#I'm really mentally ill about him right now and it's like a Problem

[alangdorf]

Had Traitor Magolor almost done except for the legs too, lol. My brush settings were way better on this one; I just did the coloring process kinda backwards and was really stubborn about not pulling it into csp to make the EX recolor better, but I still like the results ok. And I’m including a rainbow version of the background I made but didn’t end up committing to both to shorten the post and because I think it’s funny. Bisexual Flag Guy in the Gay Dimension

[dilf-docs]

To The Devil I Know

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: your infamous girl's trip with your best friend sarah gets crashed by his overprotective dad.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, it's pussy spanking time again bc i do in fact like it a lot, praise/daddy kink sprinkled somewhere, reader calls him mr. miller A LOT, exhibition kink (v nasty), degradation kink (he calls her little slut), pantie sniffing, dirty talk (they have a sentence awaiting in horny jail), y/n grinds on joel's nose bc yeah i too want that, this is contradicting but lwk sub!joel bc that man's touch starved as HELL, may do a part two idk pls give it love, dad!bod joel bc i say so (yummy), no angst (wtf dilf-docs? the angst gods are so pissed off rn)

word count: 7,195 words

side note: this request got me HOOKED the moment i opened it and since i'm currently on a pedro hyperfixiation rn, we need to put the mental illness to good use. also, this is lwk based on the song by suki waterhouse devil i know! :) i'm seeing that i have two joel fics with devil in the title btw something something abt nickels and not being a lot but weird it happened twice also WE HIT 300 FOLLOWERS??? (and its 1am and i have to wake up at 4am is anyone surprised atp...)

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"Sarah!" you shout, "get your ass out here you looser!"

It's probably eight in the morning, and here you are, honking and shouting in the middle of the quiet calm suburbs.

When you spot her curly head running towards you in a rush, you know she's pissed.

"Stop screaming!" she shouts back, "my neighbours will hate me"

You've known Sarah since you were kids. When you first moved to Texas, she was the only one who spoke to you in school. You grew up with her among white picket fences and scrapped knees, mantaining the friendship even as you moved away, until your return for college.

"Why would I even care? I don't live here!" you joke from the driver's seat, hopping off and giving her a hug. "I'm sorry but I can't help it. I'm just so excited for this trip, we've been planning it for ages!"

You keep talking excitedly about your plans, not noticing how her face falls.

"Yeah, about that..."

"You girls ready?" a third voice enters the picture, definitely not belonging to a girl.

"Uh, Sarah" you breath in, "Why the fuck is your dad here?"

In all his glory: Joel Miller, a guy you haven't seen in forever, too busy living in the dorms, girl dates with Sarah often out of her house. You wanted to explore the world: you weren't ten anymore, and the suburbs lost all of it's appeal they had when you were the age of Barbies and drawing on chalk.

"Listen, y/n. I tried, I really tried. But as soon as I opened my mouth, he started to pack his bags"

"Isn't your dad always busy at work?" you inquire, another one of the reasons Joel's face isn't a fresh memory in your head.

"That's part of the problem. He took all of the pending vacations he had at once" she sighs, sounding as dissapointed as you are. "I understand if you don't want to go"

"Are you being serious right now?" you chuckle dryly. "No, absolutely not. I saved for this trip, packed my favorite outfits and aced all my classes so my parents would allow me. Nothing is going to ruin this for me: not you, not your dad. So we'll go and we'll have all the fun we planned, yeah?" you express firmly, holding her hands. "We will have our girl summer, no matter what. Even if we have to ignore the elephant in the room..."

"Did you just call me fat?"

You turn around, and there he is: the uninvited. Joel Miller's aged face stands before you, strong arms flexing under the pressure of a couple of suitcases.

"No" you reply back, "just a nuissance"

He chuckles at your response, amused. "If you thought I'd let my babygirl go alone with you to the beach and get shit-faced drunk, you're not as smart as I remember, y/n"

Your name would always be on his tongue to call you out. Y/n, don't do that. Y/n apologize to the neighbours. Y/n, slow down. Y/n, don't be so stubborn. You were always a troublemaker, and his lips would only know how to pronounce your name if to berate you. But now, as his mouth says your name with a newly learned tone, dripping with dare and amusement, you can't help but feel a fire ignite that burns your skin.

"Dad!" Sarah calls out, taking you out of your thoughts. She flushes in embarrasment, and you scoff at the idea of giving too much of your time to think about Mr. Miller of all people. "I'm not ten anymore, we'll be just fine"

"You're barely of legal age!" he counters back. "What if somethin' was to happen to you, huh? I'd never forgive myself"

You get annoyed at his over-the-top reactions. What did he think you were gonna do? The wildest thing you had in mind was getting drunk while sitting in the sand. Not even in the water! You may be a wild spirit, but stupid you're not.

"Look, Mr. Miller" he cocks his head to the side, daringly so, almost as if waiting for you to try. "I don't know what you're thinking, but this isn't Driveway Dolls" he looks at you confused, so you try again, "Or Thelma and Louise, whatever suits your fucking old ass. Alright? This is a girls trip, heard that? Just two bestfriends enjoying their youth and summer without boys around to ruin it for them"

"Boys?" he laughs. "Too bad, then, 'cause sweetheart, I'm a man"

Your breath hitches, but you're not going to let him win; you always need to have the last word.

"Well, man up and let your daughter be free for once!"

Sarah covers her face with her palms, clearly knowing her dad more. This is a lost battle.

"Stop, y/n. Please. Dad's impossible to bend"

"He's ruining our trip!" you protest, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Take it or leave it" he leans against his truck, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart to the strained fabric of his sleeves, and when he chuckles, you don't know if he noticed or it's because of his imminent victory.

"Fine!" you throw your hands in the air, dramatically so. "Welcome on board, intruder"

Joel Miller smiles, and maybe it's the rare sight, not even common back in the day, that makes your heart skip a beat.

"And we're taking my truck"

"Are you being serious right now?!" Was this man going to take away all your freedom?

He laughs, mockingly. Rage bubbles in your chest, along something darker you aren't going to admit just yet.

"There is no way my daughter is going on a fucking hatchback to the beach"

You try to distract yourself talking to Sarah in the backseat, but her dad's prying glances time to time from the rear view mirror have you shifting uncomfortably on your seat.

He's persistent, always has been. Joel Miller, just as Sarah said, wasn't a man who could be bent. You'd remember thinking he was a sort of superhero: unbreakable. Whenever Sarah needed help, a pair of strong arms would be there, ready to take the weight off of her shoulders. He was now older, as you have noticed: grey and wrinkles sprayed all over his face. And now, the worst part of it all:

Age had made him infuriatingly attractive.

Unfair, you think, that a man so bitter that only seemed to worry and nag, was blessed with the rare quality of aging like wine. You can deny it anymore: whatever Joel Miller has now that he didn't before is working on you like a lovesick spell.

You look again to the front, just in time to catch one of his subtle (not really) stares. You keep the eye contact, only he tears away his gaze first, something akin to regret and fear circling on his warm brown orbs. The fire from before cracks inside of your belly, and the anticipation begins.

If he was going to ruin your trip, you might as well return the favor.

"M' gonna stop for gas" he says after some minutes of silence, deviating towards a gas station.

You take the opportunity to get out of the truck to strech your legs. Sarah does so too, but then whispers into your ear:

"Tell my dad I need to go to the bathroom. Don't want him worrying"

As if you'll talk to him. Despite that, you nod and she leaves you alone with her annoying dad.

"Reckless too, huh?" Joel appears by your side, almost making you drop your phone. "You know you're not s'pposed to use the damn phone on a gas station? Good thing I ain't let my daughter go alone with you"

You put your phone down. "Reckless? I know what I'm doing" but you sound nervous, for some reason.

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Joel says, his voice surprisingly soft.

You heart gets stuck in your throat at the sudden shift, "I suppose not"

"I get that you hate me" he confesses, done filling the tank, "but I couldn't let the two of you go alone"

Your cheeks turn pink at the accusation, "I don't hate you"

He laughs, and the sound has something stirring in the lower of your belly. Why is Joel Miller of all people provoking feelings in you no other boy has ever provoked? You're used to playing with boys as you please, and you come to realize that's where the difference lies: you don't know how to handle a man.

A man so strong, your eyes don't leave him as his arms flex while pumping the gas, the delicious peek his simple white shirt gives you not going unnoticed; droplets of sweat on his temple, sliding down his jawline then getting lost down the crook of his neck. You lick your lips on instinct, horrified when you realize what you've just thought and done.

"Damn right you don't"

You could say you've reached some kind of truce, but then Sarah comes back, and when you look at Joel again, he's reverted to that annoying apathic state of his, but instead of bothering you, it only makes you want more.

"Hey" he says to Sarah, "where you went?"

"I had to pee, dad. Relax" she dismisses, shooting at you a can-you-believe-it look.

He walks away, ready to jump in the driver's seat again, when he turns around to whisper to Sarah:

"Don't ever leave me again" tone stern, "not with her"

But you hear.

You arrived late, the sun hiding behind the large body of water that seemed infinite.

"I can't believe we missed the first sunset!" you whine. "It was going to look so good on my Instagram stories..."

"This generation and their problems" Joel scoffs, taking the suitcases to the house you've rented for the next two days.

The answer is right at the tip of your tongue, but you decide to be the bigger person and remain quiet. If he wants to play, you better play smart.

"Dad, please" Sarah calls him out, and you have to hide a laugh. "Don't fight with y/n"

"I ain't doing shit" he sneers, crossing his bulking arms.

Sarah walks past him, muttering against his childishness. That angers Joel, who tries to remain cool.

"I know you hate me" you suddenly appear by his side. Your vainilla scent gets up on his nose, invading his body of you. "I just think you should try, for Sarah"

"I don't hate you" he answers, and now it's your turn to laugh.

"Yeah? Doesn't seem like it, Mr. Miller" it comes out before you can stop it, and there's something dark lurking behind his brown eyes piercing through you.

"I don't" sounding more sure this time. Serious too.

"You'll have to prove that"

You enjoy the surprise on his face and the light pink sprinkled across his cheeks.

"Prove that?"

You nod, finding all of this suddenly funny.

"Hmh, you heard me. Prove it, Mr. Miller. That you don't hate me"

But before he can respond, your bestfriend is back.

"Y/n, come on! You need to check the house. It has a shared balcony!" Sarah beams giddy.

You let her excitement infect you, taking her hand as you go inside the house. Joel stays back, your words ringing on his ears.

On the other hand, Sarah and you check the room together.

"Look this" she points at one of the mirrors in the room: it has details that remind you of the sea. "Isn't it cute?"

"It is" you agree, "we should take a picture"

"Okay. But use your phone" she says, "mine died on the road"

You're about to pull it out when you feel your pockets empty.

"It's... not here"

"You might have left it in the car" she tries to help.

"Yeah" you try to remain level-headed, "I'll go search for it"

You return to the truck, pressing your head against the window. Just like your friend guessed, it's there, abandoned on the seat.

"Lost somethin'?"

You gasp, turning around. Joel Miller's face is centimeters away from yours, breathing heavily as his body cages your smaller frame against the truck's doors.

"My phone" you find your voice after what feels like eternity, "it's inside the car"

"Need help with that?" his voice sounds low, whisper easily to be confused with a growl.

You don't know how to answer, scared for the first time of where your mouth could take you. So your solution is to nod, and step aside for him to open the car.

"There you go" he's dropping it in your hands, fingers lightly brushing yours. There's a shiver down your spine despite the cool weather, and you know damn well it's all his fault. He may feel it too, by the way he takes a step back, putting some distance.

"Need anything else?" but it feels like a slap to the face, as if he's challenging you to speak what you've been thinking but are too coward to do when he stands before you.

"No" you mentally slap yourself for how pathetic you sound, "this is all I needed, Mr. Miller. Thanks"

You look back one last time, despite it all. And there it is: that same look he gave you in the car.

"Anytime" but it falls deaf to your ears, as you basically ran away from him.

Him and his imposing presence, enough to make your legs tremble and your mind to stop working. Him and his smell, that brings you back to simpler times and reminds you of a a secret place in the woods, musk getting under your skin. Him and his breath, hitching when you touch hands. Him and his beating heart, just as loud as yours.

"Took you long" Sarah comments when you return, "I was already falling asleep"

She doesn't know or suspect, you tell yourself, but that doesn't stop you from feeling sick.

That night, as Sarah lays by your side and you try to sleep, all you can think about is his big hands, the lingering feeling of a warm touch. And then Joel, stepping back―coming to his senses, as if something is holding him back.

Anytime.

You can't help but wonder what stopped him.

Days have blurred between drinks by the poolside, waves crashing, wet sand in your fingers and sun carressing skin.

Despite what happened, Joel remains in the shadows, letting you and Sarah enjoy your trip in peace. You may be spending time with your bestfriend, but his presence hangs in the air, impregnated with his strong pine and whisky smell, looming over you like a shadow; suffocating, like his scent is all you can breath. You hate how your mind keeps going back to him, because despite your inicial claims to ruin him, that wasn't the purpose of this vacation, yet Joel seems to have infected you with a need that corners your mind to think of him and him only. The greed you feel is unnatural, like a spell has been cast upon you. He may be far, just as you wanted, and you should enjoy that, but it's that very same distance that is driving you insane.

Today, you and Sarah decided to go diving and then play volleyball.

The day ends, the sun sets, and so does the tiredness. But as Sarah's snores fill your ears, you toss around the bed, trying to conceal sleep to no avail.

Staring at the ceiling, you kept drifting back to Joel, mind wondering and heart racing at thoughts of strong arms caging you, warmth in your body that the breeze creeping through flowing curtains fails to provide.

The sound of wood creaking jolts you awake. His silhoutte is hard to miss, and your eyes follow it cross your bedroom. You pretend to be asleep, his scent up your nose as he walks in careful measured steps, trying not to wake you up. He looks back at Sarah, and the moonlight betrays him when it shines over his eyes, revealing an adoration that gnaws your chest.

He keeps walking, until he reaches the shared balcony. It's then that you make a choice, heart pounding in your chest as you race yourself from bed, going his way.

You go outside, finding him resting his arms on the balcony, facing the beach in silence. Soft waves crash against the wet sand, but not even that can overpower the sound of your beating heart.

"What're you doin' here?" he's asking, even if you haven't moved from your spot. Seems like your friend wasn't joking about his heightened senses, despite his old age. "Thought y'were 'sleep"

"Well, Sarah is a fast sleeper" you answer, walking to his side.

"She sure is" and the faintest of a smile appears on his face.

Joel Miller is a mystery to you: the most closed off man you've ever met, hiding behind his apparent apathy that only seems to be gone whenever Sarah is around. She's the apple of his eye, and those soft traces of a more tamed character that come to light have truly picked your interest, begging for more crumbs that will help you puzzle who he really is: he, that is as handsome as a mystery. The worst is, you don't know what attracts you more.

But you won't let him win.

"Mr. Miller?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you married?"

