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#It is just a disorder like any else it does not make you some insane abuser who hurts others

eepy-evie · 11 hours

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Twisted Wonderland Senior Headcanons

A/N: i am very tired as i write this, BIBI is saving my life force. I just got screamed at by my mom but the fans (no one) can’t wait 😎. Im sorry Lilia’s is kind of short, im pretty high and have been pushing this off for days.

Contents: Various non romantic headcanons for the seniors in TWST

Trigger warnings (if any): Religion mentions (Trey’s + Leona’s + Vil’s + Rook’s + Idia’s part), eating disorders (Vil’s part), stalking mentions (Rook’s part… no surprise), minor adult themes (idia’s part)

Trey Clover

I might have this feeling only because i also bake but he has beef with multiple people about bread.

Like i mean people spreading misinformation (NO YOU DO NOT NEED TO ADD SUGAR INTO BREAD, IT DOESN’T DO MUCH)

Besides my personal beef with ig bakers…

He doesn’t listen to music, lofi background stuff at best.

He’d listen to anything someone put on with no complaint but he doesn’t feel the need for music for mundane things

With his obsession with brushing teeth i feel like he loves mint

Like i mean spearmint gum constantly, mint chocolate chip ice cream, idk mint leaves in drinks?

Bro can not understand if someone else doesn’t like mint

I believe he is an Atheist living in a Christian household

Its probably brought up rarely but he just doesn’t really believe that saying grace before dinner does anything

I think he’s way too empathetic for his own good, i mean like excusing lots of harmful things due to how someone was raised

(Totally didn’t mean to refer to Riddle but whatevs)

Cater Diamond

Get this man into kpop NOW

I feel he is rivaling Idia with his, honestly abusive, amount of slang

I dont think anyone who isn’t chronically online could stand to hear his thoughts

Or who isn’t insanely mentally unstable

But he pulls shit like “she=onika ate=burgers” every single chance he gets

Which i wont blame him for that, i pull medieval slang every second i can too

He loves brittany broski with his whole heart and soul

Not only is she funny as hell but she can also be very serious in a blink of an eye

On the low he enjoys those insider videos

He likes watching them and pausing them to argue the point to no one

Going back to kpop briefly…

He loves Aespa

Do i know any of the members of Aespa to tell you my assumed bias? No.

Also loves Zerobaseone

Ricky bias

Although i may be biased (oh my a silly pun, you scoundrel)

I do believe that he is a funny person but he is very repressed

I dont mean to make this a whole angst post but he genuinely doesn’t understand how he can express it

He is very sensitive to rejection so i think that leads him to extreme lengths to be liked

And I’m not just talking about how he acts a certain way to please others

I mean a deep rooted guilt for not being what someone wanted

Leona Kingscholar

…all my headcanons for him are purely how I’d personally treat him

Someone get this man a mukbang video and a comfy bed

He barely listens to music but when he does its some rnb stuff

He doesnt care for stuff thats too loud but he does like soft music even if he isnt open about it

I need to make him see nekomimi switch, twitter.gov, and anything else that has catgirls/boys so i can see his reaction

I dont think he holds many physical attributes to lions besides the ears, tail, and teeth but he most definitely holds many reactions and other stuff

Like he is literally sleeping in a garden most the time

He has long(er) nails and hates cutting them

Erm… idk man

I think he had a big Religious breakdown in his childhood

I dont really know what Religion he’d be to start with(due to my lack of knowledge of Religion in Africa) but he’d have the whole moment of betrayal

And then he’s completely Atheist for the rest of his life

Vil Schoenheit

He has a side account where he responds to all his hate comments

For music taste… hear me out…

He likes, on the low, vkei

But no metal like kaneto juusei or gulu gulu I mean malice mizer

He enjoys the instrumental along with the twists they take on classical

Moi meme motie x Vil Schoenheit collab when???

He 100% doesn’t express it though, he tells the public he likes whatever’s popular

I feel like, this may or may not be me projecting, he’s a hellenist

Obviously worshipping Aphrodite and has an altar for her which he never publicly speaks of but is not hiding

heres a bit of TW for eds + that type of stuff

I feel like he has an extremely bad relationship with food

He doesnt see it as something to nourish your body but instead a sort of numbers game

Like with a limit of however much someone says and the whole game is to stay under that number in calories

Besides that i feel he’s very orthorexic to the point he’d refuse to eat something if it looked too “bad” to him

(End of tw)

I know he has a very argued gender identity but i dont think he’s too confused by it

He’s very firm that he is who he is and he never seemed to have much of an inside problem with it

Maybe he got poked fun at a few times but thats all his problems with it

Rook Hunt

Get this man away from me

He is in many fandoms and somehow knows everything going on all the time

Bro personally took down Nayeon’s stalker by himself

But seriously i dont think his intentions are bad, i think he is just trying to be on top of everything in the worst was possible

He doesn’t really think its creepy himself but most the time he is

He is also a Hellenist who worships Aphrodite but also Artemis

He is so very open about his Religion

He makes those hopecore videos on tiktok and has amassed 10k followers but no one knows its him

Yearns to be in the south/midwest for the scenery

Just yearns in general

Bro is single handedly bringing back male yearning and being chalant

Saw bridgerton as a normal tuesday for him

1000 hours on c.ai

I will not, and should not, elaborate.

Is that projecting? Yes. Do i care? No.

He has the longest and some how most effective body/skincare routine ever

I mean like he’d do some shit like “once in a blue moon bath in pure hyaluronic acid for 2.5 hours on the dot”

He loves absolutely everything on everyone and its to a detriment to me personally

Hooked nose? Loved. Chubby? Love. Literally anything unconventional? Consider yourself yearned for.

He listens to anything and everything

Although he cant stand songs about break ups or anything to do with hate

Put this man on “doughnut” by TWICE now.

Idia Shroud

Yes… give me this nerdy man…

He 100% (mostly canon) loves jpop idols

Prolly an akb48 stan

I cant even get started on everything he likes

But i can tell y’all 100% that he is not overly flirty or overly easy to fluster

Istg all i see is either big dom idia or uwu shy boy idia

And both are wrong (in my opinion ig)

He starts arguments about anything and everything in game chats

Because he’s grown up in this big company family he was forced to appear better that how he truly acts so i believe that would also entail with being a die hard hellenist

But without any spotlights he does care, he just likes his games and anime

Speaking of anime…

He loves shoujo, he’s in hiding though

He literally wants to be sawako from “from me to you” but will never say it

Somebody come get this man

If anyone asks he just loves Naruto and One Piece

But we know the truth…

Istg he plays an absurd amount of eroges for the plot

He’s depraved on twitter

Two accounts, one for public image and the other for the unspeakable

Do NOT let him find any dating advice on there cause he will take it and act like a fool

He loves breakcore music and anime intros and thats about it

Besides his jpop idols

I dont think he like kpop, for some reason he just has a grudge against some fans

A little self insert but he 100% has autism (as we all know…) but he also has arfid

For those who dont know… arfid is “avoidant restrictive food intake disorder” which is like you are a very picky eater

He aint struggling with it, he succeeding (LYING)

Malleus Draconia

Get this man a cat or some shit like that

Can someone please make him watch all of aphmau Minecraft diaries and then twilight back to back

This strange individual has that man from the notebook shaking in fear

Bros a hopeful romantic

Randomly says inspiration quotes that you cant find anywhere online

It just came from his heart

He only listens to classical songs he knows how to play

Though i’d doubt if you showed him something he’d dislike it

Bros the yearner

I showed up to the yearning contest and went into anaphylactic shock at the sight of him there

He has honestly researched every single religion for fun

Highlight god damn bible verses for no reason

He needs to make an iceberg of every single religion and why they are good/bad

I just know he has an insane knowledge of lore in any book he’s ever read

Please make him watch smiling friends

You’d have to pause every 5 seconds so he can process it

You could make him do anything tbh, just be like “you should come watch *whatever it is* with me” and bro is outside your door

For shame with the amazing attention towards practically anyone who shows anything besides fear or hatred comes the fact he is unaware of most modern things

He has a tamagotchi and thats it man, get him a 3ds at least

He cant use a phone, cant use a computer, and barely understands the concept of social media

But at least he has the spirit to learn

Lilia Vanrouge

Do i even put him as a senior?

Bro is pushing some mystical number that no one knows

He’s like one of those grandmas that never mention their age and whenever its brought up all they say is “never ask a woman her age”

… perchance a bit controversial but i think he’s bad at cooking on purpose

Ain’t no way someone fucks up cooking THAT bad

I think he really likes horror games

And i dont mean those shitty mascot horrors like poppys playtime

I mean fatal frame, faith, and visage type shit

He listens to breakcore too

I dont make the rules

Hes a gamer grandpa so he either has to have pretty good taste in games/music or the absolute worst

HE’D LOVE GULU GULU AND VKEI

Hes practically already mana sama

Hes got all the moi meme motie dresses

Get grandpa off taobao NOW

I want my nyanya madoka dress, and i will not be stopped by some twinkish old man.

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kira-fluff · 11 months

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haikyuu!! neurodivergent headcanons 💕

tw: several listed mental illnesses, some of these are solely off of vibes but most of them I have reasons lol note! I do not believe autism is a mental illness or something that is "wrong" with an individual, hence why the title is "neurodivergent" rather than "mental illness". just had to put that out there! to all my neurodivergent babies I love you! a/n: hello! as a neurodivergent like myself (depression, anxiety, ptsd, bulimia, etc etc) i thought it would be really cool to do an analysis on one of my biggest hobbies (psychological illnesses) and relate them to haikyuu characters! some of them have a deeper explanation because I feel so strongly about it.

attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADD/ADHD) BOKUTO, hinata, NISHINOYA, atsumu, lev

generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) sugawara, OIKAWA, asahi, yamaguchi, yachi, aone, akaashi, tendo

social anxiety disorder (SAD) asahi, KENMA

post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) oikawa

depression (MDD) oikawa, KENMA, kuroo, suna, matsukawa, tendo

autism sakusa, USHIJIMA, kageyama, kyotani, kenma

eating disorder(s) (AND, BND, BED) OIKAWA, KENMA

obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) oikawa

borderline personality disorder (BPD) daishou

insomnia kuroo, kenma, osamu

hypersomnia suna

analysis under the cut

it's pretty obvious that bokuto struggles the most to self-regulate, even to others, but I personally believe that oikawa struggles the most with his mental health.

like almost everyone in haikyuu, oikawa is obsessed with volleyball, but he takes it to a point of overexertion and taking his anger and frustration at his own inadequacies out on others.

I really think oikawa's relationship between he and kageyama and he and ushijima are the ones that show how bad his anxiety is

ushijima and kageyama both don't understand the emotions oikawa is feeling which could be written off as them not understanding their talents, but I think it's something more

to me, I feel it is blatantly obvious that ushijima is autistic. he just so frequently seems to be unable to read the emotions of others or takes things literally when it's something else intended. I'm not autistic, though, so autistic community, let me know your thoughts!

bokuto and hinata both have an insane amount of energy, but struggle to be successful in school. sports works for both of them because their focus is constantly needed to be diverted or "all over the place" that it helps them be great players

kuroo is one of those other characters that I feel like I'm reaching to say he has mental health struggles but to me it just comes off in vibes. first of all, any kid with divorced parents should be in therapy so I feel there's definitely some struggles there.

I think kuroo is the type that hides his struggles and pretends they aren't happening. he puts a lot of pressure on himself to be the best at everything he does, and so he feels he doesn't have time to deal with the emotions that leave him feeling empty

kenma was someone I immediately felt was autistic. he has so many key factors like an obsession/hyperfocus on his hobbies and trouble socializing (social anxiety).

kenma has some of the strongest evidence toward my beliefs, specifically in this quote: "I'm not good with people, and I don't want to interact with them. and yet, I'm very concerned about what others think of me." like, tell me that doesn't radiate autistic/SAD vibes!!!!

idk what it is, like inadequacies or what but I genuinely believe oikawa has some kind of trauma. like he's definitely carrying something that so heavily effected him that it controls the choices he makes in life

I don't have much evidence that suna has depression, it's just a vibe because of his mannerisms and what he says. I think it's the kind where it's well-managed, but it shows up in physical symptoms like apathy more than anything.

atsumu gives ADHD vibes solely because of like how all over the place he is and how he can't always seem to properly get out what he's trying to say lol

sakusa is one that to me could be seen as "done with your bullshit" but I think he also hates crowds (like me, I mean who doesn't) and struggles socially probably because of anxiety or autism. not sure!

basing daishou off of vibes, too, because if I'm being honest all I've seen in the show is him having hostile relationships or being on-off with them, though its certain I could be reading too much into it, but that's the fun of headcanons.

do you agree with what I wrote? I would love to hear your thoughts!

