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ozzgin · 5 months

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OZZGIN!

May I request an idea/imagine?

It is about yandere! mental asylum patient and psychiatrist! reader, who is very practical and strict regarding her job, takes no BS from others. But, for some reason, she has a soft spot for yandere! mental asylum patient. The reason could either be he had a hard childhood in which he had to do what he had to do, which brutally killed his father, who used to abuse his mother and sister, but when the father tried to sell the sister into prostitution to buy more alcohol, all hell break lose. Psychiatrist! reader thinks what yandere! mental asylum the patient did was OKAY, and she wants to get him out of the asylum. They love each other deeply and would do anything, so far as to kill for one another. If you can, make it as twisted as you can. I live for some dark romance!

Please ignore my request if you are not able to do it. I completely understand. Thank you in advance! <3

Oh my, this request hits somewhat close to home as I have a friend incarcerated for similar reasons. I'm pondering the logistics behind this context you've provided, since murdering someone won't necessarily land you in a psych ward unless there are other symptoms that come with it. And so I've taken the liberty to expand the character's profile if that's alright. (Conveniently enough I still have my psychopathology lecture notes)

I want to add, however, that this story in no way romanticizes mental illness! If anything, one may consider it an opportunity to reflect on the fact that so many people struggling with disorders do not receive the proper care for it, or only do so when it's too late. Furthermore a medical professional should never, ever behave like this and whatever is written here should stay in the realm of fiction!

Yandere! Patient x Psychiatrist! Reader

Featuring a patient that's pushing the boundaries of your work ethic and might even succeed.

Content/warnings: female reader, detailed mentions of mental disorder, violence, obsessive behavior, breach of professional conduct

You roll up your sleeve and check your watch. He should be here soon. Out of habit, you shuffle the papers for a quick case review, even though you already know all the details by heart. You carefully set aside the patient’s MMPI and WHODAS entry assessments, then your first interviews. Your eyes briefly rest upon the resulting report you’ve comprised: Schizophreniform Disorder (Provisional) with good prognostic features; Diagnostic criteria consisting of delusions, disorganized speech (frequent derailment with episodes of incoherence, echolalia) and comorbid catatonia. Responds well to antipsychotic (clozapine 25mg/12 h) with no imminent need for dosage increase. As it currently stands, he will be fit for proper incarceration in less than 6 months. Is it something you agree with? Not quite. You’ve presented your case many times and it has always been met with pitiful shrugs and dismissals.

The door opens and you fix your posture, sweeping the documents back into your drawer. “And? How are you feeling today?” You ask, flashing a professional, cordial smile as the assisting nurse leads the patient to his seat and prepares her leave. “My chest hurts.” The man answers in a low voice, glaring at the nurse. He taps his foot against the plush carpet, seemingly restless. “How bad would you rate it? Chest pain is a somewhat common side effect of your medication.” You retort, following the movements of the woman finally excusing herself and exiting the room. Once you’re alone, the man’s shoulders droop and he visibly relaxes. “It’s not that, you know it. When can I touch you again?” He pleads, despair twisting his features. You tense up at the words. “Behave yourself. It hasn’t been that long.”

It’s not something you’re particularly proud of. In fact, you might even call it one of your great shames in life. You’ve always been a textbook professional, perhaps even too strict according to your coworkers and most patients. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have dared to imagine you’d violate the code of ethics by falling in love with your patient. But something about his situation stirred your sense of justice. Surely one cannot be punished for protecting their loved ones. The only criminal in the equation, at least in your eyes, was that joke of a father and he had it coming. So you found yourself wrestling against a blooming protectiveness and favoritism towards the young man brought here last month.

What would have normally compelled you into action had therefore been silently swept under the rug. Or even worse, you secretly indulged in it. A patient showing signs of affection towards you would instantly be transferred to a different psychiatrist. Yet you couldn’t put away the letters written by this one. Erratic, crumpled notes of “I love you” written countless times, pencil dug so deep it tore into the sheet. Bizarre illustrations that looked almost threatening. His elaborate delusions before medication was introduced, where he’d detail in grand narratives how you were fated for each other and nothing would stop him from having you sooner or later. You do not know what forces possessed you into this addictive plunge, but you’ve come to enjoy his violent, frenzied confessions. So much, that during one of the unsupervised meetings you let yourself pushed into the sofa as his hands tugged at your body in rabid need. It was so out of character that you wondered if it truly happened, though the bite marks and scratches on your neck and chest proved otherwise.

