#another antipsychotic so i can stop being crazy and figure it out

[tigersorange]

trying to explain to my therapist that venom snake lives in my brain and i talk to him and shes just like. [frantically taking notes] . SORRY FOR BEING CRAZY I CANT HELP IT

[coffin-upalung]

Vent post, TW mental illness, hospitalization, being fucking poor, speculation of symptoms

So I have a problem with disorganized speech, right? I kind of noticed it a few months ago but now it's impossibly to ignore. Or I'll just stop talking when i thought i already made my point but i actually only said half a sentence? I don't have health care, so I can't figure out right now if it's a mental illness symptom or a physical illness symptom, both of which I have several diagnosed.

But I also developed a stutter? Which makes me think it's gotta be mental illness. But also I've had like a good 10 concussions in my life, 4 of them were in 2019, so maybe just got a bruised melon.

And I've found myself fencesitting between reality and delusion. And I've caught myself hallucinating. Birds, music, people taking muffled outside my window where I can't make out any of the words, bugs in my food and spiders in my shower.

And I want so fucking bad to just voluntarily admit myself. I'm not a DANGER to myself, but I just can't function. I can't hold down a job, I spiral and bounce between panic attacks to disassociation. I feel fractured, like multiple people are living my life, like half the day is a dream or I'm in the passenger seat of my life.

I've been on antipsychotics since I was like 13 or 14, but I haven't had healthcare in years. And I just want to take a month or two and admit myself to get everything fixed. And it sucks that for YEARS I was repeatedly 5150'd and got thrown in residential for 4 months as a kid against my will but now I actually want the help and I can't AFFORD IT?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Like I'm not suicidal in the slightest. My husband and I are happy and living a good life, we never fight and it genuinely feels like a sleepover with my best friend every night-- depression is near non-existant. But I just want to not be crazy anymore so I can take a shower without thinking I can talk to the ghosts in the walls!!!!!

I literally just want the hallucinations to stop and the delusions and the rabbit holing to stop. I want to be able to think straight and speak clearly. I want to stop having episodes where I'm laughing and crying and pulling my hair out. And it's for no reason. The trigger will be like "thought about that one embarrassing thing you said" and I just can't breathe and then I'm gone. Like it's someone else and I can't think and then like I'm in the shower and I've calmed down and im singing to music that's playing on my phone.

Like how am I supposed to tackle this in weekly therapy. It's gotten bad enough I'm BEGGING to go back on meds.

Do you know how long this fucking took me to write? I feel so small and incapable of simple tasks like writing a paragraph-- things I used to do for fun with fanfiction and random essays on topics I'll never post. But I keep misspelling and starting with one sentence and writing the ending of another. I kept misspelling symptoms as mysomptms and that's the clearest example of how jumbled things get. Like everything is there it's just a mess. It's not like a typo, it's genuinely my brain tells me every letter at once and I can't remember what comes first. I'll tell a story about my day and I'll tell the middle then the first then the last, or in reverse and I know it's mixed up but I can't remember what came first. And my grammar is so absolutely fucked. Like I almost majored in English and my essays were the ONLY reason I got into some colleges because I absolutely bombed my SATs because I had just gotten out of the hospital. Not my point, but demonstrates that I used to have such a tight grasp of the English language and its mechanics and now for months it's felt like I'm struggling in a 3rd or 4th language, buffering and lagging like a 2006 Dell.

And im AWARE that none of this makes sense, I've got pinball brain and im trying to say too much with too few words but this is an exercise to at least push through and get as much as I can out. At least to document. I feel like I have to apologize for how hard it is to understand me. This feels like such a burden to everyone around me and that makes it harder to think and speak. I hate this and I just want to get better.

Idk just had to get this out, hopefully I'll be able tks how a doctor when I'm able to get help. This makes me feel so stupid. I can fucking write, I'm an articulate fucking human being. I've got so much going for me, why does my first language feel like I'm only conversational? I can't communicate, I've lost half my vocabulary and I used to pride myself on my intelligence. I was always the smart friend, the one who's good at everything and would write your papers and give advice and I was going to do great things. And now I'm just a college dropout lunatic housewife that needs help with everything.

And im not... sad? It's just anxiety and then a detachment of reality. And I've tried to write this more like I would say it, it feels like either my brain goes too fast for my mouth or fingers or that it's so slow I cant think there is no in-between.