He looks at you, dark eyes partly iluminated by the moonlight.

"Aren't you a bit too young to be bold?"

"And aren't you too hot to be all alone?" you reply in an instant, rendering him speechless.

He chuckles, but it sounds defeated rather than amused.

"Trust me, kid" he's back at facing the ocean. Goddamn coward. "This isn't what you want"

"Don't call me kid" you berate, almost repulsed at it. "I'm twenty one"

He scoffs. "Still hella young"

"But I know what I want" a wavering hand ready to trace over his pecs, but he's stopped you before it descends. Before it's too late.

"You don't" he assures, grip on your hand stronger, without knowing how much you're enjoying this. Or maybe he does. "See? That's the problem with you kids: you think you do, but you don't"

You loose your patience.

"Tell me then, Mr. Miller. Would a kid do this?"

Taking the distraction, the same hand flies now to grop his dick, and to your surprise, it's already hard.

"Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't know what they want"

"Stop" he warns, hissing when your eager fingers unbuckle his belt. It's huge, for some reason, and you can't help but feel an ardent throb at the thought of grinding on it.

When your eyes look at Joel, he swears he sees you devilishly smirk, almost as if you were mocking him.

"Stop?" you bite your lip, feigning innocence as doe eyes look where dark ones had done before. "If that's what you want, you aren't even trying"

You kneel down, and the position gives you the perfect side of his adam's apple bobbing in a nervous gulp. He grows insecure under your intense stare, breath hitching when the wind hits his now free member as you pull down his underwear, revealing it hard and leaking with precum. You laugh delighted, with victory, and he finds himself trapped between the moon and your games, drowning on a sea feet away.

"I think I know what you want"

"How? You don't even know what you want" barely fighting it.

Your fingers grace over his soft abdomen, tracing down his belly and happy trail. Your teeth nip at the skin scattered with soft rosy lines, peppering the skin with fluttering kisses to entertain your mouth until your digits touch his hard cock. Joel whines, squirming, and you're delighted with the receptiveness, needy sounds escaping his lips.

You haven't even started yet.

"You're right, I don't" you agree. "All I know is you piss me off and that you ruined our trip, so I'm gonna take my anger out on you one way... or another"

You take your first lick, savouring the dark red head. His hips buck, a shaky gasp robbed from his chapped lips.

"Fuck" he exhales weakly, lost against the sound of water.

"Don't worry, Mr. Miller. I'll take good care of you" admiring his girth. He looks down on you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Joel can't lie and say he isn't fascinated with the way you look at him, not believing so much appetite can fit in such a small young body. Not even his partners before you, had looked at him like he was the best thing in the world, and now here you were: the loud-mouthed brat best friend of his daughter, sucking his cock while Sarah slept just a few meters away. Just yersteday he was bickering with you, not standing your spoiled attituted and juvenile spirit that can't be tamed and won't shut up. Hell, you had even disrespected him. But here he is, not being able to find the words or actions to stop you: because he doesn't want to.

It was all so fucked up.

But then you're closing your lips around his swollen head, and he knows there's no point in fighting it anymore, his whole body urging him to give in.

"Oh, fuck" he pants, getting all worked up as you take him deeper. "Keep goin'. You're doin' a great job, sweetheart"

The praise gets to you, even if not needed.

Your tongue swirls, running the muscle with wet slides, up and down, tip to base, some pressure applied. You proceed to take in his balls, feeling him tense up. You wanted to mock him badly, but your mouth was full of his dick, so that wasn’t happening.

"D-don't stop" he pleads, sounding more like a whine.

He's deep enough that it hits your throat. You've never been this greedy, but also, have never tried with a dick so big. You feel him in the roof of your mouth, your lips at the base of the tip, brushing against skin. Joel can't keep up: breath hitching, moans ragged and consumed, barely standing if it wasn't for your hands digging in his thighs for support.

You keep building pace, seeing Joel's face scrunch up.

"M' close" his voice comes out strained, his head tilting back, wild soft locks from before now plastered against his forehead, dripping with sweat. His muscles tense, you can feel it, and it's just about time before he's coming inside your mouth.

You want it. To taste more of him, who you claim to hate but feels oh so good. Strong, just as his presence.

"So good, fuck, you're so good" in a tone so needy and desperate. It falls out of his lips, followed by more unintelligible praises dripping from his tongue.

And then, in a shaky breath, lost to the wind:

"Y/n"

You gasp, and he feels it, the air ticklish on his sensitive skin.

Joel said your name.

Your name, in a way it had never been said before. Uttered like a prayer, submerged in devotion. Your name, melting into his moans, deep within him, the calling full of a primal desire. The experience is intoxicating, making you crave more.

Joel comes with a groan, head falling back. Your name dies on his lips as his hips thrust up with your lips closing in. Thick spurts of cum mix with saliva in the back of your throat. You pull out, a string of saliva still connecting you to his dick. He looks down on you, body shaking as much as yours. Without breaking eye contact, he wipes some of the mess drooling from your lips, his calloused thumbs carresing you with a softness you didn't think was possible. The contrast makes you falter a bit, and you know Joel notices.

"There you go" your voice comes out hoarse, avoiding his eyes, "now you know what you want"

He chuckles, giving you a hand to stand up. As you raise to your feet, his face is barely inches away from yours. You can see the lines time has marked across his face, the grays coloring hair you remember to be brown, and those eyes―piercing through you like they know you better than you know yourself.

"But do you?"

Joel Miller doesn't know what is regret.

He didn't feel it when Sarah arrived unexpectedly at the ripe age of twenty, forcing him out of college. He didn't feel it when Sarah's mother left him alone to raise his daughter all by himself, aware he had tried it all to make it work. He surely didn't feel it when you came back after leaving Texas, long gone the childlike wonder and features that made him see you as an extension of his daughter, his gaze lingering a bit too long on this familiar face in a beautiful blooming new body.

But this is different, and he isn't sure if, for the first time, he's finally known what is regret.

Joel Miller also doesn't know when to back out of a fight.

He remember his brother Tommy, practically begging to let go of some asshole that dared to pick up on him, knuckles bloody no matter if he was young then and old as stubborn now, the same red painted across his willfull hands.

But now those hands prickle and sweat, no matter how much he runs them over the fabric of his jeans. And now, as your dangerous stare pierces through him across the small table, Sarah oblivious to the game as she quietly munchs her cereal, Joel Miller backs down, his gaze the first to look away.

He realizes just now why he was so afraid to look up to the sky after you left. The same stars that stared back from the high of the dark night are akin to the ones dancing in your eyes.

"Mr. Miller" your voice breaks his train of thoughts.

"Where's Sarah?" he asks in a panicked voice, realizing you've been left alone.

"Brushing her teeth" you answer, slightly taken back by his tone. "We were going out today, remember?"

Ah, yes. A little tour to an island not to far away from there.

"M' not goin'. Sorry, kid" he's decided. Before you can speak, Sarah returns and asks the question herself.

"M' tired. That's all" but it sounds rather an excuse.

"Are you sure, dad?" Sarah presses, not sure why he had changed his mind at the last minute.

"Yeah" he insists, all while avoiding those eyes of yours, unsatisfied and searching for answers of questions qithout a voice. "You girls go and have fun"

So you do.

You go and feel like you're inside of Mamma Mia (your favorite movie; both of you learned ABBA's discography thanks to it, something that offended your parents), the sun reflecting in the water, the little island with its green and sun, and the flowers that dust their petals into the shore where your boat arrives.

But when the trip is over and soft waves rock your return, you think of Joel.

You think you should feel at least a little ashamed of becoming so obssesed with a man in barely two days, who, on top of it all, is your bestfriend's dad. But then you remember the taste of him inside your mouth, how his dick had rasped against your throat, his seed warm in the tip of your tongue. And then his eyes, promises meant to be broken locked away behind tides of fear, that do an excellent job of reminding you how easy is to drown; to fall for how in hazel flickers, Joel seems he'd give you the world.

"Let's get drunk" you deadpan once you're back at the shore.

Sarah laughs at your determination, then realizes you're serious.

"What?"

"Yeah, it's our last day here" you reason. "Besides, your dad isn't here. What's he going to say?"

If you sound between angry and dissapointed at his absence, Sarah remains quiet.

"We're running away" she tries one last time, but by the look in your eyes, you've made your choice.

"Are we? We're twenty-one, Sarah. We can do whatever the fuck we want" you feel rebellious all of a sudden, "what? Don't you wanna give this trip a grand finale?"

So you crash into the nearest bar and waste the night away, drinking and dancing. But you're ordering a drink you don't like, and in every glass of whiskey down your throat, his name hangs in the air like the memory of his smell, locked behind a vault as if it's too sacred to say. But when Sarah gets a boy to dance and lends his friend to you, you wish there was rough where soft meets your skin, and chapped when you kiss his lips. Your body burns ablaze with sweat, alcohol and regret, a dangerous combination that makes you pull Sarah out of the bar when you feel you're about to black out. She complains, but you're set on making it to the bed before your eyelids shut.

Maybe it's because you always had what you wanted, or maybe it was the forbidden, but whatever reason had pushed you in Joel's orbit, refused to let you go.

And maybe you're imagining his voice, scolding you like a kid. Maybe you're seven again, and in the shadows of the bed, you've gone back to your childhood days. Y/n, y/n, y/n. That sick berating tone of his, acting like you're stupid and small.

"Fucking brat" he spats, drops of his angry scowl landing on your cheek. You then realize he's hovering over you, and it's real, not a product of your foggy mind. So you stand up, sobering up a bit, when he charges back again. "Makin' my daughter pass out? What the fuck were you thinkin'? Could've ended in the middle of the street. You're s'pposed to go to the damn island and then come back!"

Your mouth tastes like sand, but even if you've passed out a couple hours ago, the fire doesn't die. So your tongue is back, finding it's voice to say:

"Well, if you hadn't left us alone, this wouldn't have happened"

He chuckles, darkly. Humorless. "I see"

"What?" you challenge, a shiver down your spine that looses itself somewhere else.

"You got my daughter drunk as revenge"

You're mortified at the accusation, the remnants of alcohol now long gone of your system.

"Do you think I'd risk me and my best friend's safety for you? Out of all people, you?" not caring if you sound bitter.

The truth sticks to your skin as uncomfortably as the sweat.

"I dunno, sweetheart. That's why I'm asking you" the pet name rolls effortlessly, in a rough voice that creates a wet spot in your panties. He gets closer, and you can see the tremble of his lips as he lets out a shaky breath. "Be a good girl and answer"

"I won't tell you shit" you spit.

"You little minx, thinkin' you can run your tongue like it ain't been 'round my cock before" you look like a deer caught in headlights, and Joel's enjoying this more than he should. "That's right, what'd Sarah think knowing her friend's a little slut for'er daddy's cock?"

The electric current that crosses your body sparks the fire of the woods hiding behind his auburn storms.

Now you're feeling high on a forest fire. You want the flames to engulf you, even if ashes is all there'll be left.

"Tell me you want this" his forehead clashes against yours, and the whole world falls silent, except for your ringing ears.

"I want this" and he's just as surprised as you are by the unwavering conviction. "I need you, Mr. Miller"

You try to get up, but he pushes you with full force back into your bed. Then, the base creaks, and he's on top of you, his weight pressing you against the mattress.

"What are you-"

"You think I'd let you get away easily? Have things your way? Naive lil' girl" he tuts, "I'll punish you for that"

As on cue, drowned out snores are heard from your side.

"But, Sarah-" you try to protest, his body caging you under his mercy.

"That'll mean you're behavin', right?" he runs his thumb across your lips, gently pulling them down, as if the chase was thrilling as eating the prey. "I know you don't want to wake her up and see her slut of a friend bangin' her daddy"

You tense, remaining silent at the threat, even if your body reacts other ways.

"Good girl"

He’s quick to get rid you of your shorts.

"Fuckin' hell" he murmurs against your neck, the clothing discarded somewhere in the room. "Wearin' this little shitty bottoms to rail me up, knowin' damn well when to bent and get me hard. Been thinkin' of takin' them off ever since you wore 'em first"

The confession makes you whine, and Joel's delighted by the sound, and just how putty you are under his big rough hands.

"Let's see what we got here" his large hands caress your thighs as he settles between your legs. "Black lace, baby? Such a fuckin' tease. Wore 'em for me?"

You shake your head, but his calloused digits dig on the plush skin of your thighs, making you wince at the pain.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart. You'd said you'll be a good girl, yeah?" you nod, soaking wet, painfully so.

"Yes, I'll be"

"Show me your manners, then" he presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, close to where you need his graying beard to tickle, "and I'll show you mine"

"Just eat me, Joel" you demand breathlessly. "Fuck. Need you, Mr. Miller, so bad"

"And why should I reward you, impatient little slut? Eager to get daddy's filthy mouth between that pretty pussy" Joel bites the inside of your thigh, and it takes all of your strength to avoid becoming a moaning mess. "You've been bad, sweetheart. A brat"

You deny it, but his head dissappears between your legs, licking the wet spot on your panties. You squirm under the teasing of his tongue, legs shutting close on instinct. You drown a whimper in your palm as he yanks your panties away.

"Don't do anything I ain't tell you to" demanding, and if you weren't this horny and out of your mind, you'd probably be scared. "There'll be consequences"

You try to obey. But then his nose, that big nose you want covered in your slick as you grind off of it between your legs, sniffs your panties. He gives it one big sniff, and then two, fingers going white as he holds the piece of fabric with too much force, shoving it on his face.

"Ye'r too fuckin' sweet, I'll give you that" he mumbles in a drunken haze. "Need to taste that drippin' cunt of yours 'night"

The bed creaks again, or maybe it's the sound of his bones starting to give in to old age, but Joel is sucking your clit, tongue pushed inside of your puffy folds. You hide a moan against his lips, hands traveling to grip his hair.

"Joel" you breathe out. 

He parts your folds easily, and before you know it, a rugged finger circles your entrance. Your back arches, and then he leaves place for his mouth again, flicking your sensitive core with his tongue. A moan a little too loud escapes your lips, making his eyes darken when the bed next to you shifts, Sarah tossing in her sleep.

"You dumb fuckin' brat. What'd I say?" his hand slams against your pussy, a sting you've never felt before, both showered in pain and pleasure, spreading across your cunt. "Don't disobey me. Apologize, now"

He stops his minstrations, and you're so achingly close to your orgasm, that the answer falls easy and rushed from your lips.

"Sorry, Mr. Miller"

"Good girl" Joel praises as he pushes his finger in, next to his tongue on your clit.

But the orgasm is so deliciously close, and you can't wait for more. So now you're grinding in his face by reflex, rubbing against his big nose just like you'd imagined. You whine at the sensation, and Joel rests his tongue flat on your clit with surprise.

"Who gave you permission to do that?" but his voice sounds more amused than nagging. "That imagination of yours is somethin' else. Have you been thinkin' bout it all this time, hmh, greedy dirty slut?"