“Are they going to send me to prison?” He changes the subject and stands up, walking towards your desk. “Most likely. What you have is the result of a traumatic event, not a lifelong condition. Sporadic episodes that can be kept under control with antipsychotics aren’t enough of a reason to keep you in the hospital.” You press your legs together nervously and glance at him. “Can’t you just say it’s no longer working?” He suggests, kneeling before you and placing a hand on your thigh. “You know I can’t lie on the report.” You really don’t like it when he manipulates you like this. “Ah, yes, because lying is worse than fucking your patient.” He scoffs, annoyed. “Don’t threaten me like that”, you say as you turn towards him, but you’re stopped by the rough grip of his hand over your cheeks. “I’m not threatening you, I’m threatening everyone else. Listen, (Y/N), I’m not fucking around. I don’t mind pretending to be crazy if I have to. Will the meds still be working if I steal a shaving razor and cut the nurse open?” You try to open your mouth, but his fingers are pressed into your skin, locking your jaw into place. “I’m not going to prison. I’m not. Then I’ll never see you again and that can’t happen. You know that.”

Eventually he releases his hold, allowing you to speak. "I understand. Then there's no choice but to arrange your escape." You sigh, defeated, and he raises his eyebrows. "Won't that get you in trouble?" You chuckle at his statement. "Either way I'll be in trouble. You said it yourself. Might as well quit before I have to stand in front of the ethics board and have my license revoked." You'd prefer to keep the last ounce of pride if possible.

He sits on the floor and you notice his trembling hands. "Nervous?" You ask. "No. Just really happy. I'm not a bad person and you were the only one here to see it. But God, (Y/N), I'd kill anyone if it was for your sake. I can't wait to hold you whenever I want." He gazes at you as a smile widens on his face.

#female reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #obsessive yandere #tw yandere

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petrichorca · 2 months

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Hello, I am slowly figuring out how to use tumblr effectively. I thought I'd give an update on fics I've written in 2024, but keep forgetting to talk about here in a meaningful way.

As We Go Hand in Hand (explicit, gentlebeard, 7100 words) follows Ed as he processes the past few months while living on the island with Stede, massively in love but struggling with himself. I wrote it while feeling a lot of delayed grief around the (confirmed) s2 cancellation, and while it's sad at points it's also quite romantic I think. I really love this story.

Behind Closed Eyes All I See is You (explicit, gentlebeard, 5300 words) is a smutty PWP my dear friend @chaoticturtleturtle invited me to write with her. Stede lets Ed take the lead in a scene with some sensory deprivation, pwp, and aftercare.

like sugar to my heart (mature, gentlebeard, 4200 words) is a silly fic I wrote for my Animorphs OFMD AU co-writer as a birthday gift. Our blue four-legged four-eyed mouthless alien Stedeth gets foiled by a vending machine (based on the tumblr art of the giraffe centaur), and Ed consoles him.

like a bird (teen, gentlebeard, 3700 words) with @ghostalservice gives some backstory about Stedeth's life prior to the events of our 177k fic and features some very cute art of Mary and Stede's children (as Andalites, of course) by @theogem

Stede’s Cursed Red Suit as a Metaphor for Grief and Moving On (teen, stede + izzy, 1717 words) explores the squishy time of season 2, episode 5, and the dynamic between Stede and Izzy in season 2 overall. I am also obsessed with how Stede acts in the cursed suit. I find their s2 relationship really interesting so this is me looking a bit at that via a missing scene starting with Stede yelling OH FUCK OFF.

Calypso’s Dawn (explicit, gentlebeard, 1800 words) centers around how Ed made his boyfriend blush the morning after Calypso's birthday and how Ed feels about it. I love this fic. I've been trying to challenge myself to write more self-contained, shorter stories and this one turned out really well imo.

Life as a Series of Forward Rolls (teen, gentlebeard, 9900 words) features Stede running into his teenhood crush, the gold medalist in men's gymnastics from the 1996 Olympics. This fic also centers around a Barbie doll in Ed Teach's likeness, which @swashbuckling-sweethearts made an INCREDIBLE art of (embedded at the end of the story), inspired by my own 1996 Olympics Barbie. Silly and light modern AU!

Did you mean to do that? (teen, gentlebeard, 700 words) explores Stede's grief around Ed dying, even when he knows Ed is alive. I had no idea I would be so interested in writing missing scenes, but long conversations with friends have really ignited me in exploring these. (The length - I was trying to channel @brigdh, whose ability to write devastatingly brilliant drabbles inspires me, and I'm pleased with this one!)