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns​, my beta @demisexualemmaswan​, and my artist @cocohook38​. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part  is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @spartanguard​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @carpedzem​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @lassluna​ @distant-rose​ @courtorderedcake​ @winterbythesea​ @thesschesthair​ @killian-whump​ @thisonesatellite​ @batana54​ @it-meant-something​ @xsajx​ @therooksshiningknight​ @gingerchangeling​​

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded. 

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours. 

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question. 

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath. 

*************************************************

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped. 

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him. 

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake. 

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car. 

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat. 

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside. 

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

*******************************************************

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward. 

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break. 

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now. 

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won. 

************************************************************

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on. 

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home. 

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps. 

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind. 

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep. 

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb. 

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position. 

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek. 

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual. 

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.” 

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes. 

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

[ziracona]

Hello! I have always believed that Michael needed better doctors and good treatment. He was simply billed as "Evil". Sometimes I think that at that time they were unaware or ignorant of mental illness, and that is why Michael did not recover. I wish it had been treated better. I would like to know your opinion about it ;v;

Oh, absolutely. Michael is a very tragic character, and what happened to him was almost entirely Loomis’ fault, secondarily the system and his parents’, and like onyl 0.8% his own. It’s true that mental health aid has historically been really bad in most places, and even today treatment and acceptance—even in specifically medical settings—tend to be abysmal. Of course people knew less than they do now about how psychological stuff works, but bias, cruelty, and superstition as well as a system that enables and even to degrees outright encourages that is to blame for the awful treatment people woth mental illnesses and personality disorders faced and continue to face, not just a lack of knowledge, and the history is really heavy and awful to look over. : ( It’s horrific some of the things doctors have done and do to people just trying to get help.

Like, in Michael’s case, we’ve had a name and understanding of psychosis since the 1800s. Canonically, by the time the poor kid was six years old, he was hearing voices telling him to do bad things to people. He told his parents, seeking help, and they did nothing to help him—just told him it was his imagination—despite knowing hos grandfather had suffered the same symptoms. If they had only taken him seriously and given him therapy and possibly medication too, Judith never would have died. (I am not goong to say it every time, but all this information is official canon) Michael’s reason for killing his family members is wanting the vocies talking to him to be quiet, because it’s agonizing. If you’ve ever had intrusive thoughts (stuff like “pull into oncoming traffic” or “break that and see what happens” and such that don’t actually compell or force you to do it at all, and are always things you as a person deeply do not want to do, but nevertheless are really annoying or distressing to hear in your head), imagine that cranked up to 1000, endless and constant, but from voices that seem to come from around you instead of in your head. Especially as a young child, with no understanding what is happening to you, this would be incredibly scary and distressing—doubly so when dismissed by your parents, whose sole job is supposed to be to love and protect you.

The voices say they’ll be quiet if Michael kills Judith, so Halloween night, he does. Important to note here Michael is recently six years old at the time, which developmental psych literally is not old enough to have a complete understanding what death itself is, let alone complex morality. You /cannot/ be evil at six, you simply don’t have a complex enough understanding of right and wrong or of consequence to /be/ evil. Also at this age, usually kids see death as a vague concept, but one that applies to people they don’t know only, not to them and their loved ones. In Halloween 1978, immediately after stabbing Judith, Michael looks away while he keeps doing it, and his breathing speeds up in a scared way. He barely looks at the body, and immediately goes down stairs to wait for his parents—probably for them to fix it—and does nothing to flee or hide what he’s done. He looks traumatized when they take his mask off. (Lots of little notes here like that Judith when she sees him seems annoyed but not very, and when he attacks her, tries to shield herself and call to him to stop, rather than fleeing or fighting back, which [appealing instead of fight or flight] is pretty exclusively something you only would use if attcked by someone you are on good terms with—I mean, Michael is six—if Judith had /tried/ to fight back, no way she would have died—so there’s less than nothing to indicate they had anything but a loving familial sibling relationship. But if I list all these I’m gonna launch into my six page Michael Myers meta so I will speed through the rest.)