The orgasm looms closer, hitting when Joel pushes a second rough finger in, walls clenching against his digits. He pulls away, licking his fingers with his tongue.

"Such a perfect pussy you got there, sweetheart. As sweet as you when you ain't bein' a pain in the ass"

You laugh breathless, trying to recover.

"Wanna taste?"

So now he's kissing you for the first time, his lips rough against plush skin, nibbling with your lower lips between his teeth, his tongue still tasting like you roaming free inside your mouth, like he wants to mark every corner; imprint himself in you. You've never wanted anything, hell, anyone more. The kiss leaves you hanging, heart racing at the closeness of his face and the warmhearted feeling of his lips on yours, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together.

"There you go" he chuckles, enamoured at the sight of your puffy lips. "Now it's my turn"

He's quick to get rid of the jeans and belt (oh well, it'll be another day) until he's over you, just wearing his boxers.

You'd never seen Joel naked before, why would you? But there's a vague memory of hot summer days, trying to survive the heat in the town's pool, just as the rest. He was there, eye candy for the mothers and horny teens. You hadn't understand back then, when he was all muscle, but you do know, where the mighty strenght is still hidden there, somewhere between his sturdy arms and chest as soft as his belly, round as it pushes above the only piece of cloth that forbids you to see his dick. His chest is full of hair, and God, you feel so dirty wanting to bury your face in the sweat drenched patch.

"Stop lookin' at me like that" he teases, but there is a small voice of insecurity hiding its undertones beneath his smirk under your stare.

"You're so fucking hot, Joel" comes out before you can stop it, now mouth acting up on its own.

Fuck, he thinks, he's too far gone. There's no point of return.

Your eager fingers pull down the underwear, fingers grazing the softness of his length. You slowly grabs his dick as he comes closer, never seeing anything as big and provoking as it. That makes you tighten your grip on his dick, which stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin. 

He positions himself between your legs again.

"Let's put this big bad boy to use, huh?"

He grunts at your words, large hands finding your thighs for support, as he caresses up and down the skin littered with marks and kisses.

Joel pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck.

"Tell me if it hurts" all softness on his eyes, his forehead falling against yours, as if he hadn't been punishing you just minutes ago. Your heart races at the gesture, tender meeting the rough of his edges.

The real question isn't asked, but you're on the pill and you trust him. You just want to fill him inside of you, all of him.

"I will, Mr. Miller"

He slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, quickly muffled by his palm as he stays buried deep inside of you, givimg you time to adjust to his size. It burns, but you enjoy the way the pain feels. He slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your slick folds take him, and he grunts, supporting his aching body by the forehead against yours one more time.

"So tight, sweetheart. Ain't nobody ruinin' this pussy but me" his growl comes out possesive as Joel establishes a steady rhythm. You softly moan as he keeps moving, pounding into you, hitting a spot no one had before, making you see stars. It gets harder to stay quiet, but Joel caputres every little sound that comes out of you in a kiss, as if that way he could preserve them better and forever.

You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close as your walls clench around him, his thrusts harder yet slower as he keeps going, ramming into you.

"Look at you, coatin' my dick like a fuckin' meltin' ice cream" he gently pushes it again between your folds, rubbing his dick on your clit. "So fuckin' wet, for me"

His lips are slightly parted and his eyes looked all fogged up, lost in the fire, thrusts becoming sloppier as he too feels it coming.

"So fuckin' pretty" drips from his mouth, and there's the stars in your eyes and the light you insist he's always had, even if he'd prefere the darkness. "The prettiest girl in the world with the sweetest pussy, givin' it all to this ol' perverted fuck"

The words and his big dick inside of you makes your eyes flutter shut on instinct.

"Don't sleep on me, baby" he coos, a hand brushing damp hair from your face. You recognize the look: the same in the car, on the balcony and on the poarch of his house, after letting the years go by. Back then, you thought you had dreamed it, but now that the secret saccharine sweetness reveals herself as he slams into you, you know it was real.

This is real.

You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he pounds you so gently yet so rough, trying to show him without words that whatever this wrong and sick feeling was, you felt the same.

"Such'a good girl, takin' me so well" Joel grunts, slamming to the hilt. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna-"

His dick twitches inside of you, walls spasming around his cock as your pussy takes it all, milking him dry.

"Take it all, like the good girl you are"

Both of you pant, and it takes him a while to realize the sun is raising again until its rays hurt his eyesight.

He's about to tell you how this shouldn't be, how he, at such an old age shouldn't be pinning for his daughter's friend: so young, sweet and loud-mouthed. No matter if you felt the same, or if your body was marked in and out by him. No, because wanting isn't enough, and no tide could wash away his sins from the shore.

"Listen, y/n-" your name like he has never said it before: no scold, no malice nor lust. Just a softness he hadn't felt in years, asleep under thick layers of cold.

But your soft snores fill the silence between the beats of his heart.

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs / tags: @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrosgrogu thank you sm for reading! hope u enjoy it :)

[valiwrites]

incorrect quotes with f1 drivers & y/n

part 2

: ̗̀➛ including: today's drivers & formal/retired drivers : ̗̀➛ warnings: strong language, ooc drivers (i tried to make it as much accurate as i could), lestappen mentioned

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Lando: Wanna see how bad ass i am?

Lando: *punches the wall*

Lando: ...could someone take me to the hospital

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

FIA: swear words are illegal now. If you say one, you'll be fined

Max: Heck

FIA: You're on thin fucking ice

Max: Oh no

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Charles: *narrator voice* Monaco. I'ts a rough burrow but hey, it's home

Y/N: You aren't supposed to say narrator voice Charles-

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Michael: Gues what number i'm thinking of

Niki: Four-twenty?

Michael: No, that's really immature of you. Someone else guess and please take this seriously.

Ayrton: Is it sixty-nine?

Michael: Yeah, it was sixty-nine

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N: I don't get why we need racing training. Racing is just like mario kart except you can't throw shells at people.

Sebastian:

Lewis:

Sebastian: Alright, so you're never racing again.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Charles: Who knew getting in trouble would be so hard

Carlos: I gotta give you credit, Max. You make it look easy.

Max: Years of practice.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Lewis: Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?

Y/N: If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Daniel, walking up to a dead body: First of all, big mood.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Max: If we lose, you’re out of the will.

Sergio: I was in the will?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Ayrton: I have the sharpest memory here - name one time I forgot something!

Y/N: You left me, Michael, and Alain in a Walmart parking lot at 2am a day ago.

Ayrton: I did that on purpose, try again.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Lando: We got a free day now. What do you wanna do? Eat? Sleep? Nap? Snack?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N: There's a mental illness among us...

Carlos: Is it imposter syndrome?

Y/N:

Carlos: That was the funniest joke I have ever made in my life, and I feel like you don't appreciate me enough.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N: Max, no.

Max: Max, yes.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N: What’s your name?

Ayrton, whispering to Alain: Can I tell them my real name?

Alain: No!

Ayrton: I’m…Alain.

Alain, whispering to himself: The ONE TIME he gets my name right…

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Oscar: Nice rock.

Charles: Thanks, Max gave it to me.

Max: I threw it at you!

Charles: Isn't he the sweetest?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N: Helpful grammar tip: “farther” is for physical distance, “further” is for methaphorical distance, and “father” is for emotional distance!

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Lando: *closes a cabinet*

*a crash is heard behind the cabinet door*

Charles: What was that?

Lando: The sound of Oscar's problem.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Carlos: I really like Eminem.

Lando: I prefer skittles.

Y/N: He's are talking about the rapper.

Lando: Why would he eat the wrapper?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Max: Come on, I wasn't that drunk last night.

Sebastian: You were flirting with Charles.

Max: So what? He's my boyfriend.

Sebastian: You asked him if he's single.

Max:

Sebastian: And then you cried when he said he isn't.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Hi, I was wondering if you still accept requests because I read your Wonka fics and find them very cute and wanted to ask if I could also make a request. And that is that the reader has sleep problems and asks Willy finally what she can do about it as soon as she no longer knows what to do and he makes a certain chocolate for her so that she can sleep better again? (Something fluffy please) Thank you!

A sweet remedy [W. W]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

note: I'm sorry it took me so long, these weeks I was covering a full shift and with the holidays I barely had time to do anything, but I'm back now! And I hope you like it

taglist: @dyieying @reallysparklychaos [Timothée masterlist]

While you were scrubbing one of the most difficult sheets you had had to wash during the day you felt your eyelids begin to close, at first little by little, and at times completely. It wasn't until you fell against the tub full of soapy water and stood up with a scream at the temperature that you realized you really had a problem.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Piper asked, immediately approaching while you struggled to keep the detergent from getting into your eyes and mouth.

“Yes, everything is fine,” you lied. Everyone had already gathered around you and shame was taking over your body. “I just… I slipped"

“Here's a towel,” said a familiar and loving voice, which belonged to your recent but quite dear friend.

Willy approached you and wrapped the towel around you, carefully, while he helped you clean your face. Once you could see more clearly you noticed that everyone seemed worried and you honestly didn't blame them. Your face reflected the lack of sleep you had had during the last few weeks, coming from a previously unknown cause. The only thing you knew was that the insomnia was literally killing you.

"Are you sure you are alright?" now Abacus murmured. You nodded again and smiled at everyone, imploring them to let the moment pass.

When you were dry enough you continued with your tasks, but you could feel your friend's dissatisfied gaze from across the room, as if he were the only one unwilling to ignore your recent strange behaviors: you were distracted, you seemed to leave mentally out of nowhere and this wasn't the first incident where you practically passed out on a dangerous surface.

At some point you had to carry a cart of sheets to the drying area and that's when he hurried to follow you.

“Let me help you,” he exclaimed, smiling in your direction as he held the cart you were pushing.

“I'm fine,” you said, to reassure him, because you knew that he had approached you to monitor your mood.

One by one you took out the sheets and began to put them in the dryer. The process would take a while, so you guys had a few minutes to chat, after all you knew the others wouldn't mind.

You leaned against the old machine, feeling the vibration on your lower back, and he did the same. The distance was so close that your hip was touching his, turning any conversation into a private one.

“Are you sick or something? We can get a doctor, if so”

“I'm sick, but I don't think it's that kind of illness,” you sighed.

"What do you mean?"

It was useless to keep hiding things from him, and who knows... that ingenious mind might even find a solution.

“I can't sleep, Willy. I don't understand why I can't, but I've had problems with that. I think it's called insomnia, or something like that” you began to explain, crossing your arms as if you wanted to protect yourself from the vulnerability “And it's horrible and it makes me feel stupid. I mean, who can't do something as easy as sleep?”

“Sometimes I don't get it either. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yes, I know, but…” you started moving your hands in the air, trying to find the right words to express yourself, “it's different. And I don't know what to do anymore, I can't sleep during the day because we work and I honestly feel like I'm going to collapse at any moment.”

Even though he was listening to you attentively, he didn't know how to respond for a moment.

“Do you think I look very bad?” you continued “You know, like… physically?”

“No, I think you look beautiful,” he replied, without thinking too much about it. “Maybe there's a little more pigmentation here…” his thumb slid under your eyes, in the place of your dark circles, and you smiled involuntarily “but nothing to worry about.”

You were reassured that you were still pretty in your friend's eyes, but you knew that the worried look on his face wasn’t in vain. You had to do something about it.

“Perhaps among your curiosities you have some chocolate that helps me sleep?” you joked, speaking only to the air.

But on his face you saw that expression of machination that suddenly emerged, almost as if a light bulb appeared over his head at the idea that was going through his head.

"Not yet. But it's an excellent idea."

“Oh, I wasn't serious…”

“But it’s brilliant,” he interrupted you. The dryer stopped and you knew the drying cycle was over, as should your conversation “Give me some time and you can sleep like a baby, I promise.”

That was perhaps his favorite thing: making promises. And of course, comply with them.

You wanted to answer him something, but a yawn preceded you and the man simply laughed at the irony of the moment.

“I guess I can't refuse now, can I?”

“As soon as I manage to do it, you will have it in your hands,” he said, excited.

With that the talk ended and you began to hang the clothes on a rope, returning to the day's work, but now with a better spirit in the hope that Willy could help you get what you wanted so much.

"Special delivery?" someone knocked on your door. You were like every night, just curled up in bed to hope for the best.

Willy was holding a small purple box with a red bow, which judging by the excited smile your friend had, you assumed was the remedy for your illness.

"It will work?"

“I hope so,” he said, entering your room to sit next to you on the mattress. “I'll stay here for a few minutes to make sure you can sleep and then I'll leave, is that okay with you?”

“It's excellent,” you answered nervously, while you took the candy that your friend had made especially for you. It was shaped like a small moon and glowed inside. “What is it made of?”

“I'll tell you in the morning, when you wake up.”

His feet moved slightly, showing his excitement, and that seemed to rub off on you. Glory seemed so close and you could reach it with a couple of bites, but before that you leaned down to wrap the boy in a hug.

“Thank you for trying this for me. I know it will work, but… even if it doesn't work, you know I appreciate it.”

“Don't say that, it will work” he replied, with complete confidence.

Without further ado, you put the candy in your mouth and tasted it. You couldn't identify any ingredients, but it tasted delicious and cozy, somehow. Although you wanted to compliment your friend's work just a second after the candy had melted on your tongue, you were already feeling how everything around you was becoming heavy, as if the accumulated fatigue had hit you suddenly.

You were already unconscious when Willy trapped you in his arms and laid you carefully on the bed, completely happy to see that his creation had had such an immediate effect. As a farewell, he covered you with a sheet and kissed your forehead, going to his room to recreate an entire jar of chocolates that would ensure your rest for long enough.

[lovelytsunoda]

you, me, lonely | mercedes amg (platonic)

summary: life is kicking baby mercs ass, and nothing has been alright since the last time she watched a brat pack movie. her head is too loud, life is moving fast, and she just wishes she knew how to stop and take a breath

pairing: mercedes amg (platonic) team x female! reader (but this one is real heavy on her interactions with lewis!)

warnings: y'all should know these by now tbh, there will be some anxiety and there will be feels and my girl is on the verge of a breakdown, mentions of pregnancy (not on baby mercs part lmao), she is finally ready to admit that maybe she should think about going to therapy.

part of the family is the friends we meet along the way series

her mind froze as she stared at the text on her screen, phone lying next to the keyboard of her work computer. she'd read the message three times over, and it still wasn't quite clicking.

clement: i thought you'd want to hear it from us before it hit the gossip rags....olli's new girlfriend is pregnant.

that shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. olli wasn't hers. she'd made it clear that she didn't want him after he'd kissed her at that holiday party.

so why was there an achy feeling her gut?

why did her head feel so loud that it might explode?

"hello? earth to yn?" the soft voice called her out of her reverie, and she looked up from her desk to see a worried lewis standing in front of her desk. "are you alright, kiddo?"

"yeah." she said, not really meaning it as she brushed some hair out of her face.

crazy how he was her first (and only) kiss two years ago, and now he was having a baby with someone else. she'd already blocked his number, and there was no point in sending him well wishes considering just how burned that bridge was.

