#delusions for tw

[outterridge]

Starving Faithful [NOLA, Part I]

Hunger, pain, tiredness, fear, want. They were such mortal, human desires. By the time the Ascension was imminent, she ought to have rid herself of them. 

Mirlande (not Dona, not anymore, Dona would not manage this) wished she could be better, do better. None of her Sisters had trouble with it. They had to banish her to a more isolated stilted cabin on the bayou for her own benefit. She had tasks to do, preparations to make. She couldn’t be distracted by her desires.

Mirlande’s knees were dented and scraped, from the hours upon hours she’d spent plucking petals from flowers, and legs from beetles, and scales from snakes. The pain was long past registering, and now, her fingers worked on autopilot as fingernails scraped between the snake’s cooling body and its scales. Her frame shifted from side to side, hazy. The opium helped. It didn’t prevent the pain, but it elevated her consciousness to the level it ought to be. Beyond pain. Past it. Her fickle, human body could function as it needed, if her spirit could ascend.

But she was hungry. Merlin she was hungry. Her human mind hadn’t understood, had gone through her rations when she was first banished to the cabin. And now it had been days, and she couldn’t wait for her slow, too slow, fingers to pick the snake apart piece by piece, so she could finally relieve the ache in her belly. 

Mirlande’s hands stilled (no, no, get back to scaling, you stupid-) and she laid back, her eyes shuttering despite her protests. She whimpered, desperate to embrace the pull of sleep that beckoned her, but when she curled up to finally succumb, her legs shifted, and she groaned-

Her body was her power, her energy, and by releasing its energy needlessly, she was releasing her power needlessly. When she allowed another to penetrate her, she gave them her power. But just one month without it, and her body was betraying her. Every splash of water, every shift of fabric, and Mirlande was squirming, was wanting. 

Mirlande’s hand curled into a fist, and she punched the wooden floor of her cabin with a grunt, before pushing herself back to her knees. Numb fingers reached for the snake again. She would overcome. She had to.

[chipinsolace]

So called “mental health advocates”: Mental health matters! You are loved!

People who have a psychotic disorder: oh thanks-

Same “mental health advocates”: LOL! Delulu is the solulu! I wanna dye my hair so bad THE VOICES are LITERALLY TALKING TO ME! Ugh I hate you I’m in your walls/j! It’s giving schizoposting! No girl this is spiritual psychosis, Hope this helps! I hate this guy he’s so psychotic.

:(

[alfiely-art]

Btw I just wanted to say if you see someone acting delusional (like. Legitimate delusions. Not being misinformed or wrong. Legitimate delusions.) then please mind your own business. It's not your job to reality check them and by doing so you can harm them even further. Unless the person has asked you to reality check them and you're doing what they ASKED you to do, butt out.

When I'm having a delusion about bugs under my skin or something stalking me or literally any other delusion, I don't need someone to tell me "it's not real". I don't care if it's real or not. It's still terrifying to me. Being told "it's not real" doesn't help me, and once the delusion has passed, it makes me feel bad- like I'm just crazy, like my fears and experiences don't matter because they could just be delusions and hallucinations.

This goes for any delusion by the way. You see someone who believes they're God? Cool. Mind your own fucking business. You see someone who believes they have super powers or are an important figure? Cool! Mind your own fucking business.

Now. You may be asking. "Alfie, what if it's my friend and the delusion is stressing them out?"

Comfort them. Treat it like any other problem- if the person prefers advice, give them advice that matches with the delusion. If they just need comfort, do exactly that- tell them you're there for them, etc etc. You're not feeding the delusion- you're comforting your friend when they're stressed and afraid over something.

Don't reality check a delusional person unless you have been asked to by the delusional person.

[schizopositivity]

A large part of the Internet: You can't make jokes about minority groups you are not a part of! Punching down is not just joking, it's bullying! Mental health matters! Mentally ill people deserve to be treated like anyone else!

A large part of the Internet also: *my friend disappearing when I take my schizophrenia pills memes* She's so delulu!! *memes designed to specifically trigger paranoia in people with a mental illness that includes paranoia* Lol schizo whips!!! *memes about lobotomies* Omg this murderer must be PSYCHOTIC!!

[madammidnightsblog]

Yandere Student x Teacher Darling

WARNING: public setting (classroom), yandere behavior (delusional), exhibition, m! masturbation, self-teasing, student fantasizing about adult (18-19 student, 20-30 adult), sub! male Yandere Student knows it's wrong, he knows it, but he cannot help it. Something about you just drives him insane and he cannot help watching you from the back of the classroom, one hand stuffed into his pants and rubbing himself off while you were busy teaching.

He knows that it's disgusting and deprived but how could he stop when your voice just makes his dick twitch. And those soft and round curves of your body make him want to bury himself against you and hump you like the pathetic boy he is. So, his hand was wrapped around his small dick, pumping it slowly which biting his lip to quiet the whimpers and whine that was threatening to spill from him. His hips twitching up into his hand as the tight restriction of his jeans and boxers making it harder to move his hand without looking obvious.