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poisoned-pearls · 5 months

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YEEEE you always have the correct thoughts I'm interested 🔥🔥🔥🔥

AUAUAUGHHH OKAY SO

Jamil’s voice actor has said himself that even he believes that Jamil and Azul could be close friends- I wanna point this out because that man definitely has some of the best understandings of Jamil EVER because he’s not only seen most of his voice lines, but he also gets the background notes we don’t get to see to add the correct kind of flavor to the voice acting- ANYWAYS

Jamil and Azul DO get along!! very well, in fact! If they are put against a common force or just, generally in an event together they do work well and even joke like close friends would!

Like, even when Jamil is being mean, he’s not malicious. He’s snarky, not actually trying to hurt Azul’s feelings- and they both KNOW how smart the other one is, and both aren’t afraid to mention it

(usually it’s Azul, but Jamil also consistently gives Azul credit as well. He doesn’t ever really downplay Azul’s merits and abilities)

And the funniest bit is- no matter how mean Jamil is to him, even with what some WOULD consider as bullying, Azul does not stop.

Which is WEIRD AS HELL FOR HIM. He was heavily bullied as a kid, so much so that it’s very obviously hinted at that he had/has an eating disorder (he wears the same size as Epel and Riddle, people who are a good ~20 ish cm shorter than he is- this is besides the point-) so to him, the reward of getting Jamil on his side is worth the thing that literally controlled his entire life and caused his overblot. That is how important getting Jamil is to him. (which also begs the question, why Jamil? Sure, some of it is definitely because he sees himself in Jamil, but since this is MY post, I also believe it’s because he has a crush on him.)

And he is CONSTANT about it- it’s almost hilarious how fucking often octavinelle or the lounge or even just himself comes up in his conversations with him.

And sure, it is a little weird that he seems to disregard Jamil’s constant no’s- BUT he also understands and watches Jamil more than anyone else, so I think he does this precisely because he knows that Jamil holds himself back.

Jamil can’t reasonably Say yes to him, because of kalim and his duties, but it’s the same thing with Jamil’s lab vignette, he so desperately wants Jamil to do his best, to succeed, but because Jamil will not let himself, he pushes and pushes to try and get him to fold and do what he really wants. To flourish. And Azul wants him to do it with him.

and the reason why Jamil is always so resistant to it isn’t because he genuinely wants nothing to do with it, it’s because he cannot understand or comprehend a relationship like that where they are equal.

He doesn’t want to be under Azul’s thumb, but this is exactly where their animosity comes from- the misunderstanding of their friendship and the dynamics with it. He doesn’t want to go to octavinelle, to work at the lounge, because he despises being a servant.

But master and servant is the only real dynamic he knows- he legitimately can’t understand how it would be any different, and because of Azul’s reputation and persona, he wouldn’t trust Azul’s word on it either.

(It is also very ironic that Azul’s persona, which was made to protect him from bullying, is the exact reason Jamil is so hostile towards him in the first place)

But here’s the thing- consistently, Jamil always makes note of Azul. He pays attention to him, (‘you sure love your cryptic little asides’ means that he’s actually paying attention to Azul to notice said asides and notice the frequency of them-) and he acknowledges him first.

I cannot stress enough how fucking insane it is that he not only acknowledges Azul first, but by full name. He is in basketball club with Floyd, he should know him well enough to say him by name, and hypothetically be more friendly with. Floyd is genuinely the safest person in octavinelle for him to hang out with precisely because he doesn’t scheme, so why in the world is he acknowledging Azul?? He’s already fucking suspicious of him and wants him off his back, so why not go for what should be his safest in?? Sure, it makes sense for him to actually talk to Azul because, classmates, but to completely disregard Floyd and put Azul first? Azul stands in the middle of them no matter what reading direction would be normal for Jamil (like if he speaks Arabic then it would be right to left/) it wouldn’t make sense to point out the one in the middle. Genuinely when people say hello to a group they know usually they go by name in reading order-

Okay genuinely not being insane about one moment in dialogue for a moment

Jamil and Azul, work so, so fucking well. They are just similar enough while also being opposites in the most complimentary way it’s crazy.

They work well as friends and as business partners and as people fighting together and as a couple, they flow together and it is always in my brain

Because all it takes is for Jamil to realize that Azul is not lying. He is not trying to trick him or butter him up he means every single word of praise he says and he will continue to say it because to him Jamil is worth the pain. THAT is why they’re soulmates to me

Because all Jamil has ever wanted was freedom, and to catch a break. To not be the one serving, but to have someone serve him, to understand him. and Azul does. Azul wants to serve him and to hold him on equal footing and he already DOES understand him

(And he understands Azul, as well, even if he doesn’t admit it. In all of those lines he notices things about Azul you wouldn’t if you actually hated someone. Azul gives him a sense of hope, in a subtle way)

#Fuck this is long #And lowkey a little rambly #I had a lot of points #But yeah them #They should makeout and work out their problems #I think it would make the plot ten times better #I want a confession scene in a coral sea event and I want them to kiss by sliding their sprites on top of each other to become one weird ma #Genuinely them thi #The reason I believe in love #Also I love them aesthetically too #Did you know b&bw released ocean and sand themed scents at the same time?#Jamiazu #azujami #ashenviper #twst #twisted wonderland

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sweet-as-an-angel · 5 months

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Hi!!! I’m the same guy as the one that asked about the age range and autism :] just having like another question or so idk I forgot tbh.

Again, it’s so okay if you don’t wanna answer any of these!! I completely get it, all is well 🫶🫶

Would Dominic have any reaction to a reader that stims a lot?? Either verbally or physically; maybe his adoration will miau like a cat as a vocal stim frequently or flap their hands or clap as a physical stim as well?? Would he do anything now that he has that knowledge??

If his obsession suffered from OCD, how would he exploit that disorder?? (under the impression that he would exploit it.) Perhaps their ocd revolves around severe obsessions of having something seriously wrong with them, paranoia, or extreme fear of dirt or contamination??

Can he speak another language?? If his adoration was bilingual would he put genuine effort into learning their mother language??

Would he find it disrespectful if his obsession was eye contact adverse?? Actually what things does he find disrespectful like in general?? Does he do anything to correct that behavior??

Would he be okay with them being like incredibly and insanely cuddly and touchy?? I am autistic myself and when I go nonverbal but can still stand touch it’s how I communicate if that makes sense at all??

OKOK I swear that’s it for at least a while 😭😭 he really has me thinking about things jesus christ man. If there’s any spelling mistakes or something you don’t understand, I’m sorry :[[ German is my first language.

Have a great day or night!! I wasn’t expecting to write this much ngl🫶🫶

In case I ever have anything else I’ll put a raccoon at the end!! :]]

-🦝

TW: Discussions of Mental Health, Mentions of OCD, Dominic Being Dominic

Welcome back, my dear 🦝 Anon <3 ! Your English is perfect, thank you for all your wonderful questions ^^ ! To answer your inquiries:

♡ If Reader stims a lot, Dominic will, of course, try to find a way to make your stimming all about him; especially if you have a lot of physical/verbal stims. He'll try to be in close proximity to you so that, when you do stim, you're more likely to either catch/grab him (unintentionally, of course). If you're apologetic - even though it isn't your fault - Dominic will absolutely find a way to guilt you into feeling bad about it, even when his veneer tells you that it's fine, it happens.

♡ Guilt breeds indebtedness - that's what Dominic has discovered. So, fresh off the wave of panic you're feeling, he'll ask you to do something for him that will require you to stay longer, during which time he'll see if you physically stim again or not. If so, he refreshes the process. Just like printing money.

♡ If you verbally stim and, say, make some kind of animal noise, he'll absolutely try and romanticise it. If you meow, he'll call you "Kitty," giving you a warm smile and a good-natured laugh. If/when you become more comfortable around him, he'll start calling you "Mon Minou," - My Kitty. He's one Discord server away from calling you Kitten.

♡ If you suffer with OCD, he'll start manipulating the physical environment to trigger you. Never in his own house, though. You need someplace as your safe space, right?

♡ He'll never verbally trigger you himself, either; nor will he allow any triggers to exist in his house as to try and reduce the likelihood of you having a negative association with his abode if you experience an OCD urge whilst you're there, regardless of how severe it is.

♡ In fact, he'll do things to make it seem like he's the only one that can combat it; he'll check windows to make sure they're locked, he'll sweep up crumbs off the floor to clear the path for you, he'll even call up one of his many doctor 'friends' (acquaintances. People in high places he's fashioned into his elite social circle) to come and informally examine you, to tell you that you're fine.

♡ If it's paranoia you're afflicted with, he'll seize the opportunity to turn himself into the only person you can come to, the only person you don't feel silly or afraid to spill your deepest worries to.

♡ Anything that will make you gaze up at him with nothing less than gratitude.

♡ Dominic can speak two languages fluently - English and French. He can speak other European and Asian languages, too, but to a minimal degree and only enough to discuss business matters. However, if you speak another language aside from the two he already has at his disposal, he'll absolutely make sure to learn it fluently, if only to become one of the few/only people in the neighbourhood with whom you can feel truly connected with.

♡ For peak manipulation, he'll learn everything about your mother tongue after your first meeting and start speaking to you in it - fluently - the next time you meet, pretending to have been able to speak it for many years past.

♡ If you are eye contact adverse, he'll try not to take it personally. But, knowing Dominic, that is a feat in and of itself. He values being able to exert power over others, and one of his main methods of doing so is unwavering eye contact. So, really, you're managing to inadvertently protect yourself from Dominic's Medusa stare.

♡ Behaviours Dominic views as 'disrespectful' would be signs dismissiveness towards him. Dominic is used to being the centre of attention in every environment he's in, so to have you, the object of his every desire, not paying attention to him is...a blow to his ego, to say the least. A metal rod to the backbone of his entire identity.

♡ Dominic will make quick work of ‘correcting’ your behaviour: standing so that it is only him in your direct line of sight; coming in close proximity so you can’t be ignorant to his presence; and, if he's bold enough, taking your chin between his fingers and making you look at up him.

♡ If you're very touchy-feely, Dominic goes absolutely feral; he can't believe he gets to have you touch him without: a.) having to initiate it, and b.) having to hide it. After all, it's a by-product of your mental health - it's beyond your control as much as it is his!

♡ He'll take full advantage of this, too, offering his arm for you to hang onto, his hand to hold, his chest to hide your face in. And all the while, all he's thinking of is how nice it feels not only to have you so close to him, but also how he can use this as an excuse to keep you close in the future.

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

#sweet as an angel #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #original yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader #yandere writing #yandere blog #yandere headcanons

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 11 months

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König HCs

Because why not lads. These are some of my personal ones regarding the lore I’ve put together for him. TW: untreated mental illness, childhood neglect, burn injuries, surgical trauma. Uh, some other shit, too, probably. Idfk reader beweader you’re in for a sceader.

Bro has BPD. It covers a lot of the beloved fanon interpretation of him being clingy and hot/cold and scared of being left. He’s got Fear Of Abandonment Syndrome, and he’s like 10% more likely to make a fucky wucky on himself and end up sleeping in the forever box.

Source: I have it and my baby girl only gets the best of the worst from me.

H a t e s d o c t o r s. And hospitals, and surgical procedures, and anything of the like. He’s probably already got more health issues than a blue blood racehorse just from his sheer size alone - prone to heart issues and musculoskeletal strain - but there’s no way on god’s green earth that he hasn’t been through a handful of major procedures because he’s diagnosed with human knife block and bullet sponge disorders respectively.

Sub-point A: born with a cleft palette and lip. Palette was corrected, has a turned second incisor as a result. Lip was botched. Pulled a pot of boiling sugar off a stove and burnt a big-ass portion of his face, neck, chest, and stomach. Multiple painful reconstructive and corrective surgeries to deal with keloid scarring.

Sub-point B: psychology might help OTHER people, but HE is built DIFFERENT. He’s not crazy, you see, and if you suggest otherwise you’ll suddenly develop a case of Backpfeifengesicht and he’ll provide the violence. DBT? That’s Dick and Ball Torture, babey.

Despite this, he lies through his teeth at psych evals. He knows the “right” answers, and he is not going to get his livelihood taken away from him, even if it’s not exactly what he wanted. If he’s answering for his own actions, he can swerve and intuit what thing will calm things down the most and get him the smallest punishment.

Developed most of his wheedling skills as a kid, parents were neglectful as shit. Mostly disregarded him during his upbringing. Youngest of three, an eldest sister and a brother. Not in contact with any of them.

He’s 34. I don’t know if I’ve accepted him being a Colonel into my heart as my lord and savior, I’m still figuring that one out until there’s more concrete canon material besides a loading screen.

