'

my saw oc blog: @poor-impulsecontrol

[youryanderedaddy]

Yeah some obssesive men can be misogynistic bc they think a girl is theirs and they shouldn'r reject them bc they are nice to them?

However i think some obsessive men would act possesive,regardless of gender and non-patriarchal ideas..

Anyways. It's hard to find smut or just one shots with yandere boys without misogynistic traits :( or if they plant the idea of one,ppl would still labeled as misogynistic.

But with female yanderes (bc sexism thinks girls can't do no wrong and aesthetic,romanticizing mental illness) they make sadistic girls look more appealing and cutesy gaze.

Like I just want enjoy my sadistic boys in peace and them to have some cutesy :(

Oh you just made me drop an essay. I have a lot of thoughts about this actually.

Tw for discussion of misogyny, rape, stalking, lots of incoherent talking too lmao

Most yandere characters in mass media are female. I have this theory that (mostly) men like yandere women in fiction because it's a reversal of the socially accepted gender dynamics where women are seen as weak, fragile or submissive. We need to take in account that the trope started in Japan where those gender roles are still very prevalent to this day, and to a male Japanese audience seeing a dangerous, powerful, dominant woman is a power fantasy. It's unusual, you know? For the "prey" to be the predator. In retro horror movies the victims are usually women while the killers are men. So it's absolutely shocking (revolutionary even) to see the roles reversed. Female stalkers, villains, obsessive women, in a way they're all reclaiming themselves in cinema and media, and allowing themselves to be possessive and jealous the way men have been for centuries IN REAL LIFE. I have nothing but respect for media that chooses to engage with that, be it horror or even romance. I think it's easier to have a nuanced discussion on female yanderes than on male because of the physical difference and the way society views criminals based on gender and appearance.

Society keeps telling us that women are to be desired, they're always the center of the desire (and objectification/sexualisation). With female yanderes this is reversed too - men get to be desired (obsessively so), they become the center of someone's sexuality, which is rarely the case in real life where male sexuality revolves about being the dominant figure in the relationship. It's a way for men to be submissive without having to face a society that emasculates and mocks them for this submissiveness. Or at least that's the way I see it. It's a very interesting topic.

With male yanderes, the conversation is entirely different. It's hard to write about them without engaging in some way with misogyny. You can't write possessive men without thinking about the very real life implications of those behaviors. 200 years ago women were still considered property, they belonged to the highest bidder. Even today hundreds of women are murdered because they reject men who can't handle rejection, or who view them as property. Of course there are cases where women kill their male partners out of jealousy or paranoia, but the reverse are much, much more common. It's very important in those topics to be able to distinguish between fiction an reality.

There is the other side of it all. Fiction is fiction. It can be anything. Fiction of course doesn't exist in a bubble, but it doesn't need to be realistic or even engage with the real world. You can have possessive men who aren't misogynistic or rapey. But I choose to look at all perspectives. I enjoy working with some realistic traits from time to time, and that often means dealing with unpleasant, sensitive real world topics like misogyny, rape, inceldom, assault, rape culture etc. I look at the yandere genre as a horror trope first, and as erotica second. I don't consider it romance - although some slight yandere traits can be used to create perfectly healthy male yandere characters, my writing isn't an example of that at all.

Those are my two cents, sorry for the rambling, but as a writer (and a feminist) I really find this topic intriguing. There are so, so many aspects to it, social, cultural, etc

[tinyidle]

Allergy to Hyposexuality - JSY

finally releasing a proper solo soyeon fic again after *checks records* three years?!?

wc: 2.06k (7 mins of picking your jaw off the floor)

WARNING: smut, slight angst (tw: mental health + mental institutions, trauma), semi-public sex, unprofessional acts in the medical field, blowjob, implications of cunnilingus (doesn't happen tho), missionary, unprotected sex, post-nut clarity, insatiable!soyeon, hypersexual!soyeon, mental patient!soyeon, psychiatrist!reader, sex-starved!reader, b!gd¡ck reader, fem reader, g!p reader, fiction ofcofc

you went into the psych ward. no, you were not psychotic, nor do you have any problems that you have to need to be in there. you were there to care for a special patient the clinic assigned you. she was a hypersexual being who got into major trouble to the point of her being diagnosed. in a few minutes you will be in another room of white walls, seeing the person who seemed to have an insatiable sex drive. she would be the fifth person you'd see with this problem, and you plan to give her the same set of rules to follow for her to get better. all your past sex crazy patients were men, and despite you having a feminine look, they could never get in your pants. with a woman, you expect this to be no different.

you enter the pure white square room and encounter the slightly slumped over.. woman? or girl? she looks so small, yet you saw her report prior to coming in to work. you called out for the female. "good morning, miss jeon soyeon."

soyeon slowly looked up to you with a slight pout, "good morning, miss doctor."

you nodded. she's definitely a woman. a small, slightly frustrated one, but a woman nonetheless. pulling out your clipboard from your side, you flipped over the pages until you reached the report page on the twenty-four year old patient. "from what i got from you, you were diagnosed with compulsive sexual behavior. is that right?"

the small woman eyed you, something you were used to by now. "yes. i was diagnosed two months ago after making sexual remarks to several clients at work," she answered, playing with her long black nails when she mentioned her work offence.

nodding, you continued looking over her report. "it says here that you were taken to three rehabilitation centers and several talk therapists for your disorder, but they've only made things worse-"

"those fucking staff in the last rehab suggested medical sodomy," she confessed rather coldly, eyes still down at her pristine manicure. you wondered how in the world she could get anything done in with such long nails. soyeon continued to speak, "i began to riot and pull at any and everybody's pants in the facilities, which made them call the cops on me. i went under a judge who suggested me to come here for-"

"insanity," you interjected, surprising the small woman. "yeah, i know. you're not the first patient i had who's had this problem. i can help you get better and live a normal life in society."

soyeon's eyes began to shift, looking up at you with innocence. feign innocence; you knew that. "i was told that millions of times," she complained. "what makes you think you're different?"

you chewed your lip at that: you actually didn't know how to help her specifically. yeah, you had patients with the same disorder and patients who verbally lashed out and patients who trauma dumped you-- you weren't thin skinned, that's how you became a psychiatrist in the first place. the problem was that you were actually falling for the small woman. her cute pigtails framed her cute face, her pouty lips made her eyes look extra admirable, and from the offences you looked at from her report sheet-- public masturbation, extremely explicit public indecency, vulgar talking, and multiple hookups--made you intrigued.

you sighed before fixing your lab coat. "ill make sure you get all you want," you promised.

soyeon was shocked once again. "you.. what?"

"if you agree to comply with me for the next two months here, ill give you what you want. you want sex? ill give it to you right now, but then after that it will be a reward for every time you do well each week." you looked intently at the woman, her figure looking extra petite for your liking. she was biting her lip while her legs kept rubbing against each other under the covers. "what do you say, soyeon?"

she looked to the side, pretending to think about your offer, before she threw off her covers, exposing her naked core for your view.

now it was your turn to be shocked. "h-how did you-"

"i decided to stop wearing undergarments whenever i get admitted into health clinics," she explained to you. "they would always check my pussy anyway, so i thought 'fuck it' and threw mine on the side there," she said as she pointed to the nearby corner of a tiny skirt and almost nonexistent black lace thong. "so," soyeon crawled up to where your frozen figure stood on the end of the bed. "can i get my offer now, miss doctor?"

you took some time to compose yourself before nodding to her, moving to lock the room door. you then closed the window blinds and called staff to help sound proof the room. once you got the confirmation that all was clear, you turned to the small woman who's patient gown was now off, along with her skimpy crop top and bralette. "now," you smiled, slowly taking off your lab coat, "where were we?"

soyeon squealed when you tackled her lips, kissing every part so that you could feel how plush they were. in just seconds, your knee-length skirt around your waist was being tugged down to feel the fabric of your panties. soyeon was surprised that when she palmed your center, instead of feeling a cameltoe, she felt a big bulge around her tiny fingers. she only smiled at this. "so my miss doctor has a mister big boy under these panties, huh?"

you just moaned as she kept palming you, grinding her fingertips against you. "just get on with it already," you growled, a soft curse sounding through the room when she pulled away. soyeon paused, gazing at your half open zipper before pulling both your skirt and underwear off your soft legs. when your length sprung out, the small woman took almost no time spitting on it, immediately seeking to lubricate you. "fuck," you whispered, mesmerized by how those small fingers matched with those long nails could give such a presumably good handjob.

she leaned forward, eager for you. "ooh wow," she laughed as she gripped your thick girth, watching you as you threw your head back in ecstasy. "you're going to fill my mouth to the brim," she awed with lust, using a string of words you hadn't heard in a while since your last partner. her hands travelled lower, caressing your bottom as she continued stroking you. soyeon soon sank her mouth on your length, slowly yet so sensually to the point where you let out a loud groan. feeling proud of herself for making you so pleased, she did her best to take as much of you as possible before quickly pulling herself up, aggressively sucking your tip.

you were in heaven. in pure bliss. the small woman opened her tiny mouth to occupy your large self into her, yet she took it like a pro. after deepthroating you a few times, she quickly pulled up, tilting your length to the side before kissing down to your enlarged balls. with each movement you felt closer and closer to your orgasm, and you could tell she knew by the way she moaned every time you twitched inside her occupied mouth.

