#maybe even admit yourself into an insane asylum

[pepsi-al]

PSA: Report this jackass and his alts as soon as you see him for spam, harassment, and impersonation.

As you probably already know, SpookyFireman is back at it, suffering a seemingly neverending stroke. And he's taken to impersonating particular people who live rent-free in his head. Even going as far as to defame them and use ableistic slurs in doing so. Report him for misdemeanors, as stated in the title, block him, and move on. Even if he follows through with the threat he makes in the following screenshot.

And SpookyFireman, if you have to see this: Please, for the love of God, and for the love of yourself and anyone who might care about you, take the advice Michael Jordan is giving you in this gif.

[arxxq]

╭◦•◦❥•◦𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈

Ik the poll was for a week but it was only supposed to be for a day and I checked to see sanzu winning so yeah so here I am writing for sanzu.

Haruchiyo Sanzu (bonten) x psychiatrist reader, dynamic being similar to the famous Joker and Harley Quinn dynamic.

This will be AFAB. I will switch from using she/her and they/them pronounces. mistakes will be corrected soon. Warning: Idk really but I guess this is mainly appropriate for 15+? I don't write smut. Sanzu mainly has green-ish eyes here since most of ken wakui's art he has green eyes.

Dr. [Name] [Last name].

A psychiatrist intern that was hired to help in an asylum full of criminals..

They usually succeed in changing the behavior of those criminals so she is highly respected. They're portrayed to be nice and open...and well accepting.

The life they had was perfect.

That all changed when a new patient was admitted into the asylum.

"Dr [Last name]!" A man shouted at them.

"Ah Hey Robert...what can I help with now?" They said, an innocent smile plastered on her face.

"We have a new patient and we were thinking maybe you could handle him?" She looked at Robert with confusion.

"Who is this patient exactly? Could you give me his documents?" Robert handed her the documents of this said patient.

"We don't have much on him so the documents won't really help but most of us can't really handle him..."

She rolled her eyes. "The patient can't be that bad," she opened the file but was stunned to see who this said patient was.

Akashi Haruchiyo, better known as Sanzu Haruchiyo. Ranked as the top 2 of the criminal organization named bonten. He was known as insane that's for sure.

What confused her even more was that bonten members weren't really easy to catch so how did Sanzu...managed to get caught in the first place?

"Earth to [Name]?" She broke from her trance and let out a "hmm".

"Do you think you could handle him?"

With a smile as well as confidence she replied.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad!"

Now she's in a room. A room that's actually quite messy and uncleaned. Usually the rooms would be cleaned and white but this one had stained walls and dirty floors.

She didn't really notice her patient sitting in a chair but when she did...she saw him tied up to that said chair.

She looked at him, what meant to be a quick glance ended up being a whole observation. To say she was mesmerized was not a lie. He was quite the charm....

"Done checking me out Doctor?" He taunted and raised his head up. A smirk plastered on his face. He had pretty unique features like the diamond scars on the edges of his lips and his sea green eyes makes her want to fall in.

"I was not checking you out..." She said....although it clearly seemed like a lie. The said patient scoffed. "Keep telling yourself that Dr [Last name]..."

This was day one, and he's already driving her crazy...and not in a bad way actually.

As days passed on....she didn't realize that she was slowly falling for this madman. Although she said she wasn't getting attached she was..and she just kept telling herself that she was helping, curing him.

Entering the said room, there he saw him still tied to the chair.

"good morning Doctor..."

She laughed. "Good morning to you too"

"What did you bring me this time huh doctor [last name]," he asked. "I didn't bring you anything today... we're just going to do our daily session of talking, is there anything I can help with?"

Sanzu smiled deviously. "You know....there is something you could do for me, doctor," he added.

With no hesitation she replied. "Anything....I mean yeah!"

He looked at you that devious grin still on his face. "I need a machine gun.."

She wasn't even perplexed but more shocked. "A...a machine gun?" Sanzu laughed like the mad man he is.

Giving him the machine gun was something she regret doing because now the other patients have managed to escape.

"LET GO LF ME!" She shouted as two men held her down on a mattress in the asylum. "Well look what we have here~" Sanzu's taunting voice echoes in the room.

A bright light was then shined down on her face. "I did everything you said, I helped you!"

Sanzu laughed at her like a maniac would. "You helped me...by erasing my mind with the few faded memories I had!" He shouted at her while hitting the mattress with both his hands at the said on her head.

"you left me in a black hole of rage and confusion darling~ is that the medicine you practiced doctor?" He walked to a different direction and came back. He was holding something but she can't tell what it was.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me Haru?" She said anticipation written on her face with a mix of fear in her head. "what? No~ I'm not going to kill you..." He assured. "I'm just going to hurt you... really really bad~"

"You think so? Well I can take it," she admitted. Sanzu smiled at her. "Oh how I adore you.." he then tied your mouth using a belt. "This is just going to hurt a little bit~"

A few days later after that incident, she could still recall what had happened. Her brain was messed up...he shocked her. Ever since then she couldn't think properly. "what is wrong with me?" she asked. A message was sent to her phone. It was from Sanzu.

'meet me at the abandoned facility doctor [name]. I'll be looking for your presence'

-H.S

[Name] promised that she wouldn't meet up with him again but could she really resist. So stupid enough she went there.

When she arrived, she saw a pool of chemicals. She was really high up. "I knew you'd come," Said a voice from behind.

She turned around to see no other than Sanzu. "You really couldn't resist me~" anger took over [Name] that she pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

"aw...you wouldn't do it~i know you won't," he was right you couldn't. You've fallen deeply for him that you can possibly kill him.

"Say [Name] would you...die for me?" That question lingered in her head for a few seconds and she looked at him with eyes glistening with desire.

"Yes.."

"That's too easy....would you, would you live for me?" That question left her perplexed, but she thought it through and nodded her head.

He looked at her with that same devious smile. "Careful darlin...don't say this oath thoughtlessly," he caressed her cheek. "Desire become surrender and surrender becomes power~"

"Do you want this?"

"I do,"

"Say it then...oh pretty pretty pretty pretty-"

"please.." she pleaded. "God you're so...so obedient~"

She stepped away from him. Looking down to the pool of chemicals. She looked at Sanzu one last time. With a smile on her face she purposely fell off the ledge and into the pool of chemicals.

Sanzu was about to leave her but he couldn't. He looked down to the pool of chemicals and took off his coat. He couldn't just leave [Name], not when she devoted her life, her sanity for him so he jumped down to get her.

Starting there [Name] [Last name] lost all sanity just for him, a mad man that probably won't love her back. She was devoted to him and saying she regrets being loyal to him was a lie.

She was then part of bonten being the title of Sanzu's woman. Some of the executives thought she was crazy for falling for sanzu but they were right she was crazy falling for him and she couldn't care less. She knew Sanzu never loved her really but he really seemed to adore that woman.

At the end of their twisted love story....

In every timeline whether good or bad~

They assumed they were bound to meet.

And at the end,

It was Him and I

I don't support plagiarism

Arxx/Hasinah

November 6th 2023

My writing is Lowkey shitty but eh it's fine as long as it's understandable lol

[francis-writes]

Pairing: John Dee x GN!reader Summary: you work as psychologist in mental asylum. You try to treat all patients equally but one is definitely special for you Word count: 710

Asylum guard locked the doors behind you and took his place behind big window on the wall, watching you carefully. Usually your therapy sessions with patients were more private but this one was special, to put it subtly. And specifically, he killed many people. But despite his crimes and risk you took during every session, you liked John Dee. There was something special in him. You liked to listen to his theories about people and morality even though in his eyes you could seem to be a terrible person. John despised lies and you couldn't live without them; but you made a deal - during therapy session you were telling him only the truth, whatever he asked about and he agreed to cooperate. Whether his views on truth were right or false, the complete honesty between you two brought unexpected effects: you fell in love him and John turned out to reciprocate your feelings. Unfortunately, relationship between therapist and his patient was forbidden, watchful eyes of guard and cameras in every corner of the asylum didn't leave you even a scratch of privacy. You had to hide your relationship and the only physical contact you were allowed to, was subtly touching each other hands in hope that guard won't became suspicious. Or that he won't turn out to be snitchin' asshole. "How was your day?" You asked John. "You're really interested? I spent the whole day locked in my room, nothing new " You smiked awkwardly. "Yeah, I admit, it was a stupid question. I just tried to start a conversation" "Better tell me about your day. What happened in outside world" John leaned back and looked at you. Everytime you felt as if his blue eyes were piercing through your soul and his observant gaze noticed every detail you tried to hide. For a man treated as insane, he was incredibly attentive and thoughtful and you often wondered who really analyzes who during your meetings. "Well, I visited my family and my grandma again tried to persuade me to go on a date with our neighbour so I finally told her that we're in relationship " "She doesn't mind you dating a killer locked in mental hospital?" John raised his eyebrow. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should admit a lie. "Well... I told her that you're a businessman and she can't meet you because you're in delegation now" "One day you will have to tell her the truth" he noticed with voice devoid of emotion "This lie won't help you" "You're saying so and yet you hide our relationship yourself. Isn't it hipocritical?" John was contemplating the question for a moment. "Maybe you're right. And I am making a mistake then but I can't let them take you from me. People tried to take my ruby and they paid for that. It would end up the same way if they tried to take you away" You tried to smile, even though his words made you nervous. Afraid, even. You knew that people who "tried to take his ruby" (whatever it was, if it existed) were his brutally murdered victims. "Am I scaring you?" John asked. You hesitated. Your first instinct was to deny it but lie would be to obvious and you didn't want to disappoint John. "Yes" you admitted. "Why? I would never hurt you" he brushed your hand with his thumb and that soft touch made you shiver. "I know what happened to people who got in your way and I am afraid that one day I will make bad move and I will end up like them... I am just worried that my safety isn't unconditional" John looked at you and wondered for a moment. The fact that he didn't deny instantly made you feel uneasy. "Well, it is possible" John confirmed your fears "But I don't you would do such thing. If you tried to take my ruby or started lying to me, then I would probably kill you. But in any other case, you're safe. And if you will want to break up with me, just tell me and I will accept it. As you see, I'm not as terrible as people in this institution think" You nodded with relief. "Thanks for your honesty"

[theyellowroseofsodor]

Outlast

A Yellow Rose of Sodor short

Summary: James and Camille either do a spooky movie marathon or a spooky video game for Halloween each year. This year they try out the game Outlast and it goes as well as it sounds.

If I had to give this a rating it would be T because James is naughty.

Edward x James

Camille (OC) x Gordon

Flying Scotsman and Gordon brotherly fluff.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t believe you bought it.”  James said, staring at the TV screen as it loaded the game.

“I wanted to play a spooky game for the Spooky Season.”  Camille said with a laugh, sitting cross legged on the sectional sofa.

James sat down next to her, grabbing the red blanket folded on one of the ends, “This is insane.”

As the game loaded up, Camille stood and turned out the lights before returning to the couch and getting under the blanket with James.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?”  James asked as they watched the main character make his way to Mount Massive Asylum.

“Because we’re big brave courageous engines and aren’t afraid of no video game.”  Camille chuckled as she read the note at the beginning of the game.

“I’m not sure I’m going to like this battery mechanic.”  James noted, watching Camille make her way around the asylum’s grounds.

“Well, we survived Amnesia so I’m sure we can handle this.”  She responded, examining the armed vehicles and attempting the front door.

“This is infinitely worse than Amnesia.”  James noted, “Thomas wouldn’t even play this one with us.”

“Let him be a scaredy engine.”  Camille teased as she had Miles Upshur (the main character) climb up the ladders and scaffolding and into the asylum.  The lights flickered in the building and then broke.

“Oh noooo.” James groaned, “It starts so soon?”

“We’ve got this.” She grinned as something hissed in the game, causing both engines to startle a bit.

“Do we though?”  James joked back, as she squeezed through the small gap.

“Well nothing horrible is happening so far.”  She said, picking up a note, “Looks like they were experimenting on the patients, specifically a guy named Billy.”

“Oh, surprise, surprise.  And how is the name Billy supposed to be terrifying?”

“Maybe he was a failed project?”  Camille asked, as they heard a door shut and lock.

“Well, we’re not alone.”  James said stating the obvious.

“Ew!”  Camille wrinkled her nose, “Intestines on a plate.  I’ll take the ventilations instead.”

They both shrieked at a jump scare as they walked into a room full of headless bodies.

“Nope!  Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!”  James shouted, pulling the blanket up to his face.

“They killed us.  They got out.  The variants.”  Said a dying NPC on a pike, Camille and James watched with horrified faces, listening as he gave a little backstory and then told them to get out while they still can.

“I like this advice.  Can we go out the window?”  Camille asked genuinely.

“It’s what I would do.”  James said.

Suddenly the lights were turned on in the room, causing both of them to scream, Camille almost dropping her controller.

Edward and Gordon looked from the stairway with slightly concerned and shocked faces.

“What are you two doing?”  Edward asked, looking from the two to the screen.  He sighed, “A scary game again?”

James gave a sheepish smile at his beloved and Camille grinned stupidly, “It’s spooky season!”

Gordon was giving James a disapproving glare, noticing his girlfriend sharing a blanket with him.  James ignored him, choosing to keep his focus on Edward, “Want to join us?”

Edward scoffed but smiled, “Are you asking me if I want to watch the game with you or are you really asking me to hold your hand while you torment yourself with another scary story?”

“The latter.”  James admitted, “Not that I’m scared or anything.”

“You both just screamed as we turned the lights on.”  Gordon pointed out.

“Only because we weren’t ready for it.”  Camille said, “The game is supposed to be scary, we don’t need real life jump scares.”

Gordon rolled his eyes, but nonetheless, he and Edward sat next to their partners.  Gordon grabbed another blanket to specifically share with Camille.  James gave a harrumph as he pulled his red blanket over both him and Edward.

“You’ve got to turn the lights back off, honey.”  Camille said to Gordon, “Atmosphere is important.”

Gordon groaned and rolled his eyes but did as she asked.  As he made his way to the lights, Scotsman sauntered down the stairs and eyed the small group on the couch.

“What are you four up to?  A double date?”  He asked with a smirk.

“Aren’t you supposed to be going home?”  Gordon grumbled, side eyeing his younger brother.

“Felt like staying for the holiday.”  Scotsman said waving him off, “If you’re not doing a date what are you guys playing?”  He asked, looking at the TV.

“It’s not even Halloween yet-“ Gordon started but was interrupted by Camille.

“We’re playing Outlast for the spooky season.”  She said smiling at Scot, “James and I pick a movie series to watch or a game to play every October.  You can join, originally it was just me and James, not a date.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”  Scot said, sitting between James and Camille.  Gordon gave a frustrated growl, turning off the lights and sitting back down under the blanket that he was now sharing with his girlfriend and younger brother.  Scot just grinned at his brother.

“Alright, so, let me explain the story thus far.”  Camille said, “We are a journalist for some big company and we’re investigating the story of Mount Massive Asylum and its supposed experimentation on its patients and other unethical procedures.  We, of course, came at the dead of night on a slightly stormy night.”

“Of course.”  Scot mimicked.

“We had to break in, kind of, and the lights went out.  We’ve already seen a freaked out patient, the rooms are wide open and destroyed, and we found several beheaded people and an army guy completely decked out but with a pike through his body who told us we needed to get the hell out of here.”  Camille finished.

“Which is where we’re picking up with you guys.”  James added, “We tried to jump out the window but apparently that’s too easy.”

“So, you’re just starting.”  Gordon stated.

“Exactly!  So now we can all go through this together.”  Camille said, picking her controller up and exploring the hallway.

“Creepy.”  Edward stated, curling into James.  Although he was the older, and one might say braver, of the two engines, Edward wasn’t a big fan of how far the horror genre had progressed in his lifetime.  Where many movies were considered goofy, this new stuff was hard to watch.  James took a bit of pride in these moments where he could comfort his boyfriend instead of vice versa.

“Your battery is dying.”  Edward pointed out.

“I think I’ll be OK.”  Camille said as she sidled through shelving.

“Little Pig!”

All five engines yelped as the main character was pulled out by a rather large NPC and tossed through a glass pane.

“Nope!”  James ducked under the covers.

They listened as a priestly character talked to the main character and then the objective appeared saying to escape the asylum.

“I like that objective.”  Scotsman said as Camille examined the bloody writing on the walls and the beheaded bodies.

“Me too.”  Camille said, running around the building, using the new mechanic of peeking around the corners.

���The guy in the wheelchair is alive.”  James said.

“Thank you for stating the obvious, James.”  Gordon said with a bit of venom.

“Don’t be mean, little brother, just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!”  Gordon snorted, watching as Camille looked at the patients sitting around watching the TV ignoring her character.

“At least they’re not being mean to me.  I don’t like the choir music though.”  Camille said, ignoring the brothers as they began to bicker.

“Why’d you scream then?”  Scotsman continued to tease.

“I didn’t scream.”  Gordon said, “That’s not dignified.”

“You totally screamed.”

“I yelled, at most.”  Gordon glared at his brother.

The man in the wheelchair jumped out at the main character, Camille having to shake him off and all the engines had yelled out again as she fought the character off.