Grew up in a hoarder house of apathy, alcoholism, and depression and it was DISGUSTING. Black mold, water damage, trash everywhere, travel lanes carved through the most useless fucking junk. His parents bred Doberman dogs to sell as guard/security dogs, and some lived in the house, adding to the filth and destruction. He can’t stand a dirty house, and as an adult has an insane cleaning routine. Often stress cleans. You could eat off his bathroom floors.

He Does Not Like Dogs. Period. He especially hates Dobermans. He doesn’t like dog breeders worth a fuck either, good or bad.

Did not have any sort of media or anything as a kid. Parents didn’t spend money on tech or pop culture stuff, they were kind of stuck 30 years behind everyone else. His parents were older when he was born, he was very unplanned and not particularly warmly welcomed. Kept himself entertained out in the boonies, did a lot of reading, learned to juggle, learned to juggle knives. Had a big brokedown half-draft horse to take the kennel dogs on longer walks in the country, horsebacked a lot.

Soon as he was in the army, away from his family home, and living on his own, he got his first cell phone and computer and pretty much started living on the internet. He’s self taught in a couple of programming languages, very tech literate, halfway kind of lives on Reddit (narrowly swerved getting redpilled, thank fuck) on his personal time, and built his own PC set up. Built one for Horangi, too, and gives Stiletto advice on her own build when she asks for it.

H E H A T E S K L A U S

Bc I said so, everyone I love hates Klaus. All my homies fuckin hate Klaus.

König was raised secular Jewish, really doesn’t know all that much about it and didn’t get a bris or bar mitzvah, it’s just like Yeah That’s What I Put On Papers to him. Klaus is always getting in his shit about Austria and WW2. König’s grandparents made it out of the camps and went on to become: a microbiologist, a professor at the Austrian University of Veterinary Medicine, a multi term mayor of a small village/candy maker, and a beloved homemaker. The brilliance of the family seemed to leech out with each passing generation, and König sees himself as the dead end of it all.

König has rocked Klaus’s shit about the shitty jokes before and will do it again.

Favorite rugby club is South Africa, and he has an intense crush on Faf de Klerk even though he’s been traded to Japan. He’s kind of hot for all scrum halves tho lbr here.

Lunch break is over and this is ridiculous, will probably do more later.

#könig #konig #konig call of duty #könig mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #konig cod #idk I just slap tags around and go hehe #my head canons

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angeart · 5 months

Text

fic recs

speaking of fanfic tropes, i was meaning to make a post about my absolutely favoritestest fics that live in my heart rent free.

in no particular order:

• you came at the brink of the end of the world

[AO3 link] - by anonymous

currently unfinished at 84k words and 21/? chapters

insane about this one. insane. it's beautifully written and scar calls grian trouble (best thing ever and nobody can convince me otherwise) and grian is a bundle of unknown magic and memory loss and trauma and it's just overall great. trust me.

this is from the official fic description:

[grian is falling from the sky, scar has more magic in his blood than he realized, and everyone else is so much better at seeing than they are]

tags include strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt/comfort, memory alteration, pining, found family...

---

• and like an arrow, you broke me down.

[AO3 link] - by mochiwrites

currently unfinished at 81k words and 14/? chapters

traumatised sad birb grian gets thrown straight from the grief of 3rd life into the middle of last life. of course the first thing he does is get away from southlands (martyn???) and beelines for scar. there's confusion and emotional damage and man. it hits hard and it's wonderful and i absolutely love this one. also a beautifully written fic (yes i'll say this for all of these bECAUSE THEY ARE!)

tags include angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD, survivor guilt, protective scar/grian, touch-starved scar, and canon typical things like violence and referenced suicide

---

• closer to another shore

[AO3 link] - by remrose

currently finished at 56k words and 15/15 chapters

this one is sooo heartfelt and heartwrenching and sad and good and. it just makes you feel things. the way they delicately navigate around each other. the way it all goes up in flames anyway because they can't have it any other way. the way their steps keep bringing them inevitably back together.

scar and grian start as exes, with the circumstances of their break up murky and mysterious. and scar needs help, and grian offers himself.

there's a lot of pain and guilt and weakness (because how can they help but be weak towards each other?) it's wistful and tragic and hopeful. it's. it's something. (and did i mention it's beautifully written?) (it is) (just go read it really.)

(i'll also throw this bait at you. this bit. this: Grian was the absolute most infuriating man Scar knew. It was a shame he loved him to death.)

tags include soul bound, mating rituals, panic attacks and anxiety, hurt/comfort, chronic illness, insomnia, guilt, slow burn

---

• lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart)

[AO3 link] - by definitelynotshouting

currently unfinished at 51k words and 9/? chapters

this one. THIS ONE. gosh where do i even begin. there are some deep, raw, self destructive feelings here. grian is a watcher in the sense that he is a creature that feeds on emotions, and he's dangerous and starving, and things have gone so very wrong. he just doesn't want to hurt anyone ever again. he's going to do everything he can to take himself out of the picture just to prevent that. (yeah this one is HEAVY.)

the writing. the writing. it's so so so beautiful. i know i keep gushing about the same thing for all of these fics, but. there's something so intricate and pretty in the way the words are woven in this one. i'm absolutelly entraced by the language. it's so pretty.

this is the hunger au if any of you are familiar with that name.

like i said, this one is a whole different kind of heavy. tags include angst, hurt/comfort, suicide attempt, starvation, eating disorders, body horror, trauma, self-harm, injury... (the light at the end of the tunnel is the recovery tag mkay)

------

if you go read any of them, make sure to look over AO3 ratings and warnings and tags for cw/tw stuff!

#ange rambles #fic recs #my absolute favourites #these are wonderful i promise #S tier

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happyk44 · 3 months

Note

Ya know, I was reading your Siren-Powers!Children of Poseidon post earlier and while I really absolutely love your thoughts on the Children of Hades & Zeus versions of the siren powers, I'd love to offer up some possible alternatives to the Siren!Powers that I think would better match up with those vibes <3

1) What if Children of Poseidon can appeal to the darker parts of the mind? In Ancient Mythology, Poseidon was often known as the "Dark Twin of Zeus" (as opposed to Hades, which we see in modern versions) and so what if, while Children of Zeus appeal to people's sense of justice and morality, Children of Poseidon appeal to their impulsivity and intrusive thoughts? They can't exactly give direct instructions nor can they invoke any immediate reactions through this power, but they can make their "suggestions" swirl around in their victim's heads until it is all they can think about. Like if Percy said to a monster: "What if you fall on your sword right now? What would happen?", throughout the course of the fight, the urge swirls in their mind until it gets stronger and stronger until eventually the monster does that (if they haven't already died yet). It's not an as effective power as it's cousins are but it does drive the victim slowly insane and can offer for some insane scenes if you phrase the questions just right. Basically, they're targeting the mind's intrusive thoughts and turning them 1000%

Another alternative to that is:

2) What if Children of Poseidon can confuse the mind? The Oceans are bottomless, unknown abysses who can easily sink ships and make creatures no longer know what is up or down and what is right or wrong. They invoke frantic survival instincts, even to the greatest swimmers and divers, and a lot of the time it's to the point where humans bring about their own downfall. There's a reason Thalassophobia is so common and exists. So what if Children of Poseidon can manipulate the frequency of their voices to invoke that kind of confusion/disorientation? What if they can make their victims either act out or break down within themselves in an existential panic attack? They could say things like "you don't know what's going on, do you?" while approaching them slowly with a sadistic smile like someone who's trying to talk down a dangerous person would. They could talk circles around someone while further bringing them down into their trap like a siren typically would but Poseidon was originally born to the land so wouldn't his and his children's power be more land-oriented? Food for thought but the whole hc still stands :)

All in all, as usual, this is just a suggestion/proposition coming from a brain who always thought Siren!Powers for Children of Poseidon was always weird and absolutely random--okay, the Oceans I get, but literally nothing else connects Poseidon to the sirens?? If anything, that would be more of Demeter/Persephone's domain because that is where the actual mythological origins lay (in some accounts)? Or with Children of the actual Seas/those who were actually born of the Seas like Children of Amphitrite or Porchys? Or just Nereids in general? Idk man, it just personally seems weird to me /gen--and so they decided to come up with cool and interesting alternatives! Pls tell me if you like them!!! (I absolutely adore your blog-- /shy)

I do like the idea of Poseidon's kids being able to appeal to the inner chaos of people - partly because it makes Dionysus and Percy occasionally beefing with each other even funnier since Dionysus is sometimes thought of as the god of chaos, and is capability of inflicting madness on characters, which, lol, Zeus being his dad is even funnier now that I think about it.

Dionysus: *makes wine*

Zeus: I like this.

Dionysus: *causes people to go insane and riot*

Zeus: I do not like this.

But back to the ocean bugs, them being able to cause disorder as a versus to their cousins being able to cause order fits Poseidon's status as a god of storms! And the fact that when he loses a competition, he immediately jumps to "flood this city, kill everyone". Percy and his siblings being able to inflict this mentality onto other people is a really neat way to look at it. Rather than getting people into line, they get people to scatter even more, maybe even causing them to go against their internal morals.

Water is also associated with chaos in some mythologies (which, yeah I get why), so that's another aspect that helps the idea. As well as the fact that water can distort your perception of things within it because of the refraction of the light, so distorting someone else's thoughts and being able to talk them into something they wouldn't normally do is 👀👀

There's also nitrogen narcosis!

[ID: Screenshot from the wikipedia page on Nitrogen Narcosis. It is a table displaying the Signs and Symptoms of narcosis, breathing air. The columns of the table are Pressure (bar), Depth (m), Depth (ft), and Comments. The Comments column lists the signs and symptoms of narcosis at different pressures and depths.

Row 1

Pressure (bar): 1-2 Depth (m): 0-10 Depth (ft): 0-33 Comments: Unnoticeable minor symptoms, or no symptoms at all

Row 2

Pressure (bar): 2-4 Depth (m): 10-30 Depth (ft): 33-100 Comments: Mild impairment of performance of unpracticed tasks; mildly impaired reasoning; mild euphoria possible

Row 3

Pressure (bar): 4-6 Depth (m): 30-50 Depth (ft): 100-165 Comments: Delayed response to visual and auditory stimuli; reasoning and immediate memory affected more than motor coordination; calculation errors and wrong choices; idea fixation; over-confidence and sense of well-being; laughter and loquacity (in chambers) which may be overcome by self-control; anxiety (common in cold murky water)

Row 4

Pressure (bar): 6-8 Depth (m): 50-70 Depth (ft): 165-230 Comments: Sleepiness, impaired judgment, confusion; hallucinations; severe delay in response to signals, instructions and other stimuli, occasional dizziness, uncontrolled laughter, hysteria (in chamber); terror in some

Row 5

Pressure (bar): 8-10 Depth (m): 70-90 Depth (ft): 230-300 Comments: Poor concentration and mental confusion; stupefaction with some decrease in dexterity and judgment; loss of memory, increased excitability

Row 6

Pressure (bar): 10+ Depth (m): 90+ Depth (ft): 300+ Comments: Intense hallucinations; increased intensity of vision and hearing; sense of impending blackout or of levitation; dizziness, euphoria, manic or depressive states; disorganization of the sense of time, changes in facial appearance; unconsciousness, (approximate inspired partial pressure of nitrogen for anaesthesia is 33 atm); death

/end ID]

So yeah - siren-like powers focused on causing disorder, distortion, confusion, and so on, make a lot of sense to what the ocean can illicit in people. These are a lot of good ideas 😊

As for the siren thing - yeah, I get it. I haven't really seen people talk about it before, but it doesn't really bother me because it's fun to think of different things.

As for greater fandom, yeah, it's likely because sirens are associated with the ocean. If you're focusing only on "Poseidon is the ocean, has no relation to the sirens outside of that", then some of the other parts of Percy's powers don't make sense - like being able to hold up the Lethe, or keep himself dry from it, being able to drown Ahkyls in her own fluids, and so on, because none of that is technically the ocean. The only link is that people associate the ocean with water/liquid and those other things involve water/liquid.

Or you can look at it the same way I look at Hades - where the link to Underworld is why Nico, Hazel, and Bianca are able to use the powers not related to the dead or underground wealth. Nico hopping through dreams is not an afterlife power, but Hypnos lives in the Underworld, he's connected to Hades by that, and so Nico gets that little boost. So Poseidon is the god of the ocean, and anything and anyone associated with the ocean is linked by that.

Sirens are also associated with merfolk in modern times, so there's that too. I mean, have you ever heard of a mermaid not singing? It might not be a "siren song" but it's still some kind of song. But, lol, don't stress yourself too much about it. If it doesn't make sense to you, that's perfectly understandable and the ideas you've presented are super great!

#ixhkor-and-ambrosxa #happy's asks #happy talks pjo #poseidon (pjo)

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ask-insane-ler · 7 months

Text

[OOC] Intro to the AskBlog!