"shit, come here," you pulled up the small woman as you attached her lips with yours. you could taste the slightly bitter taste of your precum, but you didn't care right now. all you cared about was tasting soyeon, feeling soyeon, and then getting her to listen to you. as you were dominating her tongue while she kept touching your length, you genty laid the woman down and lowered yourself to her wet cavern. as soyeon opened her legs for you, you frowned as you saw how much hyperpigmentation she got from constantly touching herself. "when was the last time you've gone without masturbating?" you asked, the professional side of you kicking in.

the eagerness that was evident in the young woman's face was now gone and replaced with slight frustration and embarrassment. "a couple days ago," she lied, clearly annoyed by your question. "now get your mouth on my cunt-"

"i call bullshit," you interrupted, sitting up and crossing your arms. "your vagina looks-"

"please don't call it that while we're in the middle of fucking," soyeon begged.

you sighed. "okay, fine. you cunt looks three shades darker than one's of your skin complexion should look like. plus i can tell that you are extremely sensitive, in a way most women even in the adult industry should be worried about." you went back to soyeon's center, carefully touching it and rubbing it extra gently.

while any other person would be angry that their partner would be so teasing, soyeon knew you were her psychiatrist at the end of the day. you were doing her a favor while trying not to take advantage of her, and she admired that. the woman sighed, reaching down to tap her clit a few times, making herself wet before she she widened her legs even more. "well then, miss. fuck me gently, please."

you know she meant well, soyeon didn't want to rile you up on purpose this time. but you couldn't help it: her cunt looked extra needy for your thick girth, and her nipples were as erect as you'd ever seen. you had to have her, now. either that or you give yourself blue balls simply staring at her slutty figure.

holding your length to her already puffy cunt, you slowly pushed yourself inside the small woman. soyeon bit her lower lip hard as she whined, her hands cupping her own breasts as you began to pump in and out. "fuck," you moaned, unable to keep quiet, "how are you so tight? do you not get thick enough dick?" soyeon squeezed her nipples together and moaned louder, clearly enjoying your stroke game.

"i'll take that as a compliment," you smirked, pushing your length even further into the other woman.

you could hear the whine in soyeon's voice go from sensual to desperate, so you quickened your pace. soyeon looked over your face to see sweat form on your brow and your breasts fighting desperately to stay still as you were ramming yourself into her. she found this almost too much as she clenched even harder.

"im gonna cum!" soyeon exclaimed, her hands clawing everywhere to find a grasp on reality. her eyes closed, her body tensed as if she was ready to bear the pain of release. "ugh! oh god!" she screamed as she came, grabbing onto your shoulders as you kept thrusting into her.

feeling the small woman come undone by you led you close to your end as well. you groaned loudly, sweating bullets as you shoved yourself inside her, making soyeon scream in pleasure, despite knowing you wouldn't last much longer. her walls pulsed on you, the insides of her entire cunt contracting on you until you released inside her. you into her womb, so much so that it was seeping between her folds and leaking down to your balls. you held onto her tightly, gasping for air.

after she came down from her high, soyeon looked down to see you coming up for air, still inside her. your cock was coated with your and her fluids, making you flinch as you slowly pulled out to the cold air of the room. soyeon suddenly wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you. your instincts flared up, instantly rejecting the idea of having a consensual encounter in a ward room with a patient who isn't supposed to be sexually active yet. your fists clenched, feeling like you failed as a professional. but soyeon didn't care, she wasn't trying to force you into anything. she just wanted to kiss you.

the feeling of her lips lightly brushing against yours brought everything into perspective for you. this was why you became a psychiatrist; to help people become healthy. she couldn't and wouldn't get healthy unless she listens to advice from her doctor on how to get there. and you're here, helping her slowly get to a healthy mindset of sex and the general world, even if it meant bending the rules a slight bit.

hope you liked it!just know that because my brain actually stopped working in between creating this I don't plan on making a part 2 😔

[misericordia-writing]

Lightning Bugs

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙜𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚, 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙤 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙙-𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚.

𝙎𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮, 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙡 𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙’𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨."

Chapter 1 of Matchbook

Pairings: Danny Johnson/Gender-Neutral Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Angst, Fluff

Summary: A character exploration of Danny. I've noticed most fics make him super funny and sardonic, and while I love that, I imagine I'd have huge moral qualms about dating a serial killer. So I wrote this. Not particularly dark, but depressing? I don't know. I’m sorting things out. Probably super OOC. Enjoy.

TW for canon-typical violence, implications of mental illness, and unhealthy relationships/power imbalance (naturally)

Ao3: s://archiveofourown.org/works/45585013/chapters/114704077

    "I hate that you're right."

        The words come out quietly one night, while you're sitting on a muggy balcony that smells like cigarettes and acetone. The green-gray haze of Floridian night swamping you in swaths of gnats, only gently dissuaded by a mesh screen.

        A streetlamp flickers and dulls, the painted metal cart of a dollar store clinks against its siblings, and an old man sputters and coughs up into his shirt collar.

        "About what?"

        "About people. Humanity. Life. Society. That type of stuff." You say, balancing a bottle of black nail polish on your thigh while you try to paint your toes. "How it's just primal violence. You're pretty much right."

        He doesn't respond. Normally, you wouldn’t be allowed to talk about this stuff so openly, outside, where a neighbor could hear you. But everyone is busy tonight. You’re not too surprised that he’s memorized their schedules. Furtively scratching pens into notebooks almost every single second that he’s not busy playing out stories. Too enamored to eat or sleep or wash the dishes. ‘That’s one of the reasons I keep you around,’ he had said, in partial jest, as if you were his mid-century housewife.

        "Listen, I'm not just sucking up to you like some chick in a horror movie, trying to persuade the killer that she's on his side. As applicable as that may be. You're right. Genuinely."

        "I thought you were into all of that spirituality stuff. Being good. Reaching nirvana and donating to the thrift store." He mutters, methodically scraping the debris of last night out from under his nails. Jed has work tomorrow.

        Jed Olsen is who you signed up for, back when you were still a recent college graduate, finally having gotten to the 'good' part of your life. Feeling hopeful, cheery even. Watering your plants, picking up dandelions off the side of the road, smiling at strangers. Saving up to buy a nice house someday, with a garden and personal study. Somewhere you could bake in, read in, live in. Maybe even find someone to share it with.

        ‘You were just so sweet,’ He said one time, while you were in his car. He had locked the doors and told you that he just couldn’t trust you that much, yet. But soon.

        ‘Always so withdrawn, cautious. But sweet. Barely able to deal with playing nice to co-workers, but then turning your back and smiling at weeds in the cracks of a sidewalk. Surprising, considering the way you dress. All rock n’ roll, usually. Black looks good on you. That scraped-up Walkman attached to your hip. Diverse taste. I mean, the way you seamlessly went from Bauhaus to Blondie in the span of an hour was truly something.’ Sip.

        ‘All while performing an elaborate routine in your bedroom- complete with costume changes and a hairbrush microphone. You really could be a rockstar, sweetheart. Too bad though, I don’t think that’ll happen. Maybe in your next life.’

        He paused to look at his milkshake, then dipped a fry in it. ‘Different- odd and unusual, but not in the predicable early-twenty-year old way I see a lot. Talking to the spiders you would find in your room, politely asking them to leave. So observant and smart. But ultimately, I guess you just weren’t observant or smart enough, were you?’ He barked out a laugh, triumphantly.

        He was so charming, the way he would stop by your job before work. Monday through Friday. Pretending to think for a minute, before ordering the exact same coffee as he always did. Coincidentally loving the same books, talking with you about the new episode of a sitcom you had been watching the night before. Handsome, and only a few years older, with a degree from a similar program to yours under his belt. Good reputation, wonderful penmanship. Enthusiastic, kind- but with a quick wit.

        He made you feel special- which, apparently, you were. Just not in the way you’d think.

        "I am, still." You sigh, painting, the brush spreading smooth inky black across keratin. A drop of paint drips onto the skin of your foot.

        You scrape it away with the back of your fingernail and quickly dab it to a folded paper towel.

        "Danny." You say, looking at him. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

        He tsks, as if the question offends him. "You really want me to be the judge on ethics? Are you forgetting who I am? What I do?" A gravelly punch dips the last syllable of each sentence, almost like a growl.

        "No," You say, "I'm just asking. Besides, I thought you thought you were right? Do you think that your actions are ethical? By your logic, that we are all inherently violent and terrible, then you wouldn't be evil for acting on that. My beliefs lie somewhere in the middle. Just curious."

        He pauses, dark eyes looking down into the parking lot. The man is gone, and the cart is pushed neatly back into its place.

        Sweltering heat. He smells like detergent, the good middle-of-the-road kind. Sticky notes. Cologne. Sweat. Iron.

        "No."

        You frown, looking down through the mesh as well. Lightning bugs light up the brush at the edge of the apartment complex. “Fireflies!” You say, with childish glee. You almost forget the crushing guilt for a minute, beaming down at the glowing shrubs.

        You’re eight again, bare feet padding through wet grass, trying to catch them in a jar. Somebody is having a barbeque, and you’re going to go to bed tired and happy tonight, with a dozen itchy mosquito bites down your legs.

        You wonder what eight-year-old you would think about this situation. You wish you could go back in time, tell yourself to never move to this god-forsaken red state.

        Surely, that way, Daniel Johnson would’ve never stumbled into your life, staining you with the blood on his hands.

        He still doesn’t say anything, other than a hum, so you sit back down. Finishing the last coat of paint on your smallest toe.

        The plastic weaving of the chair digs into the backs of your thighs, and you set the polish back down on the accent table. The thermometer reads 85 degrees Fahrenheit.

        “I hate myself.” You say, feeling every bitter moment and truth from your past bubble up at once. Every scrape, burn, and cut. “I don’t understand why you do what you do. It makes me feel guilty for you. Like I’m the one doing those things. Am I not just as bad? I don't try to stop you. I should.”