Anyway! Sorry, I have many feelings. About...everything. Including Michael for sure. So, immediately after killing Judith, Michael stops talking. He also shows other psychosis and trauma readily recognized side effects, like catatonia, slowed movement. In Halloween 1978c Dr. Loomis claims he tried to treat Michael for eight years, then spent another seven trying to keep him locked up because he realized he was evil. This is a /blatant/ lie, as in film canon Loomis, by Michael’s review hearing I believe four months in? Six or less for sure, I believe it is four. Loomis has /already/ become convinced Michael is a demon in human form, faking his symptoms, and itching to kill again. The other doctors think Loomis is crazy, as does the other doctor who examines Michael, but they’re awful people so they let him stay Michael’s doctor anyway, even though they refuse to move him to Litchfield maximum security. By this time only a few months in, Loomis is canonically also threatening the six year old in his care and constantly telling him he is an evil being who wants to get out and terrorize again. (Also, I will die enraged the sentance Michael gets for killing Judith is to remain locked in solitary in a sanitorium for /15/ years, until he turns 21, at which point he will be tried as an adult for murder??? The fuck?? You CANNOT charge a 6 year old’s crime in adult court! ‘Tried as an adult’ is meant for like, when a 17 year old dismembers their family and eats them! It’s for particularly heinous crimes, committed by someone /very/ close to being legally an adult, and that /only/. The idea of waiting fifteen years to try someone as an adult for something done at age six is laughable and sick).

Okay this is already long, I get carried away rip. Uhhh, anyway, yeah. In Smith’s Grove, Michael is visited by mom and Laurie once, then never sees any of his family again, because his dad hates him and forbids the others—finds out because Laurie is four and talks that they went /one/ time, and physically beats four year old Laurie for mentioning his name until she trauma blocks out ever having had a brother. From then on, Michael spends /fifteen/ years and all the dest of his developmental stages of childhood in a sanitorium with Dr. Loomis—a man who on wild religious superstition grounds assumes by his own admission /on sight/ that Michael is evil, and no other human contact. According to canon, Michael spends at least four hours of /every/ day with Loomis, his /only/ human contact, who threatens him, promises to stop him, and endlessly barrages him with “You’re evil, you’re not human, you want to kill again, I /will/ stop you,” and nothing else. He also canonically keeps Michael overdosed on a type of antipsychotic that, while a fine drug if used normally, if overdosed can deeply worsen symptoms, and can cause permanent brain damage.

Honestly, if a six year old is exposed yo major trauma, none of their issues are explained, legitimized, or believed, and almost all of their developmental stage is spent with endless voices they don’t know the cause of suggesting murder and violence, one human being and authority figure telling them over and over and over for fifteen years with no other constant in their life or human contact period that they are a demon in human form who wants to kill and is /going/ to do so again...? How else was that story ever going to end? I’ve said it before, but that’s beyond conditioning; it’s lab growing a human child to one day walk out and murder Laurie Strode with a large kitchen knife.

I stand by Halloween is a greek tragedy more than a slasher, and Michael and Laurie are both victims. He’s the Asterios, she’s the Ariadne. Loomis the Minos, the real villain. (Or the Poseidon choose your poison).

Anyway, I 100% agree! If he had just gotten help from his parents, Judith would have never died. If he’d had good doctors, none of the events of 1978 would have come to pass, or anything after it. Loomis single-handedly causes the deaths in 1978 himself through years of cruelty, and bigoted bias towards a small child in his care who needed his help, not his abuse, but he chose to break as much as he possibly could despite his responsibilities as a doctor, an adult, and a human.

If you’re interested, I did a canon-deep-dive character study short story on Michael on AO3! Halloween is such a sad story but it’s fascinating. God, poor Michael and Laurie deserved so much better than they got. It’s a testament to Michael’s character that even after 15 years of Dr. Loomis, he really only kills his intented target(s) in search of quiet from the voices, and anyone who sees him/would be a threat, and not other people. Makes no attempt to kill any of the kids in Halloween 2018, and only kills Bob when he literally opens the door to his hiding spot and Michael is found and Bob becomes a threat to him. In H20, after Michael has had 20 years on his own, you get arguably the least brutal Michael, who intentionally passes on killing the mother and child, and the security guard he walks right past, because they don’t see him and thus he doesn’t /have/ to. Halloween II is less intentionally avoiding, but even then he still does the same multiple times too, like with the old lady making a sandwich, or the scene in the incubator room. Anyway he desevered better fuck Loomis all my homies hate Loomis.