۩ - Oh hey there fellas! Name's Akayraly and I'm more than happy to introduce y'all to my own Onceler AU/OC within this AskBlog!

─☠─

[-] First of all, the real name of the AU is "Once Hurt, Twice The Price"

[-] Created in September 27th of this year (2023)!

[-] Theme Songs:

"Volatile Times" by IAMX

"Twisted" by MISSIO

"Mama's Boy" by Dominic Fike

"Fire" by That Handsome Devil

"Copycat" by Billie Eilish

[-] It has a bit of horror and thriller aesthetic, angst/tragedy vibes as well

─☠─

- Now, answering some possible questions:

"Where did the inspiration to create him come from?"

Well, I actually didn't inspire myself on other stuff to create him at all! I just had the idea in my head and I thought it would be really cool to develop it into a full AU.

"He goes only by Insane-ler or can I call him something else?"

Actually Insane-ler is a nickname one of his brothers called him once to insult him, but he kinda doesn't mind being called that, it fits his current mental state right now.

Although, don't call him Oncie, he hates it, really. Beanpole is kinda okay tho, but preferebly don't call him that.

Y'all can call him just Onceler or maybe even just Once or Ler, also Insey for short of Insane-ler :>

"What kind of mental problems does he have?"

He doesn't have any specific mental disorders, but he is indeed very unstable and crazy. Some words might trigger his rage and make him have some crises (like Oncie, as I mentioned), so be careful what you're gonna ask him, or else.... >:)

"Can I make fanart of him?"

YES! YES YES YES!!

I would LOVE fanarts of him! Just a reminder that, NO NSFW!

I wouldn't like any kind of sexual themes being involved with him, please, this kind of things make me uncomfortable.

But gore/horror themed fanarts are more than welcome!! I WOULD LOVE THEM! His AU has gore and some horror to it after all.

"Can I ship him with another Onceler AU/OC?"

I mean, he is most likely gray aromantic and ace (very difficult to feel any romantic and no sexual attraction at all), but, I don't mind ships! And fanarts of these ships are okay as well, as long as they aren't explicit, because just like I said, no NSFW please :>

"What is his tag?"

#insane-ler or #insaneler

Both do the job!

"What if I post something for him to see? And for you to see?"

Ping @ask-insane-ler if you want him to see something

Ping @akayralylegacy if you want me to see something

"I have a Onceler AU/OC and want to collab with yours, can I do that?"

YES! I WOULD APPRECIATE THAT!

"Does his AU contain any sensitive/heavy topics?"

Yes it does. It has some sensitive/heavy topics such as s3lf-h4rm, and his AU could be rated +16 for other topics such as kinda strong language, drug usage, violence, etc. So, if you're sensitive to any of these, you're warned.

─☠─

I think that's pretty much it for now! I really hope y'all enjoy talking to my insane boy X3

#onceler #onceler au #onceler fandom #onceler oc #oncelings #the onceler #the onceler fandom #insaneler #insane-ler

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suncaptor · 6 months

Text

one thing about ableism is while there is NO doubt genuine stigma about disorders itself (especially "severe mental illness" don't get me started) however. to actually not be ableist it requires going beyond just "I accept someone as my equal without judgment of an arbitrary part of who they are". Which I think becomes hard in terms of unlearning bigotry because so many types of bigotry aren't based in any meaningful actual capacity difference.

The way ableism had impacted me had also largely been the way people respond to how they feel about my reactions and symptoms to things. Sometimes what people don't understand bothers them in itself. Sometimes being anxious, shutting down, having panic attacks, even having seizures can make people feel guilty. And being anxious CAN legitimately feed into others' anxiety! that is a genuine valid emotion to feel from someone else's symptoms. But that doesn't mean someone is wrong to experience any array of symptoms even if they DO make you feel guilty or impacted or overwhelmed! They do not deserve to have it taken out on them! Expression itself (though I do not mean to downplay how hard symptoms may make it to genuinely not do harmful actions to other) is completely morally neutral.

There are certain symptoms that certain people may not be good at standing. Accommodations and needs can clash. This STILL does not mean that someone deserves to have it taken out on them or be blamed for their symptoms.

In my experience, the people who've genuinely understood me and treated me best are not people who know each symptom I go through or who have personal experience or anything. It's people who can handle someone experiencing symptoms they don't understand (or that they do but if it makes them feel a certain way they don't project that onto me). It's people who see something weird about me, whether it's just the insane way I eat or severe dissociative symptoms, and accept it without trying to judge or blame me for it.

I used to be comfortable around people more who were personally neurodivergent or mentally ill or who were very okay with the ways I explain I am, but now it seems that there's a necessity people feel to not be ableist. but they're still people who like. genuinely would think still it'd be wrong of me to. even have an anxiety attack. or experience some form of executive dysfunction.

#I'm not even getting into when my physical health is so debilitating bc. thats not the focus here but #incoherents #ableism #mh #mental health

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haematophiliac · 3 months

Text

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER! Repost, don't reblog!

NAME: Jax. Or Jax-mun if needed lmao.

PRONOUNS : He/him.

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION : The dis of cord.

NAME OF MUSE(s) : Jax... It wasn't my intention to share his name smh.

BEST EXPERIENCE : So, so many. Aside from meeting so many awesome people, there's been the great RP! Like imprisoning Silver and then John, and the RP leading to those moments (Imagine thinking you can arrest Jax-muse :)). And hurting John. And Silver. ... I'm gonna back away rn I must sound insane lmao.

RP PET PEEVES / DEALBREAKERS : God-emoting and pressure. I've said it before but I HAVE been through it. Someone on here decided Jax 'had to die' because their muse would kill him. Even when asking if we could come to another conclusion so I don't lose all my hard work and inevitably my best muse, they said no. Then they vagued me on the dash with some BS about me trying to use their muse and bend it to what I wanted, and well... That's not how RP should work, bro. It's a collaborative experience where we work things out and come to a conclusion we can both enjoy. I ain't killing off my muse. So if anybody does that to me, they're perma-blocked. Again. And yea, pressure in that sense and any other sense. Don't pressure me into anything and it's ok. (I've been pressured into some... Awkward RP and now it haunts me) so I've now learned to put my foot down.

MUSE PREFERENCES: idk

PLOTS OR MEMES : I've yet to properly plot, ever lmao. I just go with the flow. So either works for me.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES : Either, or. I don't mind. Things can depend on brainpower on both sides, so I don't mind matching length or anything else.

BEST TIME TO WRITE : UK evening because that's when the juices flow.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S) : WELL FUNNY STORY. I made Jax-muse from a blank canvas of just 'I want a scientist' and what was it, four years later?? Me: Haha we're nothing alike, just sharing a few disorders so I can write them well enough :) Friend: Yea but *lists a million things how we are somehow similar*. Me: ... Oh fuck oh shit oh no. We share a lot in common!!!??? Otherwise, I'm not like Jax-muse because I'm not an asshole, a manwhore, I'm not cocky and confident, and I'm not tall and handsome! Or wanting to hurt people. Yea. Kinda similar but not.

#✘ [A ʟɪғᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛᴏᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟ] ✘ Out of character

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symptoms-syndrome · 5 months

Note

MAN IM ALSO NOT ELEGANT WITH MY WORDS, BUT THAT POST YOU MADE ABOUT RECOGNIZING THOSE TYPES OF DISORDERS, I WHOLEHEARTEDLY AGREE WITH. As a victim of grooming and cocsa, I especially don't think the young person who traumatized me was evil, I mainly think society did not/does not have the proper tools and resources to teach/address these issues. And to actually talk about these uncomfortable issues is a step to actually preventing future harm and destigmatizing seeking help, for everyone from victims to those with paraphillias and those with things like pocd. Its also just nice to see someone else with the opinion who also went through a similar trauma who can't just be written off as an apologist when that is clearly not the point.

^^^

It's crazy when you like. Say anything like "maybe we should understand [group of ppl who cause harm" and everyone is like "oh so you just want the Bad People to run wild? To do whatever they want?" Like no actually. I simply think that it's easier to prevent an alcoholic from drinking himself to death if you know he's an alcoholic and don't bring him with you to bars or offer him beers. To use a comparison here.

Also NGL, if the threat of All That Legal Bullshit had not been looming over my head as a consequence framed as a protection I would have been much more open about people who hurt me as a kid. Which isn't to say people who hurt children shouldn't face consequences, but moreso than I think society at large is often more obsessed with carceral punishment framed as justice brought down upon the abuser more than they care about the one being harmed. I didn't want them to go to jail or to get "justice" in that way or anything I just wanted help. A lot of the time kids fall into grooming because they're lonely and that makes them prime targets, I think the response to that sort of situation being exclusively "well we'll make them face the wall" is probably not great for kids who likely have a REALLY complicated emotional relationship with the person they're being abused by. I wanted attention and care and companionship I didn't get from my peers that I did get from people who had malicious intent. I think, if I had been given the choice (choice being the key factor here, as some people WOULD choose for the help to come in the form of justice upon the abuser) I would have wanted something more me-focused. Separating me from the abuse while also helping me form relationships without ulterior motive. I think that even with the harm, having the people who were the only ones giving me positive attention suddenly and dramatically torn away followed by an insane gauntlet of talking to cops and possibly going to court (IF I was even believed/taken seriously, and IF any of that even worked) would have been devastating for me. It's a delicate situation and IMO should be a more delicate process, and definitely offer more choice to the person actually impacted.

TL;DR I don't think I actually cared so much whether my abusers got Karmic Retribution as much as I cared about not having to deal with All That, and i wish i could have talked about the abuse without there being a rush to Save me from it (at my own detriment)

If I get into a hit and run, my first priority is getting my car working again, not chasing down who did it. YMMV, no pun intended.

#asks #it's hard out here #csa tw

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peninkwrites · 6 months

Text

Karl and Quackity (don't) Date - Ch 14 of ?

Tubbo wants to eat, Quackity doesn't, and both of Quackity's partners wish he would stop lying to them.

[CW: abuse, violence, eating disorders, stalking, neglect]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 13

Ch 15

Mafia AU

It’s not a total 180, it’s not like Schlatt crosses one line and decides it’s open season, it’s more like Schlatt has simply remembered violence isn’t off the table. Part of it seems to stem from this unsettling resentment Schlatt has garnered for him. Quackity has gone over it in his mind perhaps too many times. Schlatt had assumed Quackity was going to hurt him that night. That seems, to Quackity, fucking insane considering Schlatt’s deadly track record, but undeniably, Schlatt had assumed the man he trusted to sleep beside him would be prepared to take him out at the first sign of weakness.

Not to say that’s totally baseless, but Quackity knows killing Schlatt himself is only feasible as a suicide mission, if not from Schlatt, then in the aftermath of chaos to follow.

So, one moment Schlatt remains doting and romantic, other moments Quackity gets on his nerves enough Schlatt shoves him into a wall before storming off which, annoyingly, is still better behavior than before. Schlatt simply pushing him before leaving to calm himself is downright emotionally mature for Schlatt. It’s other little things, Schlatt holding on too tight to his wrist, Schlatt dragging him across the room, physically moving him when he gets stubborn, it’s the snide comments returning on occasion that bother Quackity more than anything else. Sure, Schlatt sometimes still treats him with a modicum of respect, complimenting his appearance and when he’s clever, but other times it’s sly degradation about his body, it’s dismissal of his complaints, treating him like a whiny brat. Schlatt hasn’t flat out hit him in ages, but he’s certainly reminded Quackity how to tread lightly, always waiting for the tension to snap.

He hasn’t told Karl. Thus far he’s had no need to, Schlatt’s backward slide from progress has yet to control his movements. Quackity can still spend an evening living his own life, as long as when he comes back to Schlatt he acts devoted. A few times Quackity got nervous, he had to be quick on his feet, going to the townhouse after a quiet dinner with Karl and being grilled for an explanation of where he had been.

“Dinner? Oh yeah? Where?”

“Uh, Marco’s, that shithole diner on the West side. I dunno if you know it. It was just near the office.”

“Who were you with?”

“A few boys from work. Boring as shit, honestly–”

“Who? What’re their fucking names?”

“McKeller? Jackson McKeller? He’s a paralegal–”

“Just him?”

“No, no not just him,” Quackity says quickly. He’d rather not condemn some random associate to death so flippantly. “Also Nelson Thompson, Judy Eager, and, uh, I think Craig who works the front desk was supposed to join us, but he had to leave early. Kid had a fever or something.” A little detail, but not too much. Nothing worth questioning.

Schlatt always looks for some lie, something he can dig into, and Quackity always remains calm.

“Really, Schlatt, you don’t know these people, why does it matter? They’re just stupid white collar assholes that I gotta get a little chummy with if I wanna cash in favors, you know how it is.”