"Now," You turned around with a pretty smile on your face, your pink lips parting slightly to chuckle at the clueless expressions of your students. The new topic of biology was enough to make them all blink and look at you with pure confusion which made you find your students adorable, "It's time to understand the biology of the cellular structures."

Yandere Student was watching how your body softly jiggles in place when you moved around in front of the white board, writing down the basics of the course. Oh, how he loved the way your turtleneck hugged your soft tummy and those large tits of yours, following the curves with his eyes as his hand moved slower around his base, swiping his thumb along the beads of pre at his purpling tip. A low moan left him when his eyes finally land at those dress pants at your wide hips, and he almost came when he noticed the little tummy pouch that stuck out. Everything was so damn beautiful and sexy on your body, all of those soft curves and fat that was hugging your body. What he would do just to feel on that beautiful body of yours and worship you like the goddess you were.

Your eyes scanned the room to see the yandere student in the back of the classroom, his eyes glossed over and watching intensely. To you, he looked interested in what you were teaching with how he was staring what you believed to be the board as his right arm seemed to be moving but little did you know he finally just pulled his dick out under his desk. His hand moving quickly as he notice you're glancing his way, and he can't help but think you're away what he's doing, and it was making him all flustered. But unlike normal people in this situation who would think that he should stop because you might notice and be uncomfortable- no, he thinks you're enjoying it and think he looks so cute. I mean, why else do you keep looking back at him? You must like him and find him so cute, knowing he's jerking off like a good boy and not making a mess on the floor. His breathing grows heavier the more his eyes wonder your body and imagining what you could possibly be thinking of when you look around the classroom. You must obviously want class to end and take care of him, after all, he's a good boy that has a bad home and need your attention since his mother died mysteriously a few months ago so, he must still be trying so so hard to be back to normal. You care about your student so much so, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to take care of him- right?

[spectral-pup]

Btw therians are cool and valid

Btw copinglinks, funlinks and any other otherlinks are cool and valid

Btw physical alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw spiritual alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw psychological alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw delusional alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw fictionkins are cool and valid

Btw objectkins, plantkins and other “unusual” kins are cool and valid

Btw wolfkins, foxkins and other “common” kins are cool and valid

Btw all alterhumans are cool and valid

Btw you’re cool and valid

[auschizm]

Even though the hallucinations and delusions psychotic people experience aren't objectively real, they are often experienced as if they were real, and they can easily be just as scary and traumatizing as any "real" traumatic experience

[powerfulblob]

Just so frustrated that tumblr’s rolling out more unreality-triggering features: as if they didn’t already learn from the Y2K event…

How do they think that. A GIANT FUCKING CLOWN ON THE DASHBOARD THAT, WHEN CLICKED ON, MAKES THE BACKGROUND TURN TO A BUNCH OF WANTED POSTERS WITH EYES LOOKING AT YOU??? AND THEY SAY THINGS LIKE well find you OR SOME SHIT???

Why would they think that this DOESN’T trigger at least five types of—-

Fuck. Sorry if this post made no sense, just bristling right now.

Anyway: stay safe out there… a full list of the potential triggers with the new site update are:

Clowns

Eye contact

Unreality

Paranoia

Delusions

Violence

Let me know if I missed any.

Again, stay safe. And fuck Tumblr’s staff.

Edit: Adding some of the things I’ve reblogged and also suggestions (thanks @nimona-antifa for the suggestions, and @everlastingrandom for pointing that scopophobia’s another potential trigger)

Body horror

Gore

Scopophobia

Horror

Another edit: Thanks to @gwydionmisha for pointing out that the jump scares are harmful for people with:

anxiety

heart conditions

other related conditions

Another edit: FUCKING YEAH IT’S GONE but there’s still a widget at the corner of the screen with the buggy pirates’ logo, which looks like a clown pirate flag. So still be careful if you’re on desktop. Looking forward to when they take down the full thing.

[nebulous-tundra]

Sollux’s post-game misery featuring two identity crises - managed to varying degrees

[corollaservant]

Introspect // Dabi x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: The past never dies. But it can often be forgotten. (3.4k)

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, captivity, stalking, violence, noncon/dubcon, jealousy, delusion, denial, implied PTSD, deterministic and nihilistic philosophical paradigm, Dabi's POV—stream of consciousness type fic

A/N: wrote this in 3hrs. majorly inspired by (and dedicated to) my fave tumblr writer, new magic wand by tyler the creator and this dabi art 🖤

Happy. You looked happy, that’s what he thought when he saw it.