"you don't look fine." lewis pushed gently. "a problem shared is a problem halved."

she sighed, locking her computer and tucking away her phone. "join me for a walk? i need to take my mandatory fifteen."

she grabbed her sherpa jacket from the back of her desk chair, heading towards brackley's patio doors. the cool fall air slapped her in the face as she pushed them open, moving to stand at the corner of the deck, attempting to soak up the last of what little sun england gets.

"remember that guy i kissed at marcus armstrong's holiday party a few years back?"

lewis nodded. "i do recall."

"he's going to be a father in march." she sighed, watching her breath turn to mist in the air. "somebody wanted him, but nobody has wanted me since him."

she knew in her heart of hearts that she hadn't really tried. she hadn't even really wanted olli when she thought about it. she couldn't date a driver, especially knowing that she would almost always come second to his career.

"and now with you leaving and graduation drawing closer, i just feel like my fucking head is about to explode." she laughed grimly, a realization coming over her. "i'm mentally ill, lewis. i need help. and it has taken me five fucking years to get to the point where i've felt like i could ask for it."

lewis could hear her voice cracking, and he didn't have to turn and look at her to know that she was close to tears. he silently reached out to pull her into a hug, not wanting to push too far, but also wanting to offer the reassurane and comfort that he knew she needed.

"the first step is admitting you need help. we have some of the best therapists in our industry here, yn. and if none of them work, we'll find out which ones are covered by your healthcare plan."

she resisted the urge to sink deeper into his arms with a hearty sob, instead choosing to focus on the grounding smell of his cologne, the feel of his strong, tattooed arms around her.

"and just because i'm at ferrari doesn't mean im gone for good." lewis reminded, pulling away to make sure she looked him in the eyes. "you know that i'm one phone call away, whenever you need me, right?'

she nodded weakly, thinking about the long distance calling fees and the timezones, and all the other reasons why lewis' grand plan might not work.

"i wish you weren't leaving me." she mumbled, hoping that even if lewis heard her say that, that he wouldn;t feel guilty. she knew deep down that he wasn't leaving her, but leaving a team that he felt could no longer build him the car he needed.

"you can call me any time, hey. and mostly everyone else will still be here. you'll still see me on race weekends. besides, once you graduate, you'll be too focused and too busy to have time for us anyways."

that was true. she couldn;t work here forever. sooner or later, it would all end and she'd find herself working in a county courthouse or a small family firm.

maybe somewhere coastal, like devon or halifax. her next big adventure, far away from home.

if she could make it through therapy first. lewis made her promise to talk to toto, who would be able to arrange a meeting with one of the on-staff psychologists for her. she'd met a fewof them in and around the break room, and they seemed personable.

like the kind of people that wouldn't judge the firestorm going on inside her brain at all hours.

they both knew it wasn't going to be a permanent fix, and that there were bigger, different things coming to the mercedes amg headquarters in the next season, including a seventeen year old boy who's gross income was about four times what baby merc could veer hope to earn.

but she was really starting to find her footing here. all she could hope for now was that she managed to keep it until graduation.

she felt somewhat lighter after her talk. being social had never been her forte, and she only somewhat conversed with the ladies in the legal office. talking was hard, she found.

but as lewis walked her back to her desk, and she took a look at her stack of files again, she felt better, albeit slightly.

"hey, yn." elodie, the tall and funny goth girl who worked at the desk next to her stuck her head over the glass dividers. "a few of us were going to grab a drink later and maybe go catch a late movie. did you want to come with us? don't at all feel like you have to say yes if you don't want to. i think doriane is coming, as well as-"

"elodie." she said, smiling to herself. "i would love to tag along. thank you for inviting me."

elodie grinned. "no problem, girlie. we're all going to meet in the front lobby. susie recommended this incredible cider place, and we try to go at least once a year once fall hits."

with her heart feeling a little lighter, and her spirit a little warmer, she turned back to her computer, a small, dainty smile on her face.

maybe making new friends outside of her post secondary education wasn't going to be as hard as she thought.

after all, didn't it only take one conversation to gain the great lewis hamilton as her most trusted ally?

she was so fortunate to work somewhere where everybody cared so much about each other, and that was the thought that she pledged to hang onto during her loneliest of hours from now on.

[mimipolo]

Kim seo-wan x reader

THANKS FOR THE RESPONSES I was gonna do it anyway cause well I can

Anyways enjoy‼️

Pt2

Its been a while since you've seen Kim seo-wan. Hell, it's been a while since anyone's seen him. You had carefully held your tongue for a week, keeping a careful eye out for him whenever you left your apartment, the study hall, the food stalls, the gaming rooms. But after a week of careful observation and no sign of him you were growing confused and increasingly worried.

And so you find yourself knocking cautiously at the door of the Kim household. You're not surprised to be welcomed in my his mother, a small, gentle woman with gorgeous eyes, he definitely got it from her. The only thing out of place was the melancholic smile she gave when she realised it was you.

"Good evening Mrs Kim it's been a while hasn't it? I haven't seen Seo-wan around recently did he move out?" she chuckled with a slight bitterness that immediately had you on edge.

"It has been a little while hasn't it?..." her features soften at your tense expression, it just hurt to see the kind lady look so stressed.

"Why don't you come in for a bit?" she's opening the door wider for you to enter and guiding you to the living room and preparing tea.

-

You already knew something was off, it was unlike Mrs Kim to invite you in when Seo-wan wasn't around and that's saying a lot as you weren't particularly close to begin with, but apparently you've taken a mark in his mother's good books.

"Seo-wan's a hard working boy... always studying." you nod enthusiastically you could begin to imagine otherwise. "Of course, almost too much." she chuckles again, the same bitter one she had at the door as she nods her head.

"You're right dear, too much..."

Everything seemed to tilt on its axis when she explained the situation, it was like hearing about a completely different person. Schizophrenia? You just couldn't begin to imagine, not him. But that was the problem you never would have that it'd strike him of all people. And the worst of it was the all consuming guilt for not picking up on any signs, and I'm sure as his mother she was feeling that responsibly a million times worse.

"The hospital he was transferred to...it's a good place right Miss?" a hopefulness relaxes her features as she nods and you let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding.

"I wouldn't be allowed to visit right?"

"Unfortunately, I had asked knowing you'd eventually come to ask but it was a firm no from doctors."

You nodded understandingly, mostly aware of how visiting rights in hospitals, especially mental hospitals work. Turns out all that studying actually did something for you. You can't help the way your face warms slightly when she recognised you'd eventually come around to ask about the guy. Were you that predictable?

"If you don't mind...could you please keep this a secret for us. Just for now, you know how people would react... I don't want them to look down on him when he returns."

Your eyes involuntarily furrow on how she forces herself to believe in a "when" your hoping for it too, praying. There's a moment of solidarity between you two, being in on the truth of Seo-wan's where abouts.

"Of course."

_

For several months the three of you kept the secret of Seo-wans mental illness. At times Mrs Kim would come visit you with tea and mooncakes which you were eternally grateful for. You'd listen to her talk for hours about him and his childhood, though it hurt to hear her talk about him in this past tense like he'd never recover from his delusions. For some reason you had a ridiculously strong belief he'd soon return, he would.

-

You had ran out of eggs and you were desperately craving a French toast. Some may question the random craving at such a late time but you really needed your fix. Throwing on your coat and grabbing your phone you left your apartment and walked up to the elevator.

Broken? Seriously? What a drag.

Begrudgingly you turn to take the stairs, your floor was on one of the highest stories in the complex so the elevator is always the ideal. A few flights the stairs your gaze flickers up upon hearing someone slowly ascend the stairs. You're already moving to one side of the stairway out of politeness when you recognise the familiar head of hair and round glasses. The person in question lifts their head stiffly as your steps slow to a halt in front of them. Their eyes are widening as they lock eyes with you, eyes you hadn't seen in months.

"Seo-wan?"

Part 2 should come out reasonably soon don't quote me 💔

Tag list: @kimseo-wan @keimitchy

[apple-onigiri]

hi can you talk more about your reading of siffrin and loop's relationship please. I'm so curious 👀

(omg hii i love your analyses)

well i guess now i gotta huh!! the demons (the people on my computer) are telling me to do it, do it, do it, so here it is!! most of it below a cut! because this ended up being really really long!

so! self-love and self-hatred play a big role in isat in general. the whole story is kind of about accepting that you are capable of being loved, and not, in fact, inherently repulsive so maybe you should open up, siffrin. imagine that. and i'd argue these themes crystallize into their final form with sif and loop and how they interact :) my ants. my mentally ill ants

(this sidesteps the curious meta element of how both the narration of siffrin to himself and loop addressing siffrin as they talk uses second person. it's very interesting but this is already gonna be long enough)

looking at all their interactions, especially through the lens of knowing who loop actually is, gives a pretty good idea of loop's attitude towards another version of themselves, and, by extension, their own self (this is a bit confusing because there are Too Many Siffrins Here)

the long and short is the resentment they feel towards themselves - because loop never went through the realization they're not unlovable - is externalized and often taken out on siffrin.

they are very condescending with how they interact with him. he's just a silly little stardust! so stupid, so naive! knows so little about literally everything. awww, let me help you out, stardust, before you hurt yourself.

on my first playthrough i actually initially distrusted loop a lot because of this. i saw it as the last thing siffrin would need when they already put themselves down so heavily; how they call themselves "stupid" multiple times for any and all mistakes they make and how unforgiving they are to themselves (especially the key hidden in the classroom exemplifies this). but with the knowledge of siffrin and loop starting out as the same person, it makes a stark amount of sense. when you have a mindset similar to siffrin's and loop's, no one will ever be more critical of you than you yourself.

it sometimes feels like loop's forgetting they're not talking to themselves internally and that this is a whole separate being they're talking to that they can't just externalize their own self-hatred onto, enough that they have to backtrack and apologize because hurting yourself in a way that resembles hurting someone else makes you think twice about what you're doing to yourself. there's a healthy dose of regret there, and guilt that they said something you can't easily erase from the mind of the person you said it to.

there is still care in loop's behavior. conversely to the previous statement, nothing will make you more sympathetic to your own plight than literally seeing it from an outsider's perspective and being able to acknowledge that you need help (sidenote, but kinda twisted of the universe to grant loop's wish in the most roundabout way possible. you want someone to help you? okay! help yourself! your other self, but hey, it counts, right?)

(cut here because this is getting out of control and i can't let it appear in unabridged form on anyone's dash, especially on mobile)

as acts go on and quests progress, loop gets these moments of honesty and empathy for siffrin more often. they obviously have been helping before but you know what i mean, don't you. those moments where loop's facade drops and we get a feeling that this isn't them acting, this is their true... shades, lol. examples!!

aftermath of touch therapy! of course they'd know what the root problem here is and how to best help. this is something acutely familiar to them and they're able to tell what siffrin needs to stop spiraling. and!! siffrin reciprocates this! haven't talked ab him and his attitude towards loop specifically a lot but this too is important. i'm rapidly becoming ill btw

forgetting the party's names upon waking up on the meadow and calling loop! it happened to loop before so seeing it happen to another version of you must make one feel... complicated. they patiently remind siffrin each name and make sure they're fine.

honestly, throughout the entirety of the story, but especially by the end of act 4, they find it very crucial to make sure they reassure siffrin they're there for him, that he's not alone in this. they know where feeling completely alone leads.

okay i can't take it anymore i gotta talk about this.

loop so doesn't want siffrin to use the dagger on themselves. it's genuinely heartbreaking to see their distress about the idea

they even try to dissuade siffrin from it later on, when you first attempt to use it, and are very very upset still afterwards

they care about siffrin!! they don't want to see him hurt! they don't want siffrin to befall the same awful fate they met where self-destruction melts into the natural state of being and you just spiral spiral spiral! they don't hate him, and seeing them fall so far from okay that they're fine with stabbing themselves to save time in a time loop where literally no time is wasted because it loops back anyway is awful for them.

this is where loop transforms from the voice in your head pointing out your deepest flaws to one that can tell what you're doing is self-destructive and bad for you and you really, really should stop. the, pardon my wording, tug on your stomach, like the one you get when you're standing over the ledge and looking down. and when you get the stupid thought how easy it would be to fall, your brain reacts by jolting you away. loop is the jolt.

loop is the inner instincts of siffrin personified at many points of the story. sometimes they're hurtful towards him as instincts of a self-destructive person are wont to do, which is justified with them just wanting that other version of themselves to Be Better, Get Better. and sometimes, it's self-preservation they depict; feeling at home with your self and expressing empathy towards yourself and your own awful situation.

when act 5 comes, loop is clearly crushed about not being able to help siffrin out, about not being able to get them out of their despair.

then, just like he's done with everyone else, siffrin rejects loop too. when siffrin shuns loop here, it's out of anger for being kept in the dark, yes, but it's also a rejection of any positive thoughts they might have about themselves.

siffrin's rejection of loop isn't only rejecting one last person they're close to like they did with their family members. it's a rejection of any and all instincts to care for himself and his well-being. it's the same thing that allows him to use crafts with no cooldowns. it's the same thing as memory of emptiness that lets him loop to the point where he died and just keep going. it's what lets mal du pays take form.

this refusal of loop's help is, in my opinion, the ultimate act of self-hatred in isat.

okay depression time over act6 twohats happy times yayy!!!

after a little bit because loop is - kinda justifiably - upset at how their suffering amounted to nothing and now this siffrin gets their happy ending. and they don't!! how is that fair? we have to keep in mind a lot of what we've learned was news to loop too. they spent so long in the loops, not knowing why, to the point where they begged the universe to get them out and help them.

their roles from act 5 essentially swap here. here loop is the one self-destructing and rejecting any help at all, and projecting the hell out of themselves onto siffrin, just like siffrin did in the "friendquests" in act 5.

so i haven't talked a lot about siffrin's outlook on loop before now (when his psyche is not literally split into tiny pieces, that is) but my little pet theory is that, just like they really hate repeating their lines, being all fake, and only do so because they feel they have to, they're often annoyed by loop because they can kind of sense the front they put out. if you hate the way you pretend, these feelings are most likely gonna transpose to another version of you doing the same thing.

but in this fight, the siffrin in it is not the one still trapped in the time loops. this is a siffrin tentatively learning that maybe it's okay to not hate yourself. so, just like act 5 is the greatest act of self-hatred, the ending of this fight is the ultimate act of self-love and self-acceptance, regardless of how it ends but with some caveats to both outcomes.

if siffrin wins, he refuses to hurt loop, stating outright that they don't hate themselves enough to do so. he won't do it even if loop is literally begging for it.

if loop wins, they cannot bring themselves to hurt siffrin. they feel too much empathy towards them. it's impossible to hate him - and themselves - the same after seeing the struggle from outwards.

regardless, they both exhibit the kind of care only you yourself can give yourself after fighting tooth and nail to prove to your own self-esteem that you're worth it. siffrin wouldn't be satisfied with killing loop because it would mean a rejection of some fragment of themselves.

siffrin went through a capital-C Change due to the loops (the theme of change in isat is another thing i could write on and on about), and part of that Change was having a version of you, your past self, still stuck in how they used to be and the situation that made them so. a healthy type of growth means changing for the better, yes, but also learning to love and respect who you used to be. if you met your younger self, would you resent them? or would you want them to know that all their struggles weren't for nothing? Change means leaving something behind but not forsaking it, letting it rot and fester unacknowledged

(insert rant about how isa's Change was actually kind of partial because he decided to completely sever ties with who he used to be instead of being appreciative of the aspects of himself he seems to still like, like being smart, and him resorting to hiding it instead WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME RIGHT NOW ASK ME LATER IF U WANNA but tl;dr actshually isa Change doesn't need to be full-on destruction because the eggshell is still there the Change God told me okay enough of this)

this. this is love. self-love given form. to me.