And Schlatt always smiles like he’s not a paranoid wreck and says, “I know, sweetheart, I worry, y’know? Just let me fuss over you a bit. You know if any of ‘em make a move on you, you tell me right away, and I’ll get it taken care of.” He ends this threat with a kiss pressed to his forehead, hand brushing through his hair, both a shred of kindness and yes, a claim staked on him, but Quackity cannot deny the kindness is there too.

Thus far, it seems Schlatt hasn’t had anyone follow him from work to verify what he says, Quackity is always thorough to check for a tail before he meets Karl anywhere, and some nights he does go out with coworkers so his lies are always based on old truths, but he knows it’s only a matter of time.

So, Quackity hasn’t told Karl. As far as he’s aware, Schlatt is still treating him better and Quackity is all the better for it. If Karl notices some of his old stress returning, he has yet to comment on it. Quackity doesn’t plan on telling him. There’s no reason for Karl to worry about him, especially considering Schlatt hasn’t really done anything, save the whole holding a knife to his throat incident, but otherwise, it’s not bad, it’s just not the fucking bullshit honeymoon phase Schlatt had briefly tried to return to. That was never going to end well. Better this easy middle ground to let off some of the pressure instead of Schlatt getting so fed up with acting like a Saint he snaps in a way worse type of breakdown. Again, Schlatt not flat out hitting him has been useful. He doesn’t show up with a busted lip, there’s nothing for Karl to find out about. It’s better that way.

Quackity’s practicality doesn’t magically make it easier to hide things from his boyfriend. No, he doesn’t turn up with bruises ringing his throat or any broken bones, but he’s not infallible.

It’s one of the better evenings of the week, an evening which started with watching a movie curled on the couch together––with Karl, not Schlatt––until during one of the commercials they got distracted by far more interesting things.

However cheesy it sounds, Quackity’s relationship with Karl is just so sweet. It’s always gentle and giggly and easy. Quackity doesn’t mind when Karl is on top of him, trailing kisses up his neck, hands ghosting over Quackity’s hips, lifting his shirt and coming to rest on his waist–

“Ow–” Quackity hisses.

Karl sits back, “you okay?”

“I’m fine, Karl,” Quackity rolls his eyes, sitting up to follow his boyfriend and pull him back into a kiss.

Karl isn’t so easily distracted. Goddamn asexuality. He gently takes Quackity’s hands from cupping his cheeks. “Hold on, did I hurt you?”

“No,” Quackity scoffs. “No, Karl, you didn’t hurt me, I just– It’s nothing, I wasn’t expecting it.”

Karl, grave and serious, goes to lift up Quackity’s shirt, but Quackity grabs onto it and pulls it back down, hoping his flushed cheeks make Karl think he’s bashful rather than ashamed.

“Karl,” Quackity says, trying to sound scolding and lighthearted.

“Q,” Karl says with a far more earnest admonishment, but he stops trying to lift up his shirt. Karl is looking at him so intently. Quackity hates it when he does that. It always feels like Karl is looking at more than just his face.

“Look, I’m fine, I’d be… I’d be more fine if you were kissing me right now,” Quackity says pointedly.

“Yeah, I know,” Karl smiles, but it’s not the usual silly, giggly grin that Quackity so adores. It’s smaller, sadder. “Can I… can I just see? Before we go back to kissing?” Karl waits for Quackity’s permission.

Quackity feels a lump in his throat, he feels unsteady, even as he nods. He holds his breath when Karl’s hands brush so delicately against him, lifting his shirt just a little. Karl stares at the line of bruising just above his hip, Quackity is pretty sure it’s from being shoved against the corner of a table.

“It’s– It’s nothing. I was just… clumsy. Stumbled into something.”

Karl looks crestfallen.

“What?” Quackity says defensively, sitting up, once more holding onto the hem of his shirt, like that doesn’t make it obvious he has something to hide, and Karl just keeps looking at him like that. “Karl, what?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to lie to me.”

Quackity grins in a way that radiates insincerity. “Who says I’m lying?”

Quackity’s face falls, guilt piercing, as Karl gently places his hands on Quackity’s hips, barely touching him, as if afraid to break him. He’s ghosting over bruises in a way that takes Quackity’s breath away.

“He’s gotten bad again?” Karl asks.

“No, no not bad,” Quackity shakes his head sharply. “Not bad by a fucking mile, he just, y’know, he gets drunk and– and clumsy, and that’s how I end up… y’know, knocking into shit, but it’s not a big deal.”

Karl is so gentle with him, but that look in his eyes, colder and maybe just a shred calculating. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long has it been…” Karl trails off, a deep frown unnatural on his face. “Bad again? I dunno how else to say it.” A weighted pause, Karl still staring at the line of bruising. “Was he ever actually better?”

“No, he was,” Quackity sees a lifeline and clings to it. “So better it scared me, honestly. This is… this is better. Better than before, and better than the bullshit of the past few weeks where he tried to act like a fucking saint. At least this is… this is reliable bullshit, you know? And I did mean it. He… he pushes me around a little, but he hasn’t been kicking the shit out of me or anything like that. Like, when he gets pissed off, if he starts to come at me, he makes himself like, walk it off. It’s… it’s pretty mature for Schlatt, if I’m being honest,” Quackity tries to say it like a joke. Karl refuses to lighten up, strange for him. “Karl, what?” Quackity forces another laugh, nudging him.

Karl isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at the bruises. “Better it scared you.”

“What?”

“You said he was acting better so it scared you,” Karl says.

Quackity can’t help but lose some of that forced humor. “And what of it, Karl?” He turns cold, like somehow that will be easier. “What the fuck could you say to me right now that changes anything? Why do you gotta know so bad, when you can’t actually do shit? You can’t do shit, Karl. So why bother?”

Karl shrugs. “I guess… I dunno. I mean, if we both know I can’t do anything, why wouldn’t you have… have told me?” Karl looks at him with those big eyes and Quackity is so fond it makes him weak.

“I feel like it’s pretty obvious,” Quackity says wearily. Karl is still waiting. Quackity sighs. “I… I didn’t want you to worry about something you couldn't do shit about, alright? Like, why the hell would I make this your problem?”

“Our problem,” Karl says insistently. “I’m always gonna worry, Q. You can’t stop me.”

Our problem. Quackity is both endeared and hurt. He knows what Karl meant, but the idea that this is our problem when Karl has spent all of five minutes in the same room as that man and Quackity has spent… a lot more. Quackity brushes gently against Karl’s cheek. He sighs, but it’s lighter than before.

“Right… thanks, Karl,” Quackity means it, mostly.

Karl’s hand covers Quackity’s, pressing it to his cheek. “Y’know I love you, don’t you?”

“Karl,” Quackity is surprised. “Of course I do.” Like always, Quackity doesn’t say it back, and he feels awful for it, but he thinks he’d feel worse saying that to Karl knowing that their relationship will hang by a thread until Schlatt is dead in the ground.

Karl never faults him for it, he just kisses Quackity’s knuckles and lets sleeping dogs lie.

Quackity continues to get by, to do his work, to appease Schlatt, and see Karl when he can. Usually weeknights are okay. He can avoid going back to Schlatt’s with the excuse that he works late and just wants to rest. Quackity never rests. Instead, he uses that precious time for Karl.

Quackity leaves work a little after five on a week day. It’s relatively early, and he’s excited to spend the night with Karl.

So he gets in his car. He starts driving. And a block before the bridge back over to the East side, he spots them. A fucked up black Ford Capri he doesn’t recognize in general, but he does recognize it from a few blocks back, from the lot across the street from his office.

“Fuck,” Quackity mutters, glancing at his rearview mirror. He does not turn toward Karl’s place, nor his own apartment, instead, he turns right, and heads South. The sedan follows. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Quackity snaps, hitting his steering wheel.

This in and of itself is not an emergency. He’s always careful, always looking out just in case he has a tail, but it’s never actually happened before. Now, this means it’s an option, that Quackity was right to be paranoid, and that Schlatt must have some suspicion. Quackity doubts it’s any other party. It has to be Schlatt sending someone after him. Quackity pulls up along the beach, near the boardwalk. He’d briefly hoped to lose them when he crossed into Badlands territory, but whoever Schlatt sent isn’t that much of a pussy. The Ford passes where he’s parked, but Quackity follows them in the mirror, watching as they park just down the lot.

“God fucking damnit…” Quackity mutters. He gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and walks up to the front of the car, leaning against the hood. He digs in his pockets for a cigarette, scanning the area with a semi-casual glance, and there he sees a man get out of the other car. He walks over to a payphone, still with Quackity in his sights, either pretending to make a call to explain his presence, or currently calling Schlatt to let him know what Quackity is up to.

Fuck, it was so much easier when he thought he was just being paranoid. He can’t call Karl to tell him not to go to his apartment, and if Quackity goes there now, god forbid Karl is seen outside, or maybe Schlatt’s insecurities will have rooted in deep enough that man will follow him upstairs and search the place before running back to snitch to the Boss.

So what the fuck does he do?!

Karl was supposed to meet him at his place, so Quackity cannot safely go back there tonight. Quackity almost worries if he goes to Schlatt tonight, Schlatt will expect him to make time for him on weeknights.

He’s overthinking this. Schlatt has let up a lot over the past months. Yeah, let up enough to send some guy following you all over.

Quackity takes a long drag from his cigarette, irritable and anxious. He’s going to chain smoke a whole fucking pack and then give Schlatt a disgusting fucking kiss, with tongue.

Does he acknowledge the tail?! Give him a little wave to let him know he knows? Or will that just incentivize Schlatt to be sneakier somehow?

Quackity already is misbehaving–– misbehaving, what, like he’s a fucking child?––Schlatt wouldn’t want him in Badlands, and he wouldn’t want him smoking. Is that enough Schlatt will give up the ruse and admit to having him followed so he can corner him?

Quackity just keeps smoking. He watches the sunset with a vehemence. He hopes that stupid fucking tail is bored out of his skull. Quackity looks over his shoulder. The man still lurks at a payphone. Quackity almost wants to shout at him snidely, “what, are you made of dimes?!” but he doesn’t.

Quackity throws the cigarette butt into the gutter, lighting another with petty passion, in his irritation he ends up coughing like he’s still 11 with virgin lungs. “Fucking bullshit…” Quacky wheezes.

He wonders if he can make it out of sight before the spy extraordinaire gets in his car to follow. Quackity puts out the remaining cigarette on the sole of his shoe before slipping back into the driver’s side. In the mirror, he sees the man hang up the phone and walk back to his car. Right. Real subtle.

Quackity backs out of his spot in time to see the man start his car. Quackity drives past him, unable to resist flicking him off, and rounds a corner. He turns down a side street quickly, before cutting onto the adjacent road. He glances at the rearview mirror almost enough to wreck. The black ford doesn’t appear behind him. “Ha! Get fucked you little dicked motherfucker!” Quackity at least gets to feel smug, but this doesn’t mean he can go back to his apartment. It’s too risky knowing there’s some prick prowling around looking for him.

So, with more than a little irritation, he heads toward Schlatt’s place.

“No point having a guy follow me to your own goddamn house, right?” Quackity mutters.

Quackity parks outside the townhouse and lets himself in. He’s lucky in that Schlatt isn’t home, because he’d seriously been about to go throwing accusations at him and asking him what the fuck that was about. Instead, he’s forced to settle into his agitation in an empty house. Well, not entirely empty.

“Oh, hey, Big Q,” Tubbo is, reasonably, surprised to see him as he peeks his head over the landing to see who had arrived.

“Hey, Tubbo,” Quackity tries to take the edge out of his voice, he knows Tubbo gets nervous whenever someone seems irritated around him. “Schlatt’s not home, I take it?”

“No, he’s not. No clue where he’s gone off to, though,” Tubbo joins him at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you… are you alright?”

“Me? Fine,” Quackity smiles. “I’m fine, Tubbo. As usual.”

“...right.”

“So,” Quackity sighs. “What’re you up to this evening?”

“I… I dunno, really. I was gonna go look for food. We haven’t had groceries in a bit, so right now the gameplan is toast,” Tubbo says, concerningly blasé.

“Seriously?” Quackity laughs halfheartedly.

“What?”

Quackity shakes his head. “Nah, nah you’re not doing that. Come on. I haven’t eaten yet either. Let’s go some place,” he nods back to the front door.

“Oh,” Tubbo sounds surprised, hesitating. “Okay, sure.”

They get in the car, Quackity driving without a set destination in mind.

Quackity once more forgets how to talk to this kid. “So. How’s, uh… the… the thing you were working on? The potato?”

“Oh, I finished that ages ago! I set up the circuit no problem, I honestly didn’t think it was going to work,” Tubbo laughs. “But no, seriously. The potato did it. Powered a tiny lightbulb. It has to do with the zinc, see? It reacts with the acids in the potato and that’s what creates power.”