Perfectly Ordinary Tuesday (mature, gentlebeard, 4900 words) with @ferventrabbit follows Stede and Ed deciding to get married on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday, and drag their inn guest Dave along for the ride. We split up writing the vows, and I balled my eyes out writing mine and then reading em's. This story is fluffy and fun, and it was a great way to start 2024. :)

What's next: I'm working on or noodling a lot of projects, solo and with different collaborators. Imminently, I've got a fic with @veeagainsttheday coming for AUpril on April 1st. Hoping to get something else out in April for @ofmdjanuaury's AUpril 2024 event, which I highly encourage folks to check out - it's for all sorts of creators!

@ghostalservice and I continue to think about our blue alien Stede and his human boyfriend Ed. Wanna Fly Away was such an important project to me while we were writing, and it's become even more special as folks find it. WFA now has art embedded in most of the 15 chapters, so if you haven't seen those check it out. More to come in that space.

Where was I going with this? Well, I suppose I want to say I'm still here. OFMD changed my life, and the OFMD fandom community is deeply important to me. I still hold out hope for a third season, or a follow-up that brings us more closure, but no matter what I'm still thinking about our pirates and will for a long time. If you read this far, thanks for being part of my community. <3

#ofmd #our flag means death #gentlebeard #ofmd fanfic #my fanfic #stede bonnet #edward teach

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liminalpebble · 1 year

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The Refugee: Chapter 10

Masterlist link

Loki was absent from the keep for several weeks touring his realms, checking the enforcement of his rule, and expanding further into new territories, which kept the linguistics division busy decoding and documenting languages. Loki and his generals utilized their findings for either diplomacy or threat, depending on the situation. The emperor himself gave them the additional burden of archiving masses of information on each language and culture in the name of his great mission of preservation.

Lea, for her part, was glad for her routine with the department. It was a lifeline keeping her sanity from being swept into the undertow of rumination over her captivity. She needed a place to focus her formidable mind and anxieties, although she would rather not think about how Loki might be using her work. She was often the last one to leave the wing in the evening. On many of those late days Magnus would come to fetch her, finding her sitting deep in thought, head propped on her knuckles, brows furrowed in contemplation. He thought sometimes that sitting at her desk this way, in the crisp royal purple uniform of the department, she looked like a self-assured commander herself. It struck him yet again that mere months ago she was just demurely serving food and drink to farmers, and it seemed unimaginable. Magnus tapped on the door this day and found her in a less commanding and more disheveled state; long skirt creased and wrinkled from sitting too long with one leg tucked beneath her, hair a mess held up with a stylus, and eyes dark-circled.

“Come in,” she said absently.

“Hello there,” Magnus chirped. “Have you eaten?”

“Maybe? What time is it?”, she asked stretching and rubbing her eyes.

“Wrong answer. If you can't remember when you've eaten, then it's probably time to eat again.”

She gave a tired smile of defeat. “You're right. Thank you, Magnus.”

He pulled her up by the arm and they made their way to the long-deserted dining hall, where Magnus slipped into the kitchen to fetch two sandwiches and warm drinks. This was becoming their routine most evenings and Lea always found that she was, in fact, very hungry and she was very glad for Magnus' company. She always told him so and without fail, thanked him, as if it was the most magnanimous gesture in the world. It made his heart swelled a little every time that a simple reminder of the time, a sandwich, and a little chat could mean so much to her.

He began, “So. Have you heard Vlad the Complainer is returning tomorrow?”

She almost choked at Magnus' new teasing nickname for their king. Surprised, she said, “Dracula? I didn't know you liked Migardian media!”

“Please, Lea, I'm best friends with a man obsessed with it. How could I not?”

“You're full of surprises, doctor. And that's a clever one. I nearly choked.”

Her levity settled into apprehension as she realized the arrival of Loki meant that the dreaded summon to his bedchambers might be imminent. She hoped that maybe he'd reconsidered the whole thing, seeing how useful she's been otherwise. Magnus knew her well enough by now to guess what was troubling her and what she was thinking. He took her hand in his. “He can be a terror but he can also be all talk and bluster about a great many things. I think deep down he still has a conscience. He cares about me, and he's come to care about you. I think that will influence his choices.”