[wordsfromthesol]

Stalker

Author: @wordsfromthesol​ Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Warnings:  Language, kidnapping, happy ending per usual. Word Count: 1.8k Requested: @vvipgot7be​

A/N: P.S. No one could ever annoy me by sending requests. Or just in general, I’m pretty hard to annoy. Feel free to send messages, requests, or just say hi 😊

You knew you shouldn’t have kept them, but there was just something more eerie about throwing them away. Unfortunately, your decision blew up in your face one night when you got home from patrol. You were grateful for the slow night, but you could immediately tell something was wrong when you got home. Your eyes darted around the dark apartment, focusing on the beam of light coming from underneath the bedroom door. Slowly you walked over and opened it, relaxing a bit when you saw it was only Jason, only to tense up more when you saw what was scattered on the bed around him.

“What the fuck is this?” He questioned you, eyes transfixed on the various letters and photos laid out before him.

“It’s no big deal, really.”

“No big deal?! This is a photo of you stitching up a bullet wound. I’m not even going to start on why you shouldn’t have been doing that here.” Your eyes sank to the ground. “Oh and here’s one of you at the coffee shop…YESTERDAY. Unless you’ve worn that exact outfit to the coffee shop some other time.”

“I mean probably…but that is from yesterday.”

“And these letters? A sick combination of possessive admiration and death threats. Why haven’t I seen this before?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out. It’s fine, I can handle it.”

“Clearly, the oldest one I’ve found is dated 5 years ago.” Something clicked in Jason’s mind. “Wait, did this all start when you became a vigilante?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know that that’s the reason.” Jason sighed as he picked up another picture, it was you changing into your suit, and showed it to you.

“Believe me, I’ve seen it. But I only started getting costumed pictures of me like 2 years ago.”

“ONLY?!”

“Well I have been one for 5 years…”

“Just pack a bag. You are not staying here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Seriously Y/N. Ridiculous. This person describes kidnapping you, in great length and detail. You’re staying with me, I’m not arguing about this.” You sighed and dug through the box until you found a photograph of you at Jason’s apartment.

“It doesn’t really matter where I am. Remember about three when I stayed with you for almost a month straight?”

“Yeah…” Jason took the photo to examine it.

“That was when I got gotten a particularly bad letter, it just really stressed me out. Then I didn’t get anything for almost 2 weeks, but the creep is persistent.”

“Well then we are going to the Manor. Even if he knows you’re there, we have plenty of security. And you aren’t leaving until we figure out who it is.”

“Oh…I know who it is.”

“WHAT?!”

“Jay, I’m a vigilante too. Of course I looked into this. He’s just a nobody, nothing to worry about.”

“Those are the worst kind, you never know when they are going to snap. Listen, get your shit, we are going to the Manor. I’m calling Dick to arrest this guy.”

“You can’t arrest him, he hasn’t done anything.”

“These photographs and letters say otherwise. Now, let’s go.” Jason gathered the documents and put them back in the box, firmly tucking it under his arm.

**

It was still weird waking up in the Manor, even though you’d slept here dozens of times, it just felt big and empty. You stumbled downstairs, joining Jason and Tim in the kitchen.

“You have a stalker and didn’t tell us?” Were the first words out of Tim’s mouth.

“Don’t tell me Jason’s roped you into this. He’s a nobody.”

“Do you actually know that? How extensive did your search go?”

“Well I’m sure not as extensive as yours is about to,” you mumbled as you made your way to the coffee.

“You’re right, give me that.” Tim snatched the box from Jason’s clutches and headed straight for the cave.

“See what you’ve done?”

“Stopped you from getting kidnapped?” Jason’s voice went up a few octaves while his head tilted in response.

“Hm mm, well I’m giving you two days here. Then I’m going home. You are all being ridiculous.”

**

They may be keeping you from your apartment, but there was no way they could keep you from going on patrol. Before Jason could stop you, you suited up and headed for the door. Unfortunately, Jason did catch up with you in the garage.

“Are you crazy?”

“Jay, I’m completely geared up, on alert, and on comms. I think I’ll be okay on patrol. Besides, what is this dude going to do? Scour rooftops until he finds me?”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t put it past him. Some of the photographs were taken from some intense vantage points.”