        You often feel that Danny’s twenty steps ahead of you. Just waiting for the right moment. Chess and checkers.

        A bead of sweat rolls down your back, the tank top you wear doing little to reduce the humidity. You stand up and walk to stand in front of him. “But yet here I am. I’m still surprised you haven’t killed me yet. You said you were going to. Why not?”

        “I probably will when the time is right." He looks up at you for a moment, pausing before looking back at the sky.

        "If it makes you feel any better, you don’t really have a choice in what I do, or a choice in being involved with me… I would find my way in, in any situation. This is probably just some type of Stockholm syndrome kicking in. So you survive. Fun, right? Your brain and body are doing the best they can to cope with the reality. Of your situation. Of how you feel about me. Really, you’re lucky. You think all of the others wouldn't have taken this opportunity? Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

        He swats a mosquito nonchalantly.

        “Yeah, I guess so.” You say, sitting down at the foot of his lawn chair. “Do you care about me?”

        “A little bit.” He says, gaze off to the side. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

        You laugh, though you aren’t sure if he was trying to be funny. Not that it was very funny in the first place.

        “For the record,” He says, “You’ve made it longer than anyone else has. Normally I lose interest. I’m not done watching you yet. I don’t know if I want to end your story. It’s my favorite.”

        “Well, if I’m nothing else, at least I’m a serial killer’s favorite 'story'.” You roll your eyes, but there isn’t too much sarcasm behind it.

        “You make me feel the way I feel when I kill, sometimes. I don’t know if I love you, because I don’t really believe in that stuff. But I like you more than most things.” He says, fingers reaching out to twirl a lock of your hair. 

        The same fingers that dig knives into people and then snap pictures of it after. That rip intestines out and turn them into party streamers. The same fingers that would’ve done the same thing to you, too. That still might.

        That fantasize about it, twitching sometimes when you turn your back. Itching to grab you by the throat and finally write a conclusion. Aching to make you a headline.

        Fingers that move down to your neck now, feeling the red pulse of your blood. Padding up to the side of your face and wiping a welling tear away from the corner of your eye.

        Fingers that have held your hair back when you puked, and gripped your hand firmly in public when you can’t find the clarity to process all the different sounds of a supermarket. Let you pick out your favorite candy at the video store, made popcorn with you on the stove.

        Pressed your favorite VHS into the player for the third time that week, not because he found it particularly groundbreaking, but because you couldn’t get out of bed to wash your hair or eat, and that stupid movie was- for whatever reason- the only thing capable of distracting you from the thought of pink-red water slotting down the drain of his porcelain white bathtub.

         “I feel that way too, sometimes.” You rasp. “Minus the whole killing people part. I don’t know if it exists. Love. At least, not as the thing people say it is. Really relates back to the animalistic nature thing, right? Do animals feel ‘love’? We are animals. I’ve felt things like love, but never what I’m supposed to. I wish I knew. Snakes like warm rocks. Do they love warm rocks?”

         “You’re probably never going to know.” He says, bluntly, nails scratching at your scalp. You wonder if he's only doing it to get the last flakes of dried blood out. You imagine little beams coming from his fingers, wiggling into your brain and picking out all of your synapses. Mapping your psyche.

       He probably would if he could, but then he might get bored and gut you for his collage.

        “Yeah,” You sigh, “I know. But… I love you. The closest to love I think I can.”

        “I know.” On anybody else, it would sound almost pitying.

        You know that even if he loved you, he would never say it. The words will not leave his mouth. But you feel loved. The way that he touches you, the way he presses against your back sometimes, in the middle of dark, foggy nights. Covers kicked off the bed, and a face pressed into your neck. Him keeping a box of special pictures under the bed, just of you, that you don’t think he knows you know about-  but maybe he knows that you know. Some of them from before you even met. Almost all of them when you weren’t looking.

        And later that night, when you’ve locked the screen door, and he’s meticulously arranged his piles of papers, looked through his hastily (passionately) scrawled designs one more time, and finished the laundry, you two lay down in the bed. As the moonlight streams down onto his face, dark hair reflecting its soft glow, you sigh. A hand reaches out to stroke his neck, and you wonder again why he does the things he does. He lets you. You can feel the heartbeat in his throat.

        Danny hates when he falls asleep before you, but you like it. So rarely do you get to see him off-guard- innocent and peaceful, brows finally unknitted. The little scar on his forehead that he keeps covered. The slow rise and fall of his stomach against you, occasionally an upper arm tensing over your shoulder. The way he rests his face in your hair, or the crook of your neck.

        Surprisingly cuddly, for a ruthless, taunting killer, who you know for a fact has slaughtered more than enough people to fill the  floor-plan of your shared apartment, probably, if you laid them down flat.

       ‘Thirty-two,’ he’d grinned, proud of himself. ‘Not many others can say the same, can they?’

        You grimaced. ‘No, I suppose not.'

        Your stomach churns again, before you drift off. You dream about fireflies and going to prison. People screaming and swimming in a pink-red bathtub. Sometimes you think it would be easier if he had just killed you the way he planned. Maybe you wouldn’t feel so guilty for being alive, then.

        If you could go back in time, you would fix him. You like to tell yourself that, sometimes. That you could change his outcome, and the fates of dozens of others as well. You would treat him right, never let the sickness twist his mind. Stop his father from planting a seed of despair and overwhelming hatred in his heart. Let him be ignorant and happy, watch the news. Not make the news.

        Maybe you would have a nice house together, if it were Jed, and you could make lemonade and watch fireworks together. Kiss him on the cheek and watch him smile. Have deep conversations that take all night, but never reach past the abstract and theoretical, into the realm of reality. Be normal. You were foolish to ever wish for anything other than normal. You would kill to have normal, now. To live without the churning in your stomach.

        You really should be more careful what you wish for.

[jaeclerc]

you&i ; maxiel; 1.6k

maybe a little different from something i usually post but i just needed to get this out!

tw: mentions of extensive mental illnesses, slightly unhealthy relationship, disordered eating, medication

it’s one of those days for max. he doesn’t really know why, he never knows why. all he knows is that the world is pressing down on him and he’s exhausted, his body already heavy even though he just woke up. his anxiety is already clutching his throat, squeezing down hard and then harder when he attempts to soothe it. it travels down to his diaphragm and causes everything to stop for a terrifying 1..2..3..4. he gasps. he sits up.

daniel already left for the morning, having to go off and deal with the little fires that seem to be popping up everyday on his new project. it just adds to the growing pressure in his stomach. daniel always knows when he wakes up like this, he always understands without max having to verbalize. without daniel, max feels like he’s already sealed within his walls and he’s left to rot.

there’s a sticky note on max’s phone when he picks it up to look at it, to doomscroll and add to his already terrible mood.

it reads: “love u! left breakfast in the fridge 4 u. remember to take ur meds, plz.” max feels like a slight failure, his husband having to remind him to take his pills so he doesn’t freak out (again) and end up hospitalized.

max gets out of bed, his body feeling like lead. daniel has been on a mission to get max eating twice a day, as his nutritionist recommended he bump up his meal count again, so he makes him breakfast and dinner every single day. max usually eats it. today he does not feel like eating it, so he forgoes it, the curling viper of anxiety just waiting to lunge.

he’ll put it into tupperware to eat tomorrow. daniel will be sad that he didn’t eat it, but he’ll also probably be happy that max didn’t hide it. he’s been working on that, not hiding when he hasn’t eaten. his therapist said that it’s small steps on the way, but it’s big to not hide it. to be honest with his loved ones about what’s going on in his brain.

the psychiatrist at the hospital that he was forced into told him that by lying and doing the things he does, he was acting just like his father. he’s been juggling that thought since then. he’s just like his father if he lies, he’s just like his father if he continues to not take his meds.

when he told daniel the psychiatrist said that, daniel flew into a rage because who says that to someone? but max internalized that. the last thing he ever wanted to be was just like his father and he feared turning into him.

max takes his pills out of the lion themed pill box, the ones that daniel dutifully puts out for him every morning and then locks the medication back up. his therapist also suggested they did that, so max wasn’t tempted to overuse when things weren’t going well in his mind. he hated the implication. he hated that she was right.

he throws back the three pills all together, washing it down with a redbull, chugging it so he can feel like it washed all the way down. at least he managed to do one thing today, which is always an accomplishment.

-

daniel calls on his lunch, his voice cheery through the phone as max curls up their couch with sassy and attempts to finish his homework for his class. he has a pretty low grade in this class and feels guilty if he has to use anymore of daniel’s money to retake it.

“did you eat, princess?” daniel asks him after max told him what he was doing.

his silence was enough to answer for daniel but he allows max to take time to speak.

“no.” he admits finally. “i woke up feeling too anxious. i took the pills.”

daniel hums happily at that, walking past max not eating, which max is happy for. he reminds himself it’s just the little things. the baby steps to get there.

he hears someone come into his office and daniel’s voice grows faint before he comes back on the line and tells max “i have to go, baby, but i’ll be home before three! love you.”

max hums and says “love you too.” before they hang up and he returns to his coursework, sighing in frustration at the fact that he couldn’t figure out the problem that was being proposed to him.