"you matter. your suffering mattered. it helped me become who i am right now. nothing was in vain. it hurt, and might still hurt for a long time - but it was never for nothing." that's what i got from this scene.

anywayyyyy i warned you!!! that this would be long!! if you let me yap! it's yap central over here. if you got all the way down here, thank you for enduring. have a cupcake :)🧁

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hey so, maybe an odd question, but did you feel like a different person when you started T? I’m a trans guy and am trying to figure out weather I want to do hormones. A lot of the physical effects sound really great, but I’m kind of scared of what it might do to me mentally. A friend of mine has to take it for medical purposes and he absolutely HATES it. He feels like it turns him into an entirely different person that he hates being and completely destroys his capacity for creativity or emotions of any kind. This can’t be everybody’s experience right?

Heya! Answering this on public for folks to chime in with their own personal anecdotes. (Including bad emotional effects - let's be respectful that not everyone has a great HRT experience. I'd imagine each of us struggles with something we don't like about T.)

Testosterone took the edges off my negative emotions. I stopped frustration crying nearly overnight and got a lot less irritable. My explosive temper went down to a low simmer. I suddenly felt like I had patience for the first time in my life. I don't have as many autistic meltdowns now, and when they do happen, it's more me pacing in circles than breaking something.

I still feel emotions like sadness, but it's harder to physically cry. I haven't noticed any changes to my creativity. I feel happier, but that has more to do with not being closeted anymore.

I'm definitely hornier on T, and that sometimes converts into irritability, something I can control with mindful behavior.

What can shock some trans folks is that HRT won't solve all your mental problems. Testosterone has not helped my Depression that's unrelated to gender dysphoria, so I still battle with cycles of wretched ennui. It also hasn't helped my ADHD, and I sometimes wonder if it's even made me a bit more forgetful. That said, HRT removed a ton of background radiation in my life to where I am now better equipped to deal with my mental illnesses.

Even though my experience has been overwhelmingly positive, I have had a few trans masc folks tell me that they felt like T deadened their emotions in an unpleasant way. The odds are in your favor, but it sucks if you're the one who gets bad results. But I would imagine that your emotions would recalibrate once you'd stop HRT.

But overall, I felt like I was trapped in teenage-level emotional turmoil well into my 30s (when I transitioned), and T makes me feel like an even-keeled adult. I am the same person as before, but a better version of that person.

I hope that helps. When considering HRT, it's important to remember that you can just try it out and stop if you don't like it. There will be tradeoffs, both permanent and reversible, so learning about those will definitely help in your decision here. But you have a lot of control here, especially when you jump in aware.

If you go for it, keep a mood journal and make it a topic to discuss with a therapist or other trans folks. Wishing you all the best!

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I hope you guys are having a good day :) [Smiley face]

I'm writing a story and one of the main characters has CPTSD, and I had a few questions about it. I think I might have CPTSD but I'm not able to get evaluated right now.

I know you say we can do whatever we want when writing about our own conditions, but since I'm not actually diagnosed I wanted to double check things.

Relevent character info: She's been in therapy on-and-off for about 5 years (she had a therapist, stopped seeing him because she moved, and then started seeing a new one) and her trauma revolves around being abused/neglected as a child, witnessing violence, and having assassins sent after her.

Question 1

If she's been in therapy for a years and has a very good therapist, would it make sense that she's able to better deal with stressful/traumatic situations when they come up? Like, being more "resiliant" to being triggered I guess?

For example, she ends up having to work with a group of people, and initially she worries that they might be assassins that were sent after her, but she later realizes that they're not.

Would it make sense for her to not be as hypervigilant/wary around them after realizing this, and more willing to get to know them, and slowly sharing more information about herself as time goes on? Especially if they're also telling her about their past and showing her that she can trust them?

I know that trauma and triggers aren't exactly "logical" sometimes (like being scared of something even though you know it's harmless) so I don't want it to come off as "Well she was scared but then she realized she was being silly so now she's fine lol!"

Should I maybe have her mention to one of them something like "Yeah if I met you guys years ago I would have refused to trust any of you, but therapy really helped me with my issues"?

Question 2

This is sort of related to question one.

I've read that one big thing that determines whether or not someone is traumatized by something/develops PTSD is whether or not they recieve adequate support after the traumatizing event.

So for example, if someone is in a car accident and then they recieve a lot of support from friends/family/therapists, they'll be less likely to develop PTSD VS someone who is in a car accident and then given no support.

In the story, there's a lot of bad things going on. But this time, instead of only having one or two friends to help comfort her, she has a very good therapist and large support network who are there for her.

Would this help prevent her from being further traumatized or making her symptoms worse?

Question 4

Is there a specific order in which symptoms get "fixed"? Like for example, if someone has nightmares, flashbacks, and hypervigilance, would it be possible that their nightmares and flashbacks are less of a problem after treatment, but they're still hypervigilant?

She generally doesn't have issues with nightmares or flashbacks unless extremely stressed or triggered by something specific, but she still has emotional regulation issues (quick to fly off the handle and get mad) and she's quite wary and hypervigilant, especially around people she's doesn't know.

I just wanted to make sure that that behavior makes sense.

She used to be very quiet and people please-y but after therapy she started standing up for herself more, and now she sort of went in the other direction. So instead of just taking everything quietly, she's quick to speak her mind and she's not afraid to defend herself.

Question 5

During the story, she ends up falling in love with one of the people she had to work with, and they start dating about a month after meeting.

I don't want to fall into the "The power of love cures mental illness and now they're all better" trope, so I want to make sure that I show her having occasional symptoms even though she's been doing really well in therapy.

I know it's kind of hard to say since healing doesn't really work on a scale of "0% healed, having a bad time" to "100% healed, no symptoms" but for someone who's been in therapy for years, how often would she still experience symptoms, and what would they be?

I was thinking of showing that she's mostly okay, but still having the occasional nightmare, intrusive thought, flashback, etc.

Hello!

Before I get into the specific questions you have, I just want to give a general disclaimer about PTSD/C-PTSD.

Trauma and trauma disorders are very complex and vary greatly from person to person. The diagnoses for both PTSD and C-PTSD are fairly new (PTSD was only added to the DSM in 1980 and C-PTSD has not yet been added) and the effect that trauma has on the brain is still yet to be fully understood.

I'm speaking from both my own experiences and my own knowledge on the topic as well as some additional research to ensure my information is up-to-date.

Throughout the post, I do mostly refer to PTSD instead of C-PTSD. This is because C-PTSD is generally considered to be a sub-type of PTSD so what I'm describing will generally apply to both. Though there are differences between C-PTSD and PTSD, there isn't exactly a single, commonly agreed upon list of them.

In general, C-PTSD is believed to stem from long-term, repeated/chronic trauma (especially when the brain is still developing) while PTSD comes from a singular event or several separate events. Of course, because C-PTSD isn't in the DSM yet, there are many people who have been diagnosed with PTSD but may better fit the label of C-PTSD.

Personally, I was diagnosed with PTSD as well as a several other trauma-based/trauma-related disorders. My psychologist believes that C-PTSD would be more fitting for what I'm experiencing but, because it's not commonly used in my area, deferred to PTSD.

Interestingly enough, C-PTSD is often mistakenly called "childhood PTSD" because it's most frequently seen in victims of childhood abuse/trauma.

Question 1

Although it doesn't work for everyone, having a good therapist and attending therapy sessions regularly can certainly have a positive effect on trauma and PTSD in general.

Some of the main things that therapists can do include:

Helping your character to recognize when they are becoming triggered.

Helping your character to pinpoint some of the situations that may trigger them.

Working with your character to develop strategies for dealing with their triggers and the feelings that they bring up.

Working with your character to open up about and process their trauma.

Being a safe person to vent to.

Helping your character to navigate difficult situations that arise and helping them to separate their rational thoughts/beliefs on the situation from their initial, trauma-based responses*.

*As an example: A character with trauma from an abusive relationship has a big fight with their new partner. Their first instinct might be to pack their things and leave before their partner gets the chance to hurt them. A therapist can help them recognize that their current partner has never behaved aggressively towards them and identify the ways that this situation is different from their past relationship (They have a stronger support system, they're in therapy, they live in a place with different views on abuse, etc.). With trauma, the past and present often end up blurred -- especially when the present starts to mirror the past -- and it can be difficult to separate the two without help. A therapist can provide this help.

While these things may not make your character immune or even more resilient to being triggered, they can help your character manage it and navigate the situation when it does happen.

Considering the example you gave, I think it could work but there are some other things to consider here:

Why does she originally suspect them of being assassins? Is this something that she suspects all new people of or did they do something specific to trigger the belief? For example, maybe the assassins she encountered tried to poison her and the new people keep offering her food.

How long does it take her to realize that they aren't assassins? What kind of thought process does she go through during this time? Did she speak with her therapist during this time? What does her therapist have to say about it?

What made her realize they aren't assassins? Was it something logical (For example: She uncovers information that proves they aren't assassins) or is it more emotional in nature (For example: She makes a connection with them/bonds with them and starts to trust them)? Are her doubts completely assuaged with this or is she still a bit suspicious in the back of her mind -- even sub-consciously?

It would make sense for her to grow more trusting and open with them as time goes on but, from a PTSD standpoint, trust alone doesn't really have much of an effect on hypervigilance.

Being wary and being hypervigilant are two very different things. The way I usually describe it to people is that wariness is more conscious -- hypervigilance isn't. Even when I'm with somebody I trust, I'll still flinch when they come up behind me unexpectedly -- even if I know it's them. It's a physical response, not something that I can necessarily turn off.

Although your character's wariness may be assuaged, their hypervigilance wouldn't necessarily be something that is eased by trust.

While I do think that having her mention her therapy journey is a good idea (especially considering the fact that there's still a stigma around therapy), I wouldn't rely on it to get your point across about her trauma and trust issues not being an immediate fix.

Instead, I'd encourage you to show how it's a longer process:

Maybe she still has some lingering suspicions/doubts about them on a sub-conscious level and has to mentally talk herself out of them ("You've known these people a long time. They're making coffee for everyone, not just you so the likelihood that they're trying to poison you specifically is low."). While trauma isn't necessarily logical, using logic against these kinds of thoughts can be helpful.

Maybe she still has a physical reaction to something that triggers her. For example, she goes into the kitchen and one of her new coworkers turns around with a knife in their hand from where they'd been cutting food and she stumbles back/gasps because she isn't prepared for it. Not every trigger has to result in a major flashback -- being triggered can just look like your body going "wait a second, I've been in this situation before and it's not safe. Let's take a few steps back until we know it's safe".

If the story is in first person, I'd encourage you to explore her thoughts on the new people, both at the beginning when she distrusts them and later on when she begins to trust them more.

You could also show how she uses some of the tools she's learned in therapy such as self-regulation techniques like grounding exercises or controlled breathing or even just recognizing when she's getting triggered and doing something about it. Depending on what kind of person she is, this could look like her making an excuse to be alone for a moment ("I'm just going to run to the washroom quickly.") or speaking up about her situation ("Just... give me a minute, okay?" or "Wait. I need a second.").

I'd advise against having her explicitly state what is happening ("I'm getting triggered right now." or "I'm starting to have a panic attack.") for a few reasons:

The first being that -- for the most part -- people don't naturally speak like that, especially not when they're already stressed out. A lot of the time, it's not always evident what exactly is happening. The beginning of a panic attack can feel a lot like a spike of anxiety or an increase in hypervigilance.

The other big thing is that words like "triggered", "panic attack", and other mental health-related terms have a history of misuse behind them (Ex: People using "triggered" to mean offended, people using "OCD" to mean neat/organized, etc.). As a result, you run the risk of giving your readers the wrong impression when using them in this context -- especially in dialogue.

One other thing I'll mention is to keep in mind that changing therapists can be very stressful and set your character back a few steps, especially since they have to build that relationship with their therapist again. Keep that in mind when you consider the timeline for these events. If she has just changed therapists, she may not be comfortable enough approaching them about this yet.

Question 2

We don't yet know what specifically causes somebody to develop PTSD. In a broad sense, it's a traumatic event but there are so many different factors at play that can determine whether or not somebody is traumatized, develops PTSD, or develops another trauma-based disorder.

You are right that the level of support somebody gets after a traumatic incident can have an impact -- but there are so many other factors too such as:

The event itself including the duration, the type of incident, their involvement in it (as a witness, a victim, a rescuer, etc.), etc.

Their age and brain development. A child who witnessed somebody's death but was too young to really understand what was happening would have a vastly different experience than an adult who was fully aware of it. Something to keep in mind, however, is that while children were generally considered to be more resilient to trauma than adults, that isn't necessarily true*.

The specific individual -- including their personality, resilience, past experiences/history, pre-existing disabilities and other conditions, etc.

Their experiences during the trauma. There's a common misconception that people develop PTSD only when they don't believe help is coming (for example, being stuck in a car accident in the middle of nowhere). This isn't exactly true but it can have an effect.

Now, on to your actual question: That depends.

Along with the factors mentioned above, their current situation should also be considered. If they're on a series of busy missions and don't have the time to actually process their trauma, they'll have a harder time with healing than they would if they were able to take it easy and process things at their own pace.

While her therapist and support system can absolutely help her manage the more recent trauma, her past experiences in therapy and the skills/tools she's learned can also benefit her -- both in the traumatic moment and after the fact.

In short: Yes, it could make sense that she's more resilient to this new experience than she was to her original trauma.

*There's a great book by Bruce Perry (the child psychologist) that talks about this. It's called The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog and it's a heavy read but a good one.

Question 4

Something that's important to remember about PTSD and C-PTSD is that the trauma can never be fully "fixed" or healed.

Trauma -- especially complex and long-term trauma -- has lasting effects on a person's brain. It changes the way we think, the way we approach new situations, the way we deal with stress. Some types of trauma can even have an impact on the way our kid's brains develop [Link].

While therapies, medication, and support can make a difference and cause symptoms to lessen (or disappear entirely), the trauma will still have lasting effects.

In terms of the order that symptoms get resolved, this is something that varies so greatly from person-to-person that I can't give you an actual answer.