“Stop being paranoid. I’ll get past you one way or another.”

“Fine. But if you don’t check in every hour, I will come looking for you.”

“Deal.” You were thankful that Jason didn’t try too hard to stop you. Mounting the bike next to you, you immediately headed for the Narrows. You needed to punch something or someone, and that would be the quickest place to find said thing.

You didn’t even make it that far. Someone ran you off the road soon after you left the cave. You swerved to avoid hitting a tree, causing you to flip over your bike, rolling down the hill until your head smashed into a rock.

**

“Do you know where Y/N is?” Tim questioned his older brother.

“She left like half an hour ago for patrol, I couldn’t stop her.” Jason explained.

“Well learning about this dude has been a trip. You know he’s on like 4 different antipsychotics…”

“Uhm, why would I have known that Timmy?”

“Well, it doesn’t look like he’s filled the prescriptions recently. By my calculations, he should’ve run out almost 3 months ago.”

“3 months…shit. I’m going to find her.”

“Keep your comms on.” Tim warned his brother.

**

You woke up in a bed, an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. If you could call it a room. The concrete walls encased you, no openings except a steel front door with a small slot.

“Oh my beautiful, you are awake! You know I was ever so worried when you did not go back to your apartment all day. I scoured Gotham and couldn’t find you. I decided it best to keep you safe. Where I always know you’ll be.”

“Ian? Is that you?”

“Well of course it is darling. Don’t be silly, who else would it be?”

“Right, how silly of me. Why don’t you come in so I can see your face?”

“In due time, now you need rest.”

You immediately tried to contact Jason on your comm, but all this concrete was blocking the signal. Looking around, you searched for any kind of opening or even something you could boost the signal with. No luck. Even the bathroom didn’t seem to have any ventilation.

“Ian?” You called out. “I would really love some water.”

“I will fetch some…as soon as you let me know where you’ve stashed my stuff.”

“Your stuff?”

“Oh yes, the letters and pictures. I did love going through them again and again. I went to look for them and well, they weren’t under your bed anymore.”

“Of course, I was planning to stay with a friend. So I simply brought them with me. I couldn’t leave such valuables unguarded.”

“You say that, but the last time you left you left you left for a month! A month and my love was just alone. Under that bed. Though I must thank you, I would not have made it through had it not been for them. That’s why when I found you gone again. Well I couldn’t let that happen. You’re mine. You know you’re mine. I humored your relationship with that BOY. But no longer. You. Are. Mine.”

“That’s all I want to be. How about I take to my friend’s and we can get them together.”

“No. You cannot leave. Tell me where they are.”

“Wayne Manor. It’s at Wayne Manor.”

“You showed them to HIM?!”

“Only, only to show him how much you loved me. So he would back off. I swear.”

“Good. Maybe the insolent creature got the hint. I will go retrieve them now.”

In a minute you were alone. You stuck your comm through the slot of the steel door, hoping to get any kind of signal. No luck. Signaling a continuous SOS, you attached it to one of your boomerangs and threw it through the opening.

“Jason is so going to kill me” you mumbled to yourself as you went through your equipment, trying to calculate a way out.

**

“Tim, did you get any hits on her location? I can’t find her or her bike anywhere.”

“Not yet. Everything is saying no signal. I’m going to try and get a piggy-back to boost the signal. Maybe she’s underground or something.”

“Where’s that Ian guy live?”

“I’ll send you the address on file, but Jay…he’s here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean security cameras just picked him up outside the Manor.”

“Get what you can out of him, I’m going to head to his house.”

Jason drove around the house a few times before deciding to enter. Well if this doesn’t scream creepy stalker, I don’t know what does. He carefully went room by room, looking for anything to indicate you were here.

**

You heard the sound of a door opening. No way Ian is back from the Manor that quick. Grabbing one of the small detonations you had laid out on the bed you pressed the trigger and threw it out the opening.

**

Jason heard a muffled blast. Even if it wasn’t you, something sketchy was happening. He went towards the sound and ended at a dead end. He searched around the room, when suddenly a door opened behind him. He saw your boomerang lodged into the door.

“Jason?” Tim called out over the comm.

“Did you get him?”

“You could say that. Uhm, I don’t think he’s going to be giving any information though.”

“That’s okay, I think I found her. Call Dick because if that bastard is there when I get back, I will kill him.”