-

when max met daniel, he tried to hide everything that was going on with him, the raging mental health disorders, the serial lying, the eating disorder, the whole dad thing.

until one day, daniel looked at him, looked him dead in the eye and said “i know, max. you don’t have fucking to lie to me.” and suddenly the curtain was pulled back and all of max’s wounds were revealed to broad daylight and he hated it. but daniel didn’t leave, he pulled max close and let him be honest, no matter how hard it was to hear.

daniel loved max and made max want to seek out help instead of desperation and clinging to a facade.

daniel made max promise to at least always be honest with him. max promised. daniel promised as well.

max only ever truly lied once after that and he was so out of practice with daniel that his husband picked up on it immediately. he saved max’s life that night and when max woke up in the hospital, he figured that there was no use in lying to daniel anyways. he always knew.

-

there was a psychologist that asked max if maybe he was holding daniel back, burdening him when daniel was so successful. he could have built a beautiful life and had kids by now with anyone else. someone able to hold a job, someone who graduated high school, someone who didn’t have a diagnostic sheet a mile long.

max asked the psychologist why he wasn’t worthy of that good life as well. but he couldn’t help but let that conversation get to him. max was trying, but daniel was so wonderful and deserved that good life.

he asked daniel about it.

“max emilian ricciardo-verstappen.” his eyes looked troubled “who says you don’t give me a good life? i knew what i was getting myself into the moment you walked into that club and spilled your drink on me. you give me the life i want.” and max let that get to him as well. because everyone always acts like daniel never had a choice. to date him, to love him, to marry him. daniel knew it all. and he still chose max.

-

max was frowning at the stain in the sink when he heard the door open, the tub of ‘pink stuff’ being dropped as the lock clicked and startled him.

he picked up the tub and set it on the counter, digging through the sponge drawer for his handy orange scrub daddy to attempt to get the stains off his beautiful sink.

he leaned back against daniel when he felt the arms around his waist and the kiss to the side of his jaw, relaxing into his husband’s arms as he continued to scrub at the sink, fighting the good fight against the forever persistent water, wine, and food stains.

“still trying to get those out?” daniel teased. max rolled his eyes, turning to peak at daniel over his shoulder.

“i will get these stains out if it’s the last thing i do.” daniel just smiled at him, nodding like he believed him.

“oh absolutely, baby. it’s only a matter of time before you will them out of the century old porcelain. you got it!” he patted his ass and stepped away before max could turn and fully glare at him.

that was another thing his therapist suggested, for max to do something that he finds fulfilling. he doesn’t think she was thinking of him finally getting those stains that have been bugging him since they moved into their house, but when he told her, she just smiled and asked him what he’s tried.

when daniel comes back downstairs, dressed in his workout clothes and holding his phone, max sets down his scrub daddy and says, loudly “you said i couldn’t work out if i didn’t eat. so i’m of course not coming.” which meant that he really wanted to go.

daniel raised an eyebrow in his direction, his lips curling up as he asks “do you want to come and watch?” max practically sprints to get his own workout clothes on, even though daniel won’t let him work out but he likes watching anyways.

daniel has a meal supplement shake in his hand for him when he’s back down, whistling at him in his sweats and baggy tee, which is cut down to his hips practically. he’s pretty sure it’s daniel’s but he just threw on what he saw.

max chugs the shake and takes daniel’s hand as they walk to the gym, swinging his water bottle on the way as they chat about the day.

max wishes daniel didn’t have such an impact on his mood but he’s come to terms with it long ago when he realized that this was long term for them. so he tries to navigate as best as he can.

-

when they’re laying in bed, daniel tracing shapes on max’s back, daniel asks him what he asks every night:

“how was it today?” and max tells him honestly.

“i woke up anxious, that’s why i didn’t eat. i struggled with my class, and it made me very upset, of course. but going to the gym, eating dinner, and finally being able to orgasm made it better. i feel like today was a better day than last week’s tuesday.”

daniel’s fingers pause on his back and then resume, a small laugh falling from his lips as he looks down at max, whispering “i’m glad, baby. it’s the small steps.”

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Reveal - Nightmare/Blue Fic

Prompt: Secret Relationship (reveal)

Prompt from: @yearoftheotpevent

Media: Undertale AUs/UTMV

Genres: Romance (but in heavy air quotes), betrayal, dark fic (?), betrayal, human AU, idk what else lol

Characters: King Nightmare, Blue, Dream, Killer, Ink (mentioned), Error (mentioned), Horror (mentioned), Cross (mentioned)

Pairing: Nightmare/Blue

CW/TW - Manipulation, Implications of Abuse, Toxic behavior (?), mentions of violence, mentions of almost dying, being high mention, Nightmare being a piece of work

Other Notes: yes this is my second nightblue piece in like a month im ill for them sorry not sorry also a bittttt darker than i usually write? but i still think its ok also this is one of my most recent fics in it with a time/space jump! i hope its not too bothersome :0

Word Count: 4273 Words

The storm raged deep into the night, beating against the walls of the house, the wind screaming and howling as the rain poured down from the gray sky. It was perfect. The rain and thunder hid any sounds of Blue leaving and re-entering the house. Being out in the rain was cold, it soaked into his clothes and sunk into his skin. Drying off wouldn’t be an issue, and neither would sneaking back into the house after his excursion. At least, if things went his way. He wasn’t sure why he thought that this would be easy, it never was. Life enjoyed giving him what he wanted before sucker-punching him in the gut.

Getting back in the way he got back out was out of the question, climbing from the ground to the second story window that led into his room in this rain was unthinkable. Scaling up the wet bricks would surely lead to him crashing onto the back porch, and that would be a whole other issue. Teleporting was also out of the equation. To prevent intruders, they had set up a system to alert the three of them if any magic crossed the threshold of the house. Unfortunately, that included Blue.

There was a single light on in the house, and it belonged to the TV. Blue watched the channels change, someone trying to settle on one. He mentally swore over and over as he pressed himself against the front door, trying to hide from the rain. Why was he up right now?! It was three in the morning, he was never awake this early!

Rise and rest with the sun. That is how he functioned. Blue couldn’t remember a single time when Dream was awake in the middle of the night. And yet, there he was! At three in the morning! Watching TV!

Blue ran his hands up his face, the rainwater soaking into his skin, pushing his curly hair up. He could handle it being Ink. Ink would likely be stoned out of his mind, and if he wasn’t, he didn’t give a shit if Blue came home late, as suspicious as it was. The worst he would receive from Ink would be some teasing, borderline ridicule. But from Dream? Dream, someone who he respected more than anyone else, and someone who he would consider his best friend? Dream would ask. Interrogate. And he would have no choice but to tell the truth. Dream could read him like a book, and would see through his lies in an instance.

As the cold began to set in, he surrendered himself to the only option he had. He had wracked his brain for an alternative, some way to avoid the confrontation he knew he was about to have. There was always the option of waiting him out, but he wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to spend more time in the cold rain. Maybe he could pull this off, somehow. Dream was likely very drowsy; Blue could tell by the way he half-heartedly switched through channels that he was forcing himself to stay awake. Why he was doing that, Blue couldn’t say. He hoped that it wasn’t because Dream noticed his disappearance.

With a cold and trembling hand, Blue opened the front door, pushing it open with his shoulder. He had to force it closed, the wind fighting him as he did so. As the door shut with a gentle click!, the TV paused. It was on some documentary that Blue doubted Dream was interested in. He didn’t move far into the house, allowing his clothing and hair to drip onto the mat by the front door. Dream twisted his body, facing Blue with only his face, his hips still facing the TV. It looked incredibly uncomfortable and Blue doubted he would stay in the position for long.

Due to the heavy rainstorms that have been happening in their world, the trio had been keeping towels next to the front door as of late. Using one of them, Blue managed to get most of the water out of his curls and clothes, although he would stay a little damp until he changed.

“Where were you, huh?” Despite the playful tone of Dream’s voice, Blue felt his heart leap into his throat. His heart slammed against his ribcage as he got rid of the water soaked into the scarf onto the towel. He slipped his scarf around his neck, feeling the texture on his face as he gathered his thoughts.

A lie was out of the question, Dream knew his tics.

However, maybe he didn’t have to lie. It wasn’t a lie if he didn’t give Dream all of the information, right?

“Oh, you know.” Blue spoke, flinging Dream’s playful tone back at him. He managed a slight smile, despite the anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

Dream chuckled. He finally decided that twisting his body at the waist was uncomfortable and sat up on the couch, arms resting on the upper couch cushions. He leaned into the palm of his hand, watching as Blue discarded his boots next to the shoe rack.

“I don’t, actually.” He dropped the smirk on his face in favor of something softer. “Indulge me?”

“Mmm…” Blue hummed, wringing out his gloves over the kitchen sink. He had flicked on the one light right above the sink and none else. It wasn’t necessary, as he knew the layout of the kitchen better than the back of his hand, and turning on more lights would awaken Ink, and that would be a whole other problem to deal with!

How much could he hide from Dream? Maybe skewing the truth would work just fine…

“I was with Cross.” Not exactly false.

Dream’s face dropped, which Blue expected. He turned back around on the couch, grumbling to himself. The mere mention of Cross should dissuade Dream from continuing the conversation entirely. Both Cross and Dream disliked each other greatly, but Blue could not figure out why. Their personalities clashed, sure, but Blue didn’t think it was to that high of a degree.

“And?”

“Huh?” “You were with,” Dream grit his teeth as he stood up, brushing off his black jeans before walking into the kitchen. “Cross, and? What did you do with him?”

Blue was still a little damp by the time Dream got over, but he didn’t mind. It would dry. As Dream walked over, he flicked off the light, leaving the two in darkness. The only light source was the TV, which was beginning to dim, and Dream’s golden eyes. Dream leaned against the counter, one hand on it, the other on his waist. His posture was casual, he wasn’t upset. At least, Blue hoped he wasn’t reading it wrong.