“Get him off!  Get him off!”  James yelled out.

Once she got away, she laughed a bit, taking a quick glance at Gordon, “You were saying, Gordon?”

“I uh-  Bite me.”  Gordon said, folding his arms across his chest.

Scotsman laughed.

“We can look behind us as we run now.”  Camille noted, “Why would I want to do that?”

“If something’s chasing you?”  Edward asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to look behind me if I am being chased.  Ignorance is bliss.”

As she examined the security office, Camille noticed that she could hide in the locker, “Why do I need to hide?”

Hide in the locker.  Don’t try to fight.

“No, no, no, no, no!”  Camille yelped, hiding in the locker after the priest tripped the power.

“That big guy is coming back.”  James said, hiding all but his eyes under the blanket.

“You were here, weren’t you?.  Little pig.  I’ll find all you whores.”  The big man said on the screen.

“Rude.”  Camile taunted.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this game.”  James said.

“That’s why I’m playing and you’re just watching.”  Camille said.

——

A bit later

——

All the engines were well cuddled under the blankets after dealing with the twins and were screaming as Camille dodged the crazed patients and entered the elevator.

“Get in! Get in! Get in!” James shouted, his knees shaking in anticipation.

Once they were locked in, the engines all took a breath.

“Hey, we got away.” Camille said with a smile.

“Yeah, but I don’t trust whoever told us to get in this thing.”  Scotsman said as they were met with the doctor who punched the main character.

“Well, crap.”  Camille said.

“I don’t like this.”  Gordon said as they were bound to the wheelchair and wheeled away.

“Oh, he’s sarcastic.”  Edward wrinkled his nose as they were put in the elevator with the crazed doctor, “This can’t be good.”

“The trail of blood can’t be a good sign.”  Camille said.

“Shh.  Shh.  You weren’t putting that tongue to any use anyway.”  The crazed doctor said to one of the patients freaking out on the gurney.

“Oh nooo…” Camille whimpered, “I don’t like this.”

“Do we have to keep playing?  We’ve played enough tonight right?”  James whined.

“We can’t just end it here.”  Scotsman said.

“You’re not the one playing the game.”  Gordon glanced at his brother, who despite the calm outward demeanor, he could tell was getting shaky, “If Camille doesn’t want to then she doesn’t have to.”

“Maybe you just don’t want to watch.”  Scotsman said with a grin, “It’s alright little brother, I understand if it’s too scary for you.”

“Scot, I swear to Lady above, if you call me little brother one more time I’m not going to be held responsible for what I do to you.”  Gordon retorted, “We’re the same bloody height and I’m your older brother.”

Scotsman stuck his leg out from under the blanket, showing off the three wheels going up his ankle and leg, “The wheels don’t lie…”. Scot paused with a smirk, “Little brother.”

Gordon swung a pillow over Camille’s head and smacked his younger brother in the face with it with a solid PLUMP.

“Ow!  I can’t believe you actually hit me!”  Scotsman yelped.

“I can’t believe you didn’t see it coming, Scotty.” Gordon sneered.

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.  Can we please get back to the game?”  Camille said with a bit of irritation as she had to pause the game due to their little spat.

All turned their attention back to the TV as the doctor grabbed various tools, but seemed partial to a pair of large scissors.

“No!  I can’t watch!”  Edward said, ducking his head into James’ neck.

“Nope!  I’m out!”  James shouted too, hiding under the covers.

Camille let out a small scream as she hid her face behind her fingers, peeping ever so slightly as the villain cut the main character's fingers off.

Gordon and Scotsman yelled out in disgust and horror, both cringing very visibly at the violence, Gordon grabbing the pillow from earlier and barely peeked over it, while Scot hid his face in his shirt as he pulled it closer to his eyes.

“OK, OK!”  Camille called, “I call it tonight.  I can’t take it.” She paused the game and put the Switch in sleep mode.

“Agreed.  Let’s go to bed.”  Gordon said, shakily.

However, after turning off the game they realized they were stuck in the dark, as the night had gotten fairly late without their noticing.

No one moved from the couch.

“We could just sleep down here tonight.  Together.”  James suggested.

“Uh uh.  No way.”  Scotsman said, “I’m sleeping in a room where I can lock the doors.”

“Scared, little brother?”  Gordon teased heavily.

“I’m not scared!”  Scotsman said a little too quickly, “I just don’t like sleeping in open spaces.

“We slept in berths for the majority of our lives, Scotsman.”

“Yeah but it still had doors!”  Scotsman retaliated.

“Don’t you two start again.”  Edward said, starting to stand, “I’ll get the lights before you turn the TV off.”

The others nodded in agreement and Edward stumbled over to the lights, turning them on.

“Now you can turn the TV off.”  James said, and then looked at the others in a bit of a panic, “Not that I’m scared of the dark or anything.”

“I think it’s safe to admit we’re all a bit afraid of the dark tonight.”  Camille said, curling into Gordon as the two stood up.

“And someone has to drive home on this dark night.”  Gordon said, looking at his brother a bit smugly.

“No way am I driving home tonight.”  Scotsman said before backpedaling, “Because I’d rather get my beauty sleep here than drive all night and be too tired to work in the morning starting at the mainland.”

“Aren’t you getting in trouble for how much time you spend on Sodor?”  Edward asked genuinely.

“Well, I… maybe a little… but I enjoy spending time with my family and they can’t say much considering I’ve given them just about a hundred years of service without asking for much.”  Scotsman shrugged.

Edward nodded his head in consideration, “Fair enough.”

“OK, not trying to be a downer or anything, but did anyone else notice it’s storming outside?”  Camille asked as they heard a bit of rolling thunder.

“Yeah, you know what?”  James said as it got louder, “I’m out of here.”  He grabbed ahold of Edward’s hand and almost skipped up the stairs, he was so nervous.  

Edward followed a bit clumsily, not expecting the sudden movement, “James!  Cut it out!”

The small Gresley family followed shortly, Camille being the most cautious as she was the one who played the game.  Gordon held onto her shoulders, feeling her shake underneath.

“You know, maybe it’s time you stop playing horror games for the Halloween season.”  He advised, “I don’t think it’s doing your nerves any good.”

“I’m fine.”  Camille said, eyeing around the corner as they traversed the stairs.

“And we’re climbing up the staircase slowly, because…?”  Scotsman asked.

“I’m just sleepy.”  Camille said in determined denial.

“Uh huh.”  The two brothers said in unison.

As they reached the top of the stairs there was a loud thundering crash and the power went out, the night lights that lit the halls turning out, diving them into pitch darkness.  Camille screamed, practically jumping into Gordon’s arms and he couldn’t help the shocked noise that came from his mouth either.

Down the hall they could hear James shrieking in panic.

“OK, I know that Camille’s old room is now technically my guest room, but I also know you left the twin size bed in your room from when I broke my leg and I’m claiming it again tonight.”  Scot said in a shakier voice.

Camille jumped from Gordon’s arms and ran, “Well, I’m not sticking around any longer.  Nope, nope, nope!”  She practically pranced down the hallway, stretching her legs as far as they would take her.  Gordon and Scotsman followed her more quickly than they would like to admit as a second crash was heard nearby.

Camille dived under the covers of the King’s size bed soon after she threw the bedroom doors open and curled into the fetal position as it stormed.  Gordon sighed as he shut the door behind him and his brother.  Scot quickly kicked off his slippers and curled into the twin bed on the other side of the room.

Although Gordon hated to admit his own fear, he looked down at Camille with a stern gaze he knew she couldn’t see.  “No more horror games.”

The little lump moved, “I watch horror ‘let’s plays’ no problem.”

He sighed, kicking his own slippers off, “But you can’t play them without panicking or nightmares.  Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Amnesia or that alien game.”

“That was different!”  Camille complained.

“How so?”  Gordon asked, “You were freaked out about vents and face hugging aliens for weeks.”

“They’re terrifying!”  She said, curling into him as he laid beside her, “But these are just humans and although they’re being scary, they’re not as scary as chest bursting aliens.”

There was silence for a bit before they heard a whimper from the other side of the room.

“Can I sleep with you guys?”

“Absolutely no-“ Gordon started.

“Yes!  More bodies means more comfort!”

“Camille!”  Gordon complained.

“It’s not like he’s hitting on me, Gordon.”  Camille said as Scotsman slid in before Gordon could further his complaint.

“He’s a grown engine!”

“He’s your little brother.”

“I would’ve been fine but someone had to bring up face huggers and chest bursters.”  Scotsman added pointedly at Gordon.

“I didn’t know you knew about the alien franchise, Scot.”  Camille said.

“I wish I didn’t.  I get nightmares every time.”  Scot said with a shudder.

“I get it!  They’re so creepy and with the way the movie-“

“Please, let’s not talk about it?”  Scot asked seriously, “I really don’t like it.  In all honesty.  I don’t.”

Gordon couldn’t help but look at the two scared forms that slept beside him.  Camille, his everything, scared by the storm and the video game and Scotsman, his younger brother, with a new weakness he didn’t know about.  Something he might’ve teased him about but it felt so odd hearing him sound so small talking about something that genuinely scared him.  He sighed defeated, scratching the back of his head and laid down.  He kissed Camille on the forehead and ruffled his younger brother's hair.

“This is a one time thing.”  He told them, “Goodnight you two.”

“Goodnight, Gordon.”  Camille said, snuggling into him.

“Goodnight… big brother.”  Scotsman added, feeling a bit more comfortable closer to the others.

——

Down the hall, James was curled up in a small ball himself, holding onto his stuffed Rhino, Pebble.  Edward, ever the big spoon to the bigger engine, was stroking his hair and kissed the bigger engines neck.

“It’ll be OK, Jamie.  I’ve got you.”

“I’m never letting Camille convince me to do another horror game again.”  James whimpered.

“I do believe that it was a joint decision, James.  Like last year and the years before that.”  Edward scolded playfully.

“Well then… you don’t ever let me do that again.”  James said, scolding back.

“What am I, your mother?”  Edward teased.

“You’re something much more valuable than that.”  James said and turned to face Edward.  Edward smiled at him, giving him a kiss on the forehead and pulled the red engine into his chest.  James relaxed, listening to Edward’s heartbeat.

“Did you lock the bedroom door?”  James asked.

“For the fifth time, dear, yes I did.”  Edward said with a patient sigh.

“And the windows are too?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

James squeezed Pebble, curling into Edward as much as he could.

“And is-“

“James.”  Edward said sternly, “It’ll be OK.  We’re OK.  It was just a video game.”

“Yeah, but-“

“What on earth could I possibly do more to convince you everything will be OK?”  Edward said a tiny bit exasperated.

“Well… we could…” James said in a rather certain tone, trailing off a bit.

“It’s already late, James, and we have goods trains to pull tomorrow.”

James whined, “But Ed…”

“Oh no, don’t ‘but Ed’ me.  If that’s what you wanted, then you should’ve devoted more time.”

“But I’m devoting time now.”  James said, giving a small but suggestive movement against Edward, “I’ll sleep better.  It’ll get my mind off of scary things.”  He gave Edward a pout and puppy eyes, despite knowing the smaller engine couldn’t see in the dark, “Please?”

There was a bit of silence, before a sigh was heard, “Fine.  But I want NO complaints in the morning and I will not have you whine to me or Sir Topham Hatt tomorrow, you understand?”  Edward said sternly, despite leaning into James’ neck and giving him small pecks and nibbles.

James let out a giggly moan, happy regardless, “Of course, Edward dear.”

“I mean it, James.  Or there will be consequences.” Edward crawled on top of the larger engine, pulling Pebble away from him and placing her on the bedside table.

“Oooooo… I like the sound of that.  Maybe I’ll be naughty on purpose.”  James said slyly.

“I mean it, James Hughes.”  Edward said, stopping his affection.

James groaned at the sound of his full name, something he hated hearing from the older engine, “Fine, fine.  I’ll behave.” When Edward continued giving in to the younger engine, he couldn’t help but smirk and think I’ll behave… for now.

[turtlemagnum]

been thinking a lot about vtmb. it's occurred to me that if you're immortal, you're probably gonna need at least a single hobby if you don't wanna go insane from boredom, so here's my thoughts on that so far:

jack seems like the kinda guy who'd get way into blacksmithing/woodworking and stuff to that effect. partially based on vibes, but i could also see it serving a practical purpose as a vampire. kinda doubt you could just go to any old store and buy a silver knife to protect yourself from a werewolf with, or a wooden stake.

this literally just came to me in a dream and i'm not entirely sure how accurate it'd be, i think nines rodriguez might be like, weirdly into needlepoint? seems as good of a way to kill time as any, i suppose. in my dream he made a little picture of a cat with it. also, given how his name seems to be a reference to the guns he carries, maybe he's a bit of a gun nut? might be less of a hobby and more of a necessity though

i don't think it's known how recent of a vampire damsel is, but based off of vibes i'd guess relatively new, probably some time between nines turning during the great depression and the "present"(2004). either way, she strikes me as the kind of person who'd have been an omnivorous reader even before being turned, and given the amount of free time you'd have being immortal, she's probably read every political book on earth. she's the kind of gal to not only know who gramsci is, but to have read all of his works and have a deeply opinionated view on it all; though i couldn't say what because im not im not a FUCKING NERD (joke)

i feel like jeanette's main hobby is fairly obvious, but with therese i'm not so sure. i feel i could see her doing some ghost writing for a bad mystery novel or something, but part of me wants to just say that taking care of the asylum is her Whole Fuckin Life, y'know.

lacroix also gives off the vibes of an omnivorous reader, but he'd be more of the type to read those How To Manipulate People And Make Them Like You kindsa books, or things of that sorta vibe. if you could imagine the average CEO recommending it, he'd probably read it. whether it's out of a genuine desire to improve his skills, or to laugh at how bad the humans are at it, i leave up to your interpretation. if you asked him about it, he'd probably say something supremely condescending about how hobbies might be vital for those who have nothing better to do with their lives, and how he has his hands full with the city.

VV. writing poetry comes to mind, i actually quite liked what she wrote in the emails. she's probably read a fair amount of poetry in her time, assuming that she's not just Naturally talented (most people aren't). she doesn't quite strike me as omnivorous, but i feel as though she'd like stuff with a tendency towards flowery language and romance as a theme, being a toreador and all

gary. film buff, and also probably watches porn recreationally. not in the same way that a normal person does, but in the way one might watch animal planet

ming xiao was always courteous to me and frankly, right up to the end she struck me as not that bad and arguably something of a straight shooter; though judging from looking up the kuei jin ending i was just being manipulated (which, to be fair, is nothing new for this game). her characterization seems mostly to be polite, albeit manipulative, and generally intelligent to her core. not sure what hobbies might entirely entail from that, but i'm gonna go with a kneejerk reaction and say strategy games like chess or go, and reading philosophy books. seems like a good guess, at least; though i'll admit that we don't seem to have A Ton to go off of. unsure if that was intentional as her like, not wanting to show her hand too much, or if the writers just didn't have enough time to characterize her as much as they'd have liked (or even if they just didn't put that much thought into it)

there's a couple that are pretty straightforward imo. strauss and beckett are deeply immersed in their respective scholarly fields (magic and history, respectively). in terms of minor characters, officer chunk probably spends most of his free time watching tv, wong ho gives off the vibes of someone who'd be way into something specific but fairly normal (like sports or video games), tseng is a gunfucker (bro, same), fat larry's probably into basketball given his jersey, so on

there are a few characters i either didn't meet, get to know too well, or have much to say on. never met heather or yukie. skelter was angry at me from when i first met him and got even angrier the second time i tried to talk to him, and since i don't like people being angry at me and i didn't see any way i could change his mind i just didn't try (gonna see how that goes second playthrough though, since apparently there is more to his character. maybe it had something to do with how my first playthrough was with a ventrue?). venus is pleasant but i didn't catch much of a vibe of what she'd be into, probably just drinking and domming.

[queenshelby]

The Arkham Patient (Part One)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Torture with Consent, Filth, Strictly 18+

Words: 2,689

Please comment and let me know what you think and as to whether I should continue writing this...

****

‘For fuck sake, get your fucking hands of me’ you screamed as, once again, you kicked one of the guards into his most intimate region as he tried to restrain you.

There was no reason for you to be here, in this hell hole of an asylum. You weren’t crazy. In fact, you thought that you were simply misunderstood.

You admitted to killing three men, but you had your reasons. You were criminally minded and did well in Gotham until you were declared insane and were sent to Arkham Asylum for treatment, a treatment which you refused to accept.

It was Dr Jonathan Crane who was responsible for you now and, interestingly enough, Crane himself knew that a lot of his patients didn’t need to be at his institution at the first place. But, he didn’t care. He enjoyed controlling the minds of his patients and clearly, he was out of his mind himself, possibly even more crazy than the craziest patients who were with you at the asylum.

***

Within seconds, the door to your room behind you as the guards threw you inside and you quickly spat out the medication you were given and put them into a small bag beneath your pillow.

‘You need to take your medication Y/N. Crane will be furious when he finds out’ Julia, your roommate and a fellow inmate at Arkham, said as she watched you refuse treatment once again.