Not in a way you’d been with him anyway. He didn’t know whether that was for the better. The first thing he thought was you posted him. Of course you would. He was not patched, burnt or looking like someone who escaped the psychiatric ward. Without proper clothing, jumping out of a window, frantically running towards the opposite direction. Was it a matter of appearance? Or did you just not like him enough? He wouldn’t know, you hadn’t spoken in a month. And some days. That’s when you told him you needed space. Seriously, people needed to come up with better excuses, this one was over-saturated. Was it bad he clung onto you? It’s not like you had many friends, all he had asked was more of your time. Your stupid job wasn’t even that important—he never bothered finding out what you did exactly, it’s not like he didn’t care, he just wanted you there. The rest of your whereabouts were none of his business as long as you were not conversing (excessively) with anyone else. Because even then, why would you need to do that? He could do it for you.

He had no actual job, well, classifying as a villain doesn’t get you far in life, he called himself a freelancer. Freelancer in murder and theft, maybe. But he felt like he had a share in serving divine justice. A modern vigilante so to say. Any accidental death was a misfortune, a predetermined fate. He didn’t want to pretend to be integrated in society for you to like him, he was lucky because he didn’t have to. Which then reminded him of how he met you.  

Petting strays at night wasn’t careful of you, especially with the crime rates in the city. But you had done so regardless, he remembers it vividly: You in an alley, on your knees, not caring about the dirt coming in direct contact, extending your hand. The cat was barely visible, he could only make out its yellow eyes. But then, the cat saw him, he knew cats had brilliant vision and it left you, perhaps in thought he had food you didn’t. You turned your head only to take a step back. Not smart, you landed on your ass as you opened your mouth. Did he scare you? Of course, what a stupid thing to ask. Under other circumstances he’d leave. Making fun of strangers wasn’t really his thing, not unless they deserved it, but the cat seemed to take a liking to him. Animals loved him, his mom used to tell him not to trust people who repelled them, it was a bad sign. Animals had instinct, animals could tell. He decided to pet the little guy (or girl?), as he kneeled down and softly touched its head. That was another thing about cats. They didn’t give a fuck about the staples or burnt odor, they just wanted food and the occasional touch. He liked cats. He could see himself in them. Something in the domesticity of the situation must've calmed you down because you fixed your posture and to his surprise approached him. It was still dark, you were still a woman and alone in an alley. 

‘’He likes you.’’ You told him. Had you already figured out it was a male stray? Dabi must’ve underestimated you. Your voice hid a whine, a soft protest but it was not annoyance and he shifted his gaze.

‘’Yeah.’’ was all he said. 

‘’Can I?’’ You asked. Why were you asking for permission, this wasn’t even his cat. 

‘’Sure.’’

You were so close, trying not to scare the cat and also touch him, he noticed. Your finger tried to avoid his but the cat’s head was unfortunately not that big so you eventually grazed a digit over him. You hadn’t flinched back then, hadn’t even scrunched your nose, were you not afraid? Didn’t the smell and appearance repel you? Apparently not, you seemed so invested in getting the cat to like you. It wasn’t like it didn’t. The stray ended up loving you, purring at your touch and looking in your eyes, like a man in love. And maybe it wasn’t just the cat. 

-

Within three days of your first encounter he had you on his chest, in your apartment of course, where else could he have you? He wanted to fuck you the first time he saw you, but the urge wasn’t that violent, which had taken him by suprise. You also did not seem like the type to give it up easily. He’d have to do some mental jumping jacks to get you, he didn’t worry about revealing too much though; he didn't have a lot to say, his old identity long buried away with his sensitivity. He still didn’t feel like hurting you. The first night he told you his name, Dabi, and it was so convincing, he too had believed it. You exchanged trivial information neither cared about and he offered company on your way back. He scolded you for being alone in the neighborhood, like some good samaritan, he laughed as he guided you through dimly lit alleys with zero traffic. 

‘’Want to come inside?’’ You had asked. Already? Were you that easy? But who was he to say no?

Your place was small, as expected, neat and tidy, with a few clothes on the bed, nothing bad. It smelled nice too, he noticed a small plant on the coffee table. How gullible to let him in like that. Dabi imagined how many times you must’ve been wronged in life. But you being you—it was probably something that flew over your head daily. You’d call it compromise, he’d call it stupidity.