“...We were in a library.”

Blue hoped that the darkness would shield his nervous tics, shield Dream from his lies.

“Was this a planned meeting?”

“Yes.” Again, not a lie. Not fully.

The silence wrapped around his neck like a noose, leaving him breathless. He couldn’t read Dream’s face, both due to his incredible poker face and the darkness around them. He cocked his head to the side, thinking.

“You could’ve told me, y’know.”

Oh thank the heavens.

“I mean, I don’t like Cross, at all, but I respect your relationship with him. I’m not going to like, stop you from seeing him or anything.” Dream kept his arms crossed as he spoke, his body relaxed as he shrugged. “Buuut, I feel like you're hiding something. You’ve got this nervous energy around you, B. Did something happen?”

There it was. He should’ve known Dream would catch on eventually. It was hard to hide things from someone who could read your feelings. Blue sighed, the sound of his heart pounding in his head was clogging up his mind. He leaned against the counter by the sink, his hands gripping onto the countertop.

“You can tell me anything. Even if it has to do with Cross or whoever.”

Blue inhaled sharply, his resolve faltering. He got no pleasure from hiding and lying to Dream (or to anyone, for that matter). Maybe he could just be honest?

No, only a naïve fool would allow himself to think with such optimism.

“Why can’t a guy have his secrets?” It took all that Blue had to keep his voice stable, not allowing the anxiety to bubble over into his voice. If he could play defensive, and then change the subject, then he’d be able to get off scot free.

“Why can’t that guy tell his best friend his secrets?”

“Ah…” Blue glanced away, the smallest bit of anger pooling inside of him. Despite his inherent goodness, Dream was one to play underhanded, and pulling out the ‘best friend’ card was a cheap tactic! He ran his hand through his damp curls, pushing them off of his forehead. He kept his eyes on the floor as he ran his hand down the back of his head, his hand resting on the side of his neck. He flinched as his fingers pressed down on the tender spot on his neck, his face twisting as he shoved his hand back into his pants pocket.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You jumped. Are you hurt, let me see.” Dream stepped closer, flicking on the sink light. Blue shrunk away, hiding in his scarf. His mind was whirling, he needed to get out of this, he needed to divert Dream’s attention. This was possibly the worst thing that could happen. He couldn’t believe he flinched like that! He knew it was there, the blemish was still warm, it stayed warm, even when the cold rain soaked into his skin.

“Dream, I…” He didn’t get the chance to finish as Dream pulled him back into the light, holding onto his forearms. Dream turned him to the right, allowing the light to hit the left side of his body. His nails dug into the palms of his hands as Dream shifted his scarf down his shoulder. Goosebumps appeared along his skin as Dream’s warm hand touched the side of his neck.

“What is…?” Dream murmured, getting closer to Blue, eyes squinted. “It’s not a bruise, is it?”

Reserving himself to the situation, Blue nodded, his voice barely audible. “No.”

“Then it’s…” Dream’s eyes widened and he pulled back, confusion and hurt dancing across all of his features. “Cross didn’t give you that, now did he?”

“Of course not.”

“So you lied.”

“Not exactly.” Blue strained, giving Dream distance, space. He messed with his scarf, having it cover his neck once more. “I was with Cross, and I was in a library.”

“Nightmare’s library.”

And there it was. The nail in the coffin.

“...Yes.” Blue said, his voice hoarse and throat dry.

All of Dream’s hurt became anger at the mention of Nightmare. Blue staggered further back, getting out of Dream’s way, out of his reach. He watched as Dream’s face contorted, his mind trying to wrap around his betrayal.

As much as he hated calling it that, there was no other word. His hand went up to his neck once more, slipping underneath his scarf. His fingers gently ran across the hickey, he had to make sure that it was really there.

“So, so lemme get this straight.” Blue could hear the hurt, the barely contained anger, in Dream’s voice. “You, knowingly, went to Nightmare’s castle, not just a meet up in another timeline, no, you purposefully went into the homebase of that bastard, and let him suck on your neck!”

Blue’s body stiffened, his shoulders going tense. “That…is what happened, yes.”

“Why?” Dream snapped, his hands balling into fists. Blue’s eyes widen at the sight of his fists, his heart slamming in his chest. Seeing this, Dream took a long, deep breath, and loosened his hands. He had never hurt Blue, but other people had. He didn’t blame Blue for his reaction. With a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing his coils back. “I need you to tell me why you ran off to…to him of all people!

“Please. Let me understand. Make me understand why.”

“I…” Blue sighed, dropping his hands. “Okay.”

Dream kept his arms crossed, folded tightly over his chest as he gave Blue time to think. Time to get his thoughts in order. He shifted on his feet, heart slamming in his chest. He was about to admit everything. The prospect of that was…terrifying. He didn’t want to lose Dream as a friend, or lose him at all! At the same time, though, he didn’t want to stop speaking, or getting intimate with, Nightmare. Would he be forced to pick?

The more he thought about it, if he had to choose one or the other, he was beginning to realize that, maybe, his loyalties didn’t lie with Dream. A scary thought, considering he would have shot someone point-black with a blaster for Dream. When did this change? Where he would pick Nightmare over Dream?

“Do you remember the fight up in the mountains? The one where Ink and I evacuated an entire town from an avalanche?” “How could I forget?” Dream said, laughing a little. “I searched for days looking for you in the snow, only for it to turn out that Nightmare had taken you.”

“Yeah. That was the fight that, ah, started everything.”

“What do you mean? He took you prisoner, B.” Dream scowled as he spoke, concern rising in him. He knew about Blue’s relationship (if you could even call it that) with Error, the guy was too trusting. Too full of optimism. Believing that everyone could be a good person, if they just try. Horror dawned on him. Nightmare could, and would, use that.

“Not exactly. You see…I was trapped under the snow.” Blue took a deep breath. “It was scary, I could barely breathe, it was cold, and I couldn’t use my magic. I…I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

“Oh, B…”

“But I did! Obviously,” Blue snorted. “It was Nightmare, actually, who fished me out. I don’t really remember what had happened, but when I woke up, I was in Nightmare’s castle.”

“The dungeon.” “No.”

“No?” Dream asked, an eyebrow rising.

“I was on a couch by a fireplace covered in blankets. And when I sat up…Nightmare was there.”

Blue half expected Dream to say something, but he was prompted to continue.

“I was scared, at first. I thought he was going to hurt me. He promised that he wouldn’t.”

“And you believed him.”

“I…” Blue flushed with embarrassment, “Yes. I did. And he didn’t! We just…talked. It was really nice, actually.”

“What.” Dream’s face flashed with a sense of hurt and anger once more, and Blue’s face fell in response.

“Dream, listen. I had never had a conversation like that before! It was like…like we clicked. I’ve never had such an intellectually stimulating conversation before!” Much to Dream’s alarm, Blue’s cheeks visibly warmed and his lips pulled themselves into a smile. “It was incredible!”

“Oh my God, you don’t see it.”

The smile dropped from Blue’s face, his arms going down to his side. “See what?”

“That he’s using you!” Dream hissed, anger filling him up once more. Anger at Nightmare, anger at Blue. “He’s using your trust to hurt me, to make you believe that you can trust him! He’s been fucking with you, and you fell for it!”

“That’s not…We’ve had our differences in the past but, I think that-”

“If by differences you mean tormenting you, then sure.”

“Dream-”

“But by all means, if you want to run off and be with him, I won’t stop you.” Dream gripped onto his forearms, teeth grinding together as he spoke. “I mean, I get it, really, he’s got the castle, the tentacles, the throne, the never ending cruelty. Didn’t realize that was your type.”

Blue could feel the venom being spit at him when Dream spoke. His heart slammed in his chest, and a familiar lump began to grow in his throat.

“Why are you so angry?” He croaked.

“Because you’re pissing me off! He’s obviously using you for ulterior means and the fact that you can’t see it, that you’re letting him mark you and who knows what else, makes me want to tear my hair out!”

Dream met eyes with Blue, and his body softened, just slightly, when he saw Blue’s wide eyes and pursed lips. He rubbed his forehead, nails still digging into his skin. “I can’t…I can’t deal with this, with you, right now. Just…go.”

“What?”

“Get out! I need some time to think. So go.”

“...Okay.” Blue whispered, voice trembling. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, forcing him to make a mad dash for the front door, his hands shaking as he opened the door. Outside, rain and thunder greeted him, but his legs forced him out, boots smacking against the buddy ground. Just when he was starting to get dry, the rain soaked him again, running down his face and making his clothes feel colder. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or not; rain and tears felt about the same. That was probably for the better.

Perhaps it was deranged of him to know who was at the door by how they knocked. However, it made his job a whole lot easier. Knowing who was coming in by the knock allowed him to have a few, sweet, seconds to prepare himself, to know how he should be presenting himself. With Cross, he would stand, if he wasn’t already, and take his position as Cross’s superior. There was no such thing as being too formal with Cross, it was informality that was the issue. For better or for worse, Cross felt more comfortable, or simply less anxious, if he knew who was in charge, and if that person made it clear. If he had to guess, this complex was likely his father’s doing. With Horror, on the other hand, being informal was the goal. He would often stay sitting down, being casual, and as open as he could be.

The rapping at the door told Nightmare that it was Killer who needed his presence. Killer knocked with his knuckles, brushing his hand against the door. There was no need to stand with Killer, although he would limit the informality. Killer was a wildcard, who knew how he would interpret certain things. Nightmare supposed that was somewhat his fault.

“You may enter.”

