#have been in a manic episode for a good few days

[yououghtaknow]

if it weren’t so Fucking Sad my current situation would be deeply camp

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 30: choking with il dottore from genshin impact

warnings: choking, slapping, usage of aphrodisiac, dottore is a masochist, cockstepping, foot humping, degrading, cumming untouched, reader is a harbinger

notes: can you guys just tell that i fucking despise this rat????

as harbingers of the tsaritsa and a group of very unlovable, twisted, evil and just genuinely not-so-good people, disturbance at workplace was common. of course, said disturbance ranges from a simple hiss of “i fucking hate you. i hope your next mission goes so unwell that the only casualty will be your tattered corpse” to whatever this is. this could have easily been called as something that most people would call as ‘hate sex’ if only the both of you were not fully clothed.

so technically, this would be counted as ‘hate masturbating’? ah, fuck the labels or those things. right now, the only focus on your mind was to put this annoying bastard in his place.

he really thought he was the shit, didn’t he? the absolute galls of this motherfucker to even dare to put you down and insult you in front of your own subordinates. not just that, he went ahead and put aphrodisiacs into your coffee and his own like the absolute lunatic he was.

how badly you wanted to crush his windpipes in. that would oh so easy with your current position of your hand wrapped nicely around his neck like those beautiful chokers you see on some certain accessory shops. or even one that resembles a collar that is bound tightly around the neck of a rabies infested animal. but with a deranged doctor like dottore, the latter description seem to fit well with how he was moaning and wheezing, clothed cock humping your boots as he panted like a dog.

“you really are a detestable creature, you know that?” you hiss in sheer and utter anger, your other hand joining the other to wrap around his throat more forcefully. both hands on his neck, ready to crush his windpipes in if you wanted.

you had the power. a harbinger who’s currently in the position of tenth may be considered weak amongst fellow harbingers but even then, the tenth fatui harbinger is more than capable to shake an entire nation and to be seen as a threat to an archon.

and that tenth harbinger is you.

so even if dottore may be the second, one of the few who has the capacity to rival a god, right now he was nothing more than a pathetic dog who was humping your shoe. panting and whining loudly with his tongue stuck out, the mad doctor only focuses on the feeling of your hands choking him and the hardened leather of your shoes.

“y-yes.. yes yessshh yesyesyesyesyes oh archons, yes. i am. i’m a detestable creature. your detestable creature” dottore chokes on his spit, a wheezing shrill moan escaping his open mouth as his drool drips down his chin. he seems to like being degraded like this, the movements of his humping becoming more and more frantic on your shoe.

red eyes rolling to the back of his skull, sharp gasps and squeals following until he swore he could see black dots in his vision. he didn’t wanted to have the black spots dancing in his vision! because if so, how was he going to see you? he wanted to see you. that look of just pure anger on your face as you choke the daylights out of him and let him hump you like a dog in heat. no, he needed to see you.

“aaANGH—! kyuuck hhang♡︎♡︎ gck! ♡︎♡︎” a loud intake of breath is heard as your hands let go of the position around his neck, allowing him to breathe for a moment. not too long after, without even allowing him to catch a full breath, his head lolls to the side with a stinging feeling on the side of his cheek. did you just…?

“eyes on me. who said you could go around tearing your gaze away from me, rat” he could briefly hear your voice hiss through the ringing in his ears. muffled, faint, hard to tell if the voice was truly falling from your lips or if it was one of his manic episode voices talking.

either way, it was still your voice that was blessing his ears. it was your shoe that was now stepping on his clothed, weeping cock and he was thankful. maniac and downright insane but dottore knows a holy being when he sees and hears one. he may have not worshipped any of the archons, but for you? the mad doctor would gladly kiss the soles of your shoes over and over. hell, he would even thank you just for being in the same room as you.

call him unstable as much as you would like and he knows that. he even revels in the title and he would gladly wear that title for his entire life if he could be with you. dottore always had this odd obsession with you. since your titling of becoming the tenth fatui harbinger, he had developed this odd sense of fascination.

fascination to dottore, but unhealthy obsession to others.

not like the doctor cares. he had long since gave up trying to reason with other beings and had lost almost all contact with social interaction if not for the harbingers gathering or his experiments with his lab rats. until you joined his ranks.

“i said eyes on me, doctor” you grunt, slapping him across his face again. on the other cheek this time. that seemed to have done the work to catch his attention successfully as his hazy blood eyes focus on you. his cheeks were the same shade of red as his eyes, however it was hard to tell whether it was from your forceful hits or his blushing.

“ougck—! yess.. ye-es yes yesyesyesyes, eyes on you♡︎eyes solely on you♡︎” the blue haired man nods frantically, slight twitch and wince in his eyes showing that the added pressure to his cock was just a tad bit painful for him. even a masochist has their limits. but did he care? no. no he absolutely did not care. if anything, the crazy doctor wanted it to hurt since it was you who was delivering these delicious cocktail of pleasure and pain. he wanted it to hurt. he wanted it to feel good.

with another slap to his cheek for his continued disobedience — for constantly trying to look down at where your shoe was stepping on his stained pants — the doctor lets out a choked noise akin to a mewl before his entire body spasms. thighs shaking and twitching before a strangled noise is let out as the stain in his pants become darker and darker. the stain moving and spreading, some of it even seeping through the fabrics of his clothes as it drips onto the floor below.

“did you… just cum untouched?” you ask, doing a double take as you lift up your shoe to stare at the white translucent juice drip down onto the floor, leaving a tiny puddle. dottore only giggles, almost as if he was in a drunken haze, as he slowly lifts up his face to stare at you. he looked positively fucked up.

“do that again, pleaasshee♡︎?” dottore drawls out.

[novantinuum]

mmmmmmm. messy ass ramble thoughts ahead. this is not coherent, it is 1am, you have been warned.

so i've been thinking about that "i can fix anything! i can just keep messing up and fixing things forever, and you'll never have to know or think about any of it!" line during steven's lil manic panic moment in the ep everything's fine in the context of like... og SU episodes

this whole lil manic slip is one that's like... it seems a little extreme for him as a character at first, when one looks at the situation on surface.

but i think it really does shed a LOT of light onto one of his deepest fear. the same fear he's harbored for a good damn deal of the show.

"i didn't wanna hurt anyone!"

this moment comes just a few eps after the S3 finale 'reveal' of rose shattering pink diamond. in that final scene of the season, steven gets 'confirmation' from garnet that this happened, and seems to accept it for what it was- a difficult decision made amidst a treacherous war.

but also, he Doesn't.

because he's the legacy rose left behind. because each and every day he's growing more into his power. because now, with this reveal of rose's decision to shatter on the table, he's putting each and every decision he makes under a microscope.

he had no choice, he claims. she wouldn't let him help her.

he had no choice. it was self defense.

but is that true?

isn't that the same thing his mom probably told herself before ending a gem's life forever?

even though she poofed bismuth and holed her away for suggesting the very same idea??

rose became a hypocrite... so what if HE becomes the hypocrite, too?

see, with steven... i think it's really easy in the main show to sorta... observe all his actions on the mere surface without considering the deeper tickings of his psyche. like... take lars being brought back to life. from audience POV, that's a good deed. steven just saved someone with his magic! positive moment.

but genuinely... i think this was one of the worst moments of his entire life. i think he's still haunted by it- by the fact that he can just "fix" people in that way. and i think fixing jasper's shattered gem only made the specter of that day worse.

steven believes his role is to be the Shield.

the protector.

the one who is willing to do whatever it takes- even up to turning himself in for a crime he didn't commit- to protect his family and his friends.

and like, we all know that it's not steven's FAULT that lars died. BUT- he still died while under steven's protection.

and so the same way steven blames himself for "hurting" bismuth, jasper, and eyeball, he blames himself for killing lars. mentally, he Takes Responsibility for his death. yet another tick mark in the box of horrible "mistakes" he's made, yet another tick mark landing him just a little closer to the rose he's desperately trying not to become.

and worst of all... it's a mistake he "covers up."

because his tears are able to bring him back from the dead entirely.

and years later he realizes this is true for gems as well ;-;;;

so yeah, i absolutely think lars' death was also at the back of his mind when he said that line at the beginning

what steven saw in the depths of his mind as he was panicking there was him slipping down a slippery slope of violence that he couldn't escape from

first, causing harm to other gems and calling it self defense...

then, letting your friend die protecting YOU when you're the one who should be protecting him and facing NO consequence for this misgiving because you bring him back to life

then, expressing anger so visceral it can shatter floors, destroy whole rooms, flip vans. out of control. inexcusable.

then... outright shattering a gem in a duel while training to hone that anger. once again, facing NO consequence because you bring her right back.

then, that sudden, terrifying thought of "what if i shattered white diamond"

like, steven has absolutely no framework by which to separate his actions from genuine desire or just plain abstract thought.

he has no framework by which to understand the beautiful tool of adding a "man would it be fucked up or what-" to the beginning of those sorts of intimidating, dark musings.

he has no framework by which to understand the complexities of his trauma, and the way in which genuinely fighting back against someone he once called an enemy might feel empowering- instead, it would seem he's disgusted in retrospect with how deep he pressed into that fight, how much a part of him ENJOYED it, all because of the horrid destination it led to.

anyways at this point steven thinks he has now become the Hypocrite like his mom, and that he's just destined to hurt everyone around him forever but never be punished for it and Ouch

this post has no end, these were just ramble thoughts, the end. goodnight. i am sleepy and need to prepare to make Wig tomorrow bc OH boy i am con crunch.

yeehaw .

[zebulontheplanet]

I don’t talk about my mental health here much because well, this is mostly an autism page. But I think it’s good to bring awareness to all things. As some people know, I was recently sorta diagnosed with bipolar type Schizoaffective. It’s been a journey for sure. We’re still figuring out things and starting treatment. If it’s bipolar, it’s bipolar, if not, it’s another mood disorder similar to bipolar.

Hypomania has been something I have experienced multiple times but never realized was hypomania and thought it was simply ups from BPD, which I am formally diagnosed with. I never before realized that my days of being so high, weren’t BPD. However, hypomania has caused many things, and I’d like to talk about it.

Disclaimer: Hypomania is a Bipolar term. And is not something people with BPD or other mood disorders experience.

Hypomania has caused me to take on a religion I do not believe in and become obsessed with it. It’s a full on delusion. Hypomania has made it so I joined an online cult and put all my time into it. Hypomania has meant that I don’t sleep for days at a time (i sleep!! Just less than 3 hours at a time. More like naps.) I go high, do everything, do adventurous things and things I wouldn’t normally do, then I crash and sleep for a few hours, then I’m back at it again.

Hypomania is SCARY to me. It causes extreme paranoia, extreme mood swings, and extreme ups and downs in my moods.

It causes me to self harm, to hurt myself, to do things to my health that I wouldn’t in my right mind do. I won’t use my mobility aids, I’ll stop taking my medication, I’ll convince myself I’m unstoppable. I’ll walk miles even though my body can’t physically handle it. I’ll be in less chronic pain, if any, and therefore think I’m cured and on top of the world. I think I’m superior, I get shit done that I haven’t done in months and manically clean, organize, and yeah. My hypomanic episodes are not for the weak.

I get frustrated easily, I say rude things, I ruin, or almost ruin relationships with my carelessness and anger. I think of breaking up with my fiancé, even though I love them very much and would NEVER want to do that.

Hypomania is not a silly thing. I almost ruin my life EVERY SINGLE TIME. It’s hard to deal with hypomania. It’s hard to deal with me when I’m hypomanic. I’m hyper, I’m high. I’m all over the place. My heart races, and I feel like I just took a drug. I’m not myself. Me hypomanic is NOT me.

I wish more people realized that hypomania wasn’t just some silly thing, that it wasn’t something that is just silly goofy intrusive thoughts that you do. That it wasn’t just dying your hair and spending some money. (Although some people do that during hypomanic, it’s just so much more than that!!!) Hypomania is life changing. Realizing you’re hypomanic is life changing. Realizing that all your life those big highs and lows were something is life changing.

Don’t undermine hypomania. Don’t say that it’s not life ruining. Don’t say that it’s not “that bad”. It’s bad. Some people experience more calm hypomanic episodes, and I have DEFINITELY experienced more calm ones. But my hypomania is extreme most of the time. Let’s stop undermining hypomania. It’s a lot, and I wish more people realized that.

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

10:30 ー NANAMI KENTO. and the dark awaits us all around the corner; but here in our place, we have for the day, can we stay a while and listen for heaven?

“I can feel you looking at me.”

“How do you know? Your eyes are closed.”

A brown eye opens to see you, unsurprisingly, resting your chin on your palm. Guilty as charged, you’ve been watching him. “I can’t truly enjoy our joint day off if I don’t look at you lovingly before you wake up,” you grin and despite your boyfriend’s best efforts, he chuckles lightly. “It’s Sunday,” you remind him unnecessarily with a giggle. “The world works differently on Sundays even if you’re a big bad jujutsu sorcerer with a world record of black flashes.”

“I regret letting you and Gojou meet,” Kento’s tired sigh only makes even more laughter bubble from your lips. You don’t know many people from the sorcerer life Kento told you about, but Satoru is a riot. Any choice of confections and the white-haired man will quickly divulge all the stories he has about Kento’s teenage years. Part of you is certain he’d do that even if sweet treats weren’t on the table though. “Have you been up long?”

You shake your head before falling back onto your side, “not too long." It's rare Kento has time to himself from his work as a sorcerer. It's complicated but you can understand the gist of it. Curses don't stop and thus, neither can he. You'll treasure the time he does have, at least.

You have been ever since he told you the truth about his job. What being with him would entail. He said it wouldn't be fair to keep it from you began getting serious.

It's only a matter of time before Kento retires and he can rest as much as he deserves. Malaysia. We should go on a trip soon. He's always wanted to go.

A comfortable silence falls over your room as you look at each other with a pair of matching smiles.

"Good morning," the blond's voice rumbles with a tired but satisfied hum. He reaches out a hand and you meet it halfway.

You kiss the back of his knuckles before pressing your lips to the tips of his fingers. "Morning," you whisper before holding his hand to your chest and twining your fingers.

You close your eyes and lean into his warmth. I never knew I could love somebody this much. The world is cold and cruel but Nanami Kento is proof that, despite that fact, there is still warmth and beauty to be found in it. "Let's just stay in bed today."

"And abandon our plans for brunch?"

"Yes," you say resolutely. There's no where you'd rather be than at home with your boyfriend.

Kento's thumb brushes the side of your fingers, "I normally wouldn't fight against staying in but it would be rude to the employees if we didn't go in for the reservation."

"Okay, okay," you groan. This is what happens when you make reservations and you're not selfish enough to inconvenience restaurant staff. "You take your shower fir-"

When you open your eyes, Kento is gone and the vibrant color and warmth of your room went with him.

The bed feels too large for one person.

Your hand isn't covered by another a few sizes larger than your own; it isn't engulfed in a palm that is a strange dichotomy of rough and soft. Instead your hand is in the open and bare, save for the ring gracing one of your fingers.