‘Probably. But who will tell him? You certainly won’t’ you then said, reminding her of all the things you knew about her. She had been locked up for much longer than you and, if you were to spill the beans, she knew that she would be there forever.

‘Despite, Crane doesn’t pay much attention to what I do these days. He pays much more attention on how many buttons on my shirt are undone’ you said as you reached for the packet of cigarettes that was taped beneath your bed and lit one for yourself.

‘I have heard that he had some involvement with Dr Lawrence. Maybe just rumours, you think?’ Julia asked with some ignorance and you shook your head quickly.

‘Nah, he wouldn’t touch Lawrence with a ten-foot pole’ you laughed before pondering on about him.

There was no denying it, whilst you knew that Dr Jonathan Crane was insane himself, he was also incredibly handsome.

‘I would do Crane if he stops giving me this shit’ you chuckled as you pulled out the bag of medication you had collected over the past six months. ‘Actually, I think I would let him fuck me even if he kept me in here for another year. There is something about him that intrigues me. Clearly, he is insane but he is probably kinky as fuck’ you joked as you had always enjoyed different kinds of experiences with your lovers.

In fact, sex was something you missed desperately and, whilst some patients willingly and unwillingly involved themselves with some of the guards, this wasn’t for you. These men were dull and boring.  Yet, intelligence and a sense of adventure was what intrigued you the most.

Jonathan Crane clearly had all of this. He was intelligent and adventurous. You enjoyed your sessions with him, talking and letting him read your mind. You liked playing him just as much, thinking that he was unaware that you weren’t taking your medication.

***

It was Friday afternoon when the guards escorted you to see him for your weekly session with Dr Crane.

Willingly, you followed them and were cuffed to the chair in his office as usual. You murdered three kingpins so, leaving you without restraints, was risky to say the least.

‘Miss Y/LN, it’s a pleasure to see you’ Dr Crane said as he sat down across from you with his notepad and a pen before carrying on. ‘I have heard about the incident with the guards earlier this week. Would you like to tell me about it?’ he then asked, causing you to smile devilishly.

‘Not really. They just pissed me off’ you then said as you adjusted your position on the chair.

‘We can’t have this sort of behaviour here. I am sure you understand’ Dr Crane then said and you simply smiled again.

‘Of course I understand Dr Crane. Are you going to punish me for my behaviour?’ you asked almost eagerly, causing him to laugh.

‘The last time we put you into the chair for your punishment you seemed to have enjoyed it. Now that defeats the purpose of a punishment, doesn’t it?’ Dr Crane then asked and you smiled again, a smile which soon turned into a devilish laugh.

‘You appear to have some masochistic tendencies Miss Y/LN. Would you like to talk about these tendencies with me?’ Dr Crane then asked and you shook your head again.

‘No, not really Dr Crane’ you said with a cheeky smile.

‘Would you say that this is a fair assessment of your character Miss Y/LN?’ he then asked, referring to your tendencies and the way you considered pain to be pleasurable.

‘Yes, I suppose. But that’s not why I am here, am I? you then asked in return.

‘You are here because you murdered three men in a very terrible sort of way. You cut out their tongues and eyes’ he explained unbothered but somewhat disgusted.  

‘I did and they deserved it’ you then smirked.

‘You also haven’t been taking the medication that I have prescribed you’ he then observed.

‘Damn…you busted me’ you laughed again, not feeling intimidated by the man with the mask. In fact, you weren’t even intimidated by the mask itself which is why he no longer bothered to use it on you.

‘That is a problem Miss Y/LN. You might have to take the medication under supervision from now on. Unless, you would like to sign up for my new trial. Now ,my trial involves experiments and requires your full consent so it is only available to patients who have not been medicated with anti-depressants or opioids’ Crane explained and you were intrigued.

‘What sort of experiments?’ you asked, seeking further clarification.

‘It’s classified but, what I can tell you is that we are trialling new medications and devices for the use by some of Gotham’s elite criminals. Now, none of the medications provided as part of the trial will alter your mind in any way and I have a feeling that you might even enjoy some of the experiments I have planned for you’ Dr Crane said before walking over towards you and showing you the terms of agreement for your review.

‘It says in clause 16.2 that the experiments may require me to perform sexual acts and, according to clause 16.3, the patient must submit to whatever sexual acts are required by the supervisor’ you observed before asking who the supervisor on these experiments would be.  

‘The supervisor will be me Miss Y/LN’ Dr Crane confirmed and your eyes widened with excitement.

‘So, just to be clear, as part of these experiments you get to fuck me?’ you asked.

‘Yes, on occasion’ he confirmed.

‘Well Dr Crane, where do I sign?’ you smirked and he handed you the pen and paper, allowing you to sign while you were cuffed to the chair.

‘The trial starts tomorrow’ he then told you before asking you to read the terms of agreement again carefully over-night.

***

When you went to your room, you read through the terms again and, in particular, you noticed the termination clause which said that consent can be withdrawn at any time by saying the word ‘red’ which you thought was fascinating since you were subjected to substantial cruelty in the asylum in the past and none of this cruelty was performed on you with your consent.

Then, you read the non-disclosure clause and it was obvious to you that Dr Crane was conducting this trial without the knowledge of the board. Disclosure of the trial was an offence punishable by death.  

***

The following day, after you had a shower, you were taken into one of the treatment rooms by a large female guard and strapped to a large arm chair.

‘I think she's ready to go now Dr Crane’ the woman said after she removed most of your clothing and cuffed you to the chair wearing nothing but your cotton underwear and you couldn’t help but get a little excited.

You wondered what he would do to you in this room which, clearly was the treatment room of his choice to conduct this secret experiment.

You looked around and saw what appeared to be a chair commonly used by a gynaecologist and your mind was working overtime when ideas flashed through your head.

Why weren’t you strapped into that chair instead, you wondered.

‘Hmm, alright, let’s get started’ Dr Crane eventually said as he walked into the room and sat down across from you again and you gave him a cheeky smile.

‘May I say that you look delightful’ he then added and you began to laugh.

‘And you are clearly wearing to many clothes Dr Crane’ you said before making further observations. ‘Shouldn’t I be strapped to that chair over there instead?’ you asked, causing Crane to chuckle.

‘I knew you would enjoy this. You most defiantly have masochistic tendencies’ he observed while taking notes.

‘So, what is on the agenda today, Dr Crane?’ you asked and it was at this point that he pointed to the stainless-steel trolley next to him.

‘We have developed a spray which will assist mules who smuggle drugs internally with digesting the content bags more easily’ he explained.

‘You want me to swallow bags of cocaine? That’s not going to happen’ you said, ready to call your safe word then and there.

‘No Miss Y/LN, of course I am not going to try this invention out on you by making you swallow drugs that could potentially kill my test subject and, in addition, are very expensive’ Dr Crane chuckled.

‘So, what are you going to make me swallow?’ you asked, causing Dr Crane to look over his glasses, raising his eyebrows at you and smirk.

You swallowed harshly and looked at the bulge in his pants. He was kinky indeed, just as you had expected.

Eventually, you nodded in agreement and Dr Crane pulled the trolley towards you.

‘Fine, then let’s get started’ he said and you knew that you had just unleashed the beast in him as his gaze became uncomfortable.

Before doing anything else, he strapped your head back against the head rest of the chair so that you couldn’t move, then within seconds, his large hands moved to push down the straps of your bra which was way too loose for your small breasts.

Then, he pulled on the fabric and your breasts were now exposed to him, which he began kneading and stroking with one of his hands.

His touch made you moan involuntarily and, even though Dr Crane’s rough hands felt uncomfortable on the delicate skin of your breasts, you didn't bother to try pulling away.

‘There are some new techniques I am thinking about using here at Ahkram to punish certain kinds of behaviour. I am quite keen to try them out on you first, maybe next week, to see how these punishments are perceived by women like you’ he then said with a low voice as he pinched one of your nipples and then the other, making you open your eyes wide to stare at him as he chuckled at your lack of a stronger reaction.

Dr Crane then moved his hand between your legs, pushing into your pussy uncomfortably whilst pressuring your clit at the same time.

‘You are wet, now that’s interesting’ he then observed whilst he circled your clit a few more times with one of his fingers, making you moan again.

Then, he pulled away from you, causing you to pout, whilst he opened his belt and pants with the other.

‘Now, it is time for the experiment’ he announced and, before you really knew what was happening, Crane stood before you, his cock already throbbing and dripping with precum as he opened your mouth and sprayed something from a spray bottle inside, which quickly made your throat and mouth numb.

Then, without a warning, he pushed his cock deep inside your throat, until you couldn't breathe before he pulled out again.

‘Didn’t even gag, it seems to work well’ Dr Crane observed as you gasped for air and you knew that it sure did as you didn’t feel anything when he pushed his cock into your throat.

After he made note of it, he grabbed your hair at the top roughly and pushed his cock inside your mouth again, making you take him all the way.

Then he withdrew and before he pushed himself balls deep inside your mouth again, stopping your breaths at the same time before pulling out again, which he continued for a few minutes before he began to relentlessly fuck your mouth.

‘Such a good girl you are Miss Y/LN’ Crane cooed as you willingly surrendered and the truth was that, the thought of what he was doing to you aroused you even though your throat and mouth were numb.

Within about ten minutes, after he allowed you to breathe in between strokes, you could feel that his movements were becoming more and more erratic. You knew he was close and, suddenly, without warning, you heard him groan and felt a warm liquid run down at the back of your throat as he held himself still inside your mouth.

You gasped, trying hard to swallow his cum which tasted somewhat sweet. But, unfortunately for you, your mouth was too numb to notice too much of what was happening.

‘Don’t fight it, just let it flow into the back of your throat’ he said and you gasped again before forcing yourself to close your mouth and swallow the best you could.

‘Hmm, now do you have any other experiments planned for me today, Dr Crane? You got me all wet’ you eventually said as you watched Crane zip up his pants and take down some more notes while, slowly, the sensations in your mouth and throat returned.

You could feel how harshly and forcefully he took you. Your throat and jaw were sore, more than you had ever experienced before and, without even responding to your question, Crane emptied the contents of a small cup with three tablets into your mouth before he made you swallow them with some water.

‘What was that?’ you asked.

‘Two ibuprofen and birth control. I assume you read the terms of agreement in detail?’ he then asked and you nodded. Of course, you had and you didn’t object. If you had objected, you would have called ‘red’ by now.

‘I will conduct one further experiment tomorrow. I want to see how well you do without the spray to determine its actual efficiency. I am sure you understand. Then, in two weeks’ time, we will continue with the rest of the trial. By this time, your birth control pills should have taken full effect’ Crane then said.

‘Of course doctor. I am looking forward to it’ you winked, waiting to be unstrapped from your chair by the guards.

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[bansheeoftheforest]

Imagine if Mr.O'Leary could just tell Thomas was going to do something stupid so only pretend to go to sleep. Thomas halfway to the front door. "And just where do you think you're going?"

...

Thomas couldn't say he was sure why he was doing this.

Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe it was fear. Whatever it was, the voice continued to echo in his head, the monsters continued to dwell and loom and cling to the walls, parasites waiting to devour him. They were not real, he knew that. The voice that continuously mocked him, the voice that threatened to hurt him, the voice that had somehow managed to grip his body and throw such horrid insults onto Mr. O'Leary...

Thomas did not want to leave, but he had no choice.

Mr. O'Leary was far too kind to deserve such treatment. Thomas was nothing but a danger to himself and others, he could not stand to think about the way that Mr. O'Leary had looked at him, once Thomas had gotten back into his head. If this is why he... Supposedly escaped an asylum, he could understand why his family abandoned him. He could understand why he was mistreated by staff. He could understand, he was not going to let Mr. O'Leary suffer because of his golden heart.

It was midnight, Mr. O'Leary had gone to bed a long time ago. Thomas had waited an hour in bed, staring at the monsters in the shadows before getting up again. He moved swiftly through the rooms, doing his best to finish all the chores he could get his hands on. Dishes, laundry, cleaning... He wanted to repay Mr. O'Leary, he did not want him to be left with a mess when Thomas would be gone in the morning. He didn't take anything; neither money nor food, but he kept the essential clothes that Mr. O'Leary had given him. The waistcoat, the jacket, and the ragged ascot laid neatly folded upon Thomas' equally neatly made guest bed.

He tuned out the voice in his head, the monsters began to blend in with the consuming darkness of the quiet London night. He snuck into Mr. O'Leary's study and grabbed a single piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something down, he was not sure what he wrote, but he kept himself from proofreading it before he placed everything back and moved back to the guestroom he had occupied. He did not want to change his mind. He could not change his mind.

He placed the note on his bed, he swallowed down the tears of frustration. He did not want to leave, he loved Mr. O'Leary and he appreciated everything he had done for him, but he could not risk Mr. O'Leary getting hurt. If that voice took over him again, if he got physical...

He took a last look around the house, he savored the homely smell and the decorated wallpapers. He savored the carved wooden furniture and he savored the golden knickknacks you could find a bit of everywhere. He savored it, soon all he would know would be dirty streets and deafening loudness, no quietness, no peace. He took a deep breath, he could not stop the soft tears that began to fall down his cheeks like fresh snow shingling down the skies during winter, and then he moved towards the hallway. He understood why no one wanted him now, and he understood why his only place was an asylum. He did not feel insane, but he was, and he could not run the risk of hurting the one person who had taken him in and taken care of him for so long. He could not run that risk. He would never forgive himself if he did that. His hand reached for the door handle, the hesitation gripped him, a sob escaped his lips... But he grasped it, he took a deep breath, and--

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Thomas' head whipped around. Within the darkness, illuminated by a single candle upon a candleholder, stood Mr. O'Leary.

Thomas should have opened the door and he should have run. He should have escaped when he had the chance, yet he stood frozen, feet glued against the hardwood floor, as Mr. O'Leary and his light came closer.

Mr. O'Leary stopped, only a few centimetres away from the younger man. His previously stern expression fell, soon it was replaced with a soft look of sympathy, perhaps even pain.

"Oh, Thomas."

He brought his empty hand up to Thomas' cheek, his thumb wiped some of the tears, yet they continued to fall. Thomas choked down a sob, yet they continued to bubble up. He couldn't have moved away even if he would have wanted to. Mr. O'Leary's hand moved from his cheek and placed itself upon the back of his head, gently guiding the younger man forward into a warm embrace.

Thomas should have pushed him away, he should have put his foot down, and he should have told him he was doing this for his safety, yet Thomas' feet remained glued to the ground. He melted into the embrace, soon his sobs turned to anguished crying. Mr. O'Leary placed the candle on a cabinet, soon both his arms wrapped around the younger, thinner man. Thomas couldn't have stopped himself from wrapping his own arms around Mr. O'Leary's torso, even if he would have wanted to. He couldn't have stopped himself from burying his face in the crook of Mr. O'Leary's shoulder, even if he would have wanted to.

"I-- I can't stay." Thomas choked out, silenced by more tears, more sobs, "I can't, I'm sorry, I can't."

"Ssshhh, it's okay, it's okay, breathe."

"I can't. I can't stay. I can't hurt you again."

"Thomas, you aren't going to hurt me."

"You saw me! You heard me!"

Whatever Thomas would have used as leverage, as justification for trying to sneak out in the middle of the night completely disappeared as more sobs kept him hyperventilating. Mr. O'Leary placed his cheek against Thomas' brown hair, an arm kept the younger man secured in his grasp while his free hand ran over his back. Thomas did not want to admit that it helped. He did not want to admit that Mr. O'Leary was helping him. He did not want to admit that it just made him cry more.

"Thomas, you have gone through a lot lately." Mr. O'Leary murmured, "Neither of us knows what you went through, neither of us knows where you came from, what your name is, what your actual condition is, but I know that you did not mean to have that outburst, and even if you were the one to actively yell at me, you snapped out of it and realized what you did. You did not mean to, Thomas. I forgive you, please, please don't blame yourself."

"The voice--"

"Whatever the voice is saying, it's lying to you. You did not mean to do anything, you reached a breaking point, you got overwhelmed. What we can do is to make sure it won't reach that point again."

Mr. O'Leary quieted. For a brief moment, he paused. Thomas could feel how his grip got a bit tighter, he could hear the older man's heartbeat drumming within his chest.

"I can't lose you, son."

It was barely above a whisper, yet Thomas felt how Mr. O'Leary pressed his face into his hair, keeping him so tightly against his chest, so protectively, so lovingly.

Thomas could only cry more. And more. He could not get a word out. He did not need to get a word out. Mr. O'Leary lulled him to tranquility. He guided him back into the house-- Thomas was not sure where exactly, he did not focus on where they went, but soon he felt himself getting laid down. He never let go of Mr. O'Leary for a second, neither did Mr. O'Leary him. He continued to hold his arms wrapped around Thomas, as the younger one continued to weep, and weep, and weep, until he eventually fell asleep with exhaustion.

Mr. O'Leary kept him in his arms until the morning, and he would not let go of him anytime after that.

He did not know what kind of demons plagued poor Thomas, but he would make sure to keep him safe, safe from whatever wished to harm him, imaginary or otherwise. He would always keep him safe.