He had fucked you in missionary that night, a true gentleman, easing his way inside and slightly towering, making sure the stapled skin under his sternum didn’t touch your sensitive one. You were soaking by the time you stopped making out and he slid a finger inside, warm and enticing, his cock hardened in primal ways. He had softly thrown you on your bed (his definition of soft wasn’t exactly soft, you had let out a groan, was it bad?) and climbed on top. You were looking at him expectantly, your eyes glassy, was that pain or excitement, Dabi would bet bucks on the latter. The way you had shyly parted your legs, not for his cock, but to fit him in between was sickeningly pretty, he could swear he was almost…nervous to slip his cock inside. And he was right, trying to fit it inside failed him two or three times while he pretended to toy your clit with his cockhead. You didn’t seem to mind, his act must’ve been convincing, you were softly moaning and your eyes dared to look at the sight of his swollen tip against your lower lips, was it pretty? He had fucked you as hard as he would allow himself—your body could take it, he had to be honest, the more he stuffed you, the more he needed to drive his cock further into your soft walls, there was no room for play pretend romance here. But you seemed to like it too, wrapping your arms around the bare part of his back, fingers accidentally trailing the stapled skin and groaning near his face. ‘’Fuck.. right there.. D-Dabi! More!’’ More? Sure, you could have more. A patched arm strongly pinned a leg above your head, touching the bed frame, as his stiff and pained cock violated your cunt, he could feel how deep he was and constantly fought the urge to spill already. As for you? Tears from your eyes fell down your now stained sheets as you screamed. Pleasure, pain, honestly he didn’t care much about what it was, your pussy clamping down on him the last thing he felt before he bit down your neck, almost ripping out the skin tissue. His cum slowly trickled out, while both of you panted, each exhale synchronizing with the clock ticking in the kitchen. 

There were no voids you could fill, he knew it, interacting with others proved to be a daily reminder. But there were voids you soothed, pain you healed just with your head resting where a heart used to be. Heart beating irregularly, like his feet in his childhood, with excitement, with a different type of eagerness. These weren’t thoughts he made that night and that’s how he knew he liked you. That night his mind was blank for the very first time, carefree from reality, from the ugliness of living—you had sex with some stained villain, who hadn’t only stained your cunt, but your sheets too, your morals indirectly and heart along the way. These thoughts came to him when he saw the photo. Space. You said you needed space. There wasn’t any relationship established, what the fuck you needed space for? Because now he had found something to give waking up a reason. Someone to regularly satisfy his cock with, someone to take away his thoughts and halt his aimless wandering. And you needed space. How lame. You know what? He could give you space. Indirectly of course. He’d still follow you around, check the whereabouts and conversations, sit outside your house and watch you get undressed. But you looked happy. And he couldn’t decipher in what way. Was he a friend? Who gives a fuck about the guy anyway, why were you smiling like that? You never posted him, that's for sure, you knew in the three months of irregular hanging out (to call it dating would be a joke) that he hated it. And so you never did, even though he wanted you to deep down. Something small. A grocery store visit, one you made when he said he’d cook dinner (he had burnt it). But you never did and now here you are posting with someone irrelevant. 

Murder wasn’t the answer. Stupidly enough it was always associated with morality. But you’d think Dabi would have none of that. He thought murder was stupid. No second of his time ought to be wasted for the next guy. Though he had to admit, he often contemplated whether you’d want this. You didn’t know shit about him. But a sudden murder would definitely have you crawling for protection. And who better than the one who committed it? He honestly wouldn’t go out of his way to do all that. He wanted you organically. It had been a long time since he wanted someone. But you sufficed. You were enough. You never asked, never complained, not even when you’d come home from work, exhausted and dirty and he was waiting at your door. Not even when you were shoved against the cupboards and fucked without remorse—you still wrapped your legs around him and whimpered on his neck. And fuck if that didn’t feel good. He hugged you in your sleep. You’d both sleep in opposite directions, you first of course, so you’d never notice he switched sides and brought a leg over yours, resting his head on your throat, feeling each breath, each pulse. You’d wake up confused at the position, he’d say he didn’t remember. These were the few nights he could reach REM state. No vivid dreams of course, a shipwreck maybe and some elevator descending, lack of control or whatever bullshit he read once. He could still dream though, a miserable reminder he was still human. 

He was always mean. The world didn’t care to mold someone into being nice. What would that even be? He thought nice meant exchange. Be nice and you’d get a pair of shoes. Act nice and you’ll get to watch TV. Treat others with respect and you’d be the family’s topic of discussion over Christmas. Sure, there were selfless people, he wasn’t crazy to think there weren’t a few of them left. You’d be his prime example. And you weren’t even stupid. But your willingness to help and give bordered exploitation. It hit him like lightning. You needed to get away, the real world was doing damage to people like you. If you were with him, you wouldn't have to think twice about being taken advantage of. He’d still be mean, you wouldn’t change that. But at least you’d sleep assured knowing that he’d never, ever demand something from you. Well…besides your presence, though he’d take you as you are, so in retrospect you’d come to appreciate him for the service. 

When he came to pick you up (abduct sounded rough—you’d also want this eventually) you had just finished work. To others you seemed fine, to him you looked exhausted. No need for mask, no need for clothes, he had everything arranged. You hadn’t objected much, he tried the kind approach first, he had only asked you to go for a ride with him in a car he stole, something you’d never know. The place was a dump, a couch covered in dust and a rusty kitchen, but you’d both make it work. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find money. He would, eventually. He remembers the way your eyes widened, what were you expecting, a trip to the countryside for some mimosas? You should’ve known better. ‘’What are we doing here?’’ You had asked, looking him in the eyes, you seemed frightened like the first time you saw him in the alley, it all ends in the beginning of the cycle, such a paradox, he thought. ‘’This is our new place.’’ He cooed as he approached you, you took a step back. There really was no reason for you to be scared, you’d grow to understand the only thing scaring you would be losing him. 