Finding it was an accident during a manic cleaning episode a few days prior. Kento had it hidden away neatly in a cupboard you almost always forgot you had.

Ah.

Reality sets in and your giddy smile drops.

Right.

1 WEEK AGO. OCTOBER 31, 2018 ; 23:15 ーThat's the time Itadori Yuuji tells you three words that destroy the center of your universe.

“Nanami is dead.”

Yuuji can’t look you in the eye when he tells you this, he can't bring himself to look. His fists shake at his side, but he forces himself to stay still awaiting your reaction. You're quietー too quiet. He closes his eyes to brace himself for whatever your reaction will be.

"It's my fault. I'm sorry. I couldn't..."

Will you yell at him?

Will you rightfully bring your hands down to strike him?

Or will you merely sob and have it haunt him for the rest of his days?

Nanami's gone and there's nothing of him to bring back for you.

"You've got it from here."

The least Yuuji can do is tell you what happened to the man that would never return home to you. Not even in pieces. There are so many bodies that can't be identified. So many people who will never go home to their families. Families that will never see their loved ones again.

He can't tell all of themー but Yuuji can at least tell you.

There's movement in front of him and Yuuji welcomes however your emotions have chosen to manifest. Yet when he feels your arms wrap around him, his eyes jolt wide open. "He saved you, didn't he?" Your voice is soft, melancholic. Sadness clings to your tone but he can't mistake the blithe and relief mixed in it.

"He saved you, didn't he?"

"I-" Yuuji's cracked lips feel even drier. "But I-"

"Don't ever apologize to me for living," it's the angriest you've sound since he stepped foot in your house and even then it's a delicate anger. "Kento saved you because he believed in you, I believe in you too. There's nothing for me to forgive."

The warm tones of the apartment you once shared with one of the greatest individuals Yuuji's ever known is beginning to blur. "I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore. I can't ever protect anyone that I want to save. Nanami should be here-"

At those words, you hug him even tighter. "I know that man better than anyone," you tell him firmly with that knowing tone all adults possess. "Kento didn't regret anything and I know he would do it all over again. I'm happy and blessed that I was able to fall in love with someone with such a big heart. So trust me when I tell you that Kento adored you and he would happy you're alive. I'm happy your alive. It's the job of us adults to worry about you troublemakers. So please, don't blame yourself. Kento would want you to hear that."

When the tears spill and the sobs rack his body, Yuuji feels resentment more than grief. All the while you hugged him tightly, rubbing circles into his back. You who should be crying right now if anything. You who should be angry at him.

He wants you to be angry at him.

"Why can't you just be mad at me?" Yuuji whimpers into the crook of your neck.

You kiss the side of his head despite how undoubtedly gross it must be from the sweat and blood and dirt its collected over the night. "Because I love you, you silly boy. Me and Kento."

That's what breaks him the most.

.

“Are you sure you don't want to spend the night?" Your expression is one of concern as you both stand at the door. "I can whip up something while you're in the bath. I'm sure I can find something of Kento's that you can fit."

Yuuji's grin is weak but he shakes his head, "it's okay. I've got a ride back to the school. They're probably sick of waiting for me."

With a smile and a final exchange of farewells, you close the door with a sigh. Yuuji is a strong kid, you know that much. Still that doesn’t stop you from worrying about him. I hope he takes everything I said to heart. Even just a little, bit by bit, until the boy is able to believe your words fully. You know the man you love, Kento wouldn’t have regretted anything.

I should have tried a little harder to convince him to stay for at least a shower and dinner. That driver could have waited a few more minutes. Or I could have invited them in to eat as well. You press your forehead against the door, welcoming the coolness on your skin. You’ll check on Yuuji tomorrow you think as silence truly settles over your apartment.

It's in that silence that you finally notice the shaking of your hands. No they've been shaking the entire time. You're thankful Yuuji was too distraught to notice.

He's gone, that's all that had been racing through your mind when those three words left Yuuji's lips.

I can’t let this poor boy see me cry.

It wouldn't have been fair to him. He blamed himself enough, you could see the self-hatred all over his face.

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

It’s simultaneously a relief you can’t hear Yuuji’s footsteps anymore as much as it fills you with further dread.

Kento isn’t coming home.

Your chest heaves dryly as quiet gasps slip from your lips and your knees buckle.

He's gone.

He's gone.

He'sgonehe'sgonehe'sgonehe'sgoneー

Your throat clenches as a sob finally escapes your throat.

"Kento..."

[taintandviolent]

tendencies ; au!James March x reader

summary: You're a new patient at Cortez County Sanitarium, and a particular Doctor has taken a liking to you and your murderous tendencies. w a r n i n g s: 6k words. au, female reader, shameless smut, female receiving, medical kink, examination kink, possible abuse of power, fingering, masterbation, penetration, mentions of murder/death. a/n: [requested by anonymous, some ideas were changed due to personal preference! i'm so sorry it's another long one I ramble alsjfhdskjfhsk. if you see any mistakes, no you didn't because this wasn't beta-read at all!] full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

It finally happened. You’d had one too many manic episodes where you swore up and down you were going to kill them both for treating you the way they did, and your parents institutionalised you. You’d threatened them with the axe your father always kept in the garden, and that was the final straw. Father was on the phone before you had a chance to even get the axe. Off to the looney bin she goes! Mother packed you a suitcase despite father insisting you wouldn’t need it where you were going. She snapped the latches shut and tossed you and it into the backseat of your father’s Ford.

Swell.

Your mother cried as two men in white uniforms approached you, each of them taking an arm. They gripped them a little too hard and you thrashed, which they took as a threat. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw your father take your mother into his arms, trying to calm her as pet her hair soothingly. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, blotting away the running mascara. All for show, you thought.

“When I get out - I’m going to find both of you!” You promised, howling. “CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!”

Your screams echoed down the hallways as you tried to wrench yourself out of the grip of the two men. You certainly weren’t making a good case for yourself that you weren’t psychotic, but your anger blinded you. It filled your veins, rushing through as naturally as blood, and would only subside after you’d heard your mother’s terrified whimper.

The first few days had been every bit as protocol as you’d expected. Dreary and professional, filled with every bit of staunchness possible. The nurses seemed to have a perpetual frown, while the orderlies puffed their chests up, determined to appear as intimidating as possible to the crazies.

Day one was depressing. Intake consisted of them stripping you of your clothes and all belongings, manhandling you as they unzipped and unbuttoned. They promised that your items would stay in the office where you could have them once you were discharged. The tone in the nurse’s voice wasn’t encouraging — but you were certain you’d get out one day.

The orderlies then hosed you down with ice cold water, the frigidness burning your skin in the worst way. Front and back. They handed you blandly coloured clothes without a towel. Of course not. They watched as you uncomfortably dressed, yanking the gown over your head. The fabric stuck to you in the most horrible way as they steered you down the bitterly cold hallways.

Screams, laughter and everything in between echoed off those cold stone walls. As you passed, a few residents came to their doors, peering curiously out the small cutaway in the door, wanting to see if they were the one getting a new neighbour.

You were thrown into a room. Five straps; two for your arms, two for your legs, and one across your forehead. You were told that you’d stay just like that, secured to a bed until you calmed down, which was around lunch time, when your rumbling tummy trumped your need to holler until your throat was sore.

After a blandly coloured pasta dish, you weighed your options and decided that staying out of the straps was ideal, so you behaved yourself for the rest of the evening. You were escorted to another room, much farther down the hall. The number on the door said seventy-eight.

On Day Two, you’d been informed of the rigorous schedule that took place here at Cortez County Sanitarium, and naturally, you’d forgotten it as soon as it left the orderly’s mouth. You didn’t care about the community time, or the rec room, or the biscuit making. You didn’t care about anything, except planning your revenge on your parents and their selfish decision.

Your parents had never wanted you, always wanted you out of the house. They kept your schedule full with extracurricular activities, forcing friendships and relationships, toting around how you “were going to marry early, she’s just such a catch”! You all knew that wasn’t the case at all — you were sick. Sick, delusional and unstable. Hardly wife material for anyone.

They just wanted their house to themselves.

Even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn't be able to join community time seeing as you had been assigned to solitary confinement for an indeterminate period of time, due to your ‘severe tendencies’. Whatever your egocentric, hateful father had told them scared them enough to treat you like public enemy number one. Out of safety for themselves and their fellow patients, the orderlies had flanked you, escorted you to your room, sat you right down on the bed, and locked the door. Who knows what they’d done with the key. All you knew was that three times a day, someone opened the latch in your door, slid a tray of food in, and left again. Nurses came in infrequently to complete routine check-ups and change your chamber pot.

You had nothing to read but the Bible, and nothing to look at besides a confusingly angled visual of the outside world, obscured by a metal grate and brambles. The food was decidedly a highlight and the biscuits were particularly good. Made on site, one of the nurses had said.

On Day Three, it was raining. You took all your bedding off and rearranged it so that your feet faced the window. You’d much rather wake with the sun, and be staring at the door before any of the nurses came into rouse you — they were vicious with their sharp fingertips, prodding you like a child seeing if roadkill was really dead.

As you stood back to admire your interior decorating, you decided that if someone came in and rearranged it, you’d throw a tantrum like the girl three doors down who howled like a banshee every time someone touched her.

The next day, it was raining still. After some bored and delirious pacing of your room, you thumbed through the paper thin pages of the Bible, skimming excerpts that you recalled from childhood as your father had always tried to install religion and morals into your daily life. Aside from knowing the Ten Commandments, he failed miserably. As you flipped through, you noted your copy had been well loved or deeply hated, you weren’t quite sure because every mention of sex had been ripped out or scribbled on.

This isn’t so terrible, you thought. Despite the lack of reading material and the overall monotony, you enjoyed your solitude. Left alone to your own devices all day, free to plot your revenge, and free to rearrange your little room however you wanted.

On the fifth day, there was more rain, but with the exciting addition of thunder. Loud enough that you almost didn't hear the knock. Your eyes flitted from the cool, cement flooring to the door. Someone rapped their knuckle against it several times. There weren’t any words, only painstaking seconds of silence. Finally, the door opened, revealing a man with dark hair and even darker eyes. He stood tall, had a thin, movie-star moustache, and must’ve been a sharp dresser, because beneath his pristine white coat, thin white pinstripes decorated his navy blue trousers.

Despite his charismatic pull, you’d learned to not immediately trust everyone that walked through your door - most of them had a syringe in their pocket and were just waiting for the opportunity to plunge it in.

“Good Morning.” He crooned. “My name is Doctor March, I’m head of this facility.”

Was it morning? You hadn’t gotten your food yet. You pulled your knees up to your chest, staring at him hard. His eyes dropped, momentarily gobbling up the visual of your white underwear, covering a tantalising mound of flesh. He blinked sharply, returning his eyes to yours.

“No need to be afraid, my dear. I’m only here to ask you a few… questions. Simple examination. Get to know each other.”

He took a stethoscope from his front pocket, draping it around his neck. You were hesitant. Maybe it was run-of-the-mill for the head doctor to make his rounds, he did this to everyone, it wouldn’t take long and you would be back in your lonesome before they brought your breakfast. Maybe.

“Now, tell me…” He began, as he confidently approached you. “Why were you brought here?”

“I told my parents I was going to kill them,” you started. “And I — “

“How? Tell me how you wanted to kill them…”

His question stopped you dead in your tracks — up until this point, that was all they needed. Every nurse, assistant, or doctor had heard that singular phrase and scribbled something on their pad. But this Doctor…. This doctor wanted the gory details. He didn’t even have a notepad.

“I told them that I was going to chop them up into small pieces. Like that Lizzie Borden girl.”

“She was acquitted, you know.” He added, warming the chest piece of the stethoscope with his breath. Huh-huh.

You sniffed, adjusting yourself on the bed to move closer to him. The rusty springs squeaked underneath your weight. “Well, if she did do it… I understand why.”

He hummed, pleased. Your red-rimmed eyes darted up to him, confused by the sudden… heavy aura in the room.

“What?”

He said nothing, just grinned one of the most sinister, tight-lipped smiles you’d ever seen. “Deep breaths for me, please.”

He dipped his hand into your gown at the neckline, navigating around the fabric until he felt skin. He pressed the piece to your chest, listening wordlessly. Your heart started racing, and you swung your eyes away from him, hoping to calm it before he noticed. “Go on.”

You took a breath and exhaled once, hard. He moved it to another position on your chest, his knuckles grazing the plumpness of your breast. You took another deep breath, and another exhale. He pulled the stethoscope away, and returned it to his neck. With a single finger, he tapped your bottom lip, indicating that he wanted you to open your mouth.

“So. You wanted to kill your parents with an axe, did you? What else?”

You furrowed your brows at him, perplexed by his unique interest, and stuck your tongue out. He took a depressor from his pocket, and pressed into the meatiest part of your tongue, farther back than you were used to. Your gag reflex threatened, your throat pulsing, but you relaxed. He nodded slowly, seeming pleased. He still looked like he was poised, waiting for your explanation. Your eyes darted from the blurred tip of your tongue to his eyes. Alright, you’d do your best, then.

“Ah tah tha ah wah gahaa tah buh—“

Doctor March laughed; a low, breathy hum. He removed the depressor, wiping your saliva on his inner sleeve. “Apologies. Try again, my dear.”

“I…” You cleared your throat. “I told them I was going to bury the small pieces in the garden and let the Burkes’ hounds eat the rest.”

“Devilish,” he hissed.

“Um…. The Burkes are our neighbours.” You added. He nodded passively.

“Did your parents look fearful? Could you see their expressions glaze over in terror, lives flashing before their eyes?”

“Um… when I went to get the axe, my mother screamed. Loud. I’d never heard her scream like that. I ran towards the door — it was in the garden shed — but she howled and clutched her neck like I’d already done it.”

As you spoke, his eyes were locked on you, enraptured by your telling of this near homicidal experience you’d had. He understood, the drive, the hunger to want to end someone’s pathetic little life. To play God, as it were.

“That’s when my father called the police, and I suppose they called you.”

“Indeed they did. The officers spoke to me directly.”

“They did?”

“Yes. I specialise in murder, you see. Murderous tendencies, rage… both of which you seem to have.”

Shyly, you nodded. You supposed you did struggle with anger issues from time to time….

Noting your sudden sheepish disposition, he cleared his throat. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Rage is a normal human response. To feel unbridled hatred towards someone or something… every human being on earth experiences it. Of course, whether or not they act it, well that defines monster from man. And in some cases,” He added. “The rage is justified.”

To hear that sent a shiver down your spine. The validation, the understanding… perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad place after all. If being a monster meant feeling, then you were in fact just that. Happily. A monster towards anyone who had wronged you.

“As is that, my dear.”

“What is?”

“Arousal.”

The slat flipped open. An orderly pushed a pale green tray into the slot, as they did every mealtime. Dr. March noticed this and straightened up, removing his hand from your shoulder. He walked to the door, thanked the orderly, and retrieved your tray before setting it at the foot of your bed.

“I’ll let you eat… thank you for allowing me some of your time.”