The door creaked open, and Killer slipped in like a shadow, barely making a sound. He stood at the door, as Nightmare had taught him to do, waiting. Nightmare finished his sentence, setting the quill down before gesturing to Killer to come with two fingers. He quickly read over what he had written in response before deeming it good enough before turning his attention towards Killer.

One of his legs was propped up, the ankle resting on the other knee. Nightmare leaned his face against the back of his hand, his teal eyes settling on Killer’s pure black ones.

“Whacha workin’ on?”

“Settling a land dispute. Nothing particularly interesting.” Contrary to popular belief, his title as King wasn’t just for show. He had a proper kingdom, and it was his job to make sure it stayed afloat. He may rule with an iron fist, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care. “What do you want?”

“It's Blue.”

Ah, Blue. Nightmare hummed, smiling at the name. He was endearing, and kind. Despite his moments of incredibly handy naïveté, he was quite intelligent. Not the greatest conversationalist, but intriguing enough to forgive his struggle with small talk. He had to admit that he quite enjoyed the conversation the day he plucked Blue from the snow. If he had to be completely honest, it was a spur of the moment action. He didn’t want Blue to perish, not in such a fashion. Taking him home though, that wasn’t his plan. At least initially. It just so happened to work out that way, and it spurred on one of the schemes he had put on the backburner.

Earning Blue’s trust, his unwavering loyalty, and then ripping him from Dream’s hands.

“He’s at the front door, Boss.” “So soon?” Nightmare grinned, completely unsurprised. “Let him in. He knows the way.”

After all of their meetings, all of their erotic rendezvous, if Blue didn’t know his way to Nightmare’s bedroom by heart, then it would be a surprise.

It took a minute, maybe three, although Nightmare wasn’t paying attention, for Blue to come barreling into the room, damp with rainwater and his body trembling, likely for more reason than one. A towel was half-hazardly draped over his shoulders, likely given to him when he made his way up here.

“Back already? Did you miss me that much?” Nightmare grinned as he stood up, stretching his back a little as he did so.

“No- Well, I mean,” Blue chuckled, cheeks flushing. “Yes, I did, b-but that’s not why I’m here! I…”

Blue fidgeted with his hands, glancing away. “It’s Dream. He, um, found out.” Nightmare could feel the terror radiating off of him. It was as if Blue expected him to get angry, get aggressive. Not like this was unexpected, especially when they had spent so much time fighting against each other, when Nightmare spent so much time terrorizing him, feeding on his sweet, negative emotions.

“Found out what?” Nightmare asked, getting closer and gently holding Blue’s cold hands. He made a point to keep his voice low, his body language unthreatening.

“About you.”

“About us?”

“Mhm…” Nightmare gently wiped the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, using his other hand to feel his quick heartbeat via his wrists. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I thought it was late in your universe?”

“I-It was! It was like three in the morning! I don’t know what in the world he was doing up!”

“And he…?”

“He saw the hickey and…he knows when I lie so I couldn’t…”

Nightmare gently held Blue’s face, his thumbs on the center of his cheeks. “I’m not mad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Nightmare placed a kiss against his forehead, “I don’t care if he knows or not. The more time I have with you, the better.”

“You promise you’re not upset?” “Yes,” Nightmare chuckled, “I promise. Now, you’re a mess, why don’t you dry yourself off? You can borrow a shirt of mine, for now.”

Blue glanced towards the window, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking. Even though it was very early in the morning in the universe containing Dream’s house, the sun was peeking over the horizon on the eastern side of the castle. Sleeping now would set himself up on the path of becoming nocturnal.

“You can head to sleep.”

“But-!”

“Quiet. Allow your brain and body to rest.” Nightmare said, gently tapping Blue on his ass in the direction of his bathroom, causing him to squeak. “I’ll get you a shirt in the meantime, go get dry.”

With bright red cheeks, Blue skittered off to the en suite bathroom. Nightmare watched him go, eyes boring into the back of his head. Everything had panned out as planned. Not that he expected it not to, Dream was incredibly predictable and his reactions were perfect. Admittedly, he wasn’t completely sure if he would be able to wake Dream, as the guy slept like a corpse. It did work, and it went just as he intended it too.

All that was left now was to get Blue to stay in the castle with him permanently, which would be one of the easiest parts of his elaborate scheme. He could almost taste the despair Dream would feel, discovering that he had pushed Blue right into his loving embrace.

Choosing a shirt for him wasn’t difficult. They’d all look the same on him anyway: massive. He selected a black, satin, button-up shirt. He had slept in something similar in the past, and it had the added bonus of being a texture that Blue didn’t abhor, so he knew that Blue would be comfortable. He walked over to the bathroom door, opening it a crack before handing the shirt off.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” Blue stepped out of the bathroom, his curly hair messy and frizzy from drying it with a towel. His scarf, which was decently dry, hung loosely around his neck. In his arms were his clothes, which Nightmare took from him when he bent down. “You look adorable.”

Blue pressed his face into his scarf, nodding. His legs were cold, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Th-Thanks.”

“I’ll go put your clothes in the dryer, you get into bed and sleep off your adrenaline and anxiety, you reek of it.”

“Right! Right, okay.” Blue walked over to the bed, pausing before getting into the plush, velvet covers. “Are you sure…?” He asked, gesturing with his thumb towards the window.

“It’s only six in the morning. I’ll come wake you up in a few hours.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Nightmare walked over to the bed, holding the damp clothes in a tentacle. He pulled the covers over Blue’s shoulders, and leaned down, allowing their lips to meet. Blue smiled up at him, his big, blue eyes filled with nothing but genuine gratitude and adoration. He shifted onto his other side, back away from Nightmare. Nightmare smiled, smiled something sly, and borderline cruel as he gently tucked a piece of hair behind Blue’s ear. Everything had gone like clockwork, and he would reap the benefits for as long as he could.

[rosemilkteass]

[an analysis of vyn richter's character]

// cn server spoilers, tw: discussions of su*cide, self destructive tendencies, su*cidal thoughts and ideation I've noticed something that has consistently been implicated in a lot of Vyn's card stories that I haven't seen too much discussion around. Particularly pertaining to Vyn Richter's mental health.

As a psychiatrist, a lot of Vyn's appearances will involve some discussions of psychology and the mental health of other characters. But of course, doctors are not immune from mental illness themselves, and there also happens to be several references to Vyn's own concerning mental state.

One of the first introductions we receive of Dr. Richter from his character story mentions that, in spite of being someone "who always observed the volatile human emotions from the outside, Vyn never expected himself to become one with the same emotions." Which immediately leaves us with the implication that Vyn is someone who experiences "volatile human emotions".

This was one of the very first descriptions I had read in regards to Vyn, and for the longest time, I was left perplexed as to what kind of volatile emotions Vyn was supposedly experiencing. I figured perhaps it was nothing noteworthy initially, but on the contrary, they were in fact rather vague with their implications in a way that could be quickly missed.

Vyn has the tendency to speak in metaphors and riddles, which can make it a little confusing when it comes to understanding what he's trying to say. But not only does the way Vyn speaks tend to be metaphorical, but the writing itself can include metaphorical scenarios that actually pose as a direct reflection of Vyn.

An instance of this was in Vyn Richter's first sweet chapter SSR, "Hungering Desire". Towards the end of the card story, there is a kitten (who suspiciously matches Vyn's traits, with white fur and golden eyes) that Rosa comes back to the lake to check up on. The kitten is sick, and weakly resting by a rock. Rosa says something along the lines of "I heard animals will choose to hide themselves when their life is coming to an end, and welcome death on their own..." and she then quickly bundles the kitten that seems to have given up with her coat.

Vyn refutes this by saying that the cat stayed in the area in an attempt to survive, to which Rosa thinks "Then have you also made a lot of similar attempts in the past too...?" and imagines a young Vyn in Svart. Instead of questioning Vyn, Rosa rephrases her question to ask if the kitten knows the spot it chose to hide in wasn't the best for it. Vyn then says the kitten had no better choice, but it thankfully met Rosa in the end to avoid its cruel fate.

It becomes quite clear that this kitten is supposed to represent Vyn. A kitten who fought for survival and had no choice but to sit alone until it succumbed to death, up until Rosa comes in and saves the kitten.

This card story was also paired with the release of Vyn's first sweet chapter, which simultaneously makes another similar implication. Vyn has to treat a patient who nearly jumped from a building to commit suicide, but she does not comply with Vyn. Towards the end of the sweet chapter, the woman reveals to Rosa that her reluctance to work with Vyn had nothing to do with him personally, but because when speaking with him, she felt that Vyn spoke to her like he related too much to her own circumstances. Hearing this made Rosa panic, and hurriedly run to be by Vyn's side.

It can't be by any coincidence that these two instances were released at the same time, and they raise a red flag with the state of Vyn's mental health. Both stories implicate that Vyn himself has dealt with suicidal thoughts to some degree, and judging by Rosa's reactions, she seems to have come to that conclusion as well.

There's also a lot of other behaviors that Vyn has the tendency to exhibit in stories that key in he's not entirely mentally well.

Vyn is also rather self-destructive and anxious; he frequently fidgets, his palms get cold and clammy, and there have been a number of instances where Vyn's breathing was described as being uneven and erratic when he panics. He also doesn't seem to care whenever he's injured, refusing medical attention and accepting injuries without flinching or complaining. Not only that, but he has also intentionally harmed himself in game.

There were at least three occurrences I can think of where Vyn hurt himself knowingly out of guilt or in order to seek comfort and validation:

One of the more well-known instances was when Vyn pepper sprayed himself in the eyes because he was ashamed of his own actions towards Rosa, intentionally punishing himself.