The other thing is that healing from anything (especially something as messy and complex as trauma) isn't as straightforward as it seems. Even with the proper treatment, symptoms don't just decrease steadily or in order.

You may have heard the phrase "progress isn't linear" before. This is very applicable to PTSD and C-PTSD. There will always be setbacks or stumbles or relapses. You can go for years without having a flashback or nightmare and then one day be triggered enough for it to happen. You're still healing, it's just not a straight path.

In your character's case, it could absolutely make sense for her symptoms to lessen at different rates. That said, I'd be wary about portraying it as a straightforward path.

Although recovery is complicated and it's normal to relapse/stumble/have a setback, it's frequently portrayed as a straightforward path and characters rarely experience these setbacks -- which is very discouraging when you're actually recovering from trauma.

Question 5

You might be getting sick of me saying this by now but: ✨it depends!✨

The experience you described (with her occasional nightmares/flashbacks/etc.) is one possibility but it's definitely not the only one.

Somebody can be in therapy for just as long and still experience the same amount of symptoms they did when they first started. Likewise, somebody can have that same experience (with the occasional nightmares/flashbacks/etc.) after only being in therapy for a couple months.

It is important to remember that therapy doesn't get rid of symptoms -- it just helps you process them and teaches you how to cope with them. In some cases, this can cause a decrease in symptoms (for example, talking about an experience can help you process it and decrease the amount of nightmares you have about it) but it doesn't directly get rid of symptoms.

Also worth noting is that therapy doesn't work for everybody and that there are so many other ways of managing PTSD and trauma in general. Some people benefit more from medication (usually anti-anxiety meds or antidepressants) or other types of therapy (such as eye-movement or narrative therapies).

Of course, there are also people that cope with their trauma in ways that aren't generally considered "healthy" such as substance use, risk-taking behaviours, self-harm, etc.

Although therapy is becoming more popular and more openly talked about, I think it's important to acknowledge that there's not just one "right" way to healing from, coping with, and processing trauma.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[dr-spectre]

I heard about how in Bancala Walker there was a short story about Marina and Acht and their time in the domes. And I'm gonna be 100% honest with you. It kinda makes me mad, and it really highlights a massive problem with Splatoon as a whole, and that's how it treats its stories.

(Yep I'm rambling about Splatoon's storytelling for the 500th time, welcome to my blog.)

Since Splatoon 2, the series has had a weird relationship with its storytelling, the main stories of each campaign are very simplistic and are very video game like plots. "Go get the Great Zapfish back and save Captain Cuttlefish. Go get the Great Zapfish again and find Callie. Find the thangs and get out. GO GET THE ZAPFISH AGAIN AND SAVE CAPTAIN CUTTLEFISH AGAIN!!! Climb up the tower." Splatoon 1 got away with this because it's clearly the most "tutorial" mode out of any of the single player campaigns and it doesn't really try to say any deeper messages or express a character arc.

Now, obviously video game stories must have goals for the player to work towards, I'm not complaining about that, you gotta have that stuff in games to motivate the player, however, what really drives me up a wall is when they decide to add depth and interesting things relating to the characters and world, yet they intentionally throw away that same depth and chuck it to the side. Hell they sometimes retcon the optional hard to find lore or make it more confusing just because!! If you're gonna add depth and something else to these stories, you HAVE to actually explore it and expand upon it WITHIN THE STORY! You cannot add it as "extra lore" when it's stuff that should have been in the main storyline to begin with. It's like not adding seasoning to chicken and that you boiled the fucking chicken and wrapped it in lettuce and mayonnaise.

I could obviously talk about the elephant in the room... you know... this little goober right here. This freak.

And I'm going to.

From the concept art we were given, we know that Callie was originally gonna have more exploration into her troubling mental health issues as seen by her being in the shadows and being comforted by Octarians. It's a significantly different tone compared to the final product.

However in the final game, they tossed MOST of this shit away and say in the game as well as in official media, "naw she was kidnapped and brainwashed forcefully because she's a dumb clutz lmao." They tried to backtrack with an obscure relationship chart, the sunken scrolls and Squid Sisters web prequel series, but then they backtracked AGAIN with the Splatoon 3 artbook that states that she was "brainwashed." It's an incredibly simplified and frankly insulting version of events that are TECHNICALLY canon but Nintendo and others don't treat it as such and i don't know why. I dont know why they treat Callie like this. Is it because she's silly?

Wouldn't it be more interesting and more powerful as a story if they made Callie had more control and awareness of her actions? That she was truly acting upon her mental illness and isolation? Putting DJ Octavio, the fucking funny octopus guy on the same level as Talon from Overwatch and Hydra from Marvel, the literal nazis who damaged Bucky Barnes' brain and removed all of his memories, making him into the Winter Solider, is fucking psychotic and actually insane of Nintendo to do.

There is also Acht and how they were shown between Octo Expansion and Side Order.

Some of the most powerful stories in media have strong character arcs and characters overcoming their struggles and pain. It is inspirating and incredibly real to see a loved one reach out to a person that they care about who have lost their way, either from mental illness or drugs. Trying to bring them back and help them go through their pain together. When someone is under distress and mental health troubles, they can act like a completely different person and the fact that Nintendo half assed serious topics like this and made shit WAY WORSE boils my blood to no end.

In Octo Expansion, we were told that they went under Sanitization willingly in order to remove doubts in their mind and put their all into music. Now due to the unknowns of Sanitization at the time, this made for a really interesting character and brought up a lot of interesting questions as to why they would do this and who they are.

However, in Side Order when they explained Sanitization further and told us that Acht lost all of their free will and were FORCED to make music for Tartar, it kinda damaged their story a little bit. Like sure, Acht still probably wanted to go under Sanitization to clear their doubts and remove emotion, but the added information kinda goes against the interesting story they were trying to tell with Acht. Acht doesn't even mention why they went under Sanitization in Side Order and their reasoning is only found IN A SOCIAL MEDIA POST BACK IN 2018!!! THEY DON'T RESTATE IT AT ALL WHEN IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPORTANT TO DO SO! They kinda tell us via their letters, but guess when you get those, IN THE POST GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This leads me to another big talking point, most of the lore is hidden and hard to find. You have to go out of your way to find most of the shit Splatoon has to offer. Sunken Scrolls are hidden collectables and most people don't wanna go through the effort of finding them all in the stages, the chat logs in Octo Expansion are completely optional due to entries being tied to specific stations and you can choose to easily skip them, the dev diaries are locked behind lockers and some people may complete Side Order in a manner where they can get to the final boss and be done with the main campaign before seeing most of the entries. Now I'm not saying that there cannot be extra lore tidbits for players to find, hell no, i love extra stuff like that, i think Splatoon 1 and 3's hero modes did a really job of that. BUT WHEN YOU HIDE AWAY IMPORTANT DETAILS LIKE CALLIE'S MOTIVATION IN SPLATOON 2 AND MARINA'S AND PEARL'S BACKSTORIES!?!? YEAH I GOT A FUCKING PROBLEM RIGHT THERE!

In other games, these would be cutscenes or a bunch of mandatory dialogue, BUT NOPE! THEY ARE IN HARD TO FIND SPOTS!

Some of the other lore details are found on social media posts and some of them are YEARS old or on Splatoon's dead Tumblr account. Most people would rather go to Inkipedia and even they can sometimes make vital mistakes or have wording that gives people the wrong idea on what happened in particular events, which heavily impacts the community and discussion. When i talk about my perspective on what happened to Callie in Splatoon 2, I've seen people say to me "wait really? Huh?! I didn't know that." The amount of research you gotta do to go into these characters is an absolute nightmare, AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE SPLATBANDS!!! Their lore is literally locked behind Japanese exclusive expensive artbooks!!! WHY?!?!

I really do wanna stress again, is it cool to get cool lore outside of the games and as collectables?! ABSOLUTELY! You know how awesome it was to read the Alterna logs for the first time? The smile on my face seeing Pearl and Marina back in the Final Fest in Side Order. But when the main stories suffer because of important information being tossed to the side and not applied to the main games... I dont know man, it just becomes incredibly frustrating to me personally. Especially with all the misconceptions and other things that occur within the community, the fandom has an information problem and honestly, it's Nintendo's fault. Imagine if Side Order had flashbacks to a younger Marina and Acht, it would have helped with the middle chunk of the story being so... nothing.

[voidfanatic]

Tw: Themes of mental illness. (Also, there's spoilers for the new Solarballs episode and possibly broken English).

I watched the new Solarballs episode and like other people have already mentioned, Uranus is NOT doing well.

He's, in my opinion, mentally unwell in a more discret way than other characters like Neptune, Earth and Jupiter. Characters like them, with their memory and identity problems (Neptune), depressive episodes (Earth) and boderline paranoia (Jupiter) are obvious examples of bad mental health overall, but Uranus is there too with them to be honest. He's insecure asf and clearly has a low self-steem, and the new episode really showcased that.

He has like, no principles at all. He doesn't care that the guy who basically acted as an older brother to everyone is now gone (he doesn't seem conflicted about what Jupiter did, he just... got over it) and he doesn't mind X basically bullying Saturn (even though Saturn became his friend in the searching for Neptune arc). Don't get me wrong, X has all of the right reasons to be mean to those two, but Uranus really doesn't. He doesn't care unlike Neptune because X is going to give him what he wants: recognition, respect, -atention-. That's what he wants.

Because he's just known as the "stinky planet", the "one with the funny name" and probably discount Saturn. His social skills are lackluster, his only friends are the guy who is better than him and his honorary cousin who is gone like 50% of the time. For heavens sake, they don't even have that much in common. And we can't forget that he doesn't even get to say anything about the "big matter at the moment" a majority of the time. He's irrelevant not because he thinks he is, he's irrelevant because he actually is. That's why he acts like an asshole sometimes (wich I'm not justifying, I'm just stating the reasons) just to get validation.

And, personally, I like this direction. Sure, it won't work if Solarballs keeps refusing to give him his own arc or at least make him more relevant overall, but I do think it fits him.

[annarobszombies]

My eating disorder has been rearing its ugly head, so have this thing I wrote to distract myself from feeling sick while I put myself back together a little.

Note and Warning: This is solely my experience with something of this nature, Eating Disorders can show in all kinds of different ways

Xeno glances at his watch, a frown pressing into his face. It was rare that he was the one ready to eat first. Usually, it's you who comes and drags him away from his work for a meal. But today, something was off.

Actually, something has been off for a few days now.

Three meals a day had fallen to two, an almost absurd amount of time passing between your breakfast and dinner. He'd been a little concerned, but hadn't thought much else about it. You both were busy, it was expected that schedules would change.

But then weren't eating at all.

No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner, not even little snacks. All the food the two of you kept has been untouched by you for two days.

Now, Xeno was worried.

Were you ill? Had he missed something?

He pushes away from his workstation, scanning the room that was otherwise empty of people, wondering if maybe you were waiting for him and he just hadn't noticed you. But no, he was definitely alone.

The sun had fallen some time ago, leaving the colony to be lit by artificial light and the soft glow of the moon above.

He asks Luna and her two young devotees as he passes them if they'd seen you all day. Luna confirms that you'd been out and about as normal, commenting that you looked at bit rough, though in that same breath, she claims that you'd insisted you were fine.

He thanks them, and continues on, moving a little faster now.

He should have been more mindful, should have paid more attention. You were in bad enough shape that others had noticed, yet it had slipped right past him. What a fool he was to neglect you in this way.

He pushes his way into your shared living quarters, calling your name as he does.

"Welcome home!" You're absolutely beaming at him when he turns the corner to find you curled on the small makeshift sofa. You hop to your feet and meet him partway as he lurches to reach you.

"Are you alright?" He asks, taking your face in his hands, trying not to grimace at what he sees.

You did indeed look rough.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," You say, tone a little confused.

"Good," He says. "Are...you hungry?"

There's a pause, a flicker of something in your eyes.

"No, not really."

Surely, that was a lie. There was no way you'd eaten recently at all, not with how haggard you looked, or how your body was shaking.

"When was the last time you ate?" He asks.

You avert your eyes, gaze flitting around to look at everything else but him. Guilt presses into your face.

"I had some water earlier," You say.

"Water is not food, my love," He says. "When was the last time you had food?"

Another long pause. It makes his chest ache at how long it takes you to answer a question that should not be this hard.

"I dunno."

That wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. The human body couldn't sustain itself without proper nutrition.

His mind starts racing, searching for numbers, reports, and facts that he could use to figure out what was happening to you.

The colony wasn't lacking on food. There were plenty of cows and corn and other things they'd been growing. If something had gone wrong in that department, he'd have known a long time ago.

So then, were you choosing not to eat? But why? Was it an image issue? A health problem you hadn't disclosed? A mental disorder? All of the above?

"Xee?"

If his calculations were correct, you likely hadn't eaten anything in at least a day, if not two. A full meal would cause you to be ill. So what was the best way to go about this?

"Xee!"

Something small, first. Finger foods. Something you could eat one or two of at a time.

"Xeno!"

He'd have to monitor you. Perhaps he should take the day tomorrow to help you reorient your body before you passed out and got hurt. The colony would survive without him for a short while. You were far more important.

"Xeno Wingfield!"

He snaps back into focus, zeroing in on you instantly. He could almost laugh at how you looked like the worried one.

"My love," He says. "I'm concerned about you."

"I'm alright, Xee, really."

How could you look so calm? How could you act like this was of no consequence? He couldn't understand it.

"How often do you starve yourself?" He asks. "How has it gone past my notice for so long?"

"I..." You hesitate, looking away from him. A large part of him wants to get angry, to demand your answer faster. But he couldn't do that to you, not when you were clearly already having a hard time.

His poor darling, he just wished you'd said something.

"I was getting better," You finally say.

"So this is some kind of relapse?" He asks.

"I guess? It's kind of hard to explain."

"Please try. The more I understand the better I can help you," He presses his lips to your forehead, hoping his small act of affection works as the encouragement he intended.

"It's started in high school. You remember what it was like back then. Everyone was mean and judgemental, and I didn't feel like I was enough. So I stopped eating, for a really long time. And no one helped me. My parents missed it, my siblings missed it, my friends missed it, I was totally on my own."

You sigh, rubbing your eyes, then continue.

"I was sick a lot because of it, and I think that's what finally shook me out of it a little bit. I was tired of being ill and exhausted and miserable all the time."

"Did you get treatment?" He asks, fearing he already knew the answer.

"Xee, come on, you met my parents before we were all petrified. What do you think?" You say it with a laugh, but neither of you really think it's funny.

He kisses you again, just under your eye. He didn't know what else to do, or what else to say. He just wanted you to know that you were cared for in this moment.

"Anyway," You say. "I eventually got things back in decent order, but I guess...I'm sliding back down the metaphorical hill."

"It's alright, my love. Slide as far as you need, I'm here to help you regain lost ground," He says, pressing a few more featherlight kisses to your face before pulling you close to hold you in his arms.