You could only nod feebly as he walked out the door. Once the lock clanked into place, you reached between your legs, ready to scoff at his accusation until your fingers met your slick cunt. Part of you was embarrassed, another part sour that he knew, and the final part had her tongue out, panting like an overheated dog, wanting him to return.

It was just after lunch time when he came back the next day. The same knocking on your door before it opened, and this time, you felt your heart jump into your throat, thudding away foolishly. This time, he hardly asked any questions, just dove right into examining you like any other patient. Though you hid it, you were in seventh heaven with the way he handled you.

The Doctor took your pulse, pressing his fingers into the inside of your wrist and counting on his watch. While he focused, you studied his face, swearing to remember his dashing features long after he’d left your room again. His black eyes darted over, and you flicked yours away, bashfully. He seemed to commit a number to memory, his lips moving ever so slightly as he said it aloud.

“Head up, please.” His fingertips guided your head, angling it slightly. Without another word, he then pressed two fingers into the pulse in your neck, allowing it throb against the pads. Your breath hitched in your throat.

As though he knew, he stared into your eyes. Confirming that he was right, you stared right back. His breathing was shallow, washing over your lips. Heat bloomed in your cunt, pulling up with a deep clench. He inched closer, somehow still monitoring your pulse. Had the roles been switched, you would’ve forgotten how to count by this point.

“Have you ever wanted to kill anyone?” You asked in a whisper. Your throat was dry.

He leaned so close to you that you could feel his cool breath on your cheeks. “Many times.”

You swallowed. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

This time, he didn’t answer immediately, in his swoon-worthy confident way. Instead, his eyes tunnelled into your soul, dreaming about taking fistfuls of your patient gown and tearing it half, tossing it to the floor and dancing across your naked form. His heavy coat hid what you wanted to see, but he watched your eyes trail down. Had it not been, you would’ve seen exactly what he needed to hide — for professionalism’s sake.

You were unlike any other patient; not in the sense that you wanted to kill people, or even had. Those were a dime a dozen. Your hunger was erotic, and needed sating. Like him, you’d savour the tinier details. You’d take great pleasure in it and after, play gleefully with their blood. He could smell it on you, the need for carnality, for violence.

“You have…” you whispered, closing in the distance. Your underwear were slick with your arousal, you felt your cunt glide against the cotton fibres as you moved towards him. He straightened up, inhaling deeply through his nose. The sudden separation was painful, and you were fairly certain you had let out a pitiful whine.

On the seventh day, it was sunny, but the only hospital staff that visited you was a nurse, who delivered a medication in a tiny paper cup. You clamped your teeth shut, refusing. She tried to force your jaws open with her bright red manicured nails, but you still resisted. With an annoyed huff, she gave up, making a note of the behaviour on her clipboard.

You angrily fingered yourself that afternoon. You thought of Doctor March and his cool hands, and the way that they’d ghost over your skin before roughly grabbing your limbs, yanking you in the direction he wanted you to go. You imagined the way his moustache would tickle the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh.

Another thought - a darker thought plagued your mind while you pleasured yourself. The thought of him killing. Which, at that point, you were fairly certain he had. The way that he had hurriedly left, refusing to speak any further had told you of his guilty (or perhaps not guilty at all) conscience.

You wondered if he’d killed someone here. Perhaps a patient, perhaps an unsuspecting nurse who had been a little too flirty with him, and he’d used it as an excuse to get close enough to strike. Perhaps he’d killed a rival doctor whom had too big of an ego, a resident from another hospital who tried to climb the ranks of his hospital.

You pictured him, covered in blood and remains. Crimson dripping from his sculpted, veiny arms, with the sleeves of his pristine lab coat rolled up to the elbows. His hair dishevelled, dark strands hanging down in front of his black eyes.

It fuelled your fingers as they pumped in and out, only stopping to draw circles on your clit to bring the sensitivity higher. You came onto your fingers, saying his name over and over again. It started raining again.

It was the ninth day when he finally came back. You had heard his knock, and immediately rushed to stand at the your edge of your bed, hands clasped behind your back. You rocked back and forth on your bare heels, like a good little patient, waiting for instruction.

He opened the door, pausing to look over you. Jaw clenched, eyes burning with intensity. His expression said everything; the absence had been just as hard on him as it was on you — and perhaps, you two had came at the same time. You in your dismal room and him in his ornate, dark office.

He pressed the door shut behind him, keeping his hungry eyes on his meal.

“You crave what I crave,” he hissed, hoisting you up in his arms and slamming your back against the cold wall behind you. Every word sounded so suggestive coming from his mouth, and you longed to hear him speak about everything and anything all at once. You responded by wrapping your legs around his waist, squeezing tight. Your underwear pressed against his coat, fabric grinding against fabric. You whimper at the feeling of the bulge in his pants and even through the layers, he can feel the wet warmth of your cunt.

His thumb hooked around the hem of your underwear, teasing the crease of your hip, before lifting the elastic enough to crawl his fingers underneath the damp fabric. With an exhale, he closed the distance, drowning your whimpers in devouring kisses.

“Just another examination,” he assured, before running his middle finger up and down your slit, smearing your wetness everywhere he could.

There was something thrilling about being fondled by a doctor, perhaps the threat of it being wrong and immoral. You’d heard whispers of hysteria — something that while in his grip, you agreed to having. You were hysterical for his touch, and wanted everything he was willing to give you, despite the ethics. As far as anyone in the halls were concerned, he had every right to examine this patient, and find the cause of her lunacy. The thought had you leaking onto his hand, coating his thick digits in your arousal.

He inserted two fingers into your dripping cunt, sinking them to the knuckle. You wanted to whine, to scream, to bite his collar, and fill the cold hallways with your moans. Instead, you laid your head down on his shoulder, rocking against it in the rhythm that his fingers plunged into you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you pressed your cheek into his white lab coat and panted as quietly as you could. His fingers curled inside of you, exploring your insides curiously. You felt them everywhere, pumping in and out easily.

“Doctor March?” Came a voice from outside.

He froze.

Wide eyes flitted to and fro, your chest heaving with desperate, terrified pants. What would happen if you two were caught? Would it matter, in his grasp? His black eyes rolled upwards and with a displeased groan, the doctor dropped you to your feet. He wiped his fingers on his coat, then turned away from the door to stuff his stiff cock into his waistband, where it would remain until the erection faded. Whatever menial task he was doing would eventually consume his mind enough to take all his thoughts off you. Maybe. Maybe not.

He was gone before you could protest, and you collapsed against the wall in a sweaty mess. But before your depression could sink too deeply into your psyche, the door opened again, and the orderly stepped towards you. Doctor March was still in the hallway, fingers laced in front of his crotch. He was waiting. With two fingers, the orderly beckoned you forward.

“Oh, what now — OUCH!”

As soon as you were out of your room, the orderly took hold of you, digging his thumb deep into the muscle of your upper arm. What was it with them? Couldn’t they just kindly guide you? You wanted to kill him for handling you like that. You wanted to snap his neck, feel the dull crack beneath your hands, and watch as the life disappeared from his eyes like the sun behind clouds. You want to feel his heartbeat slow to a stop, thudding one final time before it faded into nothingness.

When you snapped back to reality, Doctor March was staring at you with a very knowing smile. He bowed his head slightly and swallowed.

“She getting a lobotomy, Doc?” The orderly asked, genuinely curious.

“Something of that nature,” he concurred. “I’m going to start treatment in attempt to cure her hysteria, and preform whatever tests necessary to properly diagnose what ails this young woman.”

You knew what he meant. You felt what he meant. Deep between the slippery walls of your cunt, you felt what Doctor March meant by that. He wasn’t going to lobotomise, he was going to fornicate. You tried to crane your neck to look at him, but he was too far out of your peripheral, and the orderly shoved you forward.

“Good luck to you. She’s a real basket case.”

Once you’d all reached the examination room, which was upstairs and at the very end of the hall, you traded hands, Doctor March putting on a good show for this orderly. He gripped your arm hard — not quite as a hard as they orderly had — enough to depress the skin.

“Thank you, Sam. Please let the others know that I require concentration. Avoid any disturbances at all costs.” “Sure thing, Doc.”

The room was filled with shelves, packed with books on the human mind and all of its maladies. Specimens decorated the shelves that weren’t filled with books; mummified brains, organs in jars. A few plants were shoved into the tiny crevice of a windowsill. You began walking towards them, enchanted by seeing greenery for the first time in almost two weeks.

His stern voice came from behind you, cutting the fascination short. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a pair of black rubber gloves. He slipped his fingers into each one, pulling them down and letting the rubber snap back against his wrists. “Ah-ah. The table, please.”

You hadn’t really anticipated a full on examination. Had you read everything wrong? You jumped with each snap of the rubber gloves, suddenly uncertain. Perhaps he was going to lobotomise you. With a dejected sigh, you turned. Maybe later. Putting one foot in front of the other, you made your way over to the examination table and stood obediently in front of it, waiting for his next move. After slipping his arms out of his white coat, Doctor March flicked on a light above, and the shiny metal seem to glimmer underneath it. The coat was hung on a nearby coat stand, and you took a small moment with the delicious new visual. He wore a white shirt, as pristine as his coat, but with black suspenders and black trousers with dark grey pinstripes.

“So, you’re going to attempt to cure me?” You asked, sucking coyly on your bottom lip.

He didn’t answer. Doctor March’s lips collided with yours almost straight away, tossing all tact out the window. He knew what he was doing uncouth and borderline criminal. Of course, a distinguished doctor shouldn’t be dry humping one of his patients in his examination room. It had become uncomfortable though, his arousal swelling well past the point of being ignored. His cock burned with a demanding, carnal need. He continued thrusting his hips upward into your tummy as he peppered your neck with kisses, unable to control the urges to do so.

It was your fault. Simply for being you, which he was unable to resist. He knew that you wanted to kill people as much as he did and that you’d relish the tinier moments of murder. The thought drove him wild, picturing you spattered with someone’s blood, chest heaving, eyes wild with the titillating glimmer of manslaughter. Abruptly, Doctor March pulled away and spun you around, your back facing him. He slid his hands over yours until they reached the shoulders, where he squeezed softly, leaning into you to take in your scent. You could hear his uneven, lust-broken pants as his wide gloved hand eased you down into a bent over position, pressing your bare chest against the cool metal.

“Whether or not this cures your hysteria will remain to be seen… it certainly won’t cure mine. Once I have you, I’ll only want you more.”

With your face smashed against the examination table, you moaned. He had kissed your lips raw, they stung.

“Are you certain you… consent to this treatment?”

You nodded too quickly, wiggling the plump curve of your ass against his crotch. Doctor March groaned — a deep, guttural moan — and took hold of your hips, yanking them backwards into his own groin. “Splendid. Then, up onto the table you go, my dear.”

Obeying him, you turned around, placing both hands on the table and hoisted yourself up into a sitting position.

“Lay back, please.”

He began to examine you as any doctor would - pressing and prodding. You weren’t in any pain, so naturally, the only sounds were your shallow breathing. He felt your lymph nodes in your neck, pressing two fingers delicately against your throat, skating down over your collarbone. Your eyelids fluttered helplessly, which he noticed. They then travelled… carefully… towards your breasts, taking the fullness in the palms. You writhed on the cold, metal table as he squeezed them, rolling your nipples between his gloved thumb and forefinger.

“Perfect,” he crooned. “Perfect.

His hands continued trailing down, pressing firmly into your organs. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, fiddling knowingly with the hem of your underwear, tugging them down slightly. With a deep breath, you dug your heels into the table, lifting your ass off the table. Doctor March smiled, and pulled them down your legs.

“As I said before, my delinquent little darling, you seem to crave what I crave.”

Doctor March took his middle finger, trailing your slit. He then took his forefinger and middle finger and pressed them down on either side of the slit, spreading your cunt wide. The cool air hit it, and you shivered.

“Cold?” He asked.

“The opposite, actually. I feel like I’m on fire.”

Another gloved hand pressed against your naked abdomen, feeling the heat that radiated through the thin rubber. “Indeed you do… and my, my. All for me?”

“All for you.” You echoed.

He inserted one finger, the rubber sliding into your cunt easily. His eyes were on you, locked, to see your reaction. Your eyes closed, you exhaled.

Two fingers, and your stomach muscles clenched. Your pelvic muscles clenched too, pulling his thick fingers further into you. With his thumb, Doctor March encircled your clit, still swollen from the pleasuring before. Your back arched violently, the same way patients’ backs did when hundreds of volts of electricity coursed through their pliable bodies.

Your clear, slick arousal collected in the webbing of his gloves, and Doctor March withdrew them suddenly, holding them up to the light above you. Crystal strands strung between his fingers before breaking into droplets on either side. He smiled inwardly, pleased.

Doctor March leaned down, dragging his flattened tongue the length of your cunt, stiffening the tip of it once he reached your clit — you let out a piercing whine, and he chuckled. “Your sensitivity seems… high.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Please sit up, and move to the edge of the table.” He barked, as he undid his own restrictions. You heard the clang of his belt. “Now.”

You did as you were told. The moment approached quickly, and your cunt clenched at the thought.

He wrapped his hands around your backside, pulling your closer to the edge of the table. With ease, he hoisted your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding them there. Your blushing cunt spread open for him, dripping eagerly. Hard enough that he didn’t have to hold it, Doctor March lined his cock up with his hips, pressing his squishy, hot tip into your slit. He took a fistful of your gown, tucking it back behind you so that he had a clear view of the treatment.

The first breach stung, stretching until your cunt finally gave way to his thick cock. The doctor let out a low sound, his legs quivering with the sensation. He wanted to ruin you, to split you wide open and make you cry so loud that all the orderlies came running. But he exercised restraint… slowly sinking his cock into you.

You trembled in his grip, unconsciously trying to writhe away from him, which only pulled an instinctive ferocity from him. He dug his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your closer to his torso. “Stay still.”

The first few humps were steady and slow, the kind that were accompanied by sweet hushes, and ‘it’ll be okay, my darling’s. However, they disappeared as quickly as they’d come — Doctor March began pounding himself into you, sinking himself all the way in.

As he drilled himself into you, the empty examination room was now filled with a cacophony of sounds; skin slapping wetly against skin, panting breaths, and ecstasy-ridden moans. Every shift of position brought his thick cock deeper into your cunt, hitting the deepest spot he could, until it ached each time the head bumped into your cervix.

You weren’t sure how long he’d been fucking you when you'd heard the hinges on the door creak as it opened. Doctor March didn’t seem to hear it, but you certainly did. You blinked, lifting your head heavily. A nurse stood in the doorway, her slender silhouette illuminated by the brightness of the hallway.

For a fleeting moment, you felt fear. You two were caught. Surely, there’d be consequences. But the thought quickly dissolved when you focused on the feeling of the doctor’s cock stretching you wide open, slipping in and out easily with the mutual arousal that leaked out onto the metal table below. You were the one in the arms of the head doctor — any punishments went through him first. Besides, if he was the one to punish you, you’d willingly accept it. The fear was replaced with deviousness, with delight and you stood your ground, waiting for the nurse’s undoubtedly shocked reaction.