She nodded sincerely, then quipped playfully, “Thank you, Magnus, but your relentless optimism can be annoying, you know.” Her lips curled into a sardonic grin, but he saw there was dread behind it. She was trying to detour from this conversation and the feelings it agitated, like sharp cold rocks being jostled within her.

“Heh. So I've been told by Loki many many times. Now I have to hear it from you?” He watched her face a moment as she took a sip of her tea, feeling so much affection for her, wishing she wouldn't hide her deeper emotions so relentlessly from him...from everyone. “You know, I'm aware that you came to this life through horrible circumstances and even now it's not exactly easy, but I'm selfishly very glad you're here. You've changed things for the better somehow.” Lea looked stunned and very touched. Magnus was always generous with kind or hopeful words, but this was somehow more deeply important. They let the words hang between them a moment. Lea couldn't open her mouth to thank him, knowing some guarded sentiment inside herself might slide out of place like an errant brick, causing the entire wall to collapse. He just nodded. He knew what she wished she could express. Magnus having said what he needed to say, decided to be merciful and change the conversation. “So shall we practice your combat skills again tomorrow?”

Relieved, she said, “Sure. I'm itching to use those scimitars again. Thank you for getting me permission, by the way.”

“Ah..it's no trouble. I guess our king figures you can't stab him if they're kept in the armory and enchanted.”

“True, and very wise. God knows, I'm often tempted to stab him.”

“Please, I consider it at least twice a day,” Magnus joked and they both laughed.

---

The next day a servant found her in the linguistics wing and summoned her immediately to Loki and Magnus' favorite lounge to greet the returning king.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, m'lady. I think he is just anxious to see you,” the maid replied with a shy smile, and Lea smiled back. She swept through the corridors, a swish of plum-colored fabric down the golden halls to the lounge, then tapped on the door. An irritated voice which could only be Loki's growled, “Enter!” as she opened the door. The fearsome conqueror sat wearing casual clothes and a bit of gauze stuck to his forehead. Magnus hunched over him, trying to seal some stitches in a blue glow.

“This would go a lot more quickly if you stop fidgeting, Loki!”

“I am not fidgeting!” he yelled, fidgeting.

Lea's snicker drew both of their attentions. “Oh don't mind me gentlemen. Please continue,” Lea said, holding in another laugh and coming around to face Loki. “You summoned me, sir?”

Loki, looked her up and down in her uniform. He hadn't seen her in it yet. “Oh, you are looking very smart in that uniform, aren't you? What a stroke of genius on my part to put you in one,” he said, knowing damn well it was her idea. He couldn't resist riling her just a little, which earned a wry expression from both Magnus and Lea. He had missed that, and her, terribly.

Magnus finished, leaving a small dark line on Loki's forehead to heal, and a dip of antiseptic to make him wince. “You are such a baby for being a god!” Magnus chided.

“Enough. To business. Lea, I wanted to commend your work on the linguistics and cryptography projects. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that you've been invaluable to the cause. For that you have my immense gratitude.”

“Thank you,” she said warily. She never knew where praise from Loki was going and that unsettled her.

“To celebrate the empire's recent victories, we'll be holding a ball in the near future, in which I will formally present you to the court as a new resident adviser. We'll have to...you know...do a great deal of polishing you up to be in the company of nobility. That will be your occupation for a time instead.”

“But I can't be gone. We're making so much progress on the...”

He held up one long finger to his lips in a silencing gesture, then pronounced slowly and purposefully with a bit of authoritative menace in his eyes, “You can and you will. I have others working on it. They can spare you for now.”

“Very well,” she sighed, knowing he always gets his way when he really wants to.

---

The next day, Lea received a summons to a wing of the castle she had yet to visit. She looked around curiously, wondering if she was in the right place. Just then Loki breezed flamboyantly out of a wide double door right in front of her, making her jump with surprise.

“God, Loki...I mean....Sire...You scared me half to death!”

“God, that I am darling,” he said with a wink. He guided her into a vast and stunning ballroom with a hand on the small of her back. He smiled jubilantly at her, watching her eyes widen and scan the sprawling gold ceiling and walls. They were drenched with murals and tapestry, punctuated by huge windows with velvet drapes.

“You like it?”

“It's beautiful,” she gasped.

“Right...today I need to teach you to dance.”

“I know how to dance.”

“You know how to perform a dance. I need to teach you to dance with a partner.”

“I don't like dancing with partners. I can't rely on them to do their part well enough.”