There are no tears as he holds you, no sniffles or weepy words. You seem so utterly numb to the situation, that he's certain this isn't the first time it's happened.

"Let's have dinner," He says. "And tomorrow, we'll spend the day together."

"I can't just have a whole meal, Xee. I'll get sick."

Ah. He was indeed right in thinking this wasn't your first rodeo with relapsing into your disorder.

"I know, my darling. I'll make you something small and easy to digest for tonight. We'll work together on returning you to eating full meals over the next couple of days," He says, already making mental checklists and plans for the future.

He'd have to get Stanley involved. He'd need his trusted friend to look after things while Xeno took the day off tomorrow. Stanley would also be the perfect person to have keep an eye on you, to make sure you were making progress. He'd tell Xeno the moment you needed aid.

There was a worry of embarassing you, though. So perhaps he'd bring up that possibility later. For now, you needed food, more water, and rest.

[konstantynowitz]

I could’ve just messaged you but I want to get this question out there! So I was wondering: would Renissa ever leave St. Mungo’s or would she remain there for the rest of her life?

Fyi: this all happens shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, so Voldemort is gone and there’s no one left to threaten Renissa’s safety or punish the Lestrange brothers for going against his wishes to have her killed.

Let’s say it’s post-1998 and Renissa is around thirty-six or thirty-seven? Right? Since she was born in 1962 so that would make her around one of those ages. Anyways, Andromeda somehow finds her at the sanitarium and is so relieved that Renissa is alive that she gets her discharged and brings her to live with her and Teddy?

If I remember correctly, you mentioned to me once that Renissa would’ve been close with the Black sisters, since Tasoula and Druella were best friends at Hogwarts. I understand they would’ve grown up together, and maybe could’ve seen each other as sisters? I feel like Renissa and Andromeda would’ve been the closest since they both didn’t share in their family’s pure-blood ideologies.

I don’t know how Andy could’ve found Renissa, or how she would’ve known to go looking for her if Ren had been registered under an alias. But perhaps maybe Rabastan could’ve told Andromeda? I feel like the two were also pretty close, and I headcanon that at some point Rabastan was a potential husband for Andy.

If Rabastan had lived past the Battle of Hogwarts, Andromeda could’ve visited him in Azkaban and he might’ve told her about Renissa still being alive? That kinda makes more sense to me rather than Andromeda stumbling about Renissa herself.

…Thoughts?

This ask has actually caused me to reconsider a few things I had planned for Renissa. Originally, I think I've mentioned that she would stay at St. Mungo's for the remainder of her life in an ask I got a while back, but that's probably not going to happen. Renissa will leave at some point, possibly within only a couple years of being admitted there. I feel like she is a character with so much wasted potential, and I don't want to keep her on the sidelines. What you said about Andromeda taking in Renissa after the war is something that I haven't thought about before. If Andy did end up finding Renissa and discharging her from St. Mugo's sometime after the war, then she still wouldn't remember Andromeda or who she was before Rodolphus and Rabastan obliviated her. As I've said before, Renissa isn't ever going to get her memory back, unfortunately, but the idea of Andy being reunited with her childhood friend is so bittersweet and it could work as a possible ending for the lost Lestrange girl. A while back, I actually thought of having a Lestrange OC marry into the Scamander family as a way to create a parallel between Newt and Leta. I was thinking that maybe Renissa could've married Lycidas Scamander? One of Tina and Newt's twins. I know I haven't gone that far into depth with this character, since I believe I only posted a few aesthetics and a small strip of headcanons for him. A problem with this would be that Lycidas is about sixteen years Renissa's senior... I mean that isn't exactly a problem but it's not very ideal. I guess it isn't that big of a deal seeing as Nymphadora and Remus were maybe thirteen years apart? I can't remember. Age gap couples aren't really my thing, especially when we started getting into modern times where it becomes less common. Lycidas would've met Renissa at St. Mugo's since he actually works there as a Psychopathologist. Obviously, Renissa wasn't actually mentally ill or anything so I'm not sure how she'd fit into his department, but they did know each other. Lycidas was kindhearted and sympathetic to his patients, and I guess that contributed to him later earning Renissa's trust. Keep in mind that by this point it's 1980 and Renissa is eighteen, and according to the birth date I gave Lycidas (1946) he's like what... thirty-four? Now that kinda concerns me lmao but I could always change it if I wanted to. Of course, that would make Newt and Tina significantly older when they had their twins (around their fifties?) so idk how I feel about that.

If Renissa marries Lycidas then she would have Rolf by the time she's nineteen, since I believe he's about the same age as Luna. That would mean that Lycidas and Renissa would've had to get married or start an official relationship within the first year she was admitted, which to me seems a bit rushed. I'm still thinking of loop holes around all of this, but I might just end up trashing this idea altogether if I'm being completely honest with you. Side note: the name Rolf would go perfect with my headcanon for the lestrange family naming their children with letter 'r' names and also the common theme of their meanings having to do with wolves.

extra side note: Renissa had the gift of foresight and I bet you they drove her a little mad, so I guess there is a possibility that she would've been put in a ward for the mentally ill? I like to think she drew out her visions on the walls of her room.

[anya-nya-nya]

SFW, GN! reader, yandere, manipulation, use of Harmony

P.S. The lack of information about Sunday's Harmony ability in Wiki and absolutely small presentation of this skill in the game itself wasn't enough for me to understand it fully so please bear with me and the way I described Harmony here.

“People's need for a savior went back centuries. It's engraved in them from the very childhood: kids tend to seek parents' protection from scary monsters under their bed, teenagers love comics about heroes who're saving a world in crisis, someone just marries a healthy person to care for their needs, but most adults pray for Aeons’ blessing, praying to find a rest in religion..“ - Bright sky with yellow overlay seems to attract the attention of the speaker more successfully than your figure behind his back did. Or maybe Sunday just wasn't ready to face you and find none of the changes he hoped his words would make in your mind.

“And who am I to tear apart this basic need? To push them from the inborn behavior of the protégé?” - His voice continued to torture you by pouring another sliver of his ideology in your already aching minds.

The position Sunday drove you in both by endless lectures and his Harmony ability was rather unpleasant, to say the least: maybe no physical chains hurt your body, but the colorful clouds in your head were enough to prevent you from even getting up from the chair he put you in. More than that: every mental resistance felt like a whole workout, wearing down any attempts to not believe this Halovian.

“The savior, the hero, the chosen one, the parent or patron: it's the same role with different fonts, so I'm ready to bear them all and let people of Penacony live their dreams..”

“The chosen one? Are you sure they would even choose a psycho like you?” - The spiteful bite was the only parry you could think of, with the angle Sunday decided to use for his arguments. What else can you say when in the global meaning his words are nor devoid of truth, but the ill intentions he's pushing through it are too blurry to point them directly..? Yet your words laid at least some effect on him, enough to drag him away from the window to shift the perceiving gaze on your sweaty face.

“And tell me exactly at least one moment in human history, when the choices they made were hundred percent successful? Tell me at least one century when humanity wasn't in distress by one, if not a few, problems?” - Soft rug muffled the motion of his legs and chair’s creak, but even with your head down you could sense how the oppressive feeling of Harmony increased due to his approach. Gloved hand moved to yours, a gentle, caring move that didn't really match the mental pressure.

“And YOU tell me at least one moment when humans’ bad choices made the whole world crump? If humanity were so doomed in your eyes, then we two wouldn't be sitting here right now: our ancestors would be too stupid to survive without a savior, huh?” - The way Sunday used abstract words and didn't count himself as another human pissed you off. The way your hands gained the weight of a whole planet and you can't pull away from Sunday's touch pissed you off. The way malaise provoked by Harmony slowly breaks your mind pissed you off. Everything was so overwhelming that somewhere in the back of your head a tired voice of your mind whispered to give up.. Or did Harmony creep inside you so deep to gain such disguise?

“It seems you didn't learn enough about the historical geography of our universe, as I can give you a whole list of abandoned, defunct planets whose history of success wasn't that long. I will add a few books for your morning routine, it would help you adapt and understand my ideology a little quicker.” - He didn't even try to hide irritated disappointment in the ring of his voice before standing up again. The veil of pain didn't blind you enough to not realize now something was wrong: all Sunday’s actions suddenly become more measured, as if images of subsequent events amuse his imagination for many times already.

“The fuck you mean under that? Neither I will read any books recommended by you nor even give you permission to choose the way I would spend my mornings!” - Your words didn't possess a real bite, being just a vessel for increasing anxiety and fear. But even this zeal teetered down when you felt the familiar feeling of his glove on your neck from behind, a touch rather possessive for someone who's bandy about words of religion and hope and saviors so much. Any of your protests died in your throat as soon as the whisper of Halovian made your heart plummet somewhere in your guts.

“Oh, Triple Faced-Soul, please sear their mind with a hot iron, so that they will not be tempted by any sins or blasphemous ideas. Please sear their eyes with a hot iron, so that they will not be tempted by the view of iniquity and will only see the right. Please sear their..”

Would true need in a savior not appear in people's mind but be brokered by pain you just bear? It's a little bit late to ask, with your body going limp in Sunday's arms as he slowly caresses the trembling flesh with care unnatural for his previous actions.

Kids would stop asking their parents to check the wardrobe. Teenagers would stop reading their comics if heroes don't match their worldviews. Gold diggers would drop their man if he's too bossy and seeks for unhealthy control. Believers would open their eyes and stop praying for the cult.

Everyone would make a mistake and choose another opinion.

Everyone, except you.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Oh! I dont usually see Grim dislike/hate. Can I ask why you don't like him? I think there's def room for improvement for him, but I cant find it in me to truely hate him since he reminds me of a character I really like. (Puppycat from Bee and Puppycat)

He's just such wasted potential.

Look I'm into flawed characters, but I don't like stagnant asshole characters that are in the majority of a media. Grim has barely improved since the start of the game.

He's rude, obnoxious, continues to actively cause you problems and throws you under the bus quite often (I mean look at the most recent Crewels SSR card– he tries to blame you for his mistakes and yet still gets you in trouble).

In every event he's the same. Be annoying, make a few dumb/rude remarks abt the culture, "I'm hungrryyy". I think in one event I've counted him talking abt food abt 35 times? Like I don't mind the trope of "monster creature loves food" but that's all he is and doesn't have half the endearing traits. He never shuts up about himself. He's so boring/generic. How is Morgana better than him

He still seldom shows affection for you. Like you barely get to semi bond when talking about his past. This was the only main scene we had to get attached to him before book 6. Seriously throughout every book he's just been overly cocky, rude, annoying, and suddenly you care only about him and not the fact that several people were kidnapped and the school was trashed and that the world is ending.

I thought he would have a huge change of heart after book 6 and his moment of him crying— which honestly didn't move me cause he didn't do anything for us to get attached to in canon. You really have to make up your own headcanons and theories to really make him "good". He's also your buddy but it seems he aknowedges as much as the rest of the cast

He didn't even have a change of heart as he immediately went back to being him. Sure there was that scene in book 7 where he says he's gonna protect you and calls out for you but it's like... cool you had several years to develop and we have maybe 4 scenes of you being an actual character and not some plot device/instigator.

The other thing too is how he is in school. He wants so badly to be a good mage and be the best in NRC but doesn't actively do anything to achieve that. He continues to never study and slack off (which fucks Yuu over cause they're 1/2 a student).

By all means, I'm not saying he can't be annoyed at what being a mage entails or a hypocrite (flaws are important). But he's been one for years and hasn't changed a bit. He still has shown very little improvement for someone who claims to sorta care about his "henchhuman" he certainly continues to impact their grades and school life. (Plus consider yuu not being from this world and all the extra effort they have to put in for a -C, its implied in the book). I wouldn't be surprised if he hurt Yuus pockets a lot too with his selfish appetite.

The main issue I have with him overall is the lack of consequences for him. He almost set everyone on fire? OK. He apparently scratched yuu very bad and that's that. No scene where you confront him about it or the rocks that he eats that you continuously warn him about. You can argue book 6 was the punishment but it didn't seem like it. He'll cause so many issues and get a slap on the wrist for it.

I think the best thing to do right now is to have Yuu snap at him so he improves. Fuck up their friendship. Make him realize he has been bad and actually have him change. A dramatic friend breakup. It would be the only way for Grim to change quickly rn with how long it's been

Have Yuu become a full student and watch him fall apart as Yuu doesn't need to rely on him and they're able to get their As in peace as Grim gets his Fs. Let them get angry. Seriously I'm so mentally ill over the concept of Yuu in general esp in game Yuu and all the ways to make them foils to characters or have them be angst fuel.

I want to like Grim. I love found family. But he just doesn't deserve that currently. He just sucks.

Do do understand why people like him. But I'm not one of them with the state he's in. I'm sorry I don't feel bad at all.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Relapse

hello! hope you're doing ok I have a request that's dealing with some sensitive topics, please don't feel pressured to write this! Warning for self harm I've been in a not the best mental space recently and was wondering if you could write smth where one of the sides has a sh relapse for an extended period of time and is hiding it, then gets discovered (and probably has a panic attack about it). my preference is Logan but I'd be happy with any of them!! – anon

Could you write a Roman angst + hurt/comfort sickfic. You can pick whatever sickness you want to give Roman. He tries to hide his illness from the others but they find out and help nurse him back to health. – monkeythefander

just saying.... if you wanted to write some not-romantic-not-platonic-what-are-you-a-cop? analogical h/c....... especially if they both- oh wait. I was trying to keep this vague but actually I just remembered from one of the earlier episodes Virgil said "I'm a problem identifier, not a problem solver" and Logan made a face like he wanted to disagree. maybe Logan is struggling and Virgil helps him and then later Virgil says something to that effect and Logan starts pointing out all the ways that isn't true? – anon

I was thinking about Logan angst and how maybe some of it isn’t about him thinking that he’s emotionless, but he’s just really reserved, and then the others make assumptions about what emotions he Must Be Feeling. And when he tries to explain himself, they don’t listen because they think he’s just denying that he has emotions, not that he’s denying having the specific emotions that they assume he has. – anon

Hi, I absolutely love your Sanders sides fics and I was wondering if you would write roman angst where the other sides realize that he is nearly always performing when he’s around them (kinda like your fic productivity). Like they thought Roman was kinda irresponsible/ careless and then they find out that when he’s not around them he’s working himself to the bone to prepare for the 0.5% and when he is with them he’s still not relaxing - even when they’re just like having dinner or something - because that’s when he has to perform. No pressure to write anything if you’re not up for it; you write Roman angst like no one else – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-harm

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3529

Relapse: deteriorate after a period of improvement. Relapse: return to a less active or worse state. *** There are good times, there are bad times.

Virgil gets summoned when the other Sides are afraid. Somehow, Logan had forgotten this crucial thing.

Stupid, stupid—

"Hey, no, none of that, bud," comes Virgil's voice, low and soothing as he crouches next to Logan on the cold bathroom floor, covered in water and blood and sodden toilet paper and— "Hey. Stay with me, Logan."