He always would.

[sorry-apsalar]

Frender Drabbles: Going Crazy

"Having seen Insane In The Mainframe recently, I’d love to see Bender be a little (maybe a lot) more concerned about Fry being trapped in a cell with stab-happy Roberto while in the asylum."

~

Humans were far too fragile for their own good. Getting attached to one was the opposite of a good idea but it was far too late for Bender. The fact that Fry seemed particularly soft even by human standards only made that attachment more annoying. It meant Bender felt bad for him when he complained and whined about their situation and how bad being in a robot asylum supposedly was for a human – rather selfish of him, almost as if Bender wasn’t also having a hard time. He was even tempted to try to comfort or help Fry at times and might’ve given in to that impulse if he didn’t have a reputation to maintain. But he’d reached a breaking point and had to risk ruining that reputation or risk Fry getting himself killed like a moron. As bad as the former was the latter was worse.

Breaking out of his own cell was far easier than getting into Fry’s was proving to be. Finding it was the issue, there were no name tags and breaking into the front office proved to be a waste of time since it wasn’t written down anywhere in there either – which made sense, the bots staffing the place probably just had that kind of information memorized. He was forced to resort to going down the hall and pressing the button to open every door to check and immediately closing it if it wasn’t the right room all the while hoping that the night warden would continue to not show up.

Every minute that passed Bender became more and more convinced that Fry was probably dead. Roberto was a stab-happy maniac with no love for humans. He’d probably proceeded to slice Fry to bits the moment they’d been locked in together. Stupid humans and their stupid fragile squishy bodies. And stupid Fry in particular for being cute and endearing and then getting himself locked in a small room with someone who’d have a fun time killing him. … Okay so maybe that wasn’t Fry’s fault. Maybe this whole situation was more Bender’s fault for being the one who…

Like every other duo he’d interrupted tonight both Roberto and Fry froze as their door opened. Out of habit, Bender almost immediately pressed the open/close button again but stopped himself just in time.

“Bender!” Fry said doing nothing to try to hide the relief in his voice. “Boy am I glad to see you.” He was pressed back into the corner of the room, looking dirty and ragged as he’d been ever since they’d ended up here. He was bleeding now too; a rather nasty looking cut on the side of his face oozed blood and there were a quite a few cuts visible on his arms too, mostly on his forearms from obvious attempts to shield himself from Roberto’s knife.

“What do you want?” Roberto asked, giving Bender a suspicious glare. He still held his knife up, its edge dripping with Fry’s blood.

“Uh…” Now that Bender was here, he wasn’t really sure what to do. Considering how very alive Fry still clearly was, his worry had perhaps been unwarranted. But then again if he hadn’t come than things could’ve and probably would’ve continued to escalate to a rather bad place so… “I need to talk to my meatbag.” Extending an arm, he grabbed Fry by the wrist and pulled him out past Roberto, earning a small pathetic squeal of fear from Fry. Before Roberto could try to follow him out, Bender pressed the button again, closing the door in his face.

“I thought he was going to kill me,” Fry said, still shaking. “Thanks for saving me. Now let’s the get the fuck out of here.” He took a step and then paused to look back at Bender, desperation on his face. “Uh… how do we get out?”

Bender hadn’t exactly been planning on escaping tonight, he’d just wanted to make sure Roberto wouldn’t kill Fry. And breaking out of places was always substantially harder than breaking in. Also if they got caught trying to break out they’d be thrown in solitary confinement for who knows how long? Which was the last thing Fry needed right now since humans needed water and food or they’d die. So… “The easiest way to get out is to give them what they want. Convince them you think you’re a robot and they’ll let you out no problem.” It would also guarantee he wasn’t immediately thrown back in if he was caught for another crime later on.

“But I’m not!”

Bender shrugged, going back to pretending he didn’t care. “Just act like robot and they’ll…”

“I can’t! I’m on the verge of going crazy here. I haven’t properly slept in… days? Weeks? I didn’t even fucking know any more. So I just… I… I can’t.” Fry needed to be let out of here sooner rather than later. Ugh, stupid fragile humans.

“Shut up before someone hears you.”

Fry whimpered and huddled closer. “Please Bender! I got to get out of here.” At least he was finally whispering now.

“I know.” And Bender had to find a way to solve this because he cared way more than he ever wanted to admit even to himself but it was too late to stop now. “Just uh… temporarily convince yourself you’re a robot and that should get you let out in no time. You already said you’re going crazy, right? Just embrace it for a bit.”

“You really think that’ll work?”

Bender had no idea but repeating a lie often enough always made it feel truer, meaning it could theoretically work so… “Yeah totally.”

“Okay I’ll uh… try that then. … I’m not going back in there with Roberto though, he’d kill me for sure.”

“I know. Come on.” He looped his arm through Fry’s and started them walking down the hall. “You can switch rooms with me tonight. I got a new roommate tonight too. They’re an insane welding unit who’s been driving me crazy. They’re physically harmless though so you should be fine.” And Bender could put up with Roberto for a little while. It might even be fun.

[straightouttaneptune]

You’ll come with me, won’t you?

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Reader

Warning: It’s different. Joker is a bitch. Reader becomes kind of morally weird as the fic progresses. People die. 

Summary: Y/N is a baby psychiatrist, who just started out. Suddenly, she is trusted with the most feared case of all. Harleen Quinzel. Y/N thinks it’ll be good for her career, or will it?

A/N: I couldn’t find a good ending to this for the longest time, I’m so glad I did. Also, this is for my 500 followers fic queue :) Thank you for the love, darlings✨

—————————————————————

“Harleen Quinzel?”

That was a name you’d heard before. That was a name everyone’s heard before, at least once in their lives. But it was not the name that had surprised you, but it was the fact that her name was right there on top of your long patient list.

“Yeah, congrats Y/N. She’s pretty famous around here. Straighten her out and you’ll probably be in the big city in less than a year.” Your colleague, Megan peered into your books over your shoulders and patted your back affectionately.

You were one of the new psychiatrists in the business, and you had been dealing with criminal minors, the less mental mental patients and all the clients that newbies would usually handle. Being fresh out of university after holing up in the labs and libraries, you needed to gain some experience first before taking on the really hard cases.

Or... that’s what you were told.

“C’mon, Meg, you gotta know more than that. Why would they pass her case to me? She’s a rank SS psycho.” You pushed, looking up at her through your lashes in a slightly accusatory manner.

She gave you a look that asked; “Do you really want to know?” And you nodded.

“Well, I heard the other docs, the guys who were like 10, 20, hell, 30 years into the business, they all got their brains scrambled by... this girlie.” Her index finger landed on the profile photo of Harley Quinn, an apologetic look in her eyes.

You rolled your eyes, not necessarily at Megan, but at whoever it was that tried to deal this card to you. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s cruel, but you can always turn it down, y’know?” Megan set her books aside, her left arm cradling your slumped shoulders.

“Yeah... But I might not.”

Megan’s dropped gaze snapped back up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a good way to kick-start my career, I guess.”

\|/

“Hello, new doc.” The moment you entered the room, you regretted making this decision immediately. Harley Quinn sat in a big contraption-looking chair, her hands and feet shackled onto the armrests and legs of the seat. Her platinum blonde hair was untied and unkempt, its bottoms still dyed red and blue, although it seemed to have faded over time.

The only thing dividing the space between you and Harley was a metallic table bolted on the floor, wide enough so even if Harley broke off her arm shackles and reached for you, she wouldn’t be able to touch you. You swallowed your nerves and entered the room with a confident stride, smiling sweetly at the guards as they closed the door with eyes of concern.

“Hello, Miss Quinzel.” You thanked heavens that your words came out right, especially in front of a woman who could sniff out people’s fears from thousands of miles away.

“You’re the first girl I’ve had.” She mused, her eyes twinkling with mischief. But the light in her eyes has lost its original color, you thought. She looked much more lively in photos taken way back then. When she was just a psychiatrist.

“Hm. I guessed that it would be nice to have some heart to heart, female to female.” You reassured your anxious self calmly in your head, repeating the words ‘you got this, Y/N.’

“Do you know why I’m here, and not... Damien? Who usually comes in for your check-ups?” Stowing your clipboard away on your lap, you continued.

“Yeah. Before him was another guy, then a grandpa and just... a buncha stupid-lookin’ guys. But I didn’t like them.” She replied as if it was the most simple thing in the world. The files back in the company would argue differently. Every single guy, either was tormented by her psychotic attacks or totally gone insane from her mental tricks.

“Are you going to do the same thing to me?” You asked, not really knowing what answer to expect. Your eyes remained soft, a small smile gracing your lips as you waited for her answer.

“No. I like ya.” She answered quickly, shrugging and adverting her gaze away to look down at her shackles. “Can I sit down like you?” She shook her wrist lightly, the chains rattling against the armrest.

“Maybe next time, Miss Quinzel.”

“There’s a next time? Yeah!”

You internally smiled to yourself, what a successful human being she would’ve been if not for a man like Joker to ruin her life. Right then, you vowed to whatever higher power was out there, that you’d get Harley Quinn to break free from his spell.

The people in your office were surprised, to say the least, that you were able to keep up your visits to the prison, and that an amateur therapist like you could get the queen of Gotham in a tight little leash. You didn’t like to think about it like that, but rather that she trusts you better than any of the others.

The weekly visits became 2 days a week, and from weeks of good behavior, Harley was allowed to be without handcuffs during her sessions now. You weren’t afraid she’d leap up and strangle you, because of some sort of connection the two of you formed after all those times spent together.

“Hey doc, why can’t you visit me more ‘round here?” Harley pouted, interrupting the current therapy session with an abrupt comment.

You looked up from your clipboard, dumbfounded. Why would she want to have you around more?

“Harley, I’m just your therapist.” You tapped the end of your pencil against the material of the clipboard, locking eyes with the woman. Anyone could see that she was starting to look better, particularly her eyes. They looked more human, compared to the hollow shell they used to be.

“I know, Y/N. But I’ve been doin’ some thinkin. It’s pretty fuckin clear that Mister J isn’t coming for me, and the suicide squad was probably just a one-time thing. And... You’re all I have.” She admitted, slowly sliding down from her pipe chair and laying down on the concrete floor.

The wooden chair you sat on scraped against the hard floor as you pushed it back. Standing up from your seat, you walked over to her in 3 steps. You kneeled down beside her, her skin just inches away from you. “Do you want a hug?” You questioned quietly, your voice softer and more inviting than usual. Harley felt this too, sitting up in a millisecond just as the offer left your lips.

“Yeah.” She almost crawled over to you, her arms wrapping around your neck desperately. That would’ve been terrifying if it was out of context, but she actually wasn’t trying to kill you. She genuinely just wanted a warm embrace.

You felt her slender torso tighten and loosen as if she was trying to repress a sob. Hand carefully sliding over her back, you whispered; “Let it out.”

And she did.

\|/

Time flew by as you continued to work on her case, and you fell into the worst situation a psychiatrist could possibly be in while working. You grew emotionally invested in your client. As a friend, who cared for her well being and happiness. 

Maybe... even more.

You still didn’t know if you could trust her though, you managed to keep a cool head and your mind was rational, but that only confirmed the fact that Harley wasn’t playing any tricks on you. That you were genuinely becoming attached to the beautiful prisoner.

Harley, on the other hand, did intend on ruining you at first. Make them run back to where they came from crying, so no one would disturb her again while she waited for her puddin.

But it was all starting to feel different with you.

“Hey, doc?” Harley called out from inside her electric cage. She was being a little bit mischievous that day, and she pulled an armed guard against the buzzing bars when he wasn’t looking. He probably died, she guessed.

But she didn’t like that she couldn’t be near you during your sessions. So a man died, big deal!

“Can you let me out?” She pleaded in the sweetest voice she could muster, calling out to you who was currently propped up on the usual desk, writing down some notes on your clipboard.

“No, Harley. I don’t have the keys to your cell.” You replied without looking up, but you could imagine the cute pout that Harley had when you denied her of something.

“But would you open it if you did?” You looked up at that question, seeing her smiling from ear to ear now, anticipation glowing in her eyes.

“Maybe. I know you won’t hurt me.” You smiled back at her, watching her facial expression carefully. How would she react if you showed some warm friendliness towards her? Could she possibly return to the life she used to have?

“Maybe I will, doc. You don’t know what goes on in here.” Harley leaped up to her cloth swing she’d made for herself, her now almost completely platinum hair draping down her back.

“I hope you won’t hurt me, then.”

You couldn’t forget that split second where Harley’s eyes looked more humane than it ever has been for many, many years.

\|/

“Warning. Warning. Escape Attempt in Sector 9H11.”

The sound of the speaker and the blasting alarm merged together in a chorus of chaos, guards and officers running around to stop whoever the escapee was.

It was 9:30AM and you were just about to enter the asylum for your shift, when this sudden noise almost blasted your ears off. Before you could process what was happening, a bomb went off right next to you, making you scream and clutch your head as you ducked.

The debris fell everywhere along with broken pieces of concrete, and you just stayed there trying to collect your thoughts. Right when a random hand grabbed you by your wrist. 

“Hi, doc. I was lookin’ for ya. You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Harley pulled you to the side, hiding the two of you behind a few bushes. Her eyes were electric making you realize that the true “Harleen Quinzel” you’ve been trying to look for is right in front of you now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” You didn’t hesitate to take her outreached hand. Your mind had already been made up since the first time you laid your eyes on her. 

[threeletterslife]

Brevity (But Most Often Not)

→ [2/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

→ pairing/rating: hoseok x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 100% angst (but like, soft angst?? mellow angst?) | journalist!au

→ warnings: depictions of a psychiatric hospital and mentally ill patients, slight manipulation

→ wordcount: 6.6k

→ a/n: based on this ted talk! *disclaimer,,, the characters in this fic are fictional and do not correlate with the real members whatsoever!*

Merrymoor Hospital stands before you behind the gray clouds of fog that have drifted mysteriously and rather suddenly following your rather nervous departure from your car. Almost as if you've walked straight into a horror movie and Merrymoor Hospital was the haunted castle that would end up dragging you down to your demise.

You swallow.

The foggy weather isn't helping your anxious nerves. The weeds are overgrown in the dirt and a collapsed sign catches your eye. It reads Merrymoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane. That used to be the name for Merrymoor Hospital before they changed it to something a bit more... civil.

No wonder they're trying to close this place down. The whole building looks like a brewery for disaster—or murder if you will.

They should've sent Namjoon up for this job instead of you. The man has thick skin and probably hasn't watched a horror movie in his life, which would probably make him immune to the fear of entering a hospital that screams haunted mansion.

Though your hands are clammy, you make sure to take quick notes in your notebook about the surroundings.

Inhospitable hospital, you write. Might have something to do with weather. Possible revisit.

But you hope it doesn't have to come to that.

You're this jittery for your first visit; you don't want to think of the possibility of a second.

All you can do is hope the first visit at Merrymoor Hospital is so horrible that you can convey the exact picture of it in your writing and get it published. Then the place will shut down.

For nearly six years, citizens have been wanting to shut down Merrymoor because just the thought of these criminally insane people escaping the confines of the asylum terrifies them. And now your agency is taking action. If you write an article convincing enough (about your horrible findings) then Merrymoor will finally be shut down.

Of course, there is a slight chance that Merrymoor isn't as bad as everyone assumes it is. You'll have to report the facts as they are. If there's one thing you hate more than horror movies, it's yellow journalism. You promised yourself that when you became a journalist, you'd write everything as it is without exaggeration and overly pretentious language that the common man wouldn't be able to comprehend without pulling out a dictionary.

So here you are. At Merrymoor.

In a way, the place looks a bit like a college campus. If the campus had been severely mauled by zombies in a post-apocalyptic world, though. Cautiously, you step closer to the entrance of the building. There are guards there—unusually large and buff.

You clear your throat. "Hello." Your voice comes out squeaky and if your body language didn't give away how terrified you are, your voice sure did. "I'm Y/N. I believe I was invited to inspect Merrymoor Hospital today."

"Y/N..." a guard mutters gruffly.

You fight the urge to shrink back.

"Oh, Y/N L/N. The journalist? Yes, they're waiting for you."

Oh, thank goodness.

The guards nod at you before opening the heavy-looking doors.

"Thank you," you manage to squeak out before slipping into the entrance. What waits for you are bright white walls on all four sides of the hallway. There's a bit of dust in the corners and what you hope are water stains on the welcome mat you're stepping on. But otherwise, the conditions inside are far better than the outside.

"Y/N!!"

Your head jerks up when you hear your name.

"Hello!" A man dashes toward you, wearing a white lab coat and flashing his white teeth in your direction. He looks a bit too friendly to be working in such a serious place. "Y/N, right? Sorry I couldn't meet you outside. We were making sure your visit here would run as smoothly as possible." He grins at you again and you're starting to think he's doing that to hypnotize you into liking the hospital.

"Yes, I'm Y/N," you say. "Nice to meet you, Mr..." Your eyes trail down to glance at the name embroidered with gold thread on his coat, "Park."