“Huh. Those trust issues really seep into absolutely everything don't they?”

She gave him an unamused look, and responded with a sharp, “but enough about you.”

He flashed his wide, toothy grin with absolute glee. God, he had missed her...missed this.

“Come here,” he said. She hesitated but obliged.

He set her arms; one on his shoulder and one extended, then held her around the waist and took her hand in his. They looked forward, eyes meeting for a moment before she looked down at her feet and said, “okay, what do our feet do?”

He lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Never look at your feet. Look at me.”

“But how will I learn the footwork?”

“I will lead you. Must you always be so inquisitive?”

“Yes, I must. How do you lead me?”

“Ah, well, communicating through subtle movements. For instance, if I pull you by the waist this way, it means I'm taking a step backwards. If I release your hand this way, I'm instructing you to turn...etc.”

“Okay...this is difficult.”

“It's simply a system of social communication, a kind of language. You know...language...the thing you obsess over every day. And, of course you're intelligent so it should really be very easy and intuitive. I wasn't expecting you to struggle with it.” She wondered if this was him attempting encouragement. If so, he wasn't particularly good at it.

“I'm not intuitive...not socially anyway.”

“So you're a linguist who struggles to actually communicate with anyone?”

She looked unexpectedly sad at this, halting their spar. He felt a bit sorry to have hit too close to the bone. He had struck the nerve of her loneliness.

“You seem to be doing well with it now,” he said, trying to recover. He stroked an encouraging little caress on the small of her back, where his large hand had been splayed in a dominant pull.

It was true. She hadn't noticed that they were gliding smoothly into a sort of waltz. Loki was, predictably, a good leader; subtly but firmly taking control before the other party even realized it. Once she did realize it, she glanced down at their feet again, still curious about the details of the footwork. Loki once again lifted her face with his graceful hand, this time a bit more tenderly.”

“Look at me. Remember, if you look to the floor you'll trip and end up there.”

“Can I learn the the part where I lead now?”

“No, you don't lead. Ladies always follow.”

She gave him an exasperated look..

“I didn't make the rules! Besides, isn't it nice to just glide along with an incredibly handsome man, not needing to do anything but be held and look into his lovely eyes?” he said in a cocky, grinning, croon.

To his great satisfaction, she was too mesmerized by his face, and voice, and touch to even respond for a moment. She was simply experiencing the rhythm of their breaths, his hand around her waist, the feel of his strong shoulder under her palm. She shook the spell off in order to respond.

“Even this room isn't big enough to contain your ego, is it?” He sucked in his breath and narrowed his eyes in a faux pained expression. Then suddenly, explosively, he laughed.

In retaliation, he suddenly pulled her closer and tighter against him. It felt exhilarating to have her so close, the warm curves of her little body pressed against the lean graceful strength of his cold one. He noticed with delight that her hand at his shoulder was now pushed to the nape of his neck and her fingertips began to gently, subconsciously toy with his hair as they swayed for some time, lost in the dance. She was blushing and looked down yet again.

“No. Look up. Meet my eyes and carry yourself like the queen you are...the queen I will make you,” he said, this time holding her hot cheek with the icy curve of his hand. To his surprise she didn't flinch away or fight him, in fact, she leaned her head ever so slightly into him. He tried to be as gentle as possible, as if trying not to spook a doe eating from his hand. She was so frightened. He could tell, feeling her heartbeat like a hummingbird fluttering against her rib cage.

“Please don't be afraid of me, Lenora...not now. I don't want to scare you away” he said very gently, stroking her cheek with his thumb and gazing longingly into the deep black pools of her eyes.

“Then please stop giving me reasons to fear you,” she said in a sad whisper. She gave his hair one final soft stroke as he pressed his head against her palm, matching her posture against his. He closed his eyes and kept them that way as he felt her move away from him, wincing as if struck when he heard the door close behind her. He stood there, alone with himself again in his own darkness, keeping his eyes shut tight and feeling a chilly angry shiver as her warmth left his grasp. A few tears ran down his face as her honey and incense scent lingered around him.

A/N: I did not come up with the name Vlad the Complainer. It's the name of a very entertaining and delightfully villainous black cat on Instagram. I thought it fit beautifully for Loki (who I believe would definitely be a sassy black cat in some variant form) Thank you @gigglingtigger @lokisgoodgirl @goblingirlsarah for your continued support! You’re so kind to hold my hand through this.

#loki fanfic

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