Her eyes flitted all around, taking in the scene in front of her. Bemusedly, you watched as they trailed up his legs to his pants, hanging just below his ass as it bucked back and forth with each thrust into you, burying his cock deep inside. She scanned over your fingers as they curled possessively around the back of his neck, stroking his sweat-soaked skin. Your lips twisted into a wicked, daring smile as your eyes met and it was then that she gasped, covering the entire lower portion of her face with her slender, manicured fingers.

Doctor March, now noticing that you had stopped moaning in his ear, straightened up slightly, keeping the rhythm of his thrusts. He lazily turned his head to look behind him, but he was far too deep into euphoria to respond appropriately. His eyes were heavy, half-lidded as he too made eye contact with the nurse. He didn't stop fucking you. Instead, he groaned hard, and dropped his head into the curve of your shoulder. You heard the sound of the door pulling shut, and her high heels echoing hurriedly down the hall.

“She saw us,” you whispered. “She saw you taking me, Doctor March��.”

His thrusts became harder and more erratic as his orgasm built and finally spilled out into you in hot spurts. The coil in your stomach twisted tighter until it snapped with a gush and a screaming, begging moan. You two had both been driven over the edge by yet another concerning fascination, voyeurism. The nurse witnessing this foul, illicit act had been so arousing to the both of you that you had, in unison, come undone on each other.

His breathing eventually slowed, and he backed himself out of you. You felt his cum running out of your cunt and down your legs as your dropped them onto the rim of the table.

“Well, how do you feel?”

“Worse.”

He quirked a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I have another hunger now, Dr. March. I want sex… and murder.”

He smiled deviously, slicking his hair back with one hand. “Indeed. Indeed you do.”

As he retrieved your underwear for you, you hopped off the table. “Do you think she’s going to tell?”

“If she does, we’ll take care of it, won’t we?”

The next day, the tenth day, you woke up with a smile on your face. The rain had stopped, the storm system moving away from your location. It remained cloudy. You hadn’t done anything that morning, except eat breakfast. You’d gone to sleep late that night, waiting until all the whispers and wails had died off. And you pleasured yourself again, knowing that the remnants of the Doctor’s thick cum was still inside you.

Just before lunch time, there was a faint knock, and the door opened. The same nurse who had seen Doctor March fucking you was the one who had come to check on you. You two wordlessly stared at each other, daring the other to speak first. Neither did.

She approached you hesitantly, clipboard in hand and the second she was close enough, your fingers clamped around her wrist, yanking her towards you.

“If you say a word about what you saw, he’ll kill you, and I’ll help him.”

She yanked her wrist back, the fear permeating through her core. Though she didn’t acknowledge your threat before hurrying out the door, you felt that she believed you.

Which, all things considered, was a bit of a shame.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaisbasementwhore / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @evansb1tch / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha

[xximpressions]

Manic

Matt Casey x neurodivergent!Paramedic!reader

Summary: You're hit with the reality of your disorder whilst on the job at Firehouse 51

Word Count: 1570

____________________________________________________________

The text you had just received could only be stared at as frigid terror built inside you.

The sudden drop of water that splashed onto the screen of your phone made you knowledgeable to the fact that you were not only crying, but were also emotional enough to have tears already streaming down your face.

You quickly raised your hands in a hasty attempt to wipe away the signs of you weeping because this was no time for emotion.

You had to think.

Since being a paramedic with the Chicago Fire department came with as many bad days as it did good ones, you had recently sought out a therapist to help untangle the complexities of your mind. With the stakes being high in your profession and the margin for error being low, having weekly sessions meant you had gotten to talk out a few surface level incidents you were having trouble processing. But you hadn’t gotten to the heart of whatever was making it difficult for you to sleep at night.

Till now that is.

Once again, you forced yourself to refocus because you had to think about what to do with the information you have just received!

You won’t lie and say that a part of you didn’t briefly considered doing nothing. To pretend as if you hadn’t ever seen the text so you could simply go about your day as if everything was fine.

But even as you thought this, you knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

Because if this message was correct, you couldn’t be here. Or out in the field where you would potentially be putting people in jeopardy due to something you could not control. 

And not just victims, but your co-workers too.

With a shaky sigh, you realized that as much as you loved your family at Firehouse 51, they unfortunately could not help you now.

So you had to think!

What could possibly be your next course of action except being completely honest and hoping for the best?

But this internally asked question only cemented your immobile feet to the floor and made your icy fear feel that much colder.

Being honest came with no guarantees, and it had the additional disadvantage of making you professionally vulnerable.

Knowing that you make a thousand decisions a day in your job, it made you sick to your stomach to know that any of those decisions could now be held up for scrutiny based on what you had just read.

But at the same time, not saying anything from this moment onward meant you would be consciously putting people’s lives at risk with your actions.

As a paramedic of the CFD, you couldn’t allow that to happen.

And as a person who cared deeply for the feelings of others, you wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Even if it came at the price of exposing your secret.

Because it made sense.

The overspending on frivolous things?

The overindulging on your drink of choice?

And your overwhelming desire to stay awake were all the classic signs.

You would have known that had you done any extensive reading on your condition, but it had honestly been years since you’d even given your diagnosis a second thought. With you no longer taking your meds under the assumption that you had been miraculously cured, you were unaware that your disorder now made you a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. 

Hence your therapist reaching out.

Giving another shaky sigh, you took a moment to reread the text that had been sent.

“I think you are having a manic episode. You need to get to the hospital ASAP!”

Which caused a fresh wave of tears to flood your eyes for the second time.

Because with an astonishing start, you realized this fog—the one that had been blanketing your mind recently and jumbling your thoughts—was you feeling in real time the literal truth of your therapist’s words, which meant she was right:

You were manic. 

And you needed to get to the hospital.

Now.

This was all you were able to process before the call of your last name instinctively had you turning your head to face the doorway of the firehouse’s laundry room as Truck 81’s lieutenant, Matthew Casey, came walking in.

“Hey! There you are! I just wanted to let you know that lunch…is...ready…”

The trailing off of his greeting, along with the sudden look of concern now on his face, clued you into the fact that you were still crying.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on here?”

Asked Matt as he laid a comforting hand on your shoulder.

Your tear-filled eyes found his as they bored into you with worry. You suppose you were grateful that of all the comrades you had at Firehouse 51, the truck lieutenant was the one to find you since he was someone you knew you could confide in and vice-versa.

Having joined the house after the tragic death of paramedic Leslie Shay, Matt was one of the first to make you feel welcome amongst your new co-workers. From there, you both formed a genuine friendship that you wouldn’t exchange for anything since it was so rare for you to put your trust in others. But Matthew somehow defied the odds with his warm sincerity, his consistent earnestness, and his inherent desire to help others.

Knowing he would never be one to judge was the only reason you were capable of opening your mouth in order to say with a numb detachment,

“I have bi-polar disorder,” 

You quietly began.

“And my therapist says I need to get to the hospital immediataly because I may be having a manic episode.”

There was such an unexpected and heavy amount of shame that accompanied those words, you unconsciously dropped your eyes to the floor as your face crumbled with anxiety-induced sorrow once again.

Matthew, after putting his other hand on your other shoulder in order to turn you so that you faced him directly, said with concern,

“Wait, what? And how do they know?”

With a swallow of your throat, you tried your best to explain.

“I had an early morning session with my therapist before the start of today’s shift. During that session, we discussed this newfounded sense of euphoria I’ve been immersed in lately since it feels like I can do no wrong and have all this energy I can’t seem to get rid of. So much so, that I haven’t really needed to sleep much in these past few days.”

Speaking those words outloud brought a rueful smile to your face since you could not believe you had not noticed all of the classic signs of your condition whilst being a paramedic. But you supposed hindsight was twenty-twenty for a reason.

Putting that aside, you continued by saying,

“This, combined with the fact that I haven’t been on any bi-polar meds in at least a year, are all red flags that indicate I am currently manic and therefore need to get treatment at a hospital sooner rather than later.”

Nodding his head as he learned the seriousness of the situation, Matthew began to say with reassurance, 

“Then we’ll get you to the hospital as soon as possible. I’ll go let Chief Boden know that we’re heading to Chicago Med.”

And began to presumably make his way to the Chief’s office.

But before he could even take his first step in that direction, you hurriedly grabbed the lieutenant’s arm in order to halt his retreat from the laundry room alcove.

When he looked back your way, his expression became one of confusion upon seeing that yours was one of panic.

“B-but what will that mean?”

You asked with a note of hysteria.

“If I am having a manic episode, then I am legally not of sound mind right now. What does that mean for the patients I’ve worked on today? What does that mean for Firehouse 51 if I’m at the hospital?”

Wondering just how many people your condition was going to be inconveniencing, you let out a sob you were no longer able to keep at bay as you tearfully said,

“And what does it mean for my career if I ask for help, Matt?”

Unable to see you so upset, your co-worker and trusted friend returned to your side and comfortingly took your hand in his as he gently spoke.

“All this means, all any of this means, is that your mind is currently under the weather and it needs a little help to get better again. Just like with having a cold or the flu, having any illness—whether it be physical or mental—means you go to the doctor, they prescribe you something that can help, and you’re back to yourself in no time. The rest? We’ll deal with it as it comes, okay?”

Hesitantly nodding your head, you tried to allow the logic of his words to wash over you as you quietly replied.

“Okay.”

And gave your friend a small, but grateful smile as your emotions slowly calmed down.

Giving a short nod himself, Matt flashed a grin of reassurance your way before gently tugging you by the hand in the direction of your boss’s office. 

And as he led you down a path you knew you wouldn’t be able to come back from, you simply hoped it was the right path for you to take nonetheless.

[daydream-believin]

Like A Boiled Frog (You Don't Even Scream) [ch 1]

notes: might proofread this before i post this to ao3 but here have the raw milk version (pasteurization is for losers amaright)

series summary: every time you think things cant get any more batshit, hurricane throws another pile of guano at you. every time you think the hole cant get any deeper, you fall further. and you’re not sure what frightens you more: the town itself, or your increasing reluctance to leave.

or: au where mike has that pizza shop for wayyy more than a week and you find yourself a horror protagonist. or at least one’s love interest.

chapter summary: get haunted bitch. now go drive to utah in a manic episode. go meet a nice walking corpse, maybe it'll fix you. or make you worse. probably that second thing lmao

word count: 7985, oh dear (thats with me cutting out some stuff lol)

warnings: uh, swearing, manic behavior, self-harmful thoughts/behavior, mention of hallucinations/hearing voices, shit this is sounding bad, i mean its canon typical violence so idk man no lifeguard on duty

You know how in Source Decay, John Darnielle says / I wish the west Texas highway was a mobius strip / I could ride it out forever / when I feel my heart break? / Well, that guy’s a bitchass snake oil salesman for romanticizing this. Fuck that guy.

Although, this is the first time you’ve ever been able to set a cruise control and actually just leave it at that. What with there being no other cars on the road out here at this hour for you to run into. You even forgot about it at one point.

Little puffs of fire danced in your peripheral vision, like fairies flitting about. It was easy to spot them out in the night air, all those pumpjacks that littered the desert. There was nothing but these small fires, with the tiny, dotted additions of the glowing red eyes of windmills to light up the way for miles.

And you tried not to think about how if you broke down, no one would be around to find you. Every now and then you would startle at the shadowy specter of a tumbleweed crossing your path, but you were acutely aware of just how alone you were out here.

On that train of thought, your gaze fell to the passenger side, to the little bear toy you had buckled into a seatbelt like it was a person.

“Can you believe this, Fredbear?” you asked the inanimate object.

Fredbear did not answer, of course. Would be insane if he did, right?

Hmm …Why did part of you expect him to.

***

The august sun was beating down hot on your back as you walked home that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only last week.

The neighborhood was as full of life as it always was. The kids running around in a game of tag, the teens playing basketball, and the adults walking their dogs. You could hear some faint music playing in the distance, most likely from the stage setup in the square downtown, not too far away.

There were many yard sales set up, it being the thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon like this. Despite your very strong instincts to rummage through all the boxes in these sales like a raccoon looking for dinner in a dumpster, you were broke, with no money to spare for impulse purchases on random junk. And thus, being a mature adult, you walked right past them.

That is, until a yard full of children’s toys caught your eye. One of your cousins’ kids was turning 6 in a few weeks. Might as well buy presents now before you forget again and have to rush to the store in a panic 8 minutes after the party had already started, sweat rolling down your back as you search the toy isle for something the birthday boy would like, while your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket nonstop because both your cousin is texting and your aunt is calling to ask where you’re at because you were the one who was supposed to be picking up the pizza.

 I mean, just a hypothetical scenario here.

You didn’t really find anything good as you dug through the bins of miscellaneous action figures and toy cars. As you could recall, the kid really liked Iron Man right now. And sharks. Alas, you found no Iron Mans or sharks in those bins.

The other table’s baskets were full of stuffed animals. You could maybe get lucky and find a stuffed shark in there. But stuffed animals are notorious for being hard to clean; and yard sale plushies sometimes come with more than just one new friend. You weren’t about to be the reason your cousin had to fumigate her house for bedbugs. Again. So, you decided to close this case for now and skedaddle on out of there.

You took another look back at the table as you walked away.

Well.. The toys you could see at the top of the bins did look like they were well taken care of… It couldn’t hurt to just look, right?

Yeah no. You found no sharks unfortunately. What you did find, however, was this funky little teddy bear wearing a top hat and bowtie.

A real character, that one. The bright gold fabric of its body made it stand out amongst the other toys. The smile stitched onto the bear gave it a weird, smug look. And you hadn’t seen a plushy with eyebrows before.

That being said, this thing’s aura was so... unsettling. You stared into its black eyes, that seemed to stare right back at you, with a strange feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

“You like that one, do ya?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when the old man running the sale spoke to you. You had Not heard him come up beside you like that. Creepy.

“Yeah, it’s…” you tried to think of a positive word, “very intriguing. Looks like it’s ready for a party.”

“My granddaughter called him Fredbear. Found him over in Utah, many years back. In a yard sale, just like this one,” he gently took the bear from you, and looked down at it wistfully, “My granddaughter..  liked how smartly dressed he was. A perfect guest for her tea parties. You were right about that…”

The old man stared at the doll for a little longer after the conversation faded. You felt extremely awkward now. Perhaps you really should have just left without unearthing this obvious sentimental piece.

“My grandchildren are no longer here with me,” you felt a little uncomfortable with how he phrased that, “so, I’ll tell you what. Promise me you’ll take care of him, and he’s yours. Free of charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’d be happy to pay for him, really,” you felt bad taking free stuff from the elderly.

“No,” he said with a tone of finality, placing the bear firmly into your hands, “the day’s almost over. I’d like to help this old friend move on. It’s time.”

Well that somehow was both sweet and foreboding at the same time.

So, you thanked the old man and started back on your walk home, Fredbear cradled in your arms. He waved goodbye to you. The grandfather, of course, not the teddy bear.