"Oh, please, call me Jimin," the man smiles again. You have to admit if he wasn't stuck working here, he could've appeared in some magazines and gotten rich. "Welcome to Merrymoor, by the way. We're a psychiatric hospital established in 1863. Pretty old, aren't we?" He laughs but you don't.

Est. 1863, you scribble in your notebook. "Sorry if I don't respond sometimes," you mutter apologetically. "But I'd love it if you can tell me everything about Merrymoor."

"The more information, the better article you can write!" Jimin answers merrily.

Oh god. It sounds like Jimin's adamant about keeping the hospital open.

He drones on and on about Merrymoor's impossibly high specs and their success in helping their patients reach a peak in their lives. You scribble the facts down but don't include Jimin's biased side comments about the wonders of the asylum.

"Want to meet the patients?"

Jimin's sudden question startles you especially because you hadn't expected to actually come in contact with them.

"A-Assuming they're..."

"They won't hurt you," Jimin says, shaking his head. "Just don't bump into Gladys. She tends to get fussy when that happens. And don't mention the color blue in front of Jungkook. He doesn't like that. Steer clear away from anyone who looks like they're living in their own world. Some of them think they can get away with homicide in their minds. If someone approaches you and you feel nervous, call for me, okay?"

"Don't bump in Gladys. Don't say blue in front of Jungkook. Steer clear from people living in their own little bubble. Call you when I'm nervous. Got it," you say. "Thank you."

"No problem," Jimin salutes you.

Hm. He's cute.

You'd think the wellness center where all the patients are located for the evening would be behind one or two gates at the maximum. Instead, you and Jimin pass through six gates with even more buff guards.

Not bad, you think. Good security, you write in your notebook. Jimin glances over your shoulder and smiles proudly.

"You ready?" Jimin whispers to you before the guards open the seventh gate. "There are red panic buttons on the side if there's an emergency. But that's pretty rare." He shrugs.

"Yeah," you say. "You can open the door."

The moment the gates open, a rather large room is revealed. It sort of looks like a hotel lobby but with softer, pastel colors that are universally accepted as calming hues. The only bright color that stands out is the reds of the panic buttons scattered across the pale green walls.

"The rooms used to be pastel blue," Jimin says. "But after Jungkook came to us, we had to repaint them. He thinks the color is a curse."

"O-Oh..."

The patients are lazily lounging around the old armchairs or rocking on the balls of their feet in front of walls. Some are talking to themselves. Others are entranced in a kid's television show playing on the cracked television screen.

"It's been a long time since we've gotten donations," Jimin explains almost apologetically. "There are games in the closet over there," he says, pointing at the closet that is locked shut. "We lock that for safety reasons. But not a lot of them want to play checkers and battleship anyway."

There doesn't seem to be a set uniform for the patients. You see comfortable clothes on most of them. Sweatpants with mysterious stains and t-shirts with worn-out holes. All of them have a battered name tag pasted on their shirts.

Inadequate funding, you note. Jimin's smile crumbles a bit.

"Are they always this... turtle-like?" You stop yourself from saying slow.

"Well... They're... medicated," Jimin whispers as if it's the most important secret in the world.

That makes a lot more sense as to why some older patients are drooling on themselves. A lot of them seem to be drifting along like ghosts in some sort of vivid slumber. It's unsettling.

"Ah... I see," you answer. "May I talk to a few of the patients?"

"Yeah! Sure," Jimin says. "I'll get out of your hair. Call me if you need me."

"Thanks."

In general, the patients seem content, but you're not very sure if it's the drugs that are talking. They hum off-key songs and talk to themselves. Some glance at you but others act like you aren't even in the room. You try to pick out a patient from the crowd who doesn't look very... threatening. Just in case.

There's a strange man in a well-ironed navy blue suit who catches your eye. His hair is pushed back and gelled into a stylish sweep, revealing his forehead for others to admire. His nose stands tall and his posture is impeccable. He's arguing with an obvious patient in sweats.

You don't mean to eavesdrop but—

"You're wearing blue!"

"Navy blue to be more precise," the strange man says. "What do you want, Jungkook?"

"I-I c-can't allow it!" Jungkook declares. "Take it off! Take it off!"

Upon closer inspection, the strange man has a name tag on his suit; it is the only thing that ruins his pristine image. Hoseok, it reads. You can't even fathom that he's a patient in a mental asylum.

"That would be considerably inappropriate," Hoseok says. He frowns. "I fancy this suit quite so, Jungkook."

"BLUE!" Jungkook shrieks. He begins to thrash about so hard that you contemplate pushing the red emergency button. But just as you move closer to the wall, Jimin comes to the rescue.

"That's enough wellness center for you, Koo," he tells the crazed man. "Want to go back to your room? The color won't haunt you there." Jimin shoots you an apologetic look. "I'll be right back. Refer to the other clinicians if you need them, okay?" You nod politely. Jimin looks at you gratefully before he and Jungkook walk away.

Great. Now you're left alone in a room filled with a bunch of potentially dangerous crazies.

"You're new here, ma'am?" Hoseok, the patient in the prim and proper suit says. "You aren't a patient here, I suppose?"

"Oh, no," you say, quickly shaking your head. "I'm just here to observe."

Hoseok points to your notebook. "A journalist, Miss...?"

"L/N. But I go by Y/N," you say. "And yes, I am a journalist." You quirk your brows. Insanely observative for him to notice.

"Ah, I reckon you're here to write an article about Merrymoor's imminent closure?" Hoseok drawls on. He sits down on a busted armchair and gestures you to sit across from him. He's so charming, you do exactly as he suggests.

"Well, I'll have to see what Merrymoor is like before I can write such a..." you trail off, trying to rack your brain to find a fitting word.

"Definitive article?" Hoseok finishes for you. Right, definitive. He crosses his legs casually and leans back, exuding the aura of an extremely young but successful CEO rather than a patient at a mental hospital.

"Yes," you say, cocking your head. "A definitive article."

"May I ask how you fancy Merrymoor as of now?" Hoseok says. "Awfully decrepit, isn't it? Such a dingy environment. Yesterday, I'm afraid I found a toenail in my meal. Not much up to par with the other hospitals, this one. Is Merrymoor too run-down for your taste as well, Y/N?"

"Yes, just a bit," you admit. "But so far everything seems to be set up for the best of the patients."

Hoseok laughs a merry laugh. "Y/N, there is hardly any regular Merrymoor inhabitant adept enough to hold an intellectual discourse with me. I'd say I'm always a little more than bored here."

"Oh... I'm sorry." You're not sure how a man like Hoseok got stuck in Merrymoor Hospital. He doesn't look very criminally insane to you at all. Just very well-spoken and well-dressed.

"Oh, you don't have to be sorry," Hoseok smiles. "But it's rather often that I feel forsaken here. With no one to converse with except the clinicians... Even then, they are vigilant around me though I try to convince them I am not dangerous. They check under my blankets—even my mattress. Won't let me around scissors. Y/N, it's almost offensive how fastidious they are."

I doubt any of these patients want to be dangerous on purpose, though. It's obviously a good thing that the clinicians are so attentive. Bonus points.

"They're just looking out for you, Hoseok," you offer. You scribble attentive clinicians in your notebook.

"I would like to beg to differ," Hoseok says. "As you can surely tell, Y/N, I hardly belong here." He gestures at himself and glances detestably at the others in the wellness center. "Quite obviously, there has been a mistake."

"A... mistake?"

"Yes," Hoseok says. He uncrosses his legs and crosses them the other way. Then, he leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "You see, I wasn't a very courteous young adult, Y/N. When I was 21, I committed a minor crime that would sentence me to jail for about six years."

You frown.

"Yes, I know," Hoseok sighs. "I've deeply repented my faults before my departure to jail. I was in the prime time of my life, Y/N. I couldn't spend six years in jail at age 21. Not especially when I already mulled over my actions and expressed great remorse to those I hurt..."

His words are so convincing that you nod along with him.

"I remembered what someone had once told me. To get out of an unnecessarily long sentence, all I had to do was fake a mental illness." Hoseok shakes his head disapprovingly. "Apparently, my act was so persuasive, they threw me in Merrymoor instead. Now I can't get out."

"Oh god... How long have you been here?"

"Nearly fifteen years. Almost three times as much longer than my original sentence," Hoseok laughs bitterly. "Turns out, it is incredibly difficult to prove that I am, indeed, sane."

"Oh no..." you breathe. "I'm so sorry..."

"That isn't necessary, Y/N." Hoseok smiles. "But my only wish is for Merrymoor to close down. So I am finally let loose to freedom."

You gulp. His charming smile is so eye-catching that you can barely look away from his handsome face.

"I've always wanted to be a journalist..." Hoseok says sadly. He looks at the notebook in your hands longingly. "Words have always fascinated me, Y/N. You see, the wielder of words is more powerful than any delinquent brandishing a weapon. Words are controllable and may hold so much potent..."

"Oh, I agree!" you smile. "As a journalist, I kinda think of myself as the informer for the people. I write so others can read! And my reports will benefit someone with good information. At least, that's how I like to think of it. I'm glad you think the same!"

"If we didn't meet inside Merrymoor, I would've easily asked you out on a date, Y/N," Hoseok smiles, shaking his head. "But it seems so that dates might be impossible here. There is little to no privacy."

"O-Oh!" Your cheeks flush bright pink. "Maybe you'll have a tribunal one day. And then we'll have to see."

"I'm afraid that might be unlikely," Hoseok sighs. "They are concerned about the feasibility of recidivism..."

"I-I'll visit," you blurt out before you mull over your choice of words. "Maybe you'll feel less lonely then. I have to come back here anyway..."

"Tomorrow. 11 a.m." Hoseok says. He quirks a handsome brow at you curiously. "I'll be waiting."

Your stomach twists in anticipation and you have to look away from his intense stare. "I'll be there."

Once in the safe confines of your room, you open up your laptop and begin to transfer your written notes to an open document. You like to get the most of your workload done the first day, so you end up researching the history of Merrymoor Hospital. Until you read the articles about it up-to-date.

Apparently, if the people finally decide to close down Merrymoor for good, they might turn it into a hotel. Kind of fitting, especially since the wellness center had a striking resemblance to a hotel lobby.

But after a while, you start getting distracted by Hoseok. The charming man had certainly known what he was talking about.

All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

Your exes all had one thing in common. They all told you that you talked like a journalist. Apparently, that's a big turn-off. Not as much of a turn-off when they think 'fancy' dressing means wearing cargo shorts with a t-shirt and socks with sandals.

Now Hoseok is a man who is an obvious connoisseur of words and clothes. And you deserve a man like that. A man who is so well-spoken that you become lost in his speech.

Your laptop begins to dim to save battery but you ignore the darker screen and instead, look at your lacking closet. Tomorrow, you should wear something nice for once. Rather than your usual pants and blouse, you should pick out something... more flashy.

At one point in your clothes hunting journey inside your own closet, you remember that the purpose of going to Merrymoor again is not to impress Hoseok but to write an article. Right. Your job always comes first. So you sigh, throwing away your heap of useless and bland clothes to the side and sliding in your desk chair to wake your laptop.

You'll have to finish outlining the main points of the article today. Then maybe you'll let yourself go out and buy a cute outfit for tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes so slowly that you swear time delayed itself while you were asleep and now the world runs not in seconds but in lethargic minutes.

Jimin greets you just like the day before and he seems pleased that you are in a brighter mood than yesterday. For one, the weather isn't as foggy, which actually does wonders to the outlook of the outside of the hospital. Without the fog, Merrymoor doesn't look like a haunted mansion at all. In fact, it looks more like a grandiose museum promising historic artifacts and old texts. Much less terrifying than the previous day.

"How was your visit yesterday?" Jimin chirps as he offers you a cup of hot coffee. His eyes linger on your shorter-than-usual pencil skirt and low-cut, silky black blouse. "I hope it was good." He beams when you accept the coffee with a smile. "Do you have any specific places you want to visit today?"

"Oh, thank you!" you say. "It was great," you tell him truthfully. "The guards already toured me around the outside today, but I was thinking I could visit some individual rooms."

"Of course!" Jimin grins. "The patients should be in their rooms right now. Good timing."

You realize Hoseok had said 11 o'clock with a plan in mind.

"Don't worry," Jimin soothes. "There are two guards at every door so you should feel safe."

Good security x2, you write in your notebook while making Jimin hold your coffee. The clinician beams.

Jimin guides you around the white walls of the hospital. "Did you know, these walls used to be green? In the old days, they thought green stimulated mental health because it represents the color of nature and growth. But I think white looks much better now. Blue is supposed to actually stimulate health, though. But Jungkook's sensitive to blue so we stuck with white for the hallways."

You nod thoughtfully. But you really wonder how Hoseok will greet you today.

"Um, Jimin?"

"Yes?" Jimin turns to you hopefully.

"Can I visit Hoseok? I met him yesterday and I think he'll be great to interview... You know, for the article."

Jimin visibly pales. "Oh... You mean, Jung Hoseok, huh? He's... um, are you sure? Jungkook might be a better candidate for an interview. Maybe even Yoongi. How about Taehyung? Or Seokjin..."

"Yes, I'm sure," you nod. "He's well-spoken so I think I could get good quotes from him. I can visit the rest of the patients later. Is that okay?"

"Um... yeah... sure..." Jimin says but he doesn't sound so sure.

Regardless, he leads you to the door to Hosoek's room. From the open wide slot on the door, you can glimpse at the interior, which looks surprisingly cozy with warm blankets and even a window letting some of the morning sunlight shine in.

"I'll be waiting outside," Jimin says. "The guards will follow you in if that's okay."

"Yeah, thanks."

"No problem!"

When you enter the room, you find that Hoseok's sitting on a little wooden chair in the corner of the room. Today, he's in a classic pinstripe suit with a red tie. He grins brightly when he sees you, but he scowls at the two guards behind you. The guards ignore him, instead, standing at the entrance. You cautiously walk forward.

"Hi, again, Hoseok," you say. "I was wondering if I can get an interview with you today... If that's all right with you."

"Of course that's all right, Y/N," the man beams. "Here," he says, standing up and letting you take the chair. "I prefer standing during serious discussions."

"Oh, of course. Thank you." You slide into the small chair, looking up to face Hoseok. "Can I have your permission to record the interview?"

"Yes, by all means. You look gorgeous, by the way. Lovely skirt. Beautiful blouse."

You blush, tugging at the ends of your pencil skirt. "Thank you." Bringing out your little voice recorder, you clear your throat before pressing record. Then, you begin to speak. "I'll be asking about your stay at Merrymoor Hospital. All you have to do is answer to your best ability. Don't worry if you need a moment to think. Can you please state and spell out your full name? If you are comfortable, you can state your age as well."

Hoseok does so in a relaxed, enchanting voice that makes you wonder how tortuous it will be for you to listen to this interview over and over again to transcribe it.

"Why were you admitted into Merrymoor Hospital? And what year?"

"I didn't quite mean to be admitted into a psychiatric hospital so young," Hoseok hums thoughtfully. "I suppose I was reckless in my twenties... But who isn't?"

You nod. Your twenties were disastrous. Full of bad men, too much alcohol and little to no care for the repercussions.

"I did use my fists quite rashly once when I was twenty-one and that resulted in me getting a six-year sentence for prison," Hoseok shrugs. "The roaring twenties is called the roaring twenties for a reason—aside from the historical reference, of course. Nobody desires to be locked up at the rush hour of their lives, do they?" He smooths back his immaculately gelled hair. "After I severely repented my wrongdoings, I came up with a brilliant idea to reach liberty. I heard they coddle you at mental hospitals before releasing you to freedom after a couple of days. So I figured it was genius to merely act mental.

"But my act was so convincing that they sent me here. In 2005, I was shoved in this little, dingy cell, forced into isolation from the rest of the world and being stripped from my well-deserved privacy." Hoseok scoffs bitterly. "For nearly fifteen years, I've been trying to convince every clinician in here that I am a normal, average citizen. I am definitely not insane. But how do I prove that I am sane?"

The last question rings in the room. You shift in your seat. "If the clinicians are suggesting—"

"Wrongfully accusing," Hoseok corrects with a small nod.

"Right. If the clinicians are 'wrongfully accusing' you of having a mental disorder, then which one is it?"

"They've wrongfully accused me of a plethora of disorders from a medical book. I was forced to take written or multiple-choice or even verbal tests that would prove my insanity," Hoseok says with a scornful frown on his face. "If I made every single clinician in Merrymoor take the same tests that I took, I guarantee you that all of them would definitely come out as positive for one or more disorders. Everyone's a little insane inside."

He grins but it isn't maniacally. It is almost consolingly. Convincingly.

"Are you finished with your inquiries, Y/N?" Hoseok asks. "I have some of my own for you."

"O-Oh, I only asked two questions so far—"

"Will I be able to see you again?" He stands over you with a dominant aura that makes you forget how to deny a request. "I enjoy your company very much, Y/N."

"Yes, surely," you reply. "When would you like to schedule another interview?"

Hoseok grins, reaching forward to pet the perfect curls of your hair. The guards in the back flinch forward but when they realize you're fine with it, they ease their tension.

The man cups your cheek with his hand, which is surprisingly ice cold. You stare up at him with admiration. He laughs quietly under his breath. He's got you wrapped around his finger.