“Huh,” Quackity tries to sound interested, even as he’s distracted by the rearview mirror, and any sign of the black car following them. Nothing yet. “So… so you’ve moved on from the bio-weapons, huh?”

Another laugh from Tubbo. “It was… it was a household mold, Big Q, I wouldn’t call them bio-weapons,” he sounds undeniably proud. That at least makes Quackity feel a little better.

“What’re you hungry for, huh? Wherever you wanna go, I don’t care,” Quackity nods along the Riverside strip.

“I mean…” Tubbo trails off.

“Come on, what d’you want?” Quackity pushes lightly.

“Could we get like, breakfast stuff? Pancakes?”

“Yeah! Hell yeah, dude. That’s easy,” Quackity turns a corner until they’re outside one of those 24 hour diners that will definitely still be serving pancakes.

They settle in at a booth, and Quackity doesn’t bother with the laminated menu in front of him; he’s busy scanning the darkened windows.

“Get whatever you want, Tubbo,” Quackity says offhandedly. He requests black coffee, and Tubbo gets his pancakes.

“Are you not eating?”

“Huh?” Quackity looks back over at the kid. “No, no I’m good. I’ve got coffee.”

“That’s not exactly dinner, though, is it?”

“Don’t have much of an appetite,” Quackity says dryly. It’s true, probably in part due to the two cigarettes.

“Alright,” Tubbo shrugs, he doesn’t argue. “Thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“For getting me food. I didn’t… I dunno, my dinner plans didn’t feel that weird to me until you said something,” an unsure laugh.

“No problem, man.”

“Are you alright?”

Quackity once more looks away from the darkened window. “Huh?”

“You’re just a little… distracted?”

Quackity debates telling Tubbo. What good will it do him? Although, it’s not like he’s tainting his fucking image of his father. “I’m pretty sure Schlatt had some guy follow me. After I left the office,” Quackity reaches for a cigarette that isn’t there and pulls himself back. He won’t start smoking while the kid is trying to eat.

“He… He had someone follow you?” Tubbo being appropriately surprised and disturbed is oddly vindicating to Quackity. “Why… why would he do that?”

“I dunno, man, I guess because he’s a paranoid fucking bastard,” Quackity laughs harshly, leg bouncing under the table; another glance out the window.

“Weird…” Tubbo stares out the darkened window too.

Their somber conversation is paused by the arrival of pancakes, as well as bacon, which Tubbo slides to the middle of the table, inviting Quackity to eat something. Quackity, more for Tubbo’s sake than his own, takes a piece.

“Do you… do you like my dad? Sometimes?” Tubbo breaks the lull and deigns to blindside Quackity with that.

“Do I what?”

“Like, sometimes you seem… okay with him. And other times you really don’t.” Tubbo isn’t looking at him, focused on his plate.

“Huh,” Quackity mulls it over. It’s not quite like when he’d not-so-subtly asked Tubbo if he would kill his father given the chance, it’s lighter, more delicate, but no easier to answer. Quackity should lie. He should say the easy thing. Of course not, he’s a fucked up bastard, what’s to like? “Sometimes, I guess. Sometimes…” Quackity trails off, uneasy.

“But…” Tubbo hesitates, glancing around the deserted diner. “You like Karl more, surely?”

Quackity ignores the instinctive pang of panic that comes with Tubbo saying that name. They’re not in the house. It’s different out here. “Yeah. Like, a million times more.”

“Good! That’s good,” Tubbo almost sounds like he’s trying to reassure him. He’s clearly thinking over what to say next; Quackity gives him his time. “My dad won’t let you leave.”

Once more, ignoring this would be easier. Quackity doesn’t know why he doesn’t. “No. He won’t,” Quackity says stiffly; his efforts to sound unbothered are probably obvious to Tubbo, but he doesn’t show it.

“That’s why… that’s part of why he had someone follow you, d’you think?”

“Yeah. Probably not even part of why, probably the whole reason, actually,” Quackity scoffs. “Why’re you asking this shit, Tubbo?”

Tubbo shrugs, resuming his focus on his pancakes. “Just curious,” he says mildly, keeping whatever calculations are going on in his brain to himself. Quackity knows there’s some other thought process going on there, even if Tubbo chooses not to share. Quackity sort of wishes he would. He feels like he’s just bared his soul a bit by giving Tubbo even that small dredge of truth, but Tubbo keeps his silence.

Quackity buries the urge to ask to use the diner’s phone to call Karl, to explain why he won’t show up tonight, because part of him is convinced someone must be watching through the glass, out there in the dark. Getting up and using the phone, calling someone besides Schlatt after business hours, that’s dangerous. So he pays for the kid’s pancakes and heads back to Schlatt’s place.

Quackity had planned on dropping Tubbo off and heading back to his apartment; there he could finally call Karl and explain why he’d ditched him. As with most things in Quackity’s miserable fucking life, it doesn’t go as he’d planned.

“Quackity,” Schlatt is surprised to see him. “What were you doing with the kid?”

“Took him to get food. Did you know you don’t have shit here?” Quackity says with more than a little edge to his voice. He can’t yell at Schlatt for having someone follow him, but he can at least get a little self righteous on Tubbo’s behalf.

Schlatt reaches out and stops Tubbo from hurrying away upstairs. “Did you ask him to do that? What, are you fucking begging now? He’s not your step mommy, alright? Do you not have two good fucking legs to go get food yourself?”

Tubbo is frozen and unsure of how to defend himself, always so wide-eyed and scared like a petrified rabbit. Quackity has got to teach this kid how to have a poker face before it gets him seriously fucked up.

“I offered, Schlatt. Jesus, give the kid a break,” Quackity cuts in.

“Aw, you offered,” Schlatt lets go of Tubbo’s arm, but Tubbo doesn’t go upstairs, now he has to wait to be dismissed. “That’s cute, you gonna start tying his shoelaces next? Should I get you a station wagon so you can take him to soccer practice?” He sneers.

“What, so you trying to be better and take him out to dinner and shit is fine, but for some reason it’s weird when I do it?” Quackity says sharply.

“Yeah, because he’s my fucking kid,” Schlatt gets sharper, my kid is staking a claim on him. It has nothing to do with family.

“Jeez, I thought you wanted us to get all fucking brady bunch or whatever, and now you’re throwing a bitch fit?” Quackity folds his arms over his chest, calm and defiant. He braces, but the blow never comes.

“And that’s what you feel like you’re doing, huh? Sneaking around behind my back?” Schlatt is still calculating, more focused on interrogating him than making sure Quackity doesn’t get mouthy.

Quackity grins. “It was just pancakes, Schlatt. What’re you implying?” Quackity dares him to say it, to admit it. Schlatt says nothing, so Quackity decides to rescue Tubbo. “Are you just gonna keep Tubbo standing around by the front door or what?”

Schlatt doesn’t look at Tubbo, still watching Quackity, waiting for a lie to appear. “Get out of here. Next time don’t be a fucking nuisance.”

Tubbo nods and quickly flees upstairs.

Schlatt smiles, mild-tempered once more. “I’m not implying anything, honeybun. Why don’t I make you a drink, and then I gotta step out for a work call real quick, alright?”

“Fine with me, Boss,” Quackity replies coolly. Work call. Is the man really so paranoid he’s got to check in with his little stalker right away?

Quackity couldn’t care less at this point. The guy has got nothing on him, besides smoking a few cigarettes, and Schlatt could sniff that out for himself. Quackity will just need to keep playing things very fucking carefully.

So the following day, he does not sneak off to Karl’s apartment, despite that being what he desperately wants to do, instead he goes to work, he settles in at his desk, and then he makes a call.

“Q?” Karl answers immediately, and Quackity can hear the anxiety in his voice.

“Hey, Karl,” Quackity speaks softly. He’s in his place of work, surrounded by the noise of other cubicles, but he’s still nervous, he still keeps his voice down.

“You’re okay! Oh my god, you scared me, dude! Where the heck were you?! You can’t just fall off the map like that, I was about to lose it!”

Quackity sighs, a hand going to his temples. He hates making Karl worry like this. “I got… I got a tail.”

Static, as Karl tries to process his words. “Like… a cat?”

Quackity laughs. “No, no. Like a guy following my car to see where I go.”

“Oh,” Karl’s concern is still evident.

“Yeah, so. Nowhere near as fun…”

“Shoot.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for being all freaked, I guess I shoulda known you’d have a good reason…”

“No, no it’s okay, Karl. I think we just gotta reestablish ground rules, y’know? I think––especially now––sometimes I might disappear for a day or so, but you can’t let yourself get too stressed if I do, okay? There’s good reason for it.” Quackity hates that he has to have this conversation over the fucking phone, but he has no idea what else he could do.

“Right. Ground rules. So, if you disappear for 24 hours, that’s no biggie.”

“Threshold should be more like 48,” Quackity grimaces. Quackity is also aware that if he’s being honest, he could end up stuck or out of contact for even longer than that, but those instances tend to mean Karl should be concerned. Not that he’s offered explanation for what Karl is meant to do in those instances besides wait in terror. “And I will always try and get ahold of you soon as I can, alright?”

“I know you will, Q. I just…” Karl grumbles. “It’s just scary.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Quackity mutters. “We’re just gonna have to be extra… conservative, until I get this tail thing figured out.”

“Um, do you think I’m voting Red in this next election?” Karl gasps, as if scandalized.

Quackity laughs. “Oh my god, shut up.”

“I won’t be silenced!”

Quackity rests his forehead against his desk, holding the receiver tightly, the pause of static feels so gentle, like he can hear Karl breathing beside him. “Miss you,” he sighs.

“Miss you too, babe,” Karl sounds as wistful as Quackity feels.

Quackity hasn’t seen Karl in almost a week. Every time he leaves work, he sees that black ford down the block. He doesn’t know how this fucking idiot thinks he’s being subtle. Maybe some poor civilian wouldn’t have noticed they’re being followed after all this, but Quackity’s vigilance feels ordinary. He’s getting absolutely fed up with this shit. So he heads for the boardwalk again, not to park outside and smoke, but to head somewhere the guy can’t follow in his car. Originally he thought Niki’s, that would’ve constituted as safe, but for what he plans to do he can’t have Niki shooting this guy in the balls for daring to cross her doorstep. This way, though, he’ll be somewhere innocuous, but public. Somewhere the guy will have to get out of his car and follow him on foot.

Quackity walks quickly through the spring crowds, he doesn’t look back to see if the man is following, he knows he will be. Quackity turns a corner, waiting behind a stand smelling strongly of fried food, and as he’d expected, a man walking at a quick pace steps past and pauses, looking around frantically for his charge. Quackity whistles at him, offering a little wave when the man sharply looks his way.

The man looks quite startled, clearly unsure of what to do now that he’s been caught.

“Smoke?” Quackity offers the guy a cigarette.

“N-No, I– I was just looking for–”

“For me,” Quackity says dryly. “You’re not seriously gonna keep pretending you’re not, are you?”

The man seems to debate it for about five seconds, before conceding. “Guess not.” The guy is way bigger than Quackity, and probably around Schlatt’s age, which makes it feel all the more absurd he’s been given the juvenile task of following him around. The man doesn’t yet join him. “How… how long have you..?”

“Known you were following me?” Quackity says for him, lighting his own cigarette. “Four days?”

The man looks surprised, perhaps offended.

“Let me guess. You started following me four days ago?” Quackity scoffs. “I’ll ask again, cigarette?”

The man nods, joining him beside the cheap wooden wall of the pier’s food stalls.

“Look, uh, following you around, sitting outside your office, that’s the last thing I wanna be doing, but you know how the Boss is,” he says awkwardly, before taking a nervous drag from his cigarette.

“Right,” Quackity gives him a look. “What’s your name?”

The man grimaces, clearly reluctant to share.

“I’m not a fucking snitch. I have no intention of running back to the boss and telling him I caught you. Trust me, throwing around accusations like that won’t go over well for me either.”

“So, why’re you..?”

“A name?”

One more reluctant pause. “Morelli.”

“I haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m… back from vacation, let’s say.”

“By choice?”

“What?”

“Are you back by choice?” Quackity takes a drag from his cigarette, staring at the man.

Morelli frowns, solemn. “Guess not.”

“Right,” Quackity huffs. “You know, this could work out for both of us.”

“Is that right?”

“You stop following me, no one has to know. Keep reporting to him, make up boring shit. I went to work, I went to my apartment, plain and simple. Doesn’t need to be any more complicated than that.”

The man laughs. “If I get found out, I’m a dead man–”

“Fine! Fuck,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Then… then call me and I’ll tell you what I’ve actually been doing, so if Schlatt asks, our stories match up, right?”

The man is clearly still reluctant.

“Do you have any idea how much of a creep this fucking makes you? What happens when Schlatt asks what I’ve been doing, and saying I went home isn’t good enough anymore? You gonna crawl in my fucking window?”