You probably aren’t going to wind up giving this one to your cousin’s son. There was something about it that told you not to. Maybe it was the way the old man talked about it. You felt compelled to take care of the plush yourself. Kind of like an honor thing. Or a pity thing.

It smelled a little funky. But that’s nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle. And some dish soap.

Maybe you were just. Feeling a bit childish lately. Too small and easily broken. Moved to tears by little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Disregarded and treated like your fears weren’t real.

Deeply afraid.

Yeah, you’d give Fredbear a nice soak in the sink with a fun dish soap bubble bath. And maybe after that, you’ll both feel a little better.

You were alone in your apartment that night, as your roommate was always gone these days. And when you made your tea, you brought Fredbear a mug as well. A little tea party, for old time’s sake.

Looking back, maybe that was your first mistake.

***

Static rolled from your radio. You gave up on fiddling with it hours ago, but you’ve got nothing better to occupy your mind now.

You turned the knob absentmindedly, never really expecting to get anywhere. Or any signal, that is. A muffled country song here, the broken-up voice of a DJ there, nothing strong enough to stay for more than a few seconds. However, a few seconds of a clear transmission was all you really needed when you rolled past a certain signal.

“zZz-Hurricane—“

Now that was a word that got your attention. Not that you were anywhere near the coast at the moment. You know, unless the person reading this is looking to buy some oceanside property in Arizona. In that case feel free to slide into my DMs.

“zZZ-Peach Days! -Zz celebratio— zzZ-year—peaches peach—-ZzzZ-Heritage-zZ,” you let your gaze flicker downward, towards the dimly lit red text of the frequency number display as if that would provide some more insight.

And then suddenly, the fuzz was completely gone, as if you were near the tower itself,

“So Hurry On To Hurricane City!” the spokesman encouraged cheerfully. You could practically here the giant pageant smile in his voice as he delivered his slogan. This man was your friend, obviously. Then, however, his tone shifted as he closed the ad copy, “Because you know the party can’t start without you…”

You held your breath as the silence dragged out a few agonizing seconds, until “ZZZZZZZZ!!!”, in a jolt, the transmission went completely out. Explosively. You even flinched.

You stayed on the station for a good twenty minutes after that, waiting to see if you could hear anything again. You could feel your heart pound against your ribs until the terrifying feeling faded. There was nothing else but static, of course, and for so long you almost thought you must have imagined it. If not for the way those dull words repeated in your head, over and over.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

You hadn’t really had a destination in mind when you took off. No goal other than to get out of there as fast as you could manage. The idea of the West had been bouncing around your brain a lot lately, hence your current trajectory, but you really hadn’t had a clue where you were supposed to be going when you left.

I mean, you still didn’t have a destination. You had no clue what that advertisement was even about. Where they were even fucking talking about. Hurricane City?

Yet, somehow, you knew those words were meant for you. Not anyone else. you. There was a party and the party was waiting for you.

Guess you’d have to look for a map or something in town. Perhaps use the library computer. Man, you would regret throwing your phone into the lake in a fit of passion as you left town, but honestly, this is the longest you’ve known peace in quite some time. Just gonna have to live a little retro for a while. Not the worst thing in the world.

You’ll get a new one later, once you’ve settled in to… wherever you’re going. Whatever new home lies over that horizon for you, you guess.

The sun was breaching the beige skyline of sandy shrub brush as you finally rolled over the state line. You needed to eat. Your stomach growled loudly at just the thought. Funny. You hadn’t even thought about eating in the last.. twenty hours. Which means you should be absolutely shaking right now. Yeah, that’s why you’re shaking. That’s it. You’ll pull into the first diner you see.

You were hoping to at least be in Roswell for breakfast, but there was no way your body was going to be able to keep running if you waited that long. Looks like it’s just going to be the first place you come across.

Hopefully they don’t put green chilis in their pancakes or something.

That sounds insane but it’s an actual thing you’ve seen before in this state, trust. There are no laws nor gods when it comes to Hatch green chilis.

***

Your sleepy brain was not ready for the bell that rang as you walked through the door. Embarrassingly enough, the tinny noise startled you. You almost tripped, to be honest. Thankfully your wobbly Bambi legs held up as you managed to catch yourself.

The hostess wasn’t in sight as you awkwardly stood in the entrance, but there was a whole heap of noise coming from the kitchen.

“Hold on just a second, Sweetpea!” a voice called out to you.

Well, guess you’re holding on a second.

Your eyes scanned the top of the walls, perusing the vast cookie jar collection that the owner had accrued over the years. They were never dusted, despite being on shelves that lined the top of every wall in the tiny shack of a diner, and thus you could easily tell that a few new additions had been made. You know, because those cookie jars were way less filthy.

That’s gotta be a heath-code violation.

After you heard a bit of garbled yelling, the hostess rushed out to take her place in front of you. Smoothing down her polka-dotted apron, she grinned at you.

“Table for two?”

You blinked. It was too early in the morning for fully intelligent speech.

“Uh. No. Just me today. Thank you.”

Her big, bedazzled cat-eyeglasses fell a little farther down her nose as she scrunched her face in confusion, “alright then. Just the one of you today...”

She grabbed a paper menu as she led your shambling body to a table near the window. Which was shut away with ancient looking vinyl blinds that you were too afraid to open, lest they crumble and the cost of replacing them be put on your on tab.

She had already disappeared back into the kitchen by the time you got yourself in a seat. You glanced around the room. You weren’t the only patron here, as a few tables held a few bodies, but you were the only one without your face buried in a newspaper. And to be expected honestly, you were the youngest person in the room at seven in the morning.

The hostess, who was also the only waitress in this tiny local business, placed two glasses in front of you. The dull sound they made hitting the table drew you out of your revelry. There before you were two cups, a steaming mug of fresh coffee and a short glass of milk. You looked up in confusion.

“Don’t worry, it’s whole milk. Builds strong bones.”

That... wasn’t your concern.

You looked back at the cup in confusion and by the time you turned back, she had already moved on to the next table, refilling mugs and having loud banter with the other customers. Her regulars, by the sound of it. You felt too apathetic to try and call her over again.

You shrugged, to no one in particular, as you did not have a breakfast partner with you, despite the waitress’s insistence otherwise. Wait, was she mocking you? Eh, maybe it’s just supposed to be for the coffee. Nevertheless, you would not be drinking the milk, so you just left it there.

Despite the prevalence of the local newspaper in the room, there wasn’t a dispenser or anything at the front of the restaurant, like there usually is. As you drummed your fingers on the tablecloth, bored out of your mind, you kinda regretted throwing your phone in the lake a bit more. Maybe not the best of moves.

But hey, at least you aren’t constantly quelling the incessant buzzing you’d be hearing if you’d kept it.

You busied yourself stirring your coffee while you looked over the menu again, just for something to read. Of course, you were ordering a waffle. Because this was a diner, and, yeah, you do like waffles. And pancakes. And French toast. Doodoodoodoo can’t wait to get a mouthful.

That voice kept echoing in your mind. The party can’t start without you.

“More coffee, Babycakes?” the waitress snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh! Yeah, thank you,” you moved the mug to the edge of the table, closer to her, “Say… I know this is an out-of-pocket question, but have you heard anything about Hurricane City? Maybe something about peaches?”

“Oh!” she snapped her fingers, “You mean the Peach Days. It’s a little heritage festival they put on every summer in Hurricane, you know. It’s a hoot, my family makes a trip out there every few years or so for it. Not this time of course, clearly, since I’m here talkin’ to you and not in Utah—”

“In Utah?”

Of course, it was Fucking Utah again.

“I know it’s soundin’ far, but it’s only ‘bout a day’s drive from here. Two days if y’ain’t crazy about following an itinerary like my husband,” she brushed a hand over her apron before you lost her attention to the other customers, “I swear that man would plan out a schedule for every second of the day if he could…”

After she wandered off to go top off more mugs, you lamented the fact that you still hadn’t ordered yet. That’s what you get for being nosy about peach festivals, you suppose.

Thankfully though, soon enough you had your hearty breakfast and were back in front of the wheel, on your way to the friendly neighborhood Walmart. Where hopefully no cops or employees would bother you as you crashed in the parking lot.

You took Fredbear to the backseat with you for good luck. Maybe it was the gold color, or the fancy getup he had. Maybe you just needed a cuddle buddy to not feel so alone in this parking lot swarming with people.

Much to your disdain, it was now a bit into the morning hours, and the sun was fully up.

You had tried to find as shady a spot as possible, but it’s not exactly like trees grow in this biome. At least not naturally. Windbreak tree lines were definitely a thing, but those protected buildings people cared about, and this was a Walmart. Nothing around here but concrete, rocks spray painted blue, and cigarette butts.

So after tossing and turning in the bright blinding sunshine for way longer than you should have, and making promises to higher deities was proven to be unfruitful in your attempt to find some semblance of peace, you finally just had to admit defeat. And here by rescinding any aforementioned promises to higher powers.

You laid Fredbear back down on the seat and tucked him in with the blanket when you got back up. At least one of you could be cozy and well rested. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be you, however.

Well, it’s far from the first all-nighter you’ve pulled without having time to take a nap during the following day. Sleep deprivation isn’t real, silly. Teachers just made that up to scare you. It’ll be fine.

***

You know you never really realize how much we structure our lives around other humans until you take a drive through the middle of nowhere. How essential it is to have enough gas to make it to the next town. From town to town, your life becomes segments. Only within the eyesight of other humans are you ever safe. Only within the bounds of the settlement can your soul be settled.

Gas stations become oases. Which is the plural of oasis, apparently. Anyway, you start seeing them like mirages. Dingey, weather-worn gas pumps become as good as a sparkling illusion of precious water in the Sahara. The empty shells of buildings you passed by, long since forgotten, became like mausoleums in these graveyard towns. Villages. Hamlets. Mostly hamlets.

“Are we there yet?” a small and very annoyed voice called out.

You had just written it off as your imagination until you heard the noise of shuffling fabric. Normally your audio hallucinations aren’t that detailed. Paralyzed, you held your breath, not daring to make any noise that would distract your ears from hearing whoever, whatever, was in the back seat. Your mind went to stories of skinwalkers and misshapen monsters and hitch-hiking serial killers.

“… Are we there yet?” the voice repeated, admittedly sounding even smaller to you now.

Yep, that’s a real person alright. Or a real thing. Your eyes were probably bloodshot from the way you haven’t blinked this entire time, just staring straight ahead on the desert highway. Taking a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself, you turned down the rear-view mirror…

Christ almighty. You had a stowaway.

Your stomach turned immediately. God, come on now, don’t puke up what little you had on your stomach. You need that.

“Hey Buddy,” you tried to sound as friendly as you could, “What’s your name?”

Clad in a little striped shirt and cargo shorts, he started kicking his feet in impatience, which would be cute if it weren’t for this situation y’all are in, and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, “We’ve been in here forever,” he whined.

If this was a skinwalker, he was a pretty darn adorable one. And definitely not a hitch-hiking serial killer. At least you hoped. But no, this was a greater form of terror: responsibility.

“Haha, yeah, we have been in here really long, haven’t we? How long do you think we’ve been driving, can you tell me?”

When did you pick up this child. When you got gas in Gallup? Albuquerque? Dear lord, if he’s been in here since Roswell, you’re about to have the world’s biggest headache on your hands, both metaphorically and physically. But there’s no way he’s been in here for fucking 10 hours, right? right??

Okay, okay. Maybe you’re just a little panicky right now and not thinking straight. Maybe teachers hadn’t been making up sleep deprivation just to scare you after all. You have been purposely not drinking anything for the lack of available restrooms. People get dehydration hallucinations, right?

The boy just stared at you, blankly. Probably fully realizing you were a stranger and not whoever he thought you were. In lieu of answering you, he started fidgeting more with the toy bear you had had in the back. You really hoped that hadn’t been what lured him into your station wagon in the first place.

Don’t be getting shy on me now, kid.

You put your blinker on, ready to merge off the road and onto an incoming rest-stop that you thanked your lucky stars for.

“Honey, can you tell me what your phone number is?”

He looked up at you, finally tearing his attention from the bear, and you could see gears turning in his head.

“…435-555-1987?”

You repeated it back to him, and he nodded. Alright, time to find that payphone.

Said rest-stop payphone was thankfully near a picnic table so you could sit him down and be able to watch him carefully the whole time you made this call. Because judging by the fact this situation was happening at all, he was a slippery one.

You got out of the car and opened the back door, but he was hesitant to get out. Which, fair, you are a stranger trying to get him to a second location.

“What’s up, Bud?” you tried your hardest to not sound like a predator but boy was that a real nebulous idea, wasn’t it?

“Fredbear wants to come too,” he mutters.

“Well, sure then, let’s bring him, we’ll have a little picnic.” With no food, but hey, whatever lie it takes to get him sitting on that bench.

It was really cute the way the kid set the bear down on the table and positioned it like they were going to have a picnic together. When you find this kid’s parents, you’ll let him keep Fredbear. Toys like it when they’re given to new children, right? Wasn’t there a movie about that or something. Wincing at the grubbiness of the payphone, you reluctantly dialed the number.

“Hello, Jeff’s Pizza on Main St, are you ready to order?”

You closed your eyes, counting the seconds as you breathed in for 4 seconds, held it for 7, and released for 8.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted into the receiver. So much for calming down, “please don’t hang up,” you pleaded.

“Listen, we don’t take solicitation,”

“No, uh, sorry. I’ve found a lost child who told me this was his number. Is the owner of this restaurant by chance frantically looking for their son?”

You heard some muffled conversation happening behind the phone, “Well, no, I don’t even have any kids… and I uh, am currently understaffed. Im the only one here.”

you cursed under your breath.

“Uh, alright, well…” you could tell this was getting really awkward for him.

“Could you tell me where y’all are, I’m unfamiliar with the area code,”

“Uh, Hurricane, Utah?”

… If you weren’t on the phone, you fucking swear you’d be screeching at the top of your lungs like a chimpanzee right now.

“Thank you, you know, just in case he’s just remembering an advertisement he’s seen or something,”

“Oh, okay,” there was a pause, “well I hope you find the parents or, whoever,”

“Thank you,” you’ll put him out of his misery and hang up.

“Are you sure that’s your number, Hon?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Why don’t you tell me it again, maybe I dialed it wrong,”

“435-5--” his face scrunched up in concentration, “435-555—I don’t know…”

You tried not to look visibly stressed at this answer.

“Do you know where you live?”

He moved the bears paws along with whatever little game he was playing, before looking up at you, head tilted in confusion, “Hurricane?”

Okay. Police time. If not for him, for you. The skinwalker possibility just went back up. Because, honestly, he had to have gotten in your car as a coyote or something. No way you wouldn’t’ve noticed a whole ass child entering your car.

“How does ice cream sound, huh Buddy?”

“I want ice cream!” he said hastily as if you’d change your mind if he hesitated.

“Ice cream it is then, but only if you’re good for me and the officers, okay? And tell them everything you can remember. You’re smart, right?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Great,” you smiled over clenched teeth.