When you're around Hoseok, it's easy to forget your duties as a journalist. You're supposed to poke and prod for information, but Hoseok is so good at speaking that he often gets away with not answering your interview questions directly. There's something about the eloquent way he talks that makes you want to stop everything and just listen to him forever.

Your laptop is open again as you transcribe five days' worth of interviews with Hoseok. Embarrassingly enough, it took five days to get a day's worth of quotes and questions from the handsome man. But you strangely don't mind. Those five days visiting Hoseok over and over again was blissful.

And now that you have no more questions, you don't have an excuse to go to Merrymoor any longer. But it's hard to focus on writing your article (even though the deadline is rapidly approaching) when all you can think of is Hoseok.

He's been trying to convince you that Merrymoor should be closed, but from what you see, Merrymoor isn't the problem at all. The patients are genuinely well-treated and the clinicians are respectful and kind. Safety is a priority, which was the people's largest concern. And even the guards are polite.

If the people wanted to turn Merrymoor into a hotel, they'd have to let go of that thought. Merrymoor should stay as a psychiatric hospital.

Meanwhile, maybe you can put in a good word for Hoseok to get him out of Merrymoor. You admit it had been silly of him to pretend to be mentally ill (especially when psychiatry definitely isn't a joke) but he's obviously matured since he was 21. He's spent nearly fifteen years regretting his past. You think it should come to an end.

Maybe you're doing it for your own good too. You can't help but wonder what your relationship with Hoseok will blossom like outside the hospital. When he pets your hair or caresses your cheek, you feel like you're going to combust. And the last few interviews, you told the guards to stay outside the room. He was this close to kissing you, too. But he had pulled away last second, smiling teasingly at you. It was as if he was saying you'd only get a kiss if he was finally liberated from the confines of what he liked to call the prison cell.

God, you remember how breathless you had been the moment he pulled away. Imagine how breathless you'd actually be if he'd really kissed you.

You let your laptop screensaver go on before sighing. Without a second thought, you grab a coat and rush out of your modest loft. You drive yourself all the way to Merrymoor and park haphazardly in the dirt. The guards are so used to you by now that they let you in immediately.

You're breathless by the time you reach Jimin's office. The young clinician looks surprised but happy to see you. "Y/N!" he greets you warmly. "I didn't know you were coming here again!"

"I have to talk to you!" you blurt out. "Please," you add for good measure.

Jimin laughs. "I didn't know you were so excited to talk to me." Usually, he's wearing his white lab coat but that stays hanging on a coat rack near the door. He has a black turtleneck on with some casual jeans. It's nowhere as near stylish as Hoseok's attire, but he still looks effortlessly fashionable. Jimin looks you up and down and grins. "I see you're participating in pajama day today." He giggles.

You gasp when you realize that in your hurry, you'd forgotten to change out of your home clothes. Your face turns a bright shade of red as you wrap your coat tighter around you. "I-I was in a hurry."

"I can see that," Jimin smiles. "What is it that you want to ask me about?" He sits down on his big chair and gestures for you to sit across from him.

You gather your breath, tucking your hair behind your ears as you take a moment for yourself. Jimin waits patiently.

"It's about Hoseok," you finally gasp.

"Oh. Hoseok..." Jimin sighs. "Yes, our patient. What about him?"

"Well, there's been a mistake," you say. "He's not supposed to be here. He lied about being mentally ill when he was younger, but I'm sure he's learned his lesson by now. Hoseok's as normal as we are," you plead. "He just wants to be released. Get the freedom that he deserves."

To your surprise, Jimin sighs. "Oh no, Y/N..."

"What?" you say, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"God, how do I break this to you?" Jimin shakes his head. "Wow. Um... Well, this is awkward."

"Why is it awkward?" Your inside twist at the impending bad news that you were going to hear any second now. You hope for the worst.

"Well... Y/N... Normal isn't a very good way to describe Jung Hoseok. He's definitely not normal," Jimin says, scratching his head. "I'm his clinician. I should know, right?"

"Not normal? Then...?"

"He's a psychopath, Y/N," Jimin says.

"A what." You deadpan so seriously that it's Jimin who flinches back.

"A psychopath. Not all are dangerous... But some do have a tendency to commit crimes and try to get away from the consequences," Jimin says. "They're cunning, manipulative people, Y/N. Very abnormally large egos. And lack of empathy. They don't feel the way we do."

But Hoseok... He'd... he'd liked you, though.

"I'm sorry," Jimin apologizes. He looks genuine. "The fact that Hoseok tried to fake mental illness to get out of a prison sentence makes him abnormal. He's a clinically diagnosed psychopath."

"What do you mean they don't feel the way we do?"

"They tend to lack emotions like fear and sadness and guilt, Y/N... But they're usually very good at pretending they do," Jimin says. "It's hard for them to make emotional connections with others, but they'll use their charm and way with words to get what they want. Usually, they're a bit narcissistic too. I mean, Hoseok threw a fit when he realized we weren't installing a mirror in his room... And he might think of you as more of a thing than a person."

"A thing?" you scoff incredulously.

"He must've wanted you to feel attracted to him," Jimin sighs. "He probably thought you were the key to getting out of Merrymoor. He's tried that with several other women around here—even men."

You stumble over your words, fists clenching. "You mean he can't really care for me?"

"He might... But for different reasons." Jimin fidgets with his hands. "He cares about you in a sense because you'll benefit him."

"So he's puppeteering me," you scoff. "Like I'm some doll he can show a little bit of love to and I'll come running back to him! God, I'm so stupid!" You bury your face in your hands. "I thought he really liked me..."

"Manipulation is the term we use," Jimin sighs. "Normally, most psychopaths can function well in a given society. But Hoseok's proven to struggle with that a little bit. Um, he has violent tendencies..."

You're left speechless.

And you really thought you could have a future with him. You feel foolish.

"T-Thank you, Jimin," you manage to stutter out. "Thank you for telling me... I just... wow. I fell right into his trap."

"He's a charming man," Jimin smiles warmly at you. He has a way of making you feel better. "I'm sorry... I should've noticed something was up..." His expression shows nothing but warmth.

If Hoseok smiles, you feel the cold ocean breeze kissing your cheeks. When Jimin smiles, you feel like you're basking under an orange sunset where the last of the sunlight warms not just your cheeks but your whole body.

"It's fine," you say, shaking your head. "I should've known better."

Quickly, you stand up, suddenly feeling rather flustered to have a serious conversation with Jimin in your pajamas. "I'm sorry for bothering you," you say. "Um, but good news. I really liked Merrymoor. And even Hoseok couldn't persuade me otherwise."

Jimin's lips curl up in a bright smile. "Oh, that's great! Thank you!"

"I'll make sure to write a good article," you promise. "Maybe you guys can get the funding you need to replace some of the old furniture."

"That'd be amazing," Jimin grins. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

You shrug. "I'm only relaying the truth to an audience. You and the other clinicians did all the work."

Jimin blushes at the compliment. "Email me when the article is published—so I can brag about it to family and friends."

"Hm," you hum. "Isn't texting much easier?"

You leave Merrymoor Hospital with lost hope for Hoseok but a new number from Jimin. The day doesn't seem so horrible anymore.

Psychopaths value charming, beautiful words that sound like music to the ears. They're fastidious, choosing each word with scrupulous care. It also makes them awfully pedantic to the average person.

You didn't mind Hoseok's elevated vocabulary.

But you do mind the fact that he's incapable of love. With much research, you learn that psychopaths are able to fake their emotions to find their way into the top spots of society. That they value pragmatics over emotions. Usually, they don't even know that they're different. Sometimes that makes them dangerous. Other times, they're just humans with another perspective on life. Just because they have a superficial charm that they may switch off and on at will does not make them insane. It is what they do with their different brains that decide whether they are mad.

The psychopath test is online. And when you look at it, surprisingly, you find yourself checking off a few of the psychopathic points.

Hoseok's right about one thing. Everyone is a little insane inside. Maybe not to the extent of a psychopath who gets in trouble with the law but just enough so that nobody is really normal. Normal is just a social construct people created to form a little more equality in a non-binary world.

You have so many ideas to write about after this article.

You open your laptop, being greeted by a screen full of independent sentences that are yet to be placed in coherent paragraphs. The deadline for the article is near but you've been putting it off to think.

You'll have to paint a beautiful picture of Merrymoor for the readers to make this work. Describe the patients who truly need help and friendly staff who give help when needed. You'll need to make Merrymoor sound as least threatening as possible. To show people that this hospital is more important than whatever hotel that could be there.

Then, you type away.

Halfway through, you get an email notification from an address you don't recognize. Upon further inspection, you realize that Hoseok had somehow acquired your email.

My dear Y/N,

I miss you dearly—I yearn to see your beautiful face again. I've already picked out my best suits to wear when we go on our first date. To my imminent freedom, yes?

Did I ever mention I am prohibited to have a mirror in my cell? Every day is a pain to style myself without the proper tools. I don't think I deserve this kind of prisoner treatment.

Regardless, I hope I can see you soon, Y/N.

Best, Hoseok

It's subtle, the way he tries to get you to put in a few bad words about Merrymoor for him. But now that you know his manipulation tactics, you won't fall for them. You ignore the email and go back to writing.

Merrymoor: Hotel or Hospital?

Everyone in town scrolls through the article Thursday morning as you sit back and relax as the comments and responses flood in. It's the best article you've ever written, according to your editor. People are buzzing about the heroicness of Merrymoor Hospital and marveling at the jobs of the clinicians. The citizens have found respect for them.

You finally reply to Hoseok's email with a link to the article—no other words. He'll have to figure out where you stand for himself. With that, you close your laptop for good.

You'll take a little break from writing for now. Maybe relax a little from your journalist duties and enjoy other people's company. Namely Jimin's.

You're due for a date with him in about... five minutes.

You hope things go well.

[1 YEAR LATER]

"You sure you want to go to his tribunal?" Jimin asks in a worried voice. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest.

"I'm sure," you say, snuggling against your boyfriend. "He emailed me, asking me to come. So I'll go. There's no reason to refuse, right?"

Jimin rubs your arms. "Right..." You look at your boyfriend with such adoration in your eyes at Jimin giggles. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, it's just that... you're amazing," you laugh. "You could've easily told me that I was delusional for loving Hoseok. You could've told me not to take part in clinician business especially because I don't even have the right degree. But you didn't do any of that, Jimin. You were respectful. And you just made me... understand."

"Well, that's my job," Jimin says. "I try to make everyone understand and respect each other."

"Hoseok once told me everyone's a little insane inside," you whisper, playing with Jimin's shirt. "Do you think that's true?"

Jimin laughs out loud. "Would you kill me if I said I'm insane about you?"

"Yes, I would!"

"On a more serious note, yes, we're all a little crazy," Jimin says. "You obsessed over your job before you met me, right? My other friend fusses about his looks the whole day. And I'm absolutely crazy about you." You roll your eyes but smile. "Everyone's a little crazy," Jimin chuckles. "But crazy has a whole spectrum of its own."

"So to put it succinctly, normal doesn't exist."

"Exactly."

—masterpost

—masterlist

[maine-writes]

A New Challenger Has Appeared!

An older Connie and Steven led Vonvon, followed by their younger selves, back to the beach house. All the while, older Connie scolded her child for their barely thought out time adventure.

"Do you have any idea what you could've done?" she continued, her kid stubbornly pouting, "You could've messed up our timeline! What if you made yourself not exist?! Your father was extremely sensitive during this time, he could've been evil!"

"Now, hon-" older Steven began, but as he thought about it, it might not be such a good idea to interrupt Connie in the middle of a motherly panic.

"Okay, I get it mom." Vonvon said as they walked up the steps to the front door, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you guys when you were on your adventures. You guys just made it seem so cool."

Older Connie and Steven gave each other a worried look.

"Maybe we left out a few details." Steven admitted. "Some things you were better off not knowing."

"Like the time you got your Gem yanked out?" Vonvon asked, ignoring the fact that their father is still bothered by that event. "Or the realization that you broke every bone in your body throughout your childhood? Or the time you got sucked out into space? Or that time when you and Peridot were stuck deep underground? Or that time you had a near mental breakdown at the Stanford Hotel?"

"Ok, that's eno-...wait, the Stanford?" Steven said, wondering why he cannot remember the failed vacation at an alpine retreat.

"Now, where's the Hourglass?" older Connie asked. "We're going home."

"I threw it in the ocean." Vonvon sheepishly replied. Of course, their parents were far from enthusiastic about this.

"You...threw it..." Older Steven muttered.

"Into the ocean..." Older Connie finished as they both looked out at the vast stretch of water and said:

"Ah, beans."

They decided to postpone the recovery of the Hourglass until the next day, when they would recruit the Crystal Gems, who were staying at Little Homeworld for the annual "Surviving Earth" camping trip. For now, they would stay the night.

Younger Connie momentarily returned home to explain to her own parents that there was some weird Gem problem that needed her attention for the night. Surprisingly, although hesistant, they accepted this and allowed her to return to the beach house.

"Hey, I remember using that one when I was in college." Older Connie reminisced.

"What?" wondered her younger self. "Why?"

"Mom and Dad wanted to drop by." she continued. "But I hadn't seen Steven in a while, and he was in town, so-"

"S-So, anyways!" Older Steven interrupted, his cheeks flushed red. "We should probably head to bed, long day tomorrow! Have to explain everything to the Gems, but I'm sure Garnet's probably already told everyone not to panic."

And indeed, somewhere out in the middle of the woods, somewhere out in the middle of the state of Delmarva, the Crystal Gems and two dozen other Gems were sitting around a campfire, surrounded by an assortment of tents.

"By the way guys," Garnet began, stopping in the middle of her catchy campfire song, "Don't panic tomorrow. Especially you Pearl."

"What? Why would I panic?"

"Well-...Maybe it's better I don't explain."

But that may have only made it worse.

Meanwhile, save for the rhythmic rush of the waves, all was silent, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a rat.

But then, a shifting shadow lurked behind the kitchen counter, peering over at the couch Vonvon was sleeping in, who was facing away from the middle of the room. Younger Connie and her future self were sleeping in Steven's bed, whilst young Steven, and his future self, were wrapped up in sleeping bags on the floor beside the bed.

The shadow loomed over Vonvon.

"Yes..." the sinister figure hissed, "Soon, all will be well..."

But when they gently turned the sleeping form, they found nothing but a crudely made dummy.

"What?"

"Judo Chop!" Vonvon screamed, striking the figure with a chop at the shoulder. The shadowy stranger grabbed Vonvon, pushing them to the ground.

"You fell for my Vonvon Clone Jutsu!" the child laughed mockingly. "My most powerful technique!"

The two struggled on the ground for a few seconds, the ruckus stirring the others awake. Someone flipped the light switch, filling the room with light.

To their surprise, on the floor, yanking at hair, kicking at shins, and gnawing on shirts, were two Vonvons. One was wearing Cookie Cat pajamas, of course, the other wore a pseudo-ninja outfit.

"Aha!" our Vonvon declared, "I knew it! There's always an evil twin! Let me guess, you're from the timeline where everyone's evil and you're here to replace me?"

"How did yo-?" Evil Vonvon began.

"I've been sleeping under the bed and leaving a dummy in my place for months now!"

Both versions of Steven and Connie looked over at Vonvon, wondering if that child is either insane or a genius.

Then Evil Vonvon looked at the older Steven and Connie, their little eyes beginning to water.

"Oh no." Vonvon, the one we know, said. "You're not evil, are you?"

"I'm from a timeline where I never knew my parents." They explained. "I was raised by a glowing pink version of Papa and Grandma and Grandpa."

"Aw man," Vonvon groaned, "You're not evil, you're just sad!"

"Well, there is a sort of evil timeline." Not-Evil Vonvon mentioned, "Except, its not me. It's a big pink version of Papa, and he's like the king of Homeworld."

"Wait, there's a timeline where I become evil?!" Young Steven panicked.

"Not evil, just Pink Diamond" Sad Vonvon explained.

"Why are you here?" young Connie asked.

"This Vonvon's time vacation opened a lot of timelines." Other Vonvon explained, "And I thought, since I'm here, I could replace them for a while until you find the Hourglass."

"But what if we found it tomorrow?" older Steven asked.

"Oh, you wouldn't." Alternate Vonvon said, pulling the device from their pocket. "I found it shortly after Vonvon threw it in the ocean. I was going to give it back after spending time with you."

"Wait, our kid's time travelling opened other timelines?" Older Connie wondered, "What exactly does that mean?"

"Other Vonvon's were able to get their hands on their Hourglasses." said the other Vonvon. "It's really complicated and doesn't make much sense."

"You met other me's?" Prime Vonvon asked.

"Yeah, there's one from a timeline where Papa never got the attention of the Diamonds." They said, producing a small scrapbook from another pocket. "There's a Vonvon who is wandering the timelines, they're giving out these scrapbooks that have pictures of their adventure."