“He’s already on the way –” Tim’s voice cut off as Jason entered the hallway.

“Y/N?” Jason called out.

“JAY! I’m here!” You called back, delighted to hear his voice. Jason raced towards you, ignoring the small hole in the concrete floor several feet from a steel bunker door. As the door creaked open you collapsed in his arms, mumbling against his chest, “If you say I told you so I will murder you.”

“Fine, but you owe me.”

You pulled back and looked at him, “And what do I owe you?”

“Well you aren’t living by yourself ever again, that’s for sure.”

You started laughing, “Alright alright. Now get me the fuck out of here.” Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the bunker.

[fluffynin]

Welp, gifted myself some Ecoline markers for Christmas and went stupid with doodling out some ideas for my own Undertale AU... It is still a world building mess, but got a basic gist of what my Fellswap Pastel world is like along with my versions of W.D. Gaster and the Skeleton Bros... Or, speficially together the trio ARE Dr. W.D. Gaster that worked with the Royal Scitenist, Dr. Wade Douglas, who kept a tight leash on her "greatest masterpiece" so that noone knew that she mutilated two her successful "in vitro" children to save the life of the "Fallen One" who bravely scraficed himself to pacify the Queen after the death of her two children in exchange for allowing the Darkners, the humans that sought shelter from the "Surface War" in the Underground with the Princes' help, to live peacefully beside the monsters. Not even the Fallen One knew till after he done it that he was a natural mage... A necromancer to be exact and hence saved his two fellow test subject even though they are now a pair of skulls with ghost like qualities. And Dr. WD abused those powers to do her experiments without fear of others learning how... "humanic" they were as the Underground turned to seeing humanity as basically what humans seen demons as.

It is only when Dr. WD's experiment with Gaster's "Black" magic goes haywire that Dr. W.D. Gaster ends up freed from their captor... With being slingshot across time and space back into the past and on the Surface no less where they found it as destiny as they allowed the young Gaster to get to the Underground with helping the evacuation... Though, they end up being mistaken by a tourist family for their lost child and it gets him out of the country as being seen as one of the only survivors of the "Mt.Ebott Massacre" in the short World War III.

Finding they can return to the Underground via Gaster and Sans "doorways," they end up way in the future instead of the time they are currently in on the Surface... Hence they "appeared" out of nowhere in Snowdin and settled on living a double life as the countryside doctor of Snowdin with two "numbskull nurses" and living as Iwatani Naofumi in Japan on the Surface to hide their activities of research from the humans... Which, the trio sadly had to agree with Dr. WD's idea of just transporting the Underground out of the barrier... Only, the barrier is actually the monsters's saving grace as magic was scarce on the surface and only due to their shared body that the trio can even bare being on the surface for limited periods of time before locking themselves in a "nook" room to recover.

Basically, the Earth is no longer inhabitable for monsters and Darkners(who have adapted to constant exposure to magic)... Hence leaving Earth for another world or place was the only option.

Thankfully, after a decade of work including fighting the Eighth Humans mucking around with the "future" timeline... Dr. W.D. Gaster finally gets a break with an opportunity... Or spefically "falls" into said oppottunity with one of their doorways opening right into the Positive Void just before a book literally isekai's them to another world with one of Gaster's other selves, which he ends up Kris W.D. Gaster as my Gaster took Naofumi W.D. Gaster to play off them being "twins."

Kris - "My meds must be falling me. This shit can't be real."

Naofumi(in sign language) - "Nope. Unless you are also on an antipsychotic and we are somehow having the same hallucation-

Kris(signing back)- "Schizophrenia, too?"

Naofumi - "Crap... Should have known since you ARE my reflection. Though, might best go with the flow as it seems this drama queen of a king does not like us."

Kris - "What was your first clue? The dagger for eyes or his condescending manners?"

Said king who was exlpaining how the world was in danger and hence "summoned" the legendary heroes gave a mighty cough and shot a sheering glare at the duo.

Naofumi - "You said that aloud, stupid mirror."

Kris - "Oops. Then again, HE was the one being rude first with yanking us from our homes."

Naofumi- "Welp. Papy, Sansy, sorry to bear the bad news, but we are as good as dead at this rate."