After herding him back into the car, you had to take a moment to gently rest your head into the steering wheel. And it took everything within you to not smash said head into it. Or scream in agony. No, no, we mustn’t scare the child.

Tuba City wasn’t too far away. The police station was downtown, as most are. Luckily, across the street there was a paleteria with a courtyard area. The little guy got very excited when you got pulled into the parking space, so eh, what the hell, ice cream first. Maybe after a treat and some playtime in the courtyard he won’t be as wiggly and will be able to tell the cops what he knows about just where the hell he came from.

The noise of the bell chiming made you flinch as you two walked into the paleteria. You hadn’t thought you were that tightly wound right now but apparently you were wrong. The lady behind the counter greeted you warmly, and you responded in turn, trying to play it cool.

God, imagine if she got an off-vibe from you and the kid and called over the police from across the street before you even have a chance—

Deep breath. Okay. The kid you had started referring to in your head as just “Little Boy” was leaned against the display case, his breath fogging up the glass in front of him and probably leaving little handprints for the shopkeeper to clean later.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“That’s… Okay. What can I get you?” she seemed a little confused. Strange, but you brushed past it just as quickly as she did.

“Ah, what do we want?” you asked Little Boy.

He excitedly tugged on your pantleg and pointed to the popsicle he wanted, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t need to convince you, but you quickly realized you were not going to be able to say no to any else after this if he deployed the same cute begging look.

“One of those cute little Tweety Bird faces,” you pointed.

“Anything else?” she handed you the popsicle and you gingerly took it.

“Nah, that’s it” you were too nauseous to eat right now.

You paid, throwing the change into the tip jar, and turned to give Little Boy the popsicle she handed you.  The words caught in your throat as you looked down to find your pantleg absent of any tugging by any Little Boy. You quickly scanned the tiny paleteria. He was nowhere to be found, anywhere in the room.

“Uh, did you see where the kid went?” you tried not to sound too panicked.

She was taken aback, also quickly looking around the room to find no one, before shaking her head, “Did you have a kid with you?”

You furiously nodded in confusion,

“I’m sorry, then I didn’t see them,” she pointed to the glass door that led to the courtyard only a few feet away from y’all, “Try outside, maybe?”

You burst outside, searching the area in a panic, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Not hidden in the tangle of the garden, not splashing around in the fountain, not at, under, on top of, or around any of the tables.

You went to call his name, but your voice caught in your throat when you realized you didn’t have a name to call. And.

And.

Something hit your shirt. A water droplet. You looked up into the clear, blinding blue sky. Your nerves tickled as another droplet ran down your cheek. Oh, you were crying. Huh.

You took the closet seat you could find, counting the things processed by your 5 senses. It’s all you could do to not start bawling for no reason. Maybe you’ll calm down and be able to think straight soon.

Why can’t you think straight? Everything feels so fuzzy.

You should be terrified, and in a way, you were. In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth: Little Boy wasn’t real. Or at least turned back into a coyote and ran off.

As you stared vacantly into the open air, you realized you still had a dripping popsicle in your hands. Supposedly “Tweety Bird” shaped, it just looked like a yellow skull missing its mandible bone to you. How fitting.

You pulled it to your mouth. Yum. Tasted like AAAAAAAA. Or orange, according to the package.

Attempting to lick the melted yellow liquid off of your hand, you accidentally stuck the ice pop on your face. Great. Now you’re sticky all over.

God, you’ve really gone and lost your fucking marbles this time, haven’t you.

There was a bulletin kiosk a few feet down your field of vision. On that bulletin kiosk was an old poster, barely visible as it was buried under layers of other flyers. It caught your eye and seemed to burn your retinas. What little you could see was the word Freddy and part of what looked like a version of the bear you’d been toting around this whole little expedition, but that was enough.

Something clicked. You looked down at the bear hanging by your side in your other hand. The kid had shoved it into your arms so he could more easily lean on the display case, right before he disappeared the very moment you took your eyes off of him.

You know, you hadn’t really felt alone since bringing Fredbear home. And not in a good way.

Guess the name you should’ve been calling was Freddy.

You had to get rid of that bear.

***

You had been walking home like you always did, same route. But you noticed something peculiar about this time. The house that the old man had his yard sale in was now stripped of all decoration, with a For Sale sign proudly standing in the grass. No cars, and no blinds or curtains on the windows, so you could see into the den which was now devoid of any furniture.

You’ll admit it, you crept around to the other windows, searching for any signs of life at all in the empty rooms. None. No furniture, no people, no trash. The yard sale was yesterday. How did they clean this place out so thoroughly in the short amount of time between when you’d seen it last and now.

A little confuddled, you went home as usual. While strange as hell, this wasn’t a missing person’s case or anything. And it’s probably why the man was so adamant on giving you Fredbear because it was the end of the day. He had a deadline. He was skipping town.

God, you wished you could just skip town.

You frankly thought nothing of it when you unlocked the door to your apartment to see Fredbear was already seated on the couch, like he was all set to marathon whatever 30-year-old cartoon you wound up watching that night. And it’s not like your roommate hadn’t done something like this before, move a stuffed animal or action figure into a funny position for you to find later.

You hadn’t seen him much lately. Or like, at all. The only reason you knew he was still alive were the dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom, and the aforementioned moving the bear around.

Looking back now, was he moving the bear around?

If you locked the deadbolt that can’t be unlocked from the outside, you’d be guaranteed to catch him in person for once. But you weren’t willing to go through the trouble and emotional toil of doing that, however.

In the name of feeling less like a ghost haunting your own home, getting yelled at for intentionally locking your roommate out might be a wee bit counterproductive. Sure, you’d be seen and spoken to, but the harshness of his words and tone would send you into a worse episode than you were already in.

Well, at least Fredbear seemed ready to keep you company tonight...

The fact that they put unskippable advertisements on streaming services you’re paying for in the first place is criminal. Or at least regular cable tv in a trenchcoat.

You got a drink while they prattled on about luxury cars you couldn’t afford and real estate companies you weren’t going to have the privilege of patroning any time soon. Embarrassingly, as you poured the pitcher of water into a glass, you got a little distracted.

The cheap glass’s glass was only about a millimeter or two thick. You could easily just crush this cup in your hand, in one swift movement. The muscles of your arm began tensing up at the thought.

But thankfully, a loud, blaring advertisement coming from the TV snapped you out of it. And so, you promptly decided to Not Do That, because picking all of those tiny glass shards out of your flesh would be a bitch. And that was not how you wanted to spend a perfectly good Sunday night. And of course you didn’t need the questions at work tomorrow.

You returned to the couch, curiously, and you swear, that damn teddy bear followed you with its eyes. Even though they were a shiny, solid black, and the idea itself would be insane.

As you settled back down, you grabbed the remote to turn down the volume of the cheery music playing. Mysteriously, it wasn’t just a commercial with bad sound mixing, the TV itself had been turned up. Now that it had your attention, the thing that was being sold to you seemed to the state of Utah. You know, those Visit [X] ads that were commonly played between cooking shows and ghost hunting documentaries.

“Oh hey, you’re from there, right?” you poked at fredbear. And immediately felt pathetic. God, you’ve got to stop talking to inanimate objects and like get a boyfriend or something. Geez.

The imagery on the screen was just, you know, normal southwest stock footage:

A drone shot of Zion national park

Old men golfing

Owls living in holes they’ve dug into cactuses

Rock archways

A family laughing as they shared a pizza being served to them by a man in a bear suit that looked just fredbear,

“Oh, well there you are, I guess.” you once again absent-mindedly spoke to your toy friend.

Kids swimming in a fancy resort pool

A Navajo cultural event

More rock archways and red sandstone cliffs

Kids crowding around a claw machine filled with toys just like the one sitting next to you

Kids crowding around a stage as an animatronic band played

Kids crowding around a birthday cake, the light of candles bouncing off their faces as they sang along…

The fake sounding voice of the announcer rung out, “Visit Utah! You know the party can’t start without you!”

Your mouth felt dry. Good thing you now had that glass of water.

***

Of course, you did what any smart, sane person would do and feverishly ripped through the layers of old flyers to get to the advertisement for what you now knew was Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place. A themed diner and nickel arcade that made most of their money hosting birthday parties, by the looks of it. You knew the type; you had been an American child once too.

Good thing none of the cops were hanging around outside to fine you for littering, because the amount of paper you just released into the breeze was in fact criminal.

There was a short list of locations at the bottom of the poster. They had a few scattered over Utah, or at least they used to, judging by the harsh weathering of this poster. The closest one being in Bigwater, explaining why this poster was out here in Tuba. But the word Hurricane stood out to you like it was lit up in neon. It burned like sunlight.

It appears you are in fact on your way to Hurricane, Utah. As if you didn’t know that already at this point, you being out on the canyon rim instead of your much preferred and beloved Rockies. Well, congratulations bitch. You’ve only got another three hours to go. Better get going. Have fun!

***

Oh, this place was creepy as hell. Or it’s just late at night, and you’re sleep deprived and paranoid. In the spirit of being honest to yourself, ‘sleep deprived and paranoid’ has always been your natural state of being, but right now it’s definitely ramped up to an eleven.

But even though it’s been close to 48 hours since your last brain-reset, this place still had a certain energy about it. Like New Orleans, or the woods around lynching bridges did. That spooky oh I am Not Safe here type of energy.

The gas station-man gave you a real weird look when you stormed in and asked where the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was. Normally you would’ve chalked it up to you being a clear foreigner asking for directions as if it’s 1995, to a children’s arcade close to midnight nonetheless, but now you weren’t so sure.

You eyed the fridge full of wine in pint sized bottles and little juice cartons. But nah, you probably needed to have a quick reaction time to whatever was waiting for you in this Venus flytrap you’re willingly walking into. You grabbed a Monster instead and you know what, yeah, that probably wasn’t the best decision either. If you weren’t high strung before, you definitely were now. You felt like you could punch a bear. A Freddy Fazbear.

You bought a local map alongside the energy drink, feeling like you were gonna need it. Man, low-tech was actually kinda annoying after a while. You got the gas station-man to begrudgingly mark Fazbear’s down onto it for you. Apparently, it and all other locations within town had closed down some twenty years ago. Not many people are still around who remember why, he said, but it had something to do with the faulty animatronics. Teenagers told ghost stories and dared each other to spend the whole night in the dining room. But otherwise, beyond the rumors, the original Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was just an empty, scorched building. And the other various locations like Jr’s or Circus Baby’s had been sold off, passing so many hands who knows what businesses were in there now. But you could still kinda tell, if you paid attention, in the same way you can tell if something used to be a Pizza Hut.

What you really wanted, according to gas station-man, whose nametag read Gary, was this new location that was opening soon, simply named Freddy’s Pizzeria. It’s set to open for business in September, so you’re lucky. He marked it one your map as well.

You don’t know why Gary was so nice to you. Maybe it was the harrowed look in your eyes. Maybe it was the twitchiness. Maybe Gary is just very bored of this tourist town and was looking to fall madly in love with a random troubled soul he met at midnight in a gas station and would wind up running away with to some far-off place. If that was the case, sorry Gary. You were too busy with the metaphorical torture labyrinth to care about romance at the moment.

You couldn’t decide if the haunted Fredbear would want to see an old location or the new one. You asked, but of course the fucker didn’t answer. Just sat there with his smug grin and glassy eyes that followed your hand movements. So, you quite literally tossed a coin. A new mint, the face side had Eleanor Roosevelt on it. And she marked the fact that you were going to try the new location first, and then try the original building next. Cool.

***

Your patience was kinda at its limit here, you’ll admit. You really should get some sleep soon. Or eat. Since you were hellbent on getting here and nothing else, the only thing on your stomach besides that wretched Tweety Bird popsicle is half a monster energy. Guess you’ll go by a fucking Denny’s after this. If you survive.

If you were going to die horrifically, you’d really rather the forces that be make it snappy. This was getting ridiculous.

You pulled into the parking lot. The building clearly wasn’t new but had been freshly painted. Nothing creepy so far. As you stared down the building, sizing it up, you noticed there was one car parked in the front, and a few of the windows were lit up.

Cool, so there was someone in there. Great. That makes, well whatever this is, much harder.

The door was locked.

You could hear music playing from inside. You banged on the door as loudly as you could manage, and it still took a couple of minutes before the music stopped. And then a very disgruntled man in coveralls was in the doorway, tiredly asking just what the fuck you wanted at this time of night.

He smiled to cover up his rudeness, but the smile stretched a little too wide, inhumanly wide, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You took him in, unashamedly raking your eyes over his form. He stood awkwardly, as if ready to bolt at any moment. What you could see of his build made him out to be weirdly skinny. That unnaturally wide smile gave way to some exposed teeth on the left side of his face. His eyes were shadowed by his bangs in the backlight of the door, but you swore they almost glowed themselves. His complexion was greyish and bordered on almost purple in this lighting.

Despite all this, he was still pretty handsome. Well, you did always think some of those creepypasta guys were boyfriend material. Maybe, you wouldn’t mind getting chopped up into little pieces if this guy was the one doing it. Okay, and maybe you’ve been sleeplessly chasing ghosts too long.

Startling you, he reached his hand to grab your shoulder, a little too fast.

“Hey mate, are you okay?” He asked nervously,

It snapped you out of your stupor, realizing you had yet to say a word to him, “Uh, yes, I just wanted to…”

How do you even fucking ask this. “Hey, can I bring a stuffed bear to your dining room so maybe it’s spirit will leave me alone? Maybe conduct a séance or something?” Seriously, did you even know what you were doing here? Shit. Okay.

“I wanted to ask if I could check out your facility?” came out like a question because even you had no clue what you were saying.

“Come back tomorrow in the daylight, then,” he began closing the door, shaking his head in annoyance, “or perhaps when we’re actually open.”

“NO!” you slammed your foot into the door as he closed it, “AAGH!”

“Jesus Christ! WHY.”

Dear lord, this man now 100% thinks you’re a crackhead.

“Just, don’t close that door, okay,” his brows scrunched together as you grit your teeth to swallow down the pain, “I need you to help me.”

“I really don’t have any money to spar--”

“I’M HERE BECAUSE OF A GHOST,” you interrupted. Finally, you managed to get that out somehow, if nonsensical.

A look of recognition flickered in his glowing eyes. He lowered into your space, kind of intimidatingly. Or intimately. Yeah, no, this was hostile, don’t fool yourself.

“What kind of ghost,” he asked suspiciously.

“Uh,” shit, okay, “the weird, haunted doll kind? Uh, like the ones the McElroy brothers are always bidding on on eBay. Or maybe this is kind of a Ben Drowned kinda situation, I’m not completely sure.”

He blinked, “okay, I only understood a few of those words, but—”

“It’s a Freddy teddy bear that really wanted me to take it to Hurricane, okay?” You really were at the end of your rope at the moment, “I have literally driven here for days straight on no sleep and barely any food and I need this Unauthorized Fucking Thing to find it’s eternal peace or kill me in some horrible way so I can hurry up and get on with my goddamn life,”

“Uh, see… the thing is,” he started to retreat back again, slowly moving his hands like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal.