As it turned out, there were over a dozen recorded timelines in the scrapbook. There was a Vonvon who was raised in Japan. Another who lived with the Gems in a similar situation as Steven in his younger days. There was even an insane Vonvon who only had a sock puppet as a companion and frequently broke out of the asylum to unleash chaos upon Beach City. That was the closest version of an Evil Vonvon.

"There's a Vonvon who only knew the Crystal Gems as parts of Gem Tech from the war." Other Vonvon explained. "They said that they looked into the future of our timelines with their Garnet machine. It all works out in the end. No big bad problems."

"None?" Future Connie and Steven asked.

"Apparently."

"See?" said Main Vonvon. "Everything works out in the end. It's the Will of the Force."

"Vonvon," Older Connie said. "The Will of the Force is just an excuse to explain away things that would've been too troublesome to explain."

"But since we're here." Older Steven said, placing his arm around his wife's shoulder. "Don't you think we deserve a vacation too? We could see the old sites, finally get some time to ourselves."

"But what about th-"

"We'll be in disguise. Besides, it might be fun."

Connie thought, and she thought. Perhaps it was time they had a break from the relentless demands of work.

This was the start of a wonderful vacation. A time vacation.

@artsycooky13

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 13)

It was really only a matter of time before he saw her for what she really was. A mess. A disaster. An unsettling freak. And thank Agni that Atsu wasn’t home.

She supposes it was a day like any other. Really there was nothing different about it. Nothing even slightly different from the cozy routine that she has managed to fall into and yet here she is… She supposes it has just all caught up with her...

It was a bright morning. She’d gone to the market--closed her eyes and savored the kaleidoscope of morning scents; the first batches of bread for the day, much less poignant Earth Kingdom spices, herbal teas wafting from restaurants, and the jasmines resting in window sills among others.

Just as she has every day for the past year, Azula made her way to the town library. It had become something of a passtime to consume scroll after scroll, text after text. She is fond of the debate events that the library holds every now and again; they assure her that her mind isn’t growing dull. And when she can, she steals off and deep into the treeline to work on her bending. She won’t let herself weaken, even if she has no particular reason to fight anymore.

And it was going smoothly as it ever had, more than smoothly, really. She thinks that her fire has more power these days, more control. She finds that without the pressures of war and high standards, that she has more energy to put forth. And without judgment she has no constraints. Nothing to keep her from experimenting with forms and stances of her own.

That afternoon was another spent mixing earthbending forms with firebending forms. The weeks prior had been about observation; watching them bend and imitating them without fire. It had drawn some looks and plenty of questions. Mostly from Atsu and mostly about why a firebender would want to practice earthbending katas.

Her studies had come to pay off that afternoon. She supposes that she’d felt accomplished but that sense of achievement...it was somehow skewed. Off and in a way she couldn’t place. And perhaps that should have been her first clue to tread carefully.

All in all, her day had come to pass in a half haze. Harvesting turnips was an absent-minded task, around turnip six she had drifted. She thinks that Seukhyun might have conversed with her for some time.

“Are you alright?” She remembered him asking. “I can ask my old man to let you have the rest of the evening off.”

She hadn’t taken him up on the offer. When she looked over her shoulder she saw a full wheelbarrow. “What time is it?”

“About an hour into sunset.”

Azula had tensed. She had started several hours before sunset. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She remembers Ojihara insisting that she went home with a few extra coins and an assurance that she’d done more than her share of work for the day anyhow. She doesn’t remember walking home but she remembers Seukhyun telling Hajime to, “watch your fiance.”

She doesn’t hold it against him, he had only left her alone for perhaps five minutes or so. But that was plenty enough. She doesn’t understand, it had been such a good day. Such a productive day.

Yet she is curled up on the floor weeping. They are back. It has been so very long since she’d seen any of them. But they stand around her; Zuko, Mai, TyLee and her mother, uncle, and father. All of them. And they all tell her that she doesn’t deserve what she has.

“You ran away.” Zuko points out.

“That isn’t the same as making things right.” TyLee elaborates with a frown.

Azula claws at her hairline. “I needed to leave.” She mutters. “You didn’t want me around anyways, I know that you didn’t.”

“Yeah. We wanted you to stay put in the asylum with the rest of the lunatics.” Mai quirks a brow. “Do you really think that you should be talking to Hajime?”

“And the kid!” Zuko adds. “You’re going to hurt them.”

“Just like you hurt everyone you care about.” TyLee nods.

Azula’s stomach drops, she can’t speak past the lump in her throat. And maybe that is a mercy, because she hears footsteps. She isn’t sure if those are real either.

“He only offered to marry you because he’s scared of you.”

Azula shakes her head. She glares at her mother. The woman doesn’t help. She never helps. Just as always she leaves. Vanishes right when she could use someone the most, right when she needs someone to help her save herself.

“He doesn’t love you.” Ozai sneers.

“Rikka?”

“You’re a waste of his time.”

“Rikka?”

“And he’s a waste of yours.”

She feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Get rid of him and make something of yourself.” She sees the fire come to his palm and bunches in on herself.

“Rikka what’s going on?” He carefully rolls her over to face him. He doesn’t quite get her there. She lies on her back staring at the ceiling, at the things swirling around on the ceiling. Tears drip down her cheeks and make trails towards her ears.

Her body feels limp and heavy. Weighted and somehow distant. And why now? Why now, when everything is going alright?

The shadows on the wall twist. She doesn’t feel real. For a moment she doesn’t remember where she is. For a moment it doesn’t matter because it isn’t real anyways. That would explain it well--why she had been so happy. Because it wasn’t real. None of it. Likely she has been alone this whole time and Hajime is exactly what she wants so he is exactly what her mind has conjured up for her...

“Can I hold you?”

She isn’t sure why he would want to. It is because he isn’t real. She makes some sort of attempt to put herself in his arms. He does the rest for her, scooping her into his grasp and propping her up against his body. He holds her head against his chest. His heartbeat is nice. It’s steady. It’s rhythmic. It isn’t hectic and crazed like her own.

She feels his hand. It smooths over her hair and rubs up and down on her back. It is real. It is there. They--the hallucinations, she forces herself to admit--can’t touch her. They can reach out but they never touch her. They never try and when she tries to touch them, friendly or otherwise, they disperse. Hajime is real. He has been real.

He kisses her forehead. “What’s going on?” He asks again.

“I…” She swallows back a sob before it can come out again. “Where’s Atsu?” Agni, she hopes he isn’t home.

“Don’t worry, he’s spending the night with his friend Minko.” He gives her a little squeeze. For a moment she can better hear his heartbeat. She closes her eyes and listens to it. He brushes her tears away with his thumbs. She tries to match her breathing up with the beat of his heart. Slow and steady. Even and level. He is quiet. Patient.

He waits for her to lift her head from his chest before saying anything more. And when he does speak it is much more light-hearted than she anticipated. He cupping her face in his hands and holds her formerly drooping head up. “That position looks terribly uncomfortable.”

He isn’t wrong. She has legs bent back in an awkward ‘w’ and her arms between them, just barely propping her up. She pulls her legs in and draws them up to her chest. Some of the tension loosens.

“Better?”

She nods. “A little.”

“Do you want to sit on the deck, get some fresh air?”

She nods again.

“You don’t have to tell me what that was, but you can if it will help.”

She is still somewhat shaky when she gets to her feet. Her head still dizzy and foggy. She thinks that it might help. She is keeping enough secrets from the man as it is. She bites her lip. Maybe they are right. Maybe she doesn’t deserve him if she can’t even tell him the truth.

“I’m insane.” She mumbles.

He brings her to a halt, stands before her, and firmly clasps his hands around her shoulders. She can feel her head dipping again but she is too tired to hold it upright. “You aren’t…”

“I hear things that aren’t there. Sometimes nothing feels real. Sometimes I feel like everyone is plotting against me. I’m insane.”

Hajime inhales. “I’ve known you for a year now. I think that it’s safe to say that this sort of thing isn’t exactly character defining.”

“This is the first time I wasn’t able to ignore it well. I see them a lot. More often them you know. I can just block them out…”

“Come on.” He hoists her into his arms and carries her outside. He finds his favorite  porch bench and sits, cradling her in his lap. “You can tell me when you see them, you know that right? Even if it’s something little.”

“There’s something wrong with me…” If only she could be normal. If only she could have held out just a little longer. Held out until a day when he wasn’t around to witness it.

“You don’t have to be okay all the time. You’re allowed to be hurt.”

She bunches her hands up in the folds of his shirt.

“I can’t imagine you’re the only one who has some…” he furrows his brows. “Some damage. I’ve heard of soldiers with a lot of similar struggles. War does things to people, Rikka. Especially if you just keep it all inside.” He lightly taps the side of her head. “That’s not good for you. Even if you’re happy, really happy, that stuff is still sitting there in the back of your head waiting for an excuse to come up.”

“But nothing happened! Nothing brought it up!”

He nods, “yeah, sometimes if it sits for too long it just happens.”  He rubs his face. “I never talked about how my wife died. I saw it happen and I pretended like I didn’t. I was always happy for Seukhyun and our crew because someone had to be. I didn’t think about it...until I did.” He pauses. “And then it just hits. I let it sit quiet for so long that it hit hard.”

“My name isn’t even Rikka! How am I supposed to talk about this when I can’t even tell you my real name?” She feels the heat on her palms and, Agni, does she want to unleash it. Her mind. Agni, it is in such disarray that she can’t even…

“You can try. You don’t have to tell me your real name. You don’t have to tell me anything about your past that you don’t want to. Just tell me something so I can help you.”

Maybe it is because her mind has betrayed her once more. Maybe it is simply because he is Hajime. Because he didn’t push her.

But she tells him about her mother and about her father. About Mai and TyLee. And something about Zuko, changing names where she sees fit. Thank Agni no one ever truly knew Azula. He doesn’t put the pieces together. Somehow she feels as though she has only secured her secret. Princess Azula is perfect. Nothing is wrong with Princess Azula. But Azula is unstable, hurt, and worn. Azula is lost. And Rikka is all of that. But Rikka is cared for. Rikka is loved.

Hajime hugs her tighter. “You haven’t told anyone else any of this, have you?”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to fix me Hajime. I need to…”

“That’s why you wander, isn’t it?”

She nods.  “Something like that.”

“I guess that you’ll have some people to wander with you then.”

“I want to stay here. I like it here. I think that…” She trails off. “I have a family?”

Hajime smiles. “You have family and friends and a pet mongoose-lizard.”

“I’ll tell you  one day.”

“Tell me what?”

“My real name.”

He laughs, “I don’t mind waiting.” He reaches into her pocket and draws out the stone, a small betrothal gem now fixed upon its center. “We have quite a while, yes?”

Azula nods.

She may not have been able to tell him her name, but he knows who she is. He knows Azula better than anyone who does know her name.

That day she learns what it is to be loved. Accepted. She learns to let her walls down, even if it is only to a single soul.

.oOo.

She is surprised to see him standing in her doorway again. She supposes that she shouldn’t be, he has visited her at least once, usually twice, a day. Even still, she was certain that her impulsive antics would have driven him well away.

“You told Zuzu about the other night.” She remarks.

He shakes his head. “Not me. There are kind of a lot of people talking about that.”

Azula cringes.

“It’s not all bad stuff.” He grins. “They said that you inher...are a great actress.”

“They said that I inherited my mother’s acting abilities.” She replies plainly. “Be forward with me, Sokka. I’m not delicate.”

“I know that.” He smiles. “It’s just that Zuko mentioned that you don’t like talking about that.”

The man’s face is fully flushed, she ought to show him at least a little mercy so she gives the discussion a dismissive wave. “What did you come here to tell me?”

“I was actually going to ask you if you, maybe wanted to go do another activity. But this time it won’t be weird.”

“Sure, Sokka. We can do another activity. What do you have in mind?”

“I thought that I’d let you pick this time.”

“My idea of a good time is going to the library and…”

He perks up. “It just so happens that I enjoy a good library. As long as it remains above ground.”

Azula quirks a brow. “And why wouldn’t it?”

“Oh you know, because it’s in the middle of a desert!” He gives a wide and exaggerated sweeping gesture. “And it’s guarded by a crazy, angry owl spirit.”

“Right. Well we don’t have ‘crazy’ owl spirits in our libraries and we aren’t in a desert so I’d wager that we’ll be staying perfectly above ground.” She rises and pushes her chair in. “I’ll send for you when I am dressed.”

.oOo.

By send for him, he didn’t realize that she meant she’d send herself. “That was quick.”

Azula shrugs. “I didn’t bother with the spa this time around. I’m not in a pampering mood today.”

“Then what kind of mood are you in?”

She is quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure exactly.” There is something in her eyes, something distant. He doesn’t think that she is lying but he isn’t sure that she is being entirely truthful.

“You sure about that?”

Another silence. “I’ll be fine, Sokka.”

Curious word choice. He doesn’t call her on it. “Alright, so let's go to this library.” He follows her through the crowd. “What are you planning on reading about?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“I’m planning on trying to read about Fire Nation swords. Maybe learn a thing or two about the stuff like what Master Piandao taught me!”

“Okay.”

“You’re quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet, Sokka.”

“Not when you’re talking about battle tactics and Zuko’s newly implemented policies.”

“We aren’t talking politics or strategies right now. I like to think that I’ve learned to separate that talk from small talk.”

He laughs. “Yeah, according to TyLee you’ve gotten a lot better at talking to people.”

She nods.

“So why don’t you show off your new social skills?”

“They aren’t exactly new anymore.” She replies. “And I’m not in a talking mood.

Sokka frowns. “Is this about the other night? You don’t have to pretend like you had a good time if…”

“It’s not about the other night. It’s not about you at all.”

.oOo.

As charming and semi-comforting as his concern is, she wishes that he would stop pushing. Spirits, the man is persistent in his badgering. Though she supposes that she understands his concern. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She reiterates.

His expression doesn’t lighten up any.

“Don’t get so gloomy.”

“Sorry.” Sokka mumbles. “It’s just hard for me to be happy when…”

When she’s sucking the joy from the atmosphere around them. At this point even if she faked a smile he’d know that it’s all bullshit. Though he did say that she is a perfectly capable actress. “I’ll...try to enjoy myself. I won’t make any promises though.”

This is enough, the tribesman is smiling again. “Great, because I was planning on making sure that you had a good day.”

She manages a small smile of her own. It has been some time since anyone has so deliberately tried to lift her mood.

He wiggles his brows. “I think that it’s working.”

“Don’t push your luck.” She rolls her eyes as she leans into the large door of the library. “The books on Fire Nation swordsmanship is in the military section. I can show you where that is, I’ve read most of those books already.”

They wander past a grumbling man with frizzy, greying hair reading a scroll about mechanics and past a pregnant woman and her wailing daughter. The disheveled old man cuts mother a glare while one of several librarians bumps into a scrawny teenaged boy.

Sokka stops to help her pick up the scrolls.

“Oh! Princess!” She gives a slight bow. “Is everything to your liking? If I’d have known you’d be coming by I would have had your usual spot reserved. I can get it ready for you.”

“That’s fine Quin-Mei. I’ll be showing Sokka around.”

“Well if there’s anything that I can do to make you comfortable, let me know.”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to be so formal…” Sokka says after the woman leaves.

“It’s called politeness. Do you have that in the tribes?”

“We have so much politeness in the tribes!” He declares.

Azula cringes, her cheeks flashing a slight pink. “Quiet, Sokka, we’re in a library.”  The man truly does have a habit of embarrassing the both of them.

His face goes red but not quite as red as the fizzy-haired man’s. He picks up his scrolls with an agitated grumble and shuffles to the check out desk.

“Hey Azula, look what I found!” Sokka declares. “Someone hid this scroll in with the military ones.”

He unfurls a children’s tale. The Dragon & The Crane. Azula swallows, it is more than enough to deliver the final blow. It just so happens that he has found the first Fire Nation children’s tale that she had read to Atsu as she tucked the boy into bed.

She tries to keep the conversation going, but she can feel herself fading. Fading until she is only partially engaged in the conversation. She doesn’t quite remember reading anything neither does she really recall walking home.

.oOo.

He has to admit to himself that he is nervous. He isn’t even sure what he has done this time. But then, he gets the suspicion that he hasn’t done anything at all. Earth Kingdom travels or none, she is still Azula. She still has her moods and her reservations. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, if all it takes to upset her is to get a little too loud in a library then maybe she hasn’t changed as much as he had anticipated. Or maybe it is that she can only handle so much secondhand embarrassment.

He ought to leave her to fume silently, but he can’t bring himself to leave the situation so open. She can at least tell him why she went so abruptly cold and silent. He thinks that it will drive him mad if she doesn’t.   He hears her before he even reaches her room. Her cries aren’t muffled, not even slightly masked. His heart drops. Why had he assumed that she was mad? Raava, he is dull minded. Why hadn’t he even thought that she might simply be having an off day? He slaps his own forehead, she had told him that it had nothing to do with him. Thank the spirits that he hadn’t just thrown her door open and prattled off his grievances.

He hesitates in the doorway, she has left it wide open. She is curled up on the bed clutching that stuffed badger-mole tighter than she has gripped anything. Her face is partially buried in the worn fabric. He wonders if he should turn around, he very clearly remembers Katara mentioning that the last time she was ‘off’ she blasted lightning at Zuko and breathed fire. But that was then. That was a long time ago.