He had tried to kiss you but you protested, pushing him away, a shame really and he wanted to continue with the nice approach. Well then again nice didn’t really exist so it wouldn't have worked anyway. He kissed you, your mouth was closed but not for long before it was forced open, arms snaking around your waist and pinning you to a wall collecting condensation since god knows when. He was on your neck, kissing, biting, frenzied moves really, he needed you more than he needed whatever kept him alive. Three months ago, he stopped thinking. Now, the only thing he thought was you. He dragged you to the dusty sofa, he thought of using his quirk to burn the fabric, but ripping it out came naturally. You were laid out naked and shivering, his hands grabbed your waist—was this warm enough for you? You whispered something, maybe it was louder than a whisper, stop or whatever but he couldn’t listen. He found your cunt immediately, he was almost drooling at the sight, when was he that hungry ever again? Something about your life. People behind. You said something, he didn’t listen. You weren’t that wet like the first time, he understood. Women, they need emotional connection. Maybe a sloppier kiss to get them going. He found your mouth again, forcing you to kiss him back while he gorged on yours, a small movement in your hips, a pad of his finger back on your cunt. Wetter, perfect. He slid up a finger, curling it while his thumb grazed over your clit, you whimpered. That was a sound he could finally register. He’d bring back that smile, but it’d be for him only. One finger turned to two and eventually three, he needed to stretch you out to take him, nothing had changed since the first time, just his eagerness. His cock throbbed in his black pants, he wanted to taste you. 

You moaned and attempted to touch his hair. He didn’t mind but this wasn’t the time. He moved his head lower, spreading your thighs open and spitting on your clit. Spittle dripped down your slit and his index finger trailed it along the entrance, earning him a moan. See, you already enjoyed this too much. This would be your life now on, he’d fuck you till you wouldn’t want another thing. Captivity had a good side after all. He’d treat you so well, he wouldn’t even have to force all that domestic bullshit on you. You’d do it willingly. He eats your cunt out like it's the most sacred meal, sloppily and without coordination, pushing his tongue inside and gripping your thighs forcefully and what is this? You buck your hips up, wanting more, needy little slut. Perfect, so perfect for making him stop thinking. Making him forget. His cock must leak precum, it feels uncomfortable and he wants you to coat his tongue, he really does, but please understand, he needs you. Now. To bother removing his pants fully would be hilarious, he has neither time nor desire to do so, they’re slid down half way, his cock jumps on his abdomen and he gives it an impatient stroke—looking at you always. Let me go. You say, what? Were you stupid? Right before the best part? Right before the start of a new life? Of a life you should be living years ago? Delusional, you’re delusional. ‘’You love me, baby.’’ He tells you and lets his cockhead slip in your entrance, bit by bit until he’s bottomed out and you wince, he doesn’t move just for a second, this should be enough and then starts thrusting without consideration. Like it’s an incentive, like you’re a hole that needs filling, a mere means to an end. You protest a bit more, if you get louder he might have to get violent on you, please understand he doesn’t want this. You’ll get it, eventually. He can’t decipher the look on your face, it certainly doesn’t scream happy like in the photo. 

And then he’s reminded of the photo and a rage is born. ‘’Did he fuck you this good?’’ He spears his cock inside, you are hitting against the arm of the couch, your mouth contracts and you dampen his cock, so he must be doing something right. ‘’Tell me, did he fuck this cunt?’’ He asks and you just moan—are you dumb? Why aren’t you answering? His arms envelop your throat, pressing on the carotid artery as your muffled moans get even more constricted, he spits on your face and demands an answer. Dirty. Slut. Dirty. ‘’N-o’’ comes out your mouth. He hadn’t tainted you? He hadn’t touched you. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He wipes the saliva off your cheeks, it’s so...wet? Are you crying? Why are you crying? He hates it. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He kisses you while he plunges deeper, you groan and try to avoid him, stop doing this, you’re his now, it’s final. ‘’I’ll make you feel better, alright?’’ He breathes out, he knows you like his fingers, he knows. His thumb circles achingly, longingly even on your puffy clit while you clench around him, your breathing is labored, you have to cum—cum now! On his cock, show him how much you love him. A few more strokes and he has you clamping down, more tears, so many tears and you moan out his fake name, with anger maybe or an orgasm high, he can’t tell and he doesn’t care either, it’s enough. He needs to steal a kiss one last time and feel the way you squeeze and soak all around to let his load paint you white, maybe he is like a woman after all, longing for emotion, even when he has to fulfill plain instincts. You don’t talk after it, you don’t even blink, you aren’t passed out, are you? He wasn’t that hard, come on now. He has to remove himself, clean you up, the couch and he the least of his priorities. You need to get accustomed. You’ll love it. 