 You realized what was about to happen, and it must have been visible in your eyes, since his huge unnatural placating smile returned,

“I actually don’t want anything to do with that, sooo…”

“PLEASE—” you reached out in blind panic, but he dodged it. (now if only you could’ve dodged the scooper like that Mikey)

The door slammed in your face.

Your breathing was ragged and fogged up the glass as he locked it again. You stared up at those glowing pinprick pupils of his as he gave you an apologetic little wave goodbye. And then he fucking made a big show of pointing at the closed sign before turning tail to disappear back into the darkness of the empty restaurant.

Okay.

Just a little setback. You’ll go to the older location first, now, and come back when this asshole is sleeping. Can’t be too hard to bust out one of those windows, and you doubt he has an alarm set up already. It’s his fault, really. If he didn’t want property damage, then he should’ve just let you in. Not like you haven’t warned him that you were desperate or anything.

Just gonna go to the other location. You’ve got your map, you’ve got a tank full of gas, and you’ve got chutzpah.

Now what you don’t have? Is a car that will start.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for inviting my cousin to an LGBT meet up?

Cw: mentions of suicide and transphobia

I (18M) am a trans man and my cousin N (21F) is a lesbian who is very masc presenting. We're the only queer cousins in the family (at least in our generation) so weve always been good friends and shes been one of the biggest supporters of my transition, defended me from bigoted family members and always corrected family when they used my deadname/old pronouns. I lowkey hoped she would come out as a trans man or nonbinary as well. We dress in the same style which makes it so when were hanging out together one of us is gonna get misgendered since people asume both of us are trans men or masc girls. When N is the one being misgendered she doesnt bother fighting it since its more trouble than its worth but looking back i think it really annoyed her.

Earlier this year N was severely struggling with her mental health. I apologize for the wording i may have since i dont know the proper terminology for this stuff or any specific disorder diagnosis she may have (other than autism). She was having some sort of manic or depressive episode. She was dead set on pushing people away and making them hate her so she could take her own life without regrets.

I visited N once to give her my support during a struggling time but i stupidly told her there was nothing she could say that would push me away. She told me not to test her but i kept pushing it and i admit what happened next was my fault. She told me in a very cold voice that she was a terf, though that she didnt want me dead but that "we" (im guessing she meant trans ppl) made it so much harder for her to exist(???????). I didnt let her keep talking just and left her room, said my goodbyes to her family and just cried while driving home.

Im still not sure if she meant it or if it was part of her mental episode and just a way for her to hurt me and push me away. On one hand ig it explains some of her behavior? N sometimes complained when she got asked for her pronouns or being misgendered like I mentioned before. On the other hand, I gen do not believe she has been a terf all along esp with how supportive shes been of me. If she was a terf youd think she would try to subtly talk me out of it, but that has never happened. My friends have nicknamed her schrodinger's terf lol

Anyway, i went no contact with N for a few months for my own wellbeing. During this time i heard that she tried to kill herself a few times, which got her into a mental hospital. She was given higher doses of meds and seems to be doing way better.

We had a family reunion this week and i decided to approach her. N seemed a little hesitant to talk to me but stayed polite. I tried testing her and talked about the effects T has been having on me but she acted like she always had and congratulated me and even complimented me on how deep my voice has gotten. I wasnt satisfied cause i wanted an apology for what she had said to me so i pushed it more. She did end up apologzing but it was a very surface level apology. At this point i didnt want to keep pushing in case it set her off again so i just took her apology (plus i wanted my best cousin back) and spent the rest of the day hanging out with her.

On the way home my mom said she was happy me and N had made up and that i should invite her to the lgbt club meetings Ive been going to this year. It seemed like a good idea to me, she lost a few friends during her episode and she could make more queer friends here. If N is trans and just in denial it could help her get the resources she needs to feel comfortable coning out. If N IS a terf maybe having more positive interactions with trans ppl could change her mind on it. Overall i thought it would be a win for her.

I brought it up to my friends and some of them blew up at me. Their argument was that itd be exposing the other trans ppl in the group to a terf and putting them in danger. I truly hadnt considered this angle so im kinda conflicted now. She had never felt like an unsafe person before and now that her episode is over she feels normal again. Even if she is a terf i dont think she could actually cause harm? I want N to get better but i dont want to put my trans friends at risk.

So tumblr, WIBTA for inviting N to my lgbt meet up?

What are these acronyms?

[power-chords]

In other news, back in therapy for the first time in a long time and actually having a positive (!) experience with it, probably because I was referred to the Ferrari of shrinks, a Columbia psychiatrist from Italy who specializes in psychodynamic therapy and psychopharmacology, is at the cutting edge of her field, and has a neuroscience background to boot. She is NOT cheap but my folks are helping me out, and both they and I agree that in some cases the sports car is warranted. During circumstances of extreme general life stress, for example. I've got a lead foot so I'm running a few years ahead of schedule on the Mille Miglia of midlife crises. (It's fine, I'm doing fine, and am pleasantly surprised by my own resilience at weathering storms.)

Like any good psychiatrist these days she attaches no particular weight to DSM labels, but for insurance billing purposes I'm essentially Diet Bipolar (Bipolar NOS?), which I guess is the default for someone who has had a grand total of two documentable manic episodes almost 20 years apart. Some handbook! But I'm not bothered. I've been titrating onto Lamictal which thankfully everyone seems confident I will not have to remain on indefinitely, and so far the chemical onboarding process has been unprecedentedly decent. The shrink I consulted with previously tried one dose of Latuda on me and I went from "actually managing and stable without additional medication" to "borderline suicidal" in the span of about six hours. (Even at my most mentally ill I have not formulated even the briefest and most abstract thought of suicide, not for decades!) But every "mood stabilizer" I've ever been on, for whatever reason, turns me instantly restless and agitated while at the same time dull and sedated, which in combination with akathisia (The Side Effect from Hell) would have PROBABLY ANYONE considering a stroll off the Tappan Zee. Fortunately Dr. Ferrari nixed that immediately, with a look of vindicating horror.

[cupcakeslushie]

That has me so relieved lol. I feel like I’m the worst at fashion 😅. I spend so much time on Google and Pinterest, trying to find cute things to put our boys and April in that would match their personalities.

Leo likes jean material and anything with dark colors (obvi) and also really likes athleisure wear. Raph has pretty similar taste, but with brighter colors. Though it’s hard for him to find jean material that can stand up to his shell, so he also has a love for stretchy stuff that wont tear. Mikey and Donnie like oversized and cute styles! Really soft or fluffy stuff, but also Donnie will throw in some edgy rave outfits when he’s feeling fun. He’s also got the same three outfits for when he’s working and he’ll wear them until they’re covered in paint and oil and totally worn down. Mikey is probably the one that has the biggest and most versatile closet. He has a big problem with online, impulse shopping.

@kitty-kyte This ask has me so curious now about the undercity’s weather! Aw, and now that makes me think the Snow Day episode would go from them fighting, to them just having a good wholesome time showing Donnie how much fun snow could be. And maybe they do have a snowball fight, Leo and Mikey being way too competitive, and Raph and April and Donnie just enjoying some hot cocoa and building a snowman. OR OR OR Donnie, April and Leo make a Jupiter Jim snowman and Raph and Mikey and Cass make a Lou Jitsu snowman and they argue over which one is better and Donnie keeps switching sides because he can’t decide!

@blossomsofopossums

As for your first question! Leo witnessed some small fits during their first few encounters. He was as unnerved as he could be, but sadly chose to ignore the strange behavior in favor of letting Three struggle through them on his own 😔. Then the first time Raph, Mikey, Leo, and April run into Donnie, they can clearly see Three struggling with something they can’t. They’re really confused and don’t know what to do, but with Leo recently revealing to them that Three might be their long lost brother Donnie, Raph has already resolved himself that, Donnie would be coming home with them. Unfortunately he doesn’t really know how to handle Three in that first meeting, and so he’s a bit rough with him, making those first few days of Donnie getting used to being in the lair a manic mess. Later once they learn more, Raph and Mikey will try to talk Donnie through them and Leo will use contact. But they also kind of have to adapt their reactions depending on how bad each one is, and what they think Donnie needs to feel safe.

Question #2! Raph calls him Dad, Pop, or Old Man when he’s feeling cheeky. Mikey calls him Dad and Papa. Leo probably goes through the most names: Master Splinter, Splinter, Father, Dad. Donnie will call him Father or PApA~

Question #3 Donnie had thought he’d already been introduced to so much good food after a few weeks in the lair, but pizza was on a whole new level. Sweets might be his new weakness. But pizza is his favorite savory meal. And you just know that the boys took Donnie to Run of the Mill for his first pizza experience. They couldn’t wait to introduce him to Hueso.

Hueso on the other hand is starting to get slightly annoyed with all these traumatized boys that Raph keeps bringing in. Like he was perfectly happy adopting this huge, but well-mannered teenage turtle and his human friend. Then they come in with the small, infamous battle nexus champion and he’s a little hyper thing sometimes, but he’s pleasant enough, so okay. But THEN, they have some nerve to bring some poor, tired, stone-faced kid, who’s eyes hold much too old of a look in them. It tugs on Hueso’s heartstrings…that is it would, if he actually had them.

NOW what’s he supposed to do with this new one? He can’t just adopt them all can he?

Hueso in the kitchens, to his chefs as they cook the boys’ pizzas:

[the-radience-of-the-moon]

Weeping willow (a creepypasta)

Willow had always been different from the other kids, for aslong as she could remember. Some would say its due to her autism, others say it was her home life, but if you could ask anyone who got close to her and survived, they would say the same thing.

Her weird fascinations, the things she would do when no one was around. Wether it was glueing pieces of animals together, or swapping the skins of bugs, it all fell under the same fascination. However, she mostly got along as a normal kid.

Yes she got teased for being different, but most of the time she didnt mind, especially since her older brother could protect her. He was 3 years older, and if anything happened to willow he would make sure it wouldnt happen again.

That was until willow turned about 10, and everything changed. She was just about to enter middle school, when on the last day of summer break her brother and dad went on a fishing trip together, like they would always do in the summer breaks. But this time, they didnt come back. Weeks of searching for them every day at sea turned into just going to the ocean around 3 days a week to just giving up on them, accepting it and moving on.

Well, most people moved on, but not willow. Due to willow’s already messed up brain, she soon fell into a depressive episode, spending her days weeping in her room, barely eating, and shouting at her mom if her mom even tried to bring up her brother.

She stopped going to school for about 3 months, just falling into a rabbit hole of depression, wich eventually landed her in her bathtub with a razor blade deep into her wrist, then in the hospital. She didnt fully remember that time, especially since she was fairly young, but she remembered her mom. Her panicked reaction, the amount of tissues she had already used up while sitting at willow’s bedside in the hospital, the worried look she got when she was told that willow had to go to a psychiatric hospital, and being told how much it would all cost.

It just made willow feel worse, like a burden, like the idiot she was. After around a few days in the hospital she was dragged off to the psychiatric hospital, not even resisting, since maybe fighting them would cost her mom more. The 2 awful months she had spent in the mental hospital might just be the third worse thing she had ever experienced.

Most time was spent by her weeping, screaming or clawing at the walls, but there were occasions where she would be drugged so numb she could barely stay conscious. While in the hospital she eventually got prescribed a hand full of strong medication, and after the two months they had her fully calmed down, yes she was mostly unresponsive, but thats not what they really cared about at the end.

She was diagnosed with manic depression, formerly known as bipolar disorder, anorexia and psychosis. When she finally got out around the new year she wasnt dependable enough to go to school, wich caused her to stay home until the next school year. She hardly remembered this period, it was just a constant loop of waking up, taking pills to numb every part of her, going to the doctor for check ups, her mom trying to cheer her up, her mom failing at it, and eventually taking enough sleeping pills to make an elephant to sleep, just to get a good night of sleep.

When she was finally stable enough to go to school, it felt like torture. The loudness of the other kids, the bullying, the memories of her brother, having to focus in class- it was all a little much. She became the all known quiet kid, not having the energy to talk at school, and barely talking when she got home.

She spent her days crafting in her room, glueing living bugs together, stuff like that. Spending all that time locked in her room made her mom very lonely, and accepting her grief her mom set off to go into the dating scene again, and when willow was around 13 her mom got a new boyfriend, and in the span of no time they were engaged. He was an alright guy, he seemed very arrogant and was a little rude to willow, but she was fine with it, if it made her mom happy.

But when the guy moved in, and started drinking again, it wasnt much fun anymore. Yes he was financially supporting them, but her mom wasnt happy with a constant drunk and verbally abusive fiance, and neither was willow. So her mom started working again, making long hours and saving up money, trying to gather up money to get her and willow out of the household.

It took a while, nearly 4 years, but right after willow’s 17th birthday, they had the money. The whole time before that was a blur, but for what had happened and what was going on in her brain, she was doing good in school. She was starting her last year, just getting by, but that was enough for her.

When trying to gather all their stuff to leave, her- well- stepdad, had noticed what they were doing, and decided that for the first time of living with them he wanted to be nice, begging them to stay. Saying he was going to kill himself if they went, saying they didnt have enough to support themselves, and eventually even turning to his trusty beer bottles, throwing the bottles at willow and her mother while they ran to the car with all the stuff they could carry.

However, they made it out. They got away from him, and thats all that mattered. willow’s mom had already found an apartment, fully furnished with old dusty furniture from the 90’s, but that didnt matter. They had a decently safe home, and they had eachother.

They lived in a decently small town, her mom working at fabric store, and willow herself going to a small high school not far from the town. Senior year, and boy was it awful. Since she was ‘the quiet kid’ she got bullied- no- worse, terrorised. She would get mocked, punched, laughed at and generally bullied for everything she did, especially since she wore the same green zip up hoodie for weeks upon weeks, bloody stained sleeves being visible, and giving everyone the clear indication that she was cutting herself, which she was.

The worst bullying was ofcoarse from the three meanest and most populair girls in the school, and their dragged-along-boyfriends. The main girl, becky, and her boyfriend zack were the worst. It was like they just hated willow with their whole guts, wich got zack and the other guys to the great idea to pull a prank.

Zack was going to try and seduce willow, to get into her house and film- well- we all know what. And the plan went smoothly. Zack got ‘nicer’, and acted meaner to his own girlfriend, just to get willow to like him back. And boy did she. Willow saw affection and mindlessly grabbed it, falling right into his trap, and invited him over for some ‘winter cuddling’.

Well cuddling turned into touching, and eventually their bodies were exposed, but willow didnt feel good. She felt sick to her stomach, trying to get out from the now on top of her zack, but he was keeping her pinned down, grabbing his flip phone from his jeans pocket, turning on the record button.

This whole part was fuzzy to willow- or maybe its just her brain trying to block it out. All she remembers is eventually being om top of zack, wich a pair of her scissors stuck into his shoulder, a giant cut over his cheek, exposing his bloodied teeth. She remembered him screaming, throwing her to the side, grabbing his stuff and he was gone.