Sans/Papyrus(hiding in Naofumi's hood) - "Crud/Crap"

Hence a crazy ride as Naofumi W.D. Gaster tries to figure out how to be this so-called "Shield Hero" while figuring out how to summon his Underground to this world plentiful in magic, yet all his doorways just go back to the Positive Void where MORE versions of himself seemingly ended up there as well...

...

Yeah. Brain, you need to stop smoking whatever you are on as I am beginning to wonder how fricking high it is consider all I just typed put... And that's without the lovely PMMM side it jeeps trying to mix in. Well, hopefully this just brought some laughs and smirks at this lovely AU crossover idea of where a Fellswap Gaster and Swapfell Gaster from @bun-bunmuse Gaster Gang juggle saving a world while trying not to get each other killed by not only the Waves, people of this fantasy world, and by their antics... But also anomalies that roam the Positive Void and the other Gasters since Naofumi IS technically human and many of his other selves absolutely HATE humans... Doesn't help duo are "legally insane" considering how f--- up their worlds are with Swapfell's world an edgy hell and my Fellswap Pastel world is basically a "pacifist cult" that hides a very fractured society under an idyallic delusion.

Yep. I'll stop here before I really get my brain more time to fire head cannonballs. Sorry for the puke post, but just had to get this out of my head before it keeps polymorphing on me.

[koojiru0-blog]

A letter to my ex and all you other exremests

You! Yeah you... Wtf atheists who degrade your own philosophies. You run around saying how religion is oppressive, narrow minded, forced down your throats, evil, insane, etc. Yet, I just saw a whole tumblr called "yourbeliefisinsane or crazy" w/e. Which I guess triggered me, because my ex would often tell me I was insane for believing in anything (never particularly religious myself but I am spiritual and to me that's religious without a rigid set of rules). And to be fair he tried to dub me insane at every.turn. so yeah bear all of this in mind. However the points I have to make? Could be what YOU'RE doing to others, not some preist, not your Bible thumping friend, not one who prays go God every night, not that new aged store. Whenever he would call my beliefs insanity, whenever he laughed at me for not wanting to kill a spider because it went against Mother Earth, it chipped away at my self-esteem and view on myself that I had. Because I figured, someone who was so dumped on in society for their beliefs would understand my personal struggle with believing and beleif in science, someone who I could talk to, disagree with and then have a grand old time later. I figured this because my heavily Muslim friend and I would actually just share thoughts on things through our own spiritual perspectives and then say things like "amen" or something along those lines to one another (I forget our equivilants to amen). And even my Christian friend respected my differing views, so to me someone who didn't believe would be just as accepting and not want to put anyone down for their point of view on things beyond our own understanding. And yet, here I was being judged everytime, having someone else's views shoved down my throat. Much like my mother did during her intense Roman Catholic phase, and a VERY God fearing man who wouldn't shake my hand because I identified with Wiccanism. I am blanking on remembering all the ways he did this in words, but the images in my mind are clear as day. I gave up a job being a Tarot card reader because of this, meanwhile I'm on disability because of some of this shit. I couldn't ever bring up my thoughts or feelings around religion or spirituality because they would quickly be doused with some sort of thing that pointed to it being insane. He did this so much, and for so long I internalized this "insanity" because as much as you can't help your beliefs, I can't help mine either, and they continued even though I had begun calling them crazy myself. I would tell counsellors about this, weirdness in my brain in hopes they could give me a way out of my delusions, I talked to psychiatrists for HOURS trying to pin point my psychosis. And yet I always got "you have PTSD, you aren't insane". But this never stopped it until just recently when I've been away from him for a year. I tried antipsychotics, blocking out any hope that there was something watching over me, everything (funny part about the meds is, it gave my psychosis for a while when there was too much in my system, so yeah I can tell the difference between psychotic thinking and spiritual mind set). The very thing before my uncle's suicide that kept me alive more or less was fearing meeting God and him punishing me for ending my own life, and this fear lead me to survive some CRAZY shit. So yeah I gave up on everything. The very things that brought me comfort scared the shit out of me in fear of triggering another psychosis. That's my own personal experience in a nut shell. It actually made me ill. And yet extreme atheists, you all keep prancing around pretending your what? Some sort of amazing genius to figure God or any God could ever exist? That it makes you some saviour of humanity to rid the world, of the evil....Religions. Geez..... That sounds fucking familiar doesn't it? :)