Logan blinks. He looks up. Virgil's face is blurred. He blinks again. Something warm touches his face, brushing tenderly along his cheek—hand, his brain supplies, that's Virgil's hand on his face. He blinks again. "V-Virgil?"

"Hey, there he is. You with me?"

"I think so."

"Okay, that's good. That's really good, Logan, okay? I want you to try and stay with me while we get you all cleaned up. Can we do that?"

Cleaned up. Right. That's why he'd come into the bathroom. That's the rule. He only ever does it in the bathroom because that's where it's the easiest to clean.

Oh, God—

"Logan." Virgil's voice is a little firmer now. "Stay with me, remember?"

"I'm here." He shakes his head slightly. "I'm here."

"Okay. I'm gonna stand up to get you some water. I'm not gonna leave, I'm gonna use the cup you keep in your medicine cabinet for this reason, okay?" Logan nods. "Okay. While I do that, I need you to count backwards from twenty. Ready?"

"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…" As he counts, Virgil stands up. He hears the click of the cabinet opening and the sink running. "Five, four, three, two, one."

"Good job, bud. Here, drink that, okay? Try and drink all of it if you can."

"It's so much."

"One sip at a time, yeah?" There's a hand on his shoulder and another on the hand holding the cup. "C'mon, just try and get some of it down. For me?"

He can try. For Virgil, he can try. He lifts the cup with Virgil's help. The cool water soothes his throat—he was crying, he was hyperventilating, the rush and sting of it dulled everything to a background roar, why can't he just live there instead—and he swallows once, twice, three times. Soon he lifts the cup back to his lips and discovers it's empty.

"Good job, Logan, you did great. Do you want some more?"

He shakes his head. Virgil nods and takes the cup gently from his hands, settling it on top of the counter and taking Logan's hand in his. He rubs his thumb over Logan's trembling knuckles and gives his fingers a squeeze.

"I need to clean you up, buddy. Do you want to stay in here while I do that?"

"Bathrooms are easy to clean," he mumbles by rote, and Virgil only hesitates for a moment before there's another squeeze.

"Yeah, I know, but you're not a bathroom. You're Logan. And if Logan needs to be all comfy on his bed while I clean up, then that's what we'll do."

Bed…his bed sounds very nice right about now. His body tingles with the macabre satisfaction of being exhausted and lying down would help, wouldn't it? He tries to stand but a fresh sting of pain ripples up his legs and he collapses back to the wet tile.

"Hey, let me help you, c'mere, come put your arms around me…" Virgil hefts him off the floor like he weighs nothing, carrying him through to his bedroom and settling him on the edge of the bed. "There. I'm gonna go get the stuff from the bathroom, okay? You'll see me the whole time, you'll watch me go over there and you'll watch me come back."

"You won't leave?"

Virgil's gaze softens ever so slightly. "I'm not gonna leave, L. Do you want to count again? Would that help?"

"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…"

By the time he gets to one, Virgil's got the first-aid kit laid out on the bed next to him, a towel folded up next to it, and another cup of water on his nightstand. He lets Logan wind nervous fingers into his hoodie, holding him close. He reaches up and lightly ruffles Logan's damp hair, smiling in the way where the corners of his eyes crinkle up.

"Hey, bud. You got me, see? I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna start cleaning up now, yeah? You wanna close your eyes for me?"

Logan's grip tightens. Virgil covers his hand with his.

"You got me, see? I'm right here. You can close your eyes, L, it's okay."

"If I close my e-eyes I'll just feel it. I can't—" his breath hitches— "I can't just feel it."

"Okay. Do you…do you want to see what I'm doing?" Logan shakes his head. "Okay. Do you want to talk while I'm doing this?"

"What would I talk about?"

"Well, I do wanna know what happened, but—but," he says softly when Logan barely stifles a whimper, "that doesn't have to be right now. Why don't you talk to me about something that isn't work related? Have you been watching something interesting?"

"There's—" he swallows— "there's this video game that Roman and I have been talking about."

"Oh, yeah? What's it called?"

"Superliminal."

"That sounds cool as hell. What's it about?"

"The premise is that you're going to this hospital for something called 'dream therapy,' meant to help you relieve—relieve stress," he mumbles, breath hitching again when Virgil tears open an antiseptic wipe, "and the game is you going through the stages of the therapy."

"Huh. That's a cool idea for a video game. What, uh, what's the story like when you're actually playing it?"

"The core mechanic is—" he hisses at the sting and Virgil blows a stream of cold air over it— "that you can change the world around you by picking up objects and that will alter their relative size based on your perception of them."

"Whoa. How the hell did they program that?"

"I have no—no idea."

"What sort of objects?"

Logan continues to describe it as Virgil works patiently to clean him up, pausing every once in a while to murmur words of comfort and encouragement when Logan's voice gets a bit too strained or his hand suddenly tenses. He keeps asking questions, prompting Logan to continue talking, until he finishes describing one of the more frustrating puzzles and realizes that Virgil's hands are on his shoulders, not his legs.

"You…you're done?"

"Yeah, bud, I'm all done. You did great. Here, drink some more water."

He accepts the cup and manages to lift it himself this time, Virgil's thumbs stroking gently over the seams of his shirt. The cool air of his room hits his still-damp skin and he shivers. "Are…are we to talk about what happened now?"

"I think that's a good idea, don't you?" He shrinks in on himself and Virgil's quick to lean forward, cupping the back of his head and carding a hand through his hair. "I'm not mad, L. I'm not gonna get mad. You don't have to be scared with me, I swear."

"You promise?"

He wants to flinch at how much a child he sounds, but Virgil just smiles. "I promise."

He closes his eyes, turning his face into the crook of Virgil's neck. Virgil's fingers keep working patiently against his scalp. He takes one deep breath, two, three.

"I was…talking with Patton."

"Okay."

"We were—I was—" he swallows— "I was trying to explain how I'm not—I don't—I don't feel things as strongly as he and Roman do all the time but that it's not the same thing as not feeling at all because it isn't, just because I don't yell or shout or proclaim my emotions for everyone to see doesn't make them less important or less valid just for—"

"Shh, easy." Virgil's hand rubs firmly up and down his back. "Hey, bud, you're okay."

He swallows. His chest starts to get tight again. "He wasn't listening to me."

"Can you say more?"

"He—he kept on trying to say that I did have feelings, even if they weren't the same as what I thought they should look like, but I do know what my feelings look like, I know better than him what they look like because they're my feelings, and I—" he chokes on a sob and Virgil shushes him again, whispering you're doing great— "I just got so mad."

Virgil rubs his back again, pulling away to push the cup of water into his hands again. "You got mad?"

He nods. "I…I yelled at him about how he didn't know what was best for me and he didn't—couldn't know what I was feeling because he's Thomas's emotions, not mine, and I didn't—I didn't mean to get so mad but it wasn't—I couldn't just explain it to him calmly because he wasn't listening but then he tried to tell me I was—I was—"

"Hey. Hey." Virgil takes his face in his hands, giving him the gentlest of shakes. "Look at me, L. Just look at me."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Shh, shh, don't be sorry, you're not doing anything wrong. It's okay, you're okay, you're alright. It's just me, we're in your room, you're safe. Just take a second, calm down…shh, shh, that's it…that's it, L, you're doing great."

Logan takes a deep, shuddering breath. The lump in his throat grows. He truly didn't mean to shout at Patton. He didn't deserve it. He just got so frustrated and Patton wasn't listening and it—he—

"Is that why you came up here?" Virgil's question is gentle but stings no less. "Because you felt bad about it?"

"I don't like being angry," he croaks. "I don't like the person I become when I'm that angry."

"Oh, L…"

"I don't know how to be angry without being punished for it," he whispers, "and Patton—Patton just—he just—I—he couldn't—I can't—"

"What did he do? Or say?"

He sniffles. "He said that if I really did know about my feelings, then I wouldn't…then when I felt them, I wouldn't—I would know how to handle them."

Virgil's quiet for a long moment. Then he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like kick your ass that Logan's fairly certain is directed at Patton, not him, before he's being bundled up in another strong hug. "I'm really sorry, L, that was shitty of Patton to say."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, uh-uh. We're not gonna do that now. We're gonna make sure you have enough water to drink, that you eat something, and that you rest, okay? Everything else can wait."

Logan nods. He takes another breath and holds onto Virgil. "What is it you say?"

"About what?"

"About later you?"

"Oh, right: that's a problem for Future Virgil. These are problems for Future Us to deal with, yeah? Trust me, I'm an expert problem identifier."

Virgil's shampoo smells like pine. Logan tucks his chin over his shoulder and hums. "You're wrong about just being that, by the way."

"Huh?"

"You always say that you don't solve problems, you just find them. But that's not true. You help. All the time."

"Aw, thanks, L. You're sweet."

"Does that count as an emotion?"

"'Sweet?' I dunno, let's ask Princey when we're up to it. For now, why don't you poof yourself into something more comfy and we'll watch an episode of that dumb game show you like making fun of."

"The one where the points system makes no sense?"

"Yep. That one. And, hey, Logan?" Virgil chucks him lightly under the chin with a smile. "I'm really proud of you."

"But I…relapsed."

"Yeah, but then you did all of this. You let me take care of you, we talked about it, we made sure you're okay for right now, and that shit's harder than people give it credit for. So yeah, bud, I'm super proud of you."

The smallest smile makes it to Logan's face.

***

The first thing Roman realizes when he wakes up is that he's somewhere soft and warm. Which is strange, because last time he checked, the bathroom floor where he thought he'd passed out is neither of those things.

Then he realizes there's a gloved hand adjusting the blankets tucked up under his chin and oh.

"Hi, sweetie," Janus says softly, patting his cheek, "good to have you back."

"How long…?"

"A few hours, at least. You were pretty exhausted." He raises his eyebrows. "Would you like to explain yourself, or should I?"

There's just enough gentle affection in his voice to keep the sting from overwhelming him, but he can't help but flinch away from it. Janus coos, leaning down to brush a kiss over his forehead, a cold un-gloved hand tucking itself against the side of his neck.

"You've been sick, sweetie, for days, and you've hidden it from all of us."

"Didn't—didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to hide it, or didn't mean for it to get this bad?" Roman shuffles guiltily. Janus hums. "I found you on the floor of the bathroom, covered in sweat. I managed to get you into bed but you need to eat and drink something."

"Not hungry."

"You don't have much of a choice right now, Roman, you need something in you. Don't you dare," he threatens with a tap to Roman's nose when he opens his mouth, "I'll get Remus to help me bully you into taking care of yourself, don't think I won't."

"…okay."

"There we go. Come sit up, you've got more pillows than Sleeping Beauty's palace. Would you prefer juice or Gatorade?"

"…can I have blue?"

"Yes, you can have blue. Sit up, now…"

Roman carefully gets himself sitting upright, blankets still swaddling his lower half as Janus reaches for a small bottle on his nightstand. He manages about half of it before he gives it back. When Janus moves toward him with a snack, though, he closes his mouth and stubbornly turns away.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I have to get back to work."

"You don't have to do anything other than rest and get better."

"But we have movie night."

"Exactly. We don't have anything else to do other than relax, so you should try and rest up now so that if you feel up to it—if," he repeats sternly when Roman shrugs, "you feel up to it, you can join us."

"But that's not how it works."

"That's not how what works?"

"I don't get to relax during movie nights."

Janus pauses. There's a soft clunk as he sets the bowl back on the nightstand and then the cool hand is cupping Roman's cheek, thumb brushing over his flushed skin. He closes his eyes at the relief of it.

"What do you mean," comes Janus's soft voice, "that you don't get to relax during movie nights?"

"I don't get to."

"Say more, sweetie."

"That's not—that's not the point. That's not why we have them."

"That's precisely why we have them, Roman, so we can all de-stress and relax together."

"No, we have them so Thomas can relax."

"We—we're saying the same thing, Roman—"

"No, we aren't." Roman pulls away from the touch, burying his face in his hands and scrubbing harshly. Janus tuts, catching them and pulling them to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "Don't—what're you doing?"

Janus's eyebrows quirk. "Why am I treating you gently? Is that what you're asking?"

"…you're mad at me, so—"

"I'm not mad at you, sweetie." When Roman frowns, something flickers over his expression and settles on something way too close to devastation for Roman to be comfortable still holding eye contact, so he looks away as Janus lets out a quiet noise. "Oh, Roman…"

"What?"

"Can you look at me?" Roman drags his eyes back up and Janus squeezes his hands. "Why do you think I'm angry with you?"

"…you had to take care of me? I'm disagreeing with you? I'm not—you didn't—I haven't—"

"That's my fault," Janus interrupts with a sigh, "let me rephrase: I'm not angry with you, Roman. I'm not angry that I 'had' to take care of you, I'm upset because you needed taking care of and you didn't feel like you could let us know. I'm not angry that you're disagreeing with me, I'm concerned because you're telling me that something I thought was relaxing for you isn't actually relaxing at all. I'm not mad, you're not in trouble, I'm not going to—to punish you, I want to help."

Roman stares at him. That's more words than he's ever heard Janus say to him about feelings ever, and too many of them sound too perfect to be coming out of Janus's mouth at him. And as if he can hear those thoughts, Janus takes his un-gloved hand and brushes Roman's hair back from his damp forehead. An embarrassing noise leaves his mouth and he goes to pull away but then the other hand is cupping the back of his head and pulling him closer.

"Can you tell me why movie nights aren't relaxing for you?"

His jaw wobbles. "I have to—they're for Thomas."

"What does that mean? I'm not trying to make fun of you," he says quickly when Roman's mouth screws up, "I'm just trying to understand."

"It's for Thomas. That means I have to—I'm there for Thomas. I have to be watching the movie for Thomas. I'm not—that's not relaxing, nothing I do for Thomas is relaxing, it's work."

"But Thomas doesn't always come to our movie nights."

"So?"

Janus frowns. "So why would the ones where he's not there also be for him?"

"What does Thomas do to relax?"

"Let's see, he…well, he watches movies, he reads things, he watches shows, plays games with his friends…"

"He engages with stories."

Janus lets out a quiet oh. Roman closes his eyes. The pounding in his head is back.

"So it's…work. It's part of the 0.5%, or whatever it was."

"You know that Logan doesn't believe that anymore, don't you?" Roman's quiet for a little too long before Janus kisses his forehead again. "We'll talk to him when you feel better, okay?"

"Wait, 'we?'"

"You didn't think I'd leave you on your own to deal with things, did you?" At Roman's hopeful expression, he chuckles. "You're enough of a disaster already."

"Hey!" He smacks weakly at Janus's chest. "I'm sick, you have to be nice to me."

"And considering that's the first time you've admitted that you're sick, I'd say that proves my point."

"No fair."

"I know, I'm so mean to you," he murmurs, unable to keep all of the remorse from his voice as he kisses him again. "Shh, it's alright, sweetie, everything's going to be okay. Now go to sleep, you need it."

"Will you—can you stay?"

"Of course I can, sweetie. Rest, now. We can sort everything else out when you wake up."

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