There was a soft train of blood over the floor, and willow held her clothes to her chest, sobbing on the floor, holding the bloodied scissors in her hand. Cleaning everything was a blur, the whole week was a blur. Zack wasnt at school due to his injuries, but the three mean girls knew excactly what happened. Eventually exam time rolled around, and willow passed.

Wait she passed? She didnt even remember anything from it, just the big smile her mom had on her face when she came home with a store bought cake, congratulating willow on her graduation. Willow barely ate anything from the cake, and before she could even realise what was happening and be happy, it all came crashing down.

The doctor had called, they didnt have rnough for health insurance, so willow’s pills would cost too much, meaning she couldnt get her refills. What a nice moment, and what a bittersweet thing to hear, to make it all crash down. Her mom seemed more upset then willow was, making her- well- feel bad for her mom. Making her feel like a burden- i mean if she hadnt been there- maybe-.

She couldnt find a good reason, but she felt like a weight to her mom. The next week was just preparing for the worst, the pills slowly running out, the orange bottles being thrown into the trash one by one, since they werent being filled up any time soon. Everything seemed fine after that. I mean, it was worse then usual, but without school she finally had some peace, so not taking the pills had a minor effect on her.

Spring break rolled around and like any other break she spent it alone, covered up with her green zipper hoodie maybe brushing out her matted, long brown hair and crafting something, some bloodied pigeon wings on a wooden pigeon. She didnt even think about what had happened with zack- i mean she did- but she didnt expect anything to come from it. Until there was an envelope in the mail. An invitation for a graduation party, adressed especially to her. It looked too messy for a school to hand out, so one of the students must have sent it.

She didnt want to go, especially since it was on july 19th, wich was her 18th birthday. But her mom convinced her to see her classmates, just for one more time before they would go to college, and she would start working, since they didnt have money for college.

And on rolled july 19th, she was sitting in the car with her mom, her mom driving into a small path into the forrest, wich was ironically full of weeping willow’s. Her mom dropped her off as close to the party as she could, and drove off.

Willow put up her hood and walked into the forrest, not getting very far before being greeted by the three mean girls, and zack, standing a little further behind them, his cheek looking messed up, not very neatly stitched up. And with a small nod from the girls zack ran towards willow, picking her up and forcing her against a weeping willow, tying her up, making her wrists hurt like hell.

The girls begane degrading her, slashing at her hoodie, cutting her arms, slicing her long hair off into a sort cut to right above the shoulder, with such short bangs they almost werent there. Whenever willow started crying they just laughed, giving the box cutter to zack as he mercilessly stabbed her in the side, going easily through her hoodie and skin, making the blood stain her hoodie. The girls laughed as they softly whispered about the ‘grand finale’, as the signalled zack to get something from one of their bags.

He got a soft of thermos cup, wich would often contain coffee or tea, but in this case, contained something much worse. In a blink of an eye he threw it at willow’s face, making her jerk her head to the left and ripping her hand out of the retraint to try and cover her face, splashing the substance all over the right side of her face, and a little bit of her neck. For a second she thought it was okay, until it started to burn. And boy did it burn.

It felt like her skin was melting off, wich it was, but 100 times worse. She heard the girls laugh as she weeped and screamed and clawed at her face, coughing as she dropped to her knees, looking up to the girls with her one good eye, her eyes full of terror, but anger quickly building up.

Now having her hands free she grabbed the box cutter that was laying on the ground, and slashed at becky, the front girl, cutting open her stomach, making her drop to the floor. All the girls screamed as willow slowly stood up, easily cutting open the throat of one of the girls, and stabbing the back of the other girl as she tried to run.

Zack seemed to accept his faith, seeming scared but accepting as willow cut open the stitching in his cheek and stabbed into his throat, dragging the box cutter down his chest, making him gurgle in his own blood, like most of the others were. She grabbed the head of the girl she stabbed in the back and sliced her neck open to the bone, the turned to becky.

Becky was holding her stomach, trying to keep the blood from pouring out of her gashing wound. Willow grabbed becky by the hair, holding her down on her back as she started cutting around her face, cutting fully around her face, and eventually started rupping the skin off her face, eventually ripping it clean, making becky scream in agony as she was still barely conscious.

Willow held the face, looking in the reflection or becky’s pocket mirror as she put it over her face, trying to be beautiful, but she threw the skin down, seeing that she wasnt. She was ruined, now not only mentally, but physically too. She threw the mirror on the ground and stomped it, putting rhe box cutter in her pocket as she started stumbling away, stumbling back home.

She held her hood up, and was keeping her arms over the wounds on her body, making her way back into her and her mom’s apartment, mostly unnoticed. When she got home her mom was sitting at the dinner table, reading the newspaper and not even noticing that willow came home, and that willow was grabbing the box cutter from her pocket.

In a blink of an eye she had the blad in her mom’s throat, stabbing her throat over and over and over again, making her head start to detach from her body. Her mom’s blood was all over her fave, her clothes, and over the dinner. She breathed heavily as she looked at her mom’s decapitated body, and the head laying next to it.

She crumbled up next to the body and started to weeping, weeping like the weeping willow she was. She was last reported at the fabric store her mom worked at, making a mask out of a mannequin face, then fleeing into the woods. People say shes still out in those woods, killing and stealing people’s faces, to try and be pretty again.

(Hi, tom here!! Im very dislexic so if any of this is soelled wrong/written wrong please tell me! Also i included some cringy art of willow, im gonna make more art and some headcannons soon but im in france right now, so ill do it when im home&have time. Btw, even though willow is 18, im still a minor and would prefer no sexual content about my oc (if it ever gets famous or something). I hope you guys enjoy! :PP )

[modrntravlr]

pre-canon campbell bain headcanons - takin over the asylum (1994)

Warnings: These headcanons are almost entirely based on Campbell's experience with his mental illness, and do discuss his experiences with both depression, mania, insecurities, and health concerns.

wanted to be a pro footballer - campbell, despite not being exceptionally good at it, really liked football. his father had no problem enrolling him in youth leagues when he was a kid, and he never missed a game on the telly. he played well enough, but he was definitely not going pro anytime soon, but he still tried his best to keep getting better.

never had many friends - growing up, campbell was a very likable person. he always had people to talk to in class, and someone to sit with at lunch, but he never had any real friends. plenty of people in his class thought he was funny and appreciated having a good laugh with him, but he never got invited to any birthday parties, or got asked to hang out after school or on the weekends.

was diagnosed at 15 - he had a manic episode for the first time when he was 15 and still in school. he had always been a bit of a class clown, so nobody really thought much of it when he started acting a little more disruptive than usual until one day he had a full on outburst in class, which led to him getting suspended. his parents were upset, but didn't think much of it either until a few days later when his mood drastically dropped out of no where and he had his first depressive episode. it wasn't until the morning he was supposed to go back to school and he refused to get out of bed that they all, including himself realized something was really wrong. his dad assumed he was just being a typical teenager, with typical teenage angst, but his mom was concerned and dragged him to a doctor, which led to a diagnosis after a few weeks of psych evaluations.

insecure about his diagnosis - after he was diagnosed, he had a lot of trouble coming to terms with it. even before his father started voicing his opinions on the matter, campbell himself felt ashamed about being mentally ill and vowed to keep it hidden from the other kids at school. for years he tried to convince himself that if he just ignored it, he could pretend that he wasn't sick at all. at that point, he even tried to act more "normal", making his first real attempts at making friends at school, and learning guitar to try to get a girlfriend just to be more like the other boys at school. he made a couple of friends, none of which he ever got very close with out of fear that they would discover his secret, but had no luck with the girlfriend bit of his plan. obviously, his fathers blunt judgement only intensified his feelings.

stopped planning for the future - early in his treatment, not long after he had been diagnosed, a psychiatrist had told him that manic-depressive people have a shorter life expectancy than those without it. after this, he stopped really putting much thought into his future. he knew for sure then that he'd never be a pro-footballer, but he never really gave much thought about other options for him either. for the most part, he figured he'd end up dying young, and felt that finishing school and having a career would be a waste of the little time he had left.

stable until he was admitted - after his diagnosis, he was placed on a low dosage of lithium that kept him relatively stable for the most part although he tended to lean a little further into the realm of depression rather than mania/hypomania. he had remained stable all the way up until he was 18, going on 19, when he had the episode that landed him at st. jude's. it had been determined that he had gained a resistance to the low dose of lithium and evidently went into a manic episode, which led him straight to the doors of the bbc, swearing he was gonna be the next big thing. once it had been determined that he needed a higher dose of medication as well as more intensive therapy treatments as well, his parents (mainly his father) and doctors decided it would be best for him to be admitted for some time. his mom on the other hand, was convinced that she could continue to care for him at home.

[welp0w0]

i've been thinking of posting about her for some time now, but i keep putting it off, but NOW!!! NOW IS THE TIME!!!

introducingggg... WILSON!!!!!

she is a character i made for playing Call of Cthulu a long while ago.. and she has been sitting in the back of my head rotting after we stopped playing CoC consistently... but then a while ago she came back to the forefront of my mind and here she is now uwu

she is from 1920's England, thats where CoC is set, and in the oneshots, she was travelling with a few companions to do fetch quests for eldritch artifacts for an eccentric collector.

but nowadays, without the context of the campaign, she is just a paranoid mechanic holed up in her mechanics shop all day. she's prone to fits of paranoia and manic episodes, and she always keeps her trusty rifle with her wherever she goes because well, its good to have a method of self defense at all times obviously! :D

she is.. such a fun character, dont feel shy about asking me about her! i like to ramble about my blorbos :D

some wilson doodles...

[danidoodles124]

okay sue me it's time for more furblyg headcanons

today's theme, post quarry with sprinkles of angst

immediately post game, they do find each other and it's an immediate hug and an immediate apology. abi all but sobs while she confesses that she shot nick, and nick (who's honestly a little shocked) reasures her with another hug saying she did the right thing, telling her how thrilled he is that she stood her ground against him. his apology comes out in sobs and pieces, while he knows he hurt her in a lot of ways, he can't quite remember everything. he knows he called her things, and knows he wouldn't let go of her by the pool, but he could only remember pieces. he doesn't fully remember throwing abi into the lockers, he doesn't remember his transformation or even getting shot, and he just breaks. he's on his knees begging for her forgiveness, and she joins him on the ground. she tells him that all of that was never him, it was his illness. while she knows that, she can't help but feel a little afraid that it's still there, that he did mean at least a few of those things.

more below if you're interested!

they both agree that they need a little away from each other, nick needs to find his ground and try to connect the pieces of his puzzled memory. abi needs to heal emotionally, and mentally of course.

when they're let free from the courts and return home, abi doesn't text anybody. she shuts out everything, like she needs a vacation away from all that's happened (and who can blame her?). she focuses on returning to society, getting a job, going to school, regularly going to therapy. when she does reconnect with everyone, it's Dylan she finds first. they were never close, but she knew Dylan stayed friends and active with everybody as much as he could. they talked about school, about work and such.

when nick gets brought up, it's Dylan who brings him up. saying he's still in New York by himself, that he's been living at a campus dorm. abi feels awful, she just learned that nick never went home and stayed there, he's been all alone for this. he tells her that he's been working out more to regain himself, Dylan adds it mostly to tease, but a subtle hint that Nick isn't getting the help he needs. He suggests that Abi could help him, and she doesn't think for long before she does find him.

she gets his number from Dylan, and when she calls him, he's all smiles. he says he missed her, not in a romantic way of course- just that he's missed her company. abi isnt dull, she's glad her feelings are still mutual. they find an easy pace with each other, face timing until ungodly hours, texting whenever it's convenient, abi showing what she's working on for her classes and nick talking about his workout routine.

it's nick who asks abi to dinner, as just friends of course. abi thought she was going to have trouble saying yes, but the word falls off her lips so easily she's shocked. not regretful, just shocked.

dinner is good, and they find that they can have dinner with each other once a week. it becomes both of their favorite parts of the week.

abi finds herself having manic episodes for a little, where she wakes up drenched in sweat and unable to breathe. her instinct is to call nick, and she does. she finds it weird that that's the first person she calls, given that's who's haunting her nightmares, but when she hears his voice over the phone, she's quick to relax. she likes the gentleness of his voice against the mean tone that Not-Nick had back at the hacketts quarry pool house. she listens to nick for hours before they borh fall asleep on the phone.

nick swims for a college scholarship, abi only knows this because of Dylan. nick never cared to say anything about it, not because he hates it, but because it was never important. he finds abi in the bleachers one day at a swim meet. he does pretty well that day. they go out for dinner to celebrate.

nick himself finds his own nightmares, but he has issues more so at random parts of the day. if the room is too loud, suddenly he has super hearing again. if he can smell the cafeteria food from rooms away, he's also suddenly got sharp claws used for gutting animals. he can't take it, and he locks himself into a corner when it happens. he wants to call abi, but he's afraid he'll scare her, make her think that her nightmares are real, and they're still here. so, he finds himself dialing Dylan instead.

after a year of their continued friendship, abi gains the courage to bring up their past kiss, and their past puppy love from the summer. she's awkward about it first, but it's a little easier now that she and nick are friends before lovers. she tells him that she wants to be with him, that she feels ready about it but she rambles about how it's okay if nick isn't but he's been more than ready since she reached out to him about a year ago. he takes her hands in his and tells her this, tells her that he never said anything because he wanted her to be fully ready without him pressuring her to make up her mind. and it's then that abi nearly forgets about the nasty, mean nick that called her all those gross things, and she should have realized that far sooner. they share a little kiss in Nick's private dorm room and watch Adventure Time for the rest of the night until they pass out on his bed, limbs tangled and peacefully asleep.

if this gets enjoyed I'll do more

[kickthecan-revolution]

I struggled to fall asleep again last night and googled “signs I’m having a manic episode.”

I have a few core memories in my life that were moments where I felt the slow burn of humility and the growth that accompanies them.

Yelling at my mom in college - I had bounced some checks and instead of dealing with that, I yelled at her for how bad my childhood was. She quietly said “But Diane, you wrote the checks.”

22 and in my silent retreat, journaling about how unfair my life was. Suddenly a burning in my ears when I heard a voice tell me that I was refusing to let go of the expectation that the people in mg life operate on my own terms. I left that retreat and got my first job that day, something I’d been unable to do previously.

Sitting in my car reading the story in the Bible of the woman at the healing pool, crying that I wasn’t healed. Hearing a voice tell me “the woman moved herself into the water.”

And this week, reading some very difficult posts about older white women and rage. Reading some articles about the damage done when communicating from elitist, moral high ground positions. Acknowledging that the Harris campaign was snarky and at times, fear-mongering and I fully bought in. Realizing I really did believe the only way to avoid a Trump win was to make them see how dangerous and bad he is. Realizing how arrogantly that was received and how useless that was/is and not doing it anymore feels like a relief. Forgiving myself for that. Discerning what kind of engagement is valuable and what isn’t.

My brain is on high processing mode. Humility sucks. It’s been hard to admit where I’ve been wrong, but I have been and it’s so good to be here. There’s a lot of good stuff here. I need to be here.