You never ask. About the photo. About your family. About anything prior. But that’s not something he dwells upon, he doesn’t like to look back. You still sleep next to him, well, there aren’t many other options available, yet you do. You still breathe softly in your sleep, he still hugs you from behind. You’ve become a sedative, a very much needed one. He dreams some days, an elevator falling, a shipwreck. Only, you’re there this time. 

The few days he remembers the dream, he appreciates the company. He can only hope you do, too. 

[star--stricken]

*clicks on an interesting drama video* ”this person is a psychopath/sociopath/psychotic/narcissist/delusional!”

*sighs*

*clicks off the video*

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Yandere Silver Headcanons

adhlbfypfqeyvf If you want to know why this is coming out of nowhere... I've been cooking (talking) with friends about this concept for over a month and now I'm going to dump it all onto you 🤡 This interpretation of Yan!Silver is in part based on Elbert Greetia from Ikevil 💀 so uh… be warned…

Regular Silver, staring at this monstrosity: 😨 TRIGGER WARNINGS: (slow burn) yandere themes, (unintended) emotional manipulation, gaslighting, spying/stalking, unhealthy possessiveness and obsession, mentions of blood, (Silver’s) delusions, minor character death

***PLEASE NOTE: writing yandere content is NOT the same as supporting or approving of these behaviors irl. This is also NOT what I believe Silver is canonically like; this is only meant to be a creative reimagining/"what if" scenario.***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

It all starts off like a fairy tale come true. But like Hansel and Gretel stumbling upon the witch’s candy house or a frog set into a simmering pot, the heat—the horror—isn’t fully cranked up in the very beginning. A dream doesn’t start like a nightmare, the nightmare comes later. And you, like the fool you are, were lured in by the promise of sweets and a prince.

The boy you've been crushing on for the last several weeks shyly approaches you and confesses. Handsome, earnest Silver takes your hands in his and gives you that lopsided smile you've been admiring from a distance. He swears himself to you as your loyal partner, vowing to protect you from the things that slither in the dark and prey on the unsuspecting. To keep you from hurt and sadness forever and ever.

You're giddy—positively over the moon and the stars—to finally (and proudly!) call yourself his. Every time you look at him, you swear it feels like a thousand butterflies are fluttering in your chest, or like you’re losing yourself in the aurora of his eyes.

You tell him his eyes are mystifying and unique, that they’re something you could stare at forever. He doesn’t seem to get it at first, but is pleased nevertheless and thanks you for the compliment.

It’s not until a few weeks later that the ramifications come. One day, out of the blue, Silver gifts you with a piece of jewelry (a ring, a necklace, an earring, etc; whatever your preference is!). Embedded in it is a clear gemstone that refracts the light in pastel pink, baby blue, and pale purple… exactly like his eyes.

He helps you secure it on for the first time and oh, how gentle his touch is as his fingers brush against your skin. Silver gives that small smile that melts your heart. “There. This way, you’ll always have ‘me’ watching over you,” he says, lightly tapping the aurora-colored jewel, “even if I am not right at your side.”

Sometimes you feel Silver’s own gaze lingering on you too. You know him to be an airhead or half asleep most of the time, so the thought never occurs to you that this spacey behavior is odd. But once or twice, when you’re stealing glances back at him, you notice a seriousness set in his eyes, a darkness creeping into the light. The same deadset look that scares off children and makes others mistake him for someone far more aggressive than he actually is, you think.

He lingers close when you walk to and class together, his protective instincts sending him into action to catch you if you so much as stumble, and remove errant leaves and petals that tumble onto your hair. “I have you,” he reassures you, oblivious to the electricity in his touch and how it makes you leap. “Don’t worry.”

Silver acts as though you’re as delicate as glass and as pure as freshly fallen snow. It’s not uncommon for him to praise your positive traits (while totally overlooking your flaws) or talk about how good of a person you are—and that also drives him to keep you that way. Untouched, untroubled. He’s so quick to steer you away from stressful situations or charging in to settle an issue himself, typically by talking down the aggressors. That’s thoughtful of him… right?

He has the habit of falling asleep on you when he gets to be comfortable. You usually don’t mind it, but sometimes he gets a little too clingy in his sleep. It’s hard to pry him off when he looks so peaceful and mutters your name under his breath while he has your body in a death grip.

Silver takes you on quiet nature strolls. You often drift off the beaten path and wander deep into the woods behind NRC, far, far away from the other students and staff. The sun sinks and sinister sounds come from the dark—you get nervous and leap into his arms, asking Silver if you should turn back now. He agrees every time, walking you back and wishing you sweet dreams. By the time you collapse into your bed from exhaustion, you don’t realize he has stolen you away for the entire day for himself.