“No–”

“So, I’m giving you a way out.”

“I’m not choosing to follow you just to fuck around–”

“But you’re still doing it.”

He doesn’t have a retort.

“So, do we have a deal?”

Morelli is still just staring at him, calculating. “You doing something the Boss shouldn’t be knowing about?”

Quackity laughs. “If I was, you think I’d tell you?”

“Guess not,” the man is clearly still thinking it over. “Fine. You said… you said I should call you?”

Quackity holds out a business card. “Yep. Sometime before I leave work. If that’s a problem, I can give you my home number too.”

“Nah, that’s… not a problem,” he accepts it reluctantly.

“Good to hear it,” Quackity grins and takes another drag from his cigarette. He loves it when he talks his way out of things.

Quackity doesn’t know what to make of it when he comes over to Schlatt’s the next night to find Schlatt has dinner prepared for him. His first thought is that Morelli snitched on him, but he knows he needs to stop assuming every time Schlatt spoils him there’s something dangerous underneath. Usually, Schlatt doesn’t waste time with pretenses to punish him. Quackity’s curiosity wanes into disappointment when he sees the two steaks at either end of the table. If Schlatt took his steak any more raw it would get up and walk away from the table, hence, Quackity would eat the same thing.

“This is… this is nice,” Quackity says anyway.

“Glad you think so, pumpkin,” Schlatt pours him a glass of red wine, kissing his head before circling to the head of the table. “It’s been a second since we’ve had dinner, just the two of us, hasn’t it?”

“Right. So, no kid tonight?” Quackity asks, feeling the need to ease the anxiety that there’s worse reasons Tubbo isn’t joining them.

“For… for steak? And wine? Nah, the brat is probably having mac and cheese and watching cartoons or some shit,” Schlatt scoffs. “So, how was your day, sugarplum?” Schlatt takes a heavy draft from his wine, watching him across the table.

Right. Probably confirming what he told Morelli. “Good, y’know? Just had work, finished up some paperwork for a case I was helping on. Boring shit, insider trading type deal, but it was good to get it done.” Quackity avoids his steak with his own sip of wine. “What about you? Anything exciting here while I was gone?”

“Yeah, yeah a bit,” Schlatt smiles, cutting into his own steak. “We’ve got another hostage exchange coming up. That’ll make us a hefty chunk of change, eh?”

“Right,” Quackity tries to force enthusiasm instead of disgust.

“Would you want to be there?”

Quackity can tell that it’s a loaded question, something prodding there that he hasn’t quite grasped. “At the… at the hostage exchange?”

“Yeah. I get it if it’s… uh, if it’s a sore subject, y’know?”

Quackity is still surprised by Schlatt being anything like considerate, but he knows it’s a double-edged sentiment. “Oh. I mean, if you don’t want me there, that’s okay, Schlatt.”

“I don’t mind the company, sweetheart,” Schlatt says with a wry smile. “Maybe I just don’t wanna risk a repeat of last time, eh?”

Quackity laughs, with a slight note of anxiety he hopes Schlatt doesn’t notice. “Yeah, I don’t think you need to worry about that. That’s not… that’s not going to be a problem.”

Schlatt nods, and stops cutting his steak, frozen with the knife halfway through the bloody meat, not looking at Quackity, only at the plate. “You… you didn’t actually know that moron with the ratty coat that night, did you?” It’s clear that Schlatt isn’t voicing these insecurities easily, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. “You weren’t… you weren’t seeing him, right?” Schlatt asks, tone carefully and unsettlingly neutral.

Right. Surely, this is what all of this had been building up to. Schlatt’s paranoia, having him followed, it had been because of this nagging at him all this time. Quackity doesn’t reply at first, thinking, knowing the longer he waits to answer the more dangerous it gets. Already, his heart is pounding a little harder, and dinner seems far less appealing.

Schlatt continues when the pause extends beyond a few seconds. “You can tell me, Quackity. If you were at the time. I can understand, clearly things were complicated and not going well between us back then, but I’d like to know.” Schlatt takes a bite, sparing him a glance, but otherwise an awful mask of calm and mild-mannered interest.

Quackity processes this carefully and buries his nausea. It’s clear Schlatt has been thinking about this for a long time, maybe just waiting for the right moment to spring it on him, but that’s too much time for Schlatt to talk himself into getting even more paranoid. Schlatt, even if he has doubts in general, is confident there’s no way Quackity is currently cheating on him, probably has faith in his whole “if I see you with him again, I kill him” threat along with Morelli confirming he only goes to work and home. He’s also inviting a confession, with the implication of him being understanding. Not fucking likely. Quackity doesn’t know what’s more suspicious, saying he truly barely knew the guy, or saying that yes, at the time they maybe had met up a couple of times, nothing excessive, just boring stuff, getting coffee, and then Quackity stopped it. That wouldn’t exactly explain Quackity shelling out almost a thousand fucking dollars on the guy. He doesn’t know where the line is, what Schlatt will believe but won’t kill him over. There’s got to be a better story to get out of this one. Quackity is good at telling stories, when he has to be. It’s no different than a courtroom.

“Okay, the truth is, I lost the cash in a game of cards. Same card game I won the information on Mr. Beast. We only really knew each other through a group of students I used to hang out with sometimes,” Quackity’s voice remains steady, if a bit nervous, but Quackity can imagine Schlatt would expect that from him. Schlatt doesn’t reply immediately, clearly thinking, so Quackity continues, wildly aware that despite the calm of this conversation he might as well be begging for his life. “I’m sorry I lied, Schlatt. I didn’t want you to think I was irresponsible like that, I… I gambled away all my savings. I didn’t realize how it would seem to you, like, you know I’d never. I’d never do that to you, Schlatt. I– I didn’t even realize that was an option you could consider. I’d be ruining my own life.” Ending it. Quackity is looking at Schlatt, waiting, praying, and the man is just still picking at his steak.

Schlatt nods, but he doesn’t look at him.

“Schlatt?” Quackity tries to get a response, voice a little shakier.

Schlatt chuckles. “Gambled away all your savings. That’s… that’s good to know. You’re the same pathetic broke bitch I pulled off the streets, aren’t you? You got the law degree and the arrogance,” Schlatt says mockingly, “but you’re still the same, eh? Just as weak, just as stupid, just as… just as fucking helpless,” he takes another bite of his steak, teeth scraping against the fork.

Quackity has no idea how to respond to that; cruel insults he wants to retort to, he wants to get angry, but he has bigger concerns at present, largely for Karl. It sounds like Schlatt is buying it, but Quackity is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Schlatt hasn’t gotten mean like that in a while, that targeted, that petty, at least not toward him. So Quackity says nothing, he’ll wait for Schlatt to continue. There’s a lump in the back of his throat, and he feels cold sweat begin to chill his skin. Alarm bells are going off in the back of his mind, but that warning doesn’t show him the way out.

Schlatt laughs, and Quackity almost jumps. Schlatt gestures with his fork, looking up at the ceiling, as if lost in thought. “Although, huh. Embarrassing or not, in what fucking world do you get to lie to me?” Schlatt leans forward, fist hitting the dining table so the dishes clatter sharply and Quackity does jump.

“Hey, I said I was sorry! It’s– It’s not gonna happen again, it-it hasn’t happened again,” Quackity’s nails are digging into his palms, anything to keep his composure. “I’ve– I’ve quit the card games for good, y’know?”

Schlatt points at him accusingly with his steak knife. “You don’t get to go fucking sleep around behind my back and get away with it with some bullshit excuse about you having a fucking gambling problem,” Schlatt sneers.

Schlatt is not buying it. Fuck, fuck, fuck he isn’t buying it.

What else is Quackity meant to do but dig his heels in?

“Do I look fucking suicidal to you?! In what fucking world would I be sleeping around behind your back, huh? I’m here almost every goddamn night!” Quackity laughs, voice high and sharp. “When I’m not running myself into the ground in that goddamn office! You don’t have a shred of fucking proof, and I know that for a fact because there isn’t any, because it isn’t fucking happening.” A pause which unsettles Quackity further. He’d expected Schlatt to shout back. He’d hoped he would shout back. That would have at least had some predictability with it.

Schlatt raises his eyebrows, now fiddling with the steak knife between his hands. “Huh… suicidal, big word there, pumpkin… big word…” Schlatt seems to be mulling something over. He glances down at his plate, and Quackity makes the mistake of glancing down too, at the blood pooled there. Maybe it was a good thing, because he sees Schlatt throw the plate at his head and has the good sense to get out of the fucking way.

It still grazes his cheek, definitely enough to bruise, damn near enough to knock him unconscious from how his teeth clatter together and his vision goes white from the sharp, sudden pain. He hears it shatter against the wall behind him and refocuses on Schlatt now circling the table toward him. Quackity scrambles out of his seat.

“Schlatt, Schlatt come on–” Quackity isn’t sure where he’s planning on fucking running to. Then he sees the steak knife still in Schlatt’s fist. “Schlatt, wait!” Quackity screams, holding his chair between himself and the knife.

“All I asked for was some fucking honesty, Quackity! I already know what you’ve been up to, so, only thing downright suicidal, is you thinking you can continue to fucking lie to me!” Schlatt yanks the chair aside and slashes wildly with the knife in Quackity’s direction. Quackity throws himself back, barely catching himself against the wall, one hand raised to try and shield his face from the knife, but all Schlatt has done is backed him into a corner.

“I’m not! I’m not!” Quackity’s face hurts as he pleads, a bitter ache deepening in his cheek and he almost wants to close his eyes. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. Schlatt shouldn’t know shit. If he does, Quackity knows confessing won’t save Karl, so all he can do is hold on while this man finally kills him.

Quackity braces himself, backed against the wall, as Schlatt presses the blade of the knife against his stomach, inches away from spilling organs. Quackity tries to recede even deeper within himself. “Honesty is the only way out for you, sweetheart, like… like going to confession! Right?” Schlatt presses the knife closer and Quackity holds his breath. Schlatt pulls away, still raising the knife, as if debating stabbing Quackity in the fucking neck, but instead he keeps talking, his eerie smile doing nothing to disguise rage.

“So why don’t you say it? You’re a shit liar and a pathetic fucking whore, so say it,” Schlatt snarls, raising the knife, and Quackity shuts his eyes.

“Fine! F-Fine–” Quackity laughs, hysterics blending into terror. “If you don’t fucking believe me, do it then! Do it! I-If you really think I– I did that, if you really think that’s worth losing me forever, then fucking do it. Do it!”

Nothing happens. Quackity is not gutted by a dirty knife, he’s still alive. Quackity opens his eyes.

Schlatt has stopped. He’d lowered the steak knife. Quackity flinches when Schlatt reaches toward him, just as tense when he feels Schlatt run a hand through his hair, wrapping his other arm around him, pulling him closer, hugging him tightly even as Quackity raises his arms to try and keep a few more inches between them. The tension extends, a few seconds passing in agonizing silence, and Quackity waits for Schlatt to snap his neck. Schlatt kisses the top of his head, exhaling a laugh. “Good. Had me a little worried there, honeybun. Good, I’m glad that’s the case, Quackity. Worried I was… I was gonna have to Rosemary Kennedy your ass or somethin’,” he laughs. “Classier than keeping you on a leash, eh?”

Quackity doesn’t move, barely daring to breathe. He’s shivering, but he certainly doesn’t feel cold, Schlatt’s presence hot and stifling. Schlatt’s grip loosens and Quackity starts to lean away but Schlatt doesn’t let him get very far.

“Hey,” Schlatt says softly, a hand under Quackity’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. Quackity knows he’s whimpering, shaking like a fucking leaf, but he doesn’t have the strength left for shame as he looks up at Schlatt and waits for pain. “You know how this goes, you don’t gotta act so shocked,” Schlatt is patronizing, and dauntingly tender, words soft and crooning. “You try to leave me, I get even a whiff of you thinking you can jump ship, I’ll..?” He waits.

Lobotomize me? Bash my fucking face in until I’m so ugly no one else could want me? Quackity’s head is spinning, he can’t decide if the danger is passed or not. He thinks he might throw up even though that is the worst thing he could fucking do right now.

“Quackity?” Schlatt tuts him. “Come on, I know you know the answer to this one, we’ve been over this. Hell, there are multiple right answers! I know you can do it, sugarplum.”

He swallows back bile, he balls his hands into fists and tenses his whole body to try and stave off the trembling. He manages to speak, but not when he’s looking at Schlatt. He has to look away. Quackity goes with the old staple. “You’ll… you’ll chain me to the radiator,” Quackity says numbly, staring at the ground, his voice coming out far steadier than he might’ve imagined. “Keep me there until I remember my place.” It’s not just fear fueling the buckets of adrenaline now dumped into his veins, it’s rage too. Rage is no good to him.