In "Hungering Desire", Vyn had also expressed that he wished to get sick to experience being taken care of. As sweet as the sentiment was to desire Rosa's care, it really can't be said it was all that healthy of him to desire sickness for the sake of seeking comfort, especially when coupled with the implications of the kitten later on in the card story.

In Main Story Ch. 11 Part 2, Vyn exhibits self-destructive behavior yet again to a much more dangerous degree, going so far as to drinking tea that he knew was poisoned (by someone else) with insecticide after being called out by Rosa, having to get his stomach pumped at the hospital.

And most recently in the CN Server, we actually have an explicit story of Vyn being suicidal in The Last Dragonbreath, this card even making parallels to another card in Tears of Themis's present timeline. He's afraid of losing control and believes he should die, ultimately making Rosa kill him. Vyn also rips out his own dragon scales without much of a reaction, similar to how he behaves canonically with his injuries.

The parallel card in question is actually his Top-Up SSR, "Aromatic Dream". This card was quite possibly one of the most explicit instances where Vyn's suicidal ideation and thoughts show through. He experiences insomnia for a couple of days after dealing with a case where a friend of his killed himself after feeling as though he was losing control of himself, even though he seemed alright and was in a happy relationship. Vyn mentions his fear of going "mad" during his relationship with Rosa, revealing that his insomnia arose because he was afraid of repeating the same fate as his friend whose circumstances felt similar to his own (i.e. killing himself too).

All of these scenarios in game are just the ones that I have seen thus far, and it's entirely possible that there are more stories or that I might have missed any hints in earlier cards. They don't appear in the most explicit fashion, which can make it difficult to catch with everything else that happens in Vyn's stories, but it happens far too often to merely be coincidental.

Though Vyn expresses that he's gotten better after studying psychology himself, with the abusive environment he grew up in and the way he behaves in the present, it's not difficult to imagine how his mental health must have been from his child to teen years.

Vyn is a self-destructive character that struggles with his own mental health. While he does self-evaluations to keep himself under control and most likely showed improvement through his relationship with Rosa, it certainly still peers through from time to time.

[to-live-in-misery]

I don’t understand why I don’t just kill myself.

I hate most things about my life anyway. My mom loves her hookups more than me, I’m not allowed to set foot outside the house without supervision, my stepmother wishes I didn’t exist and has threatened me multiple times, and my dad just sees me as a workhorse. I don’t even go to public school. I’m a hostage.

There’s a few good things, though. My martial arts dojo. The two friends who’ve somehow stuck around despite my fluctuations of mental illness, the strictness of my parents. And my grandparents.

So there is one thing holding me back, and it is the knowledge that if I do that then I’ll never live. I’ll never set foot back in that dojo again. I don’t want to picture their faces. I can’t. Because there are so few people who love me in this world, who choose to love me and stick around with me for some godforsaken reason that I don’t want anything bad to happen to them. I can’t prevent it elsewhere, because the world is a cruel, meaningless place where our only point of existence is to live in misery. But if I were the person to put that look on their faces I would hate myself even more. I don’t want to put them through that.

They deserve better than me. I don’t understand why they choose to care about me like I care about them, and perhaps it’s a cliched sentence but it’s true. But so help me god if I won’t protect them until they decide to move on.

[aromantic-shadow]

Fuck it.

What Actually Happened to Sonic in Forces?

Rules of engagement (since I had to wade through discourse in my research): This is not meant to dictate your headcannons or even how you view cannon, just to lay out what I think happened for myself and anyone else who’s interested. It’s also not a critique per se- while I will make fun of the writing, I have no interest in blasting specific writers. We’re here to have fun. Speaking of which, TW for discussion of war, torture, solitary confinement, real-world inhumane prison conditions and its effects, mental illness and psychosis, and possibly other stuff I forgot. Take care of yourselves.

So.

Remember this?

[ID: Sonic Forces loading screen. Amy and Knuckle’s sprites are shown. Knuckles says, “He’s captured in the orbiting prison. My spy there says he’s in a solitary confinement cell, and they’ve been torturing him for months.]

If you’re at all familiar with Forces, or Sonic in general, you know that Sonic was captured by Eggman and presumed dead for six months, and that when they found him, Knuckles, casual as ever, says that he’s been tortured for months. Sonic is just as casual when he gets out- you’d think he’d had to sit through a boring chemistry lecture rather than torture.

This insane addition is characteristic of Forces- a story chock-full of dark elements that beg to be taken seriously despite no follow-through. There’s also the matter of translation; it’s common knowledge at this point that both lines referencing torture were added in the English dub, though what the Japanese version says varies depending on who you ask. There’s an interesting story buried somewhere under the mess that is Sonic Forces, and while rewriting is fun, that’s not my goal today. My objective is to take the information we have and try to make sense of it.

So, what exactly happened to Sonic during his captivity?

The Writers’ Original Intent

Before I move on to the actual detective work, let’s clear up the translation issue.

In the English version, Knuckles makes this announcement to the Resistance:

“Sonic is alive!... He’s captured in the orbiting prison. My spy there says he’s in a solitary confinement cell, and they’ve been torturing him for months.”

Later, the resistance contacts Rouge- who is implied to be the spy Knuckles referenced, or at least their contact. This is their conversation:

Knuckles: Rouge. It’s about time! How’s Sonic doing? Rouge: He’s been better. They’re getting ready to banish him into space. Silver: What? You can’t be serious! Rouge: Eggman’s been keeping Sonic alive all this time. He’s been waiting to show him his completed empire before banishing him. Knuckles: And torturing Sonic just to pass the time. That’s low, even for Eggman.

These are the only two mentions of torture in the English dub, and they’re shockingly out of place. So what did the Japanese version say? (Since I don’t speak Japanese, I got these lines from a fan sub on YouTube.)

Knuckles (to the Resistance):

“He’s locked up in a prison out in space. Reportedly, he’s been there for months, and they’ve been giving him a hell of a time…”

Rouge’s Briefing:

Knuckles: Rouge! Took ya long enough. How’s Sonic doing? Rouge: Not particularly good. He’s just about to get thrown into space. Silver: Wha… What did you say?! Rouge: Seems like Eggman’s been planning from the start to make him see the Eggman Empire’s completion, then chuck him out into space when he’s lost all hope. Knuckles: So he’s just been messing with Sonic to kill time then… Eggman, you bastard! You won’t get away with this!

I was surprised at how dark these lines were. No, torture was not mentioned specifically, but the characters are all taking this seriously, and Sonic’s clearly not having a good time. Also, there are… implications. “They’ve been giving him a hell of a time” and “he’s just been messing with Sonic to kill time” are not things you say about a villain following the Geneva Conventions. (We’ll get there.)

Assuming the translation is accurate, this and the English version constitute “cannon”. (I’m too tired to research other translations.) However, I did a little research into earlier versions of the script in an effort to figure out the writers’ intent: was the story originally dark, and got toned down? Or was it grimed up in revision and translation?

Researching this was literally the worst. Apparently, someone leaked what they claimed were several earlier script drafts. From what I saw, they seemed legit, but the original leak got taken down- so for at least one draft, the only evidence I have of its existence is a wiki and a couple screenshots. Naturally, this phantom draft is the most interesting one. Just my luck.

Let’s start with the more credible draft, which you can view here . It’s an interesting read, but let’s focus on the most relevant passages. First, we have yet another version of Rouge’s briefing:

Rouge: Knuckles, can you hear me?      Knuckles: Rouge, huh… How's Sonic doing?    Rouge: Not good at all. Sonic will soon be… executed.          Silver: What? Is that true?  Rouge : It seems that Eggman has been planning to make Sonic fall into despair upon showing him the completion of the Eggman Empire before executing him from the start.

(They said he was going to be executed out loud. Dang.)

Second, let’s see how this draft shows the first prison scene:

Sonic: What's with these tremors…?      The power of the device that binds Sonic's hands turns off. Zavok appears.          Zavok: Sonic. It is a little early, but your time has come.         Sonic: Looks like something troubling is going on… Does it have anything to do with all the shaking?      Zavok: Shut up. That is none of your concern. Best prepare yourself and stay quiet. Sonic: Prepare myself? Now that my handcuffs are off, I probably don't need to do that.     Zavok: How foolish… Even if your body is free, you're just going to be defeated by me here.         Sonic: I haven't fought a good fight in a while. Let's go, Zavok!        

(Uhm. Zavok just fucking tells this poor kid that he’s going to die. Damn.)

That’s the most complete, mostly credible early draft I can find. There’s one more interesting tidbit, from a draft that I can ONLY find in this wiki and a couple photographs I found floating around. It’s yet another version of Zavok and Sonic’s conversation:

Sonic is bound with energy manacles. His head is bowed and he appears tired and beaten. He barely looks up when Zavok appears. Sonic: Hey, what's shaking? The energy holding Sonic's arms in place cuts off. Zavok: Sonic. It's a little earlier than planned, but your time has come. Sonic: Is that right? Maybe you should take care of that shaking problem first. Zavok: Never mind that. Come quietly to face your end. Sonic raises his head, revealing a feral smile. Sonic: You think you're gonna end me, huh? Now that I'm free, get ready to be disappointed. Zavok: So foolish, little hedgehog. You may be unchained but you are not free. I will defeat you right here. Sonic: I'm free all right. Free to cut loose! Let's dance, Zavok!

(Fuck. Fuck that’s dark. I’m half convinced that this was fully made up it’s so dark.)

So, if these early drafts are credible (keyword IF), then Forces was originally intended to be darker than it came off in the final draft.