It’s strange. You start to get the sense that you’re seeing Silver in your dreams just as much as you see him in the waking world. Rarely do you fully recall the details of your dreams, but there’s always that vague feeling of catching a flash of silver hair or feeling the heat of his eyes uncomfortably pressing into you when you wake up.

You tell him about this and joke that maybe he’s using his UM to haunt your dreams. “It’s impossible. You’re not Rook-senpai,” you laugh. He chuckles at the idea. But oh, how weird. Somehow the conversation tends to steer toward whatever you happened to recall of last night’s dreams. If Rook appeared in your dream, Silver coincidentally slips him into the discussion. Lightly probing questions like, “What is your opinion of Rook-senpai?” and, “Are you comfortable around him?”

Silver tells you about the stories his father has shared with him from his travels. Many are folklore from different regions in Twisted Wonderland, but more recently he has been fixated on fairy tales from the Shaftlands. “A couple finds true love and live happily ever after, nothing able to tear them apart…” he says dreamily. “It sounds just like us.”

Silver appears stoic on the outside, but you know that’s not the case. A few months into the relationship, you become acutely aware of his insecurities and his low self-worth. Not strong enough, not long-lived enough, not alert enough, not… enough. He will never be able to repay his debt to his father, Silver has confided in you many times.

“It’s okay. You’re here now, and you’re doing your best to keep the people you love safe.” You do your best to soothe him in those moments of weakness, for which he is thankful for. With shining eyes, auroras in the dark, he whispers, “You’re so kind to me.” Raptly, as if beholding a higher being. “What did I do to deserve someone like you…?” And there it is again, that seriousness, the light fleeing from him, as he vows to repay your kindness.

You’re acquainted with Silver’s animal companions and get along with them. Now you’re noticing them everywhere, not just around Silver. In fact, you see them without Silver. Birds in the trees, a rabbit hopping alongside you, the stag poking its head out from the bushes.

Then those animals reappear when you meet up with Silver later, looking all innocent, while Silver asks you about your day. If there’s a slight discrepancy (due to poor memory) or a detail you overlooked, he’ll gently correct you or clarify. “Blueberry muffin? As I recall, you had a cranberry muffin for a midmorning snack.”/“Ah, you forgot to mention you asked Ace if you could borrow a pencil for the exam.” You blink, surprised. How did he come upon all that information? How can he recite your day better than you can? It doesn’t hit you until much later that his animal friends have been serving as his eyes and ears.

He sincerely apologizes to you when you confront him about it. “Please tell them I don’t appreciate them snooping!” you cry out. Silver promises he’ll ask them to curb their curiosity—and while it’s true that you no longer see the animals following you, you can still feel their beady gazes around every bend and corner. Paranoia claws at your scalp, and you try to calm your doubts with one thought: No way would Silver be encouraging this. I must be imagining things.

You try to get your mind off of your worries by hanging out with your classmates. Sebek, ever boisterous and over-the-top, uplifts your mood. Pretty soon, you’re chatting away with him at the lunch table (even if he loudly refers to you as a HUMAN), paying no mind to the shadow that has fallen over it until a deadly quiet voice speaks up.

“Sebek.” It is so cold, so hollow, it startles both you and Sebek when you realize the speaker is Silver. “I don’t like it when you talk with them like that.” Sebek makes to say sorry to his fellow knight—or is it to challenge him? You never find out, for Silver has grabbed you by the wrist and is yanking you away from him.

He doesn’t let go until you’re in a secluded area of the courtyard. There’s a red mark left behind, and it causes tears to well up in him. Silver collapse like a house of cards. He’s extremely apologetic—he has hurt you, hasn’t he? He failed to protect you. How terrible. He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have been so petty and jealous.

It breaks your heart to see Silver a mess, blaming himself so profusely for what happened. You do whatever you can to calm him, and eventually the conversation somehow turns to you accepting some fault. It’s not, though, the little nagging voice in your head protests. You silence it, prioritizing the emotionally vulnerable Silver. “I’m sorry, I should have considered your feelings and avoided giving Sebek the wrong message. I’ll avoid getting all buddy-buddy with him in the future, okay?”

And it happens again, again, again. One by one, your friends are cut off from you in a similar manner. It’s always something they do or say that concerns your boyfriend, something that impedes or disrupts that pristine, picturesque fairy tale he has laid out in his head.

Silver’s presence in your life becomes increasingly invasive, like unwanted briars creeping into a garden, thorns cutting off your access to air. He’s soon consuming every second of your day, whether physically beside you or planted in your worried thoughts like a demon disguised as a guardian angel. You can’t do anything anymore without feeling anxious and watched.