“Oh! That’s a good one, didn’t even think about that,” Schlatt pats his cheek none too gently, ignoring the way Quackity flinches. “You know I don’t want things to be this way, don’t you?” Schlatt still has a hand tangled in Quackity’s hair, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You gotta realize that.”

“What way?” Quackity says, that soft mixture of rage and fear still useless to him.

Schlatt seems to debate over his answer, and the one he chooses unsettles Quackity more than a little. “I can be soft, baby,” Schlatt murmurs. “You know I can be,” that hand running through his hair, not tugging at tangles, but not quite gentle, “it just… it just gets a little hard to be that way when you fucking lie to me.”

“I mean, if this is how you react, can you fucking blame me?” Quackity says, hoarse and sharp, stunned at his own daring, but Schlatt doesn’t hold onto Quackity’s throat, he doesn’t slam his head back against the wall, he just laughs, almost teasing.

“Maybe we’ll both learn a thing or two from this. I mean, I would’ve preferred if you hadn’t fucked up in the first place, but next time, eh? Next time, we’ll both do better, right?” Schlatt waits for an answer. “Right?”

“Right,” Quackity forces the words out like pulling teeth.

“You doing okay, baby? Does… does all this make sense?” Schlatt refuses to step back, not until Quackity is the one to reassure him.

“Yes.” At this point Quackity will do whatever it takes to get Schlatt to let go and back off.

“Good,” Schlatt kisses his forehead. “Sorry about the mess, honeybun. You know I’d rather play nice.”

Schlatt finally lets go of him, he pulls away to cough harshly into his sleeve. “Fuck… come on, sit back down,” Schlatt supports his own weight against the dining table, apparently attacking him has taken a lot out of him, but he makes his way back to his seat, gesturing with the steak knife back at Quackity’s place. “Eat.”

Quackity, still shaky, still pissed off, still undeniably scared out of his mind, sits back down across from him. He wipes his cheek when he feels a drop trailing down it, thinking he broke down enough to cry, but his hand comes away smeared with blood instead. Quackity is convinced, had he confessed to any extent, he would be dead on the ground right now with a steak knife in his gut. Well, that’s not quite true. He’d be dying on the ground right now, nice and slow.

Schlatt has already ruined his own plate by throwing it at Quackity’s head, but he remains seated at the dining table, watching him. “Go on, fucking eat. What, how much clearer can I be? Finish your fucking food. Christ, it’s like you’ve got an eating disorder or something.”

Quackity isn’t used to Schlatt encouraging him to eat, especially after a bout of adrenaline. The thought of taking another bite of this stupid bloody steak, always too raw, always cooked to Schlatt’s liking, leaves him with the taste of bile rising in the back of his throat. He does it anyway. He cuts off a piece with his own steak knife, and he pretends he can’t see his hands still trembling. He does not look up at Schlatt watching him, he chews and ignores the taste of iron from biting his own tongue and he ignores the feeling of something caught in his throat. Inexplicably, Quackity thinks of an old story from his brief stint in a hyper-religious foster home run by some old nun, where Quackity had been taught about God and Quackity had naively believed there might be someone out there who gave a shit about him. He thinks of Adam and Eve, of Adam forever stuck with an apple caught in his throat because the person he got his ribs ripped out for told him to eat.

Quackity takes another bite.

#it's been 84 years #mafia au #dsmp #my writing #quackity #karl jacobs #schlatt #tubbo #wahoo

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huraiyra · 7 months

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sorry for vent posting guys you can scroll away really fast now. if youre reading this please be advised I am using a metaphor I am fine lol

but damn I do not feel like a person. I've been this way my whole life and as a teen I thought I had dependent personality disorder bc I just wanted others to make every decision for me and I would ask permission to eat or watch TV or use the bathroom even if I didn't NEED TO and people would be like why are you ASKING. and as I grew up I realised that my fear of making the wrong decision and ruining my life for myself was so stupid. I used to think if someone else ruined my life it would be okay bc at least it's not me. and others know best. but a decade later and I feel like a fucking dog being paraded around to show off its obedience and it gets disciplined when it barks and when it makes a decision against its owner it gets its leash tightened tighter and tighter till it feels like it might die. and I can't escape it. my dependence is self imposed but I can't survive on my own and maybe I learned how to think and eat on my own but I fucking suck BUT I'M WILLING TO TRY but there's no way out. I'm stuck here. what am I without my mom to control me. I'm afraid of leaving I love my home I just want to be taken care of but this leash isn't comfortably snug anymore it's starting to hurt. if I stay here there's no way I can fight them. some day they'll hold me down and have me married and then someone else will hold me down and... more imminent, soon I'll be shoeholed into another career that will damage my body again. my mom says the damage is my fault and if I cant do it I'm a worthless idiot who should die bc life is pain and that's final. but today my doctor said there's no reason to treat me for weak legs that can't stand and a brain that's spasming and making me want to off myself if I can just... quit the job that's making my body do that. how revolutionary. I'm crying freaking out bc all my parents tell me is tht theres no way out and I have to work jobs I hate bc work sucks and thats how life is and why did my doctor have to give me hope? but if I'm a dog what decision does the dog have. I don't know how to want. I don't know how to be interested in things. my depression doesn't let me like anything and bc of this I'm being controlled. maybe if I wanted something I could do it but all I want is comfort. as long as I crave only the comfort of my bed and the softness of my mother's arms holding me I have to deal with the leash. it's not a bad deal but by fuck I should not deal with this any longer. I can't force myself to leave bc I'm unemployed and psychotic and living alone—even my brother knows I'd fall into pieces from lack of money and general insanity. what the fuck do I do. I like being a pampered puppy but I'm a human and I need to accept it. no matter how psychotic I am, no matter how I've never believed I am a human, I am. my autism says I'm scared of other people and only my mom halfway gets me and I just want simplicity and depression says stay in bed and my health says I have no future and my psychosis says stay in a small ball or else everything will hurt you and my family says I need to listen to them and life is only pain and I need to embrace pain and shut the fuck up and do whatever they say or else. but I need to survive. I can't keep doing this. what do I do? dog on a leash... I can't make myself cut through it. can someone else do it please? I want a different owner. but I don't think any owner is going to be as comforting as my parents. their (prev physical and lifelong psychological) abuse is mixed with so much love I still doubt it's abuse even though I know. they've loved me as much as they're capable of and they do truly take care of me. I need to be my own owner but how the fuck. every few days I cry and want to die to end all of this bc the worst part is that after I get away from them all my problems will be worse bc I'M the problem and my parents love is the only thing keeping me in one piece. I'm a dependent pampered dog that can't run away and can't handle a leash. I just keep ruminating and ruminating and I can't do anything. what the fuck do I do?

#pipe down moppet #abuse m

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notquiteaghost · 1 year

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ive said this before but it always makes me so so so insane (ha) that we've structured the framework of psychology in such a way that people can either Have Problems (this may or may not involve admitting those problems have a cause but does at least generally involve admitting those problems can be fixed) or Be Disordered (this almost definitely doesn't involve admitting there's a cause or acknowledging people are capable of change) and both things are tied inescapably to privilege

so you get shit like. when i don't have enough feelings or enough connections with other people or a baseline of empathy for others, that's A Disorder. there is Something Wrong With Me. because i am just a little cog in the machine and i need to be a good cog. (never mind how those things are in fact only A Disorder if they impact my ability to be a good cog and if i can in fact be a good cog while being horribly ill am i really ill)

but when, say, the CEO of an energy company doesn't have meaningful connections with others or any empathy or feelings not linked to money and the earning of it, that's fine. that's normal. there's nothing wrong there. that CEO can do his job and that's what matters.

and how we invented the concept of PTSD because the soldiers we sent to do a kind of horrible violence to other soldiers that we'd literally only just invented were all deeply negatively affected by that violence. because the problem had to be with the soldiers, because the violence was necessary. we have to keep making the numbers go up, and that includes all the numbers related to violence. if you shoot someone and then have nightmares about it that's a disorder but if you order someone else to shoot someone and don't have nightmares about it that's fine.

to be clear i'm not saying anything new here i am just always on a hair trigger to go on a rant about this because how could i not be

like. how psychology tries to pretend it's an objective science when 99% of it is just new and exciting ways to label some people as expendable. the entire fucking concept of a psychopath is a convenient way to avoid acknowledging that people do things for a reason and that reason is never just Something Is Wrong With Me. the way we've decided to complicitly agree with the idea of Person Who Is Bad At Being Person and so you can't call people who wake up every day and choose to do terrible things 'psychopaths' because a 'psychopath' is someone who does that involuntarily. as if there's a person alive who isn't an accumulation of learned responses based on their previous experiences. as if where it's useful to split hairs here is why someone enacts violence onto others and not, y'know, the violence.

i'm sick of it i'm sick of all of it. i want to invent a new disorder just for people who have been afforded so much privilege they never had to learn empathy. i want the treatment to be being forcibly stripped of all remaining privilege because it is exacerbating their condition it is making them ill. you can have your money back when you won't destroy anyone or anything to make even more of it.

#yelling at clouds #leftist tag #psych #anti psych #ok i'm done #been a minute since i went off on this topic. i have a quota

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dorianbrightmusic · 8 months

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learned helplessness, & sweeping up internal/external hurricanes

i'd say one thing we don't discuss enough with mental health is the sheer terror of having something going on that you can't really describe, or that you don't comprehend well enough to be able to explain. so as a result, you end up dealing with some of the worst mental health symptoms you've ever had simply because you cannot describe them. a therapist, no matter how good, can seldom help if they don't know it's going on; and you can't tell other people that you're distressed, because if you don't get the wording right, they'll suspect you of something else, and then you'll have worried them without even getting help for the original distress.

when i first started having intrusive thoughts, i couldn't tell they were intrusive thoughts: i had an egosyntonic disorder at the time, meaning i couldn't really tell my own will apart from this other thing that was splitting my mind into little pieces. as such, i couldn't say 'i'm having violent intrusive thoughts', since i was scared that a part of me was genuinely turning violent. the result? i could only really articulate that i felt very afraid and unsafe, but not that 'i actually have this terrible feeling that i'm not in control of my body or mind'. trying to articulate 'i know it's irrational but every time i hear this song i wrote, i think i'm going to die, so i had to delete it from my computer and wipe the backup drives'?. couldn't do it, for it was something that could have made no more sense to anyone else than it did to me.

how do you articulate that your internal monologue doesn't feel like your own? you don't. it's not something that makes sense to you, so it'll certainly sound insane to anyone else. so you push it down and desperately hope it resolves. and it does, but the experience of not being able to talk about it, of not knowing what's going on and others never being able to understand when you try to explain – it's isolating, so isolating. so you learn to cling to any morsel of emotion, of validation, that you can get, and hence you learn to be disappointed, because you have an unspeakable conundrum. you hide each bit of yourself and then resent the fact that people complied when you instructed them not to go looking, and resent those who went looking and still never quite pieced you back together. nobody hurt you and nobody pushed you away and everyone was kind, but your experience is now fragmented, and if only someone could see that, could fix that.

i had a bad year last year—my memory gave out, and i lost a sense of joy. i saw static when i closed my eyes. at the time, this was called work-related stress. and sure, i was stressed; but 12 months later, i had a moment of sheer clarity in an elevator, where i finally could describe what'd happened. not just 'i was sad'. i had felt like i hadn't existed. my entire identity had ruptured and i was trying to pilot a body that didn't recognise itself. and that was the exact summation of it all, but had i been able to see that, let alone say that, at the time? no, and as a result, i learnt to be disheartened and afraid, and what was probably depression-adjacent at least and actual depression at most got brushed off as stress. which is fair, because overpathologising isn't necessarily helpful, but when you are lonesome, and you know there could have been an answer, a consolation————

that's the problem with mental health – you can't help someone who doesn't know what's happening to them, who thus can't communicate what's happening to them, unless you can somehow guide them to work out what's going on. and that's not something most people have time to achieve. the result is that we grow isolated and resentful because we didn't get the help that never could have been (but oh, if it could have been). and you stop trusting that people will hear you. given how many mental health symptoms are marked by that sense of not knowing what's going on – intrusive thoughts, dissociation, panic, demoralisation, anxiety, psychosis, trauma, detachment, despair – then it still is quite easy in today's world to feel a sense of becoming helpless to your own unspeakable terror.

#venting but also trying to make a point that hopefully someone else will feel heard out for #basically this is my way of complaining about mental health treatment as a whole rather than merely screaming my experience into the wind #(though i'm also screaming into the wind)#for the record i am much better now so please don't worry about me #tw ocd #(kinda? i never formally had ocd but there's enough adjacent content here that i don't wanna risk triggering anyone)#tw suicide #(i wasn't suicidal but again there's enough adjacent stuff that this could be triggering: hence the cw)#tw intrusive thoughts #intrusive thoughts #learned helplessness

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