That said, these aren’t cannon. They’re early drafts, and while they give us insight into the writing process, they aren’t the story we got. So let’s focus on what happened in the cannon versions.

What Actually Happened:

So let’s look at Sonic Forces. I’m going to ignore the dialogue we’ve already discussed going forward. Those lines’ purpose was to feed us information rather than show it, and with the translation differences, it can be easy to get caught up on details rather than the big picture.

Here’s what we know so far, regardless of translation: Sonic was captured by Eggman and held for six months on the Death Egg. He was presumed dead, and did not have a fun time in captivity, whatever that means. He’s going to be executed (banished, thrown, whatever it’s basically killing him even if it's a stupid method) in a few days.

Alright, enough listening to people talk. Let’s look at our only real glimpse of Sonic’s imprisonment.

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces. Sonic sits in his cell, restrained, as offscreen Zavok says, “This is the end, Sonic.”]

Sonic is restrained, looking around as sirens go off. This is when Zavok shows up to escort him to his execution:

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces, looking over Zavok’s shoulder into Sonic’s cell. The door is barred, and Sonic’s arms and legs are restrained with glowing blue restraints.]

Note the barred door and the size of the room. Also, if you look closely, you can see that he also has glowing restrains on his legs. Keep that in mind.

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces, showing a wide view of Sonic’s cell, which looks around the size of a boxcar. Sonic sits on a bench, his arms and legs restrained by glowing blue restraints.]

Again, note the size of the room and the restraints on his legs.

The Death Egg continues to shake, the power shorting out for a second, and Sonic’s restraints come off. (Brief note: in earlier drafts this was implied to be Zavok freeing him so he could walk to his execution; in cannon it seems more like a glitch caused by the Resistance’s efforts.)

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces the instant after Sonic’s restraints turned off. He is still in his restrained position, and he looks surprised.

(I don’t know why but the above frame is really funny to me. He looks so surprised.)

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces, focused on Sonic’s legs as he examines himself, kicking his newly-freed legs experimentally.]

This frame is awkward but important. After his restraints turn off, Sonic looks over himself, smiling as he kicks his legs experimentally.

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces. Sonic stands, walking towards Zavok and the open cell door as he says, “The end huh? Let’s see you try something now that I’m free.”]

The moment the restraints come off he’s ready to fight. I’m getting the sense that he didn’t get out of those very often.

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces. Sonic leaps out of the way of Zavok’s punch, grinning.]

Sonic he is trying to kill you why do you look like you’re having fun

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces, showing Sonic as he jumps away from his cell.]

Don’t mind me I’m still trying to figure out the size of his cell

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces. Zavok stands ready to fight, with a cell like Sonic’s in the background, filled with cheering prisoners.]

Apparently there were other people imprisoned nearby- all the way across the arena, but at least there was something.

[ID: Screenshot of the Japanese version of Sonic Forces. After defeating Zavok, Sonic says, “That was a blast! Bring a better toy with you next time.”]

(Japanese version)

Dude he literally just tried to kill you stop taunting him

After the boss fight, there are a few comments Sonic makes that are relevant:

[ID: Screenshot of the Japanese version of Sonic Forces. As Sonic escapes, he says, “Time to kiss this cramped up little space goodbye!”]

(Japanese version)

[ID: Screenshot of the Japanese version of Sonic Forces. As Sonic escapes, he says, “Getting to run around freely again really is the best!”]

(Japanese version)

And finally,

[ID: Screenshot of the Japanese version of Sonic Forces. Sonic talks to the Rookie, saying, “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me! Haven’t had anyone to talk to lately.]

(Japanese version)

So, to summarize: Sonic was kept on a space station, in a cell about the size of a boxcar (?), with a barred door and both his arms and legs restrained. His wonder when his restraints came off and his comments about getting to run freely imply that he didn’t get much exercise. He hasn't had any meaningful interaction in a while.

Eggman, Meet My Friend the Geneva Conventions

The moment you’ve all been waiting for- legalese!

Even though it isn’t Earth, Mobius probably has a version of the Geneva Conventions, which is basically a set of international laws regulating war and defining war crimes. And guess what, Eggman, now that you’ve started a war those laws apply to you! Let’s see how he shapes up.

We’re going to focus on the Geneva Convention relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War, which you can read here. I’ll summarize the important bits.

According to Article 4, “Inhabitants of a non-occupied territory, who on the approach of the enemy spontaneously take up arms to resist the invading forces, without having had time to form themselves into regular armed units, provided they carry arms openly and respect the laws and customs of war,” are considered prisoners of war if captured. Sonic falls under this umbrella, so he qualifies as a POW and falls under the protections of this convention.

Next, let’s look at these sections from Article 13 and Article 17.

Article 13 says, “Prisoners of war must at all times be humanely treated. Any unlawful act or omission by the Detaining Power causing death or seriously endangering the health of a prisoner of war in its custody is prohibited, and will be regarded as a serious breach of the present Convention… Likewise, prisoners of war must at all times be protected, particularly against acts of violence or intimidation and against insults and public curiosity. Measures of reprisal against prisoners of war are prohibited.”

Article 17 says, “No physical or mental torture, nor any other form of coercion, may be inflicted on prisoners of war to secure from them information of any kind whatever. Prisoners of war who refuse to answer may not be threatened, insulted, or exposed to any unpleasant or disadvantageous treatment of any kind.”

We could stop here. Ignoring the torture bit for now, Sonic was about to be executed- that flies in the face of Article 13! Also, based on how Zavok treated him, Sonic was clearly subject to intimidation and insults, if not acts of violence. These are clear war crimes.

We could go on and on about Eggman’s Geneva Convention violations (Articles 22, 25, 42, 47, 71- particularly Articles 21, 38, and 70), but it would get redundant. So let’s take a break and look at the definition of solitary confinement.

The Mandela Rules define solitary confinement like this:

“For the purpose of these rules, solitary confinement shall refer to the confinement of prisoners for 22 hours or more a day without meaningful human contact. Prolonged solitary confinement shall refer to solitary confinement for a time period in excess of 15 consecutive days.”

All sources agree that prolonged solitary confinement can cause long-term damage to the victim’s psychological health.

Solitary confinement facilities vary, from the size of the cell, the type of door, what educational or entertainment material is available, etc, and the effects tend to vary accordingly. People with preexisting mental health conditions tend to be affected the most, especially people with ADHD or ASPD; but even people with no preexisting conditions suffer long-term harm from solitary confinement.

Remember how Sonic was imprisoned:

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Forces, showing a wide view of Sonic’s cell, which looks around the size of a boxcar. Sonic sits on a bench, his arms and legs restrained by glowing blue restraints.]

In both the English and Japanese version, Sonic's captivity definitely fits the criteria for solitary confinement. He was kept in a cell alone, isolated from meaningful human contact, for six months. His comments imply that he wasn’t even let out to exercise- most people in solitary confinement get at least a little. His cell is much bigger than most solitary confinement cells, which is good; but he’s also restrained, possibly 24/7. (I haven’t been able to find any specific regulations or research on restraining a prisoner while they are in their cell, maybe since it’s self-evident that it’s inhumane. One could argue that Sonic’s speed meant that extreme measures were necessary, but that doesn’t make it any more humane.)

According to the Mandela Rules, both prolonged solitary confinement and indefinite solitary confinement amount to torture.

Now What?

Wow that got dark. I feel bad for Sonic, especially after reading exactly how solitary confinement fucks with people’s heads.

Unfortunately, Sonic has several risk factors that would worsen the damage of solitary confinement. First off, he’s fifteen- this stuff is worse for kids than for adults. Second, ADHD is specifically referenced in research as making solitary confinement much harder to handle.

(ASPD is another high risk factor. This is already too long without going into the specifics of “does Sonic have a personality disorder”; if you’re interested @/neurotypicalsonic has some cool posts about Sonic and BPD, if I remember correctly?)

Basically, for all the reasons we already knew Sonic would hate this, solitary confinement would suck for him.

How exactly it affected him is unclear- partially because he has main character syndrome and doesn’t act like anything’s wrong for the rest of Sonic Forces. Based on his risk factors and the research I’ve done, he probably experienced psychosis as well as PTSD, “cognitive impairment”/brain fog, and long-term struggles with social interaction.

Are the writers going to follow through with that? Well… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe.

[ID: Screenshot of Sonic Frontiers. Sonic is on Kronos Island, arms crossed with a slight frown.]

Sonic in Frontiers is a lot quieter than before. He’s pretty down-to-business compared to usual. (He tells Sage, “Sorry, kid, but I’ve got a job to do,” instead of a taunt or quip. He sounds resigned.) His voice is subdued, even at the beginning of the game before he was cybercorrupted. And he certainly doesn’t blink twice at a disembodied voice telling him what to do. (My personal favorite explanation is that he’s used to hearing directions from alters- pretty sure @/sonicaspeed123 originated that- but according to my limited knowledge, this fits past psychosis as well.)

I doubt that the writers are intentionally writing Sonic coping with the long-term affects of solitary confinement, but it is a very interesting possibility.

If you’ve gotten this far… I’m sorry for subjecting you to this. As a final point, Sonic in Frontiers is still, well, Sonic. He’s still arrogant, he still loves to run and explore, he still cares deeply for his friends. Trauma or torture or whatever, he’s still there, living. (And getting into stupidly dangerous situations like it’s just another Tuesday. Where are your self-preservation instincts you sweet reckless child-)

Remember to take care of yourselves. Here’s a photo of my cat to cheer you up.

[ID: My cat Vonnie, lounging on my laptop.]