He starts to talk about… strange things. Tall towers, glass coffins, the bars of a bird cage. All manner of motifs pulled from fairy tales, items and places meant to keep a character shackled and stowed away from the world. “I feel bad for the person locked up in them,” you’d tell him. “Sometimes,” Silver murmurs mysteriously, “people will take drastic measures to protect the ones they love.” You cannot explain why, but those exchanges leave you feeling immensely uneasy.

You timidly share your experiences with people you think are safe. Silver’s dorm members, his friends, his family. The people who know him best, who can maybe talk some sense into him. To your dismay, your concerns fall upon deaf ears. You earn many blank looks and dismissive comments, all citing Silver’s good nature. (“He loves you very much. This is his way of demonstrating that, he’s just sort of clumsy with it. Give him another chance.”/“That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you’re remembering it correctly?”/“You’re overreacting.”)

It beats down your spirit, starts to make you question your own judgment. You second-guess your words and actions. Is your perception of reality right when everyone else is telling you that you’re wrong, that Silver could never harm a fly.

Then comes the guilt like a wave crashing into you as you think about all the good times you’ve had together. Rose-colored days under a balmy blue sky. Your thoughts are like a brewing storm, and every evening when you tuck into bed, dread, unease, and uncertainty follow you.

You’re waking from the lovely dream that was a whirlwind romance, seeing Silver for the imperfect and obsessive person that he is. Unfortunately, you don’t have the heart to bring up the tough subject with him. He looks so darn happy with you, continues to dote on you and act the part of a valiant knight. Your mouth will open, then close again before any words can come out. It hurts, it hurts, and it is eating you up from the inside out.

You bottle it up for Seven knows how long, but it comes torrenting out one night. Silver is walking you home as per usual when you blurt out the suggestion of taking a break from each other. He stills, hurt crumpling his face. And then he has you by the shoulders, softly demanding to know what is wrong, has someone made you feel unwell? You, it’s you, you’re suffocating me, you want to say, but you cannot.

Silver presses and you resist, the two of you taking up the middle of main street with your desperate quarrel. He’s becoming increasingly frantic and desperate, his eyes dark and obsessive. It’s then that a passing mob student angrily speaks up, giving you a rough shove. You meet the hard ground, pain shooting through you. “Move already!” he gruffly stomps by—but he’s caught by Silver, his expression like clouds that have drowned out the moon. “You put your hands on them just now,” he says evenly. “Please apologize.”

“Like hell I will! They shouldn’t have been in my way,” the mob student grumbles. He attempts to leave but to no avail. There’s Silver walling off his escape route, an icy fury overtaking him.

You can’t bring yourself to watch what happens next. Wrenching your face away, you do your best to block out the horrible noises that come. The crunching of bones, the dull thud of flesh against something solid, agonized screaming. And then it’s silent.

You slowly gather the courage to dare a look at the scene. The world tilts, and bile rises in your throat. Silver calmly stands over a fallen figure. The street—and him—are painted in red. The mob student isn’t moving. Not anymore.

He smiles. The small, awkward one that once made your head buzz and cheeks flame. It only yields a gaping hole in your heart now. Silver strolls toward you, caked in blood but acting as though he isn’t.

You’re too paralyzed with fear to attempt backing away or rejecting his advances when Silver tenderly embraces you. You tremble violently, hiccups and tears spilling out.

A hand strokes your hair, his voice a lullaby to soothe you. “Shhh, shhh, shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I took care of the big, scary monster. You don’t need to look at it—it’s not fit for your eyes.”

Silver holds you and allows you to sob until you’ve tired yourself out and into a dream. He will carry you home, setting you down on your mattress like laying a corpse in its glass coffin and taking in the sight of you from the foot of the bed.

Not realizing that he, the knight, is the monster that keeps his beloved in a gilded cage. His arms and body, the bars that lock you in. Irony is a cruel mistress, and twisted is the love that it propagates.

[alixisherebutringagain]

Psychotic episode are fucking terrifying so sorry if I don't like when you use the word "delulu" and sorry if I don't want to talk to you because you think I'm crazy or dangerous and sorry if you think I'm exaggerating BUT FUCK YOU BECAUSE I WAS TERRIFIED.

I WAS SCARED.

I WAS LIKE A KID SCARED OF THE DARK.

HOW DARE YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY.

I WAS AFRAID TO GET KILLED, I WAS TERRIFIED OF GOING OUTSIDE I WAS CONVINCED OF HORRIBLE THINGS I COULDN'T SPEAK I COULDN'T MOVE I WAS TRAPPED IN MY BRAIN SO FUCK YOU.

Fuck anyone who thinks psychotic episodes are funny. Fuck anyone who judges someone for being on the schizo spec. Fuck anyone who laughs at this.

[hejee]

stop staring and help him 😭

[lolapath]

[auschizm]

Most people: "We should not be romanticizing mental illness because-"

The same people, somehow: "delulu is the solulu ❤️"