Against his better judgement he clears his throat.

Azula looks up from the badger-mole. He expects her to chuck the thing at him, to tell him to leave. Instead she squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth.

“Can I sit down?”

She pats the mattress next to her.

“I didn’t do anything, did I?”

She rolls onto her back and her shirt hikes up ever so slightly. Just enough for him to see the edge of another scar that runs across her belly. She drapes the badger-mole over her eyes and takes a sharp breath.

“It’s alright, I’m not judging.” He says. Though it is strange to see her so openly vulnerable. Even still he can see her trying to slow her tears. “I promise, I’m not. If you want to cry, just cry. I won’t even tell Zuko.”

And she does. He thinks that she might be crying harder still. He has an urge to reach out, he lifts his hand from the mattress but stops short, thinking better of it. She was never the touching, cuddling sort.

“They’re dead, Sokka. They’re all dead.”

He cringes. Clearly the wound has reopened. He doesn’t think that had ever been stitched. With a hard swallow he asks, “who are they and what happened?”

She squeezes the badger-mole, her lower lip quivers. “Hajime. They killed Hajime. And Atsu. And...they’re all dead.”

[agathahrknss]

Well, here’s my response to things.

Under the cut are @fionaresponce​‘s DMs to me following my posted question here, and my response. It is by no means indicative of everyone’s views on the matter of, specifically, stuck-in-gleehab (which is one small part of a much larger problem) but is rather my own thoughts and stream of consciousness regarding one specific thing. I’m also posting this publicly so that this is documented and if anyone else has anything they’d like to say on the matter, feel free to send me an ask or reblog this post.

Okay, this is a lot that I wasn't expecting in my DMs this late, but I guess we're doing this.

First off, my apologies-- the context in which I used the word ‘neurodivergent’ was incorrect; while yes, it is part of the question I was asking, it’s not the whole picture and it’s a term that’s primarily used by people who are autistic or have ADHD. I have ADHD myself and it was the first word that came to mind when I made that post and was asking the question. That part was my bad and I apologise for both using the wrong word in questioning you, and for incorrectly using that term. What I actually wanted to know was whether you had any mental disorders yourself, given the subject material of Gleehab.

I’m not going to make a judgement on whether or not you do have any disorders based on what you’ve just told me-- it’s not my place and I’m not in any way qualified to so --however I will strongly stress that making an assumption of what you might have based on speculation of the people around you and on theory is extremely harmful. You haven’t been diagnosed with anything, as you have specifically said and I strongly recommend that you go and see someone, a professional, who can do so if you truly believe that you do have ASD or anxiety. Otherwise, the claims become very flimsy and mean very little and I would even go so far as to say that you shouldn’t make the claims without being diagnosed properly.

EDIT: It was brought to my attention that my wording here could potentially be harmful, here is the ask regarding that.

Regardless of that, I need you to understand that what you’ve said about Gleehab in your response is an extremely harmful mindset. Not everyone’s gone through the same experiences as you, and as someone who has several mental disorders (professionally diagnosed), used to take an assload of different medications and has also been in and out of psychiatric hospitals in the last five years, it’s so very frustrating for you to claim that you weren’t romanticising mental health issues and recovery, full stop. If you haven’t experienced it for yourself, I don’t believe you can know for sure, and because of that I really don’t feel like that’s your call to make. You can do insane amounts of research and still end up perpetuating harmful stereotypes. You are not infallible. No one is.

On top of that, there is something inherently gross for me (and this is not just you) about pointing out which specific mental disorders you’d like to see characters have-- it begins to feel like a gotta catch ‘em all scenario which then trivialises just how much these disorders affect the lives of people who do live with them every day. It’s not just some cute personality trait or quirk you can give a character, it’s something that can shape who someone is as a person.

I understand that you were not the only person out there running a Glee ‘asylum’ roleplay, however, and I can admit that part of my issue with what you’ve said stems from those groups that populated the tags back in 2010-2012, or thereabouts. I was about 16-17 at the time and I genuinely believed it was just ‘the done thing’, alongside slave roleplays, but the fact of the matter is that it should not have happened, and it was harmful. I’d like to hope that there’s some part of you that understands that. You created a space for people to specifically write about characters in a psychiatric hospital, and more often than not, those people writing about those mental disorders don’t actually have them. They have a specific idea of what BPD, or schizophrenia, or major depression is like, often influenced by popular media, and they will perpetuate what they know. Understand what you running Gleehab did, and what it actually means.

You also have to understand that by doubling down on defending your portrayal of Kurt, and of your choice to run Gleehab, you’re essentially broadcasting the message that everyone who’s saying that you were glorifying mental disorders and stays in psychiatric care and that it was harmful, is wrong. You don’t get to decide that, full stop. Considering the fact that you told me that you maybe have anxiety, and you were writing a character with depression and PSTD who self-harmed? Not your ballpark, Fiona. It’s not up to you what’s right and what’s wrong about your writing if it’s not your demographic that you’re representing.

As my friend has so succinctly put it, “You cannot claim neurodivergence. It is not a scapegoat.”

EDIT:

donnasheridanroleplays said: Autism is not a scapegoat. It’s not. Not EVER. You cannot use mental illnesses as a prop for your group.

donnasheridanroleplays said: Or neurodivergence

donnasheridanroleplays said: Explanations are explanations, not excuses. They are also not a personality trait.

[skypagex]

let me see you get yourself out of this situation

aka three unlikely allies ditch detention and go on an adventure

word count: 2320

trigger warnings: stds (aids mention), drugs, nsfw mention

Okay, so maybe the detention is fully deserved. Sky probably shouldn’t have hotboxed his bedroom and expected to get away with it. In fact, he was pretty lucky to get away with detention, although he suspects that’s related to his mother’s call to the school and probable sizeable donation. (He should never have texted her. He knows that’s a bad idea. Thanks for the soccer team uniforms or whatever, mom.)

But regardless of how much he deserves to be in detention, he can still think of about a billion things he’d rather do than come into an almost empty room to the sight of Jack fucking Kelly (or is it Fielding? To be honest, he remains wilfully oblivious to the Jack updates. Like if he ignores him he’ll cease to exist) sprawled across the back row of seats with a smirk on his lips that so obviously says that this is his domain and Sky is trespassing. As if he owns the whole fucking room.

(Knowing Jack, he probably thinks he does. Not that Sky has had much personal contact with the boy besides an odd rumour that he died. But the boy’s reputation seems to carry through the school like a biblical plague of locusts. And besides, Sky’s friendship with Juliet gives him equal parts way too much information about Jack’s personal habits and currently, post break up, far more information about how disgustingly horrible he is. Either way, he’s well aware that there’s a sizeable ego present. He’s almost jealous, to be honest. Sometimes Sky feels like if he had Jack’s ego he’d probably be a rock star already.)

Still, he’s hoping that maybe he can pass under the radar of the British boy long enough to make it through at least half of the detention, maybe more, considering that the teacher has already apparently left - probably done with the delinquents before having even begun to lecture them on their crimes - so if Jack so much as starts a conversation Sky’s pretty sure there’s nothing present to hold him back from absolutely verbally annihilating Sky, which will therefore mean there’s nothing present to hold Sky back from tears and public humiliation. It’s hard being a crybaby, you know?

Such hopes are almost immediately dashed when Jack turns and gives Sky the most ravenous look he’s ever seen another human come up with, like Jack is starving and Sky is a walking hamburger about to satiate him. Yum.

“Pagey,” well there’s a nickname Sky didn’t know he had, and to be honest it makes him feel slightly nauseous even knowing that Jack has whole separate nicknames for him that he doesn’t even know about. How the fuck does Jack know everyone at the fucking school anyway? “How’d you end up here? Cried so much you flooded your bedroom?”

(Which would be insulting enough even if it wasn’t a plausible suggestion and didn’t need the rude addition of Jack proceeding to laugh at his own joke.)

Fortunately Sky’s saved from the perils of having to answer the question by the slamming of the door, which indicates the arrival of a third addition to the detention squad: a blonde girl, he thinks he’s seen her in a shared class (Helena or something along those lines, definitely the same name as a My Chemical Romance song since he remembers thinking that at registration) and a disgusted look upon her face as she has the same realisation as Sky upon seeing Jack’s face: that they are well and truly fucked.

“God,” Helena (if that’s really her name, Sky hopes it is because he suspects from her demeanour that she’s not the type to take a misnaming incident lightly) “was detention itself not punishment enough? Are they truly going to make me  look at your ratty little face for an entire forty five minutes? I feel ill just thinking about it,” she placed a hand over her chest as if the sight of Jack was causing her physical pain. Relatable, to be honest.

“I know,” and in that moment Sky feels more grateful than ever because it’s clear from Jack’s tone of voice that his admirably short attention span has now passed Sky straight over in favour of a pretty worthy opponent. “You really should complain, love. Like, how is getting to look at me for free a fucking punishment? It’s like getting to go into the Tate Modern for nothing.”

“The Tate Modern is already free,” Sky says helpfully. He is ignored.

“Your confidence,” Helena blasts back, “is truly insane considering how absolutely disgusting your physical appearance is. Have you considered being committed to a mental asylum at any point?”

“I would,” Jack counters, “but how could I? When the population of Luxor would just pine for me. Nothing would be interesting if I left.”

“Contrary to your totally unfounded belief, not everything in this school involves you.”

“Possibly,” the boy reasons, and then the smirk returns. “But you have to admit the majority of things do.”

Seemingly done with the conversation, Helena stomps over to the desk next to Sky and sets her things down. Her meaning is pretty clear to him: you’ll do, in comparison to being sat next to rat man.

The ticking of the clock succeeds in covering for their lack of conversation for all of about five minutes before Jack apparently just cannot keep words in his own head anymore and has to interrupt the perfectly nice silence again: “so how did you end up in detention, princess? Kiss a frog?”

“I don’t recall having any physical relations with you,” Helena says haughtily. “If I did, I can assure you I must have been under some sort of influence unwillingly and therefore I shall be suing imminently. And if you must know, I am being unfairly victimised for skipping my medieval lecture for a perfectly valid reason.”

“To get a nose job?” Jack asks innocently, “or was it Botox?”

That elicits a slight smile from Sky, which reminds the other two that he does in fact exist and it’s almost funny the way they both turn to face him as Jack continues his questioning, “what about you, Pagey?”

“Uh,” his mouth goes dry and he gulps, “weed… stuff,” he finishes lamely, shrugging as if that’s completely self explanatory. It should be. He damn well hopes it is, because frankly Sky does not have the strength to take part in this conversation and he’s really hoping that Helena can carry the anti Jack side of it without him. “You?” He asks hopefully, as if turning the conversation back to Jack will immediately throw him out of it and he can go back to his people watching.

“Oh, I jumped out a window,” Jack says airily, apparently oblivious to the looks of total confusion both Sky and Helena give him. The resulting silence proceeds to allow the clock ticking to become audible again.

“Are you seriously telling me,” Helena asks after about ten minutes have past and Sky can just about see Jack, out of the corner of his eye, beginning to meticulously colour in something which looks suspiciously like a poster, “that I have woken up today and willingly come to this godforsaken room and sat in the company of absolute dimwits and the teacher in charge is not even going to deign to show up?”

“Sometimes they just don’t,” Jack shrugs as if this is a usual occurrence. “Especially if they see me on the list.”

“Can’t blame them for that,” Helena mutters.

“Well, it would be hard not to treat me like the god I am. Can’t be unfair to the other students.” He grins. “Nah, guess they get lazy. I dunno. Most of the time I just leave.”

“Well that’s a wasted day of mine then.” She scowls. “Don’t they know time is money? Although I do have plenty of both.”

“That was the most ungraceful segway into a brag I have ever heard,” Jack observes, “and this is coming from me.”

“What can I say? I’m pretty, it allows for more leeway.”

She actually gets a laugh out of Jack from that, and it kind of fascinates Sky. Partly because he’s always assumed that Jack was more aggressive. He gets into enough fights for that. But he seems more… amused than anything else by the back and forth. Like he’s less of a punching devil and more of the type of person to push buttons out of enjoyment and amusement. He supposes that’s one way to get out of boredom.

“Hey, crybaby,” he’s so caught up in psychoanalysing the other two that he doesn’t realise for a minute that Jack is addressing him, and before he can say anything the other boy is waving a hand in front of his face. (He flinches back, predictably. God, he’s always so fucking predictable.) “You got any weed?” Jack asks, his face inches from Sky’s, close enough that Sky can see a stray eyelash on his cheek (would it be ridiculous to point it out considering that Jack would undoubtedly take that as Sky confessing his undying love for him?) and the freckles littering his cheeks.

“Uh.” Truthfully, Sky’s pretty sure this is going to end in him having to share so he’s really not willing to answer, but he’s never been good at lying so instead Jack gets a slow nod by way of response.

“Well there we fucking go,” Jack takes a step back thankfully, so he’s no longer close enough that Sky can literally smell whatever cologne he puts on (ugh, straight men) and glances back at Helena, gesturing wildly to Sky. “Don’t have to be a fucking waste of your day, princess. Or are you too good to come smoke a joint with me and Page?”

“My name’s Sky,” Sky offers. He is ignored.

“As long as nobody sees us,” Helena sniffs, but she gets up all the same, sliding her things into her bag. “And for the record, I’m a Queen, not a princess. I understand that your male mind finds words difficult though,” she adds with a condescending smile.

“I’m the British one,” Jack argues. “I’d know about fucking Queens.”

“I’m literally half English, you absolute cretin. My surname is literally Spencer. Like Princess fucking Diana? Ring any bells?”

“Nah,” Jack says with absolute conviction, “her surname was Wales.”

“No she was the Princess of Wal- oh my god,” Helena rolls her eyes with such energy that Sky is amazed that her eye muscles don’t straight up propel her out of the door. “Sky, can you please back me up?”

“I’m from Chicago,” Sky says helplessly, and gets two very dirty looks as they leave the classroom.

“I’d suck your dick,” he’s lost count of how many hits he’s in and the rooftop is starting to take on a hazy quality, which Sky attributes to the fact that he’s actually confident enough to laugh out loud at Jack’s comment, leaning back and looking up at the sky, “no you wouldn’t.”

“Sure I would,” Jack insists. “I’d try anything fucking once. And I never sucked a dick. Maybe it’s my fucking talent.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Sky’s words are coming out sing song and he lays back on the roof now, shaking his head still, “you’re such a straight boy it’s not even funny. Straight, straight, straight,” he takes a long drag on the joint and holds it out between two fingers to Helena, who is giving both of them another disgusted glare.

“Two boys talking about their penises. Exactly the company I desired. Not.”

“We could talk about vagina instead,” Jack offers diplomatically, so Sky mimes gagging. “Yeah, okay crybaby. We get it. You patented the fuck a boy at church camp vibe, we understand.”

“I didn’t fuck a boy at church camp,” Sky says indignantly.

“No, he probably fucked you,” Helena hisses.

“I thought you were too good for this conversation,” Jack observes.

“Do you see another conversation happening?”

“You could just shut up.”

“And let your disgusting accent ring in my ears? Horrific.”

“My accent is sexy.”

“I like Kai’s more,” Sky gets a glare from both of them for that. Oops. Supposes that’s what he gets for interrupting the bickering. “Yours is fine too,” he says quickly.

“God, just take a side,” Helena mutters. “It’s fine to admit Rat sounds like a coal miner, you know?”

“Isn’t that a bit….” Sky searches for the word. “Classist?”

“No, it’s a fact. Anyway,’ she points to Jack accusingly, “he didn’t even know Princess Diana’s surname. So his national pride is absolutely a farce.”

“She died in like, nineteen ninety whatever? That’s old news,” Jack argues.

“She,” Helena says hotly, “remains an international style icon.”

“Can we get back to vagina and/or dick yet?” Jack enquires hopefully. Sky resumes the pretend gagging.

“You become more disgusting with every waking moment,” she mutters under her breath. But Jack will probably take that as a compliment either way. “And I need to go.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” Jack looks up to bat his eyelashes at the girl, resulting in her flipping him off.

“I think I would miss the dog shit I stepped in more than you,” Helena informs him, before glancing at Sky. “You, though. We’re going shopping tomorrow.”

He gives her a confused look.

“You have potential,” she decides. “Like style wise. As an aesthetic and thankfully quiet sidekick.” He can take that. “Like a Harry Styles vibe but unattractive.”

Okay, Sky’s starting to regret listening.

“Or Timothée Chalamet minus the bone structure and redeemable features.”

He really regrets listening now.

“Doesn’t Timothée Champagne have chlamydia?” Jack asks with a gleeful smile.

“Didn’t everyone say you have AIDS?” Helena snaps. “Goodbye, male specimens. It is starting to rain and this blouse is vintage.”

[mochiyoonfi]

Soulmate (JK)

Synopsis: You’re the only one who can see Jungkook. He’s like a ghost really, but he says he isn’t, because this is his life, and he hadn’t died before. 

Universe: Invisible!au

Pairings: Really slight Yoongi x reader. No romance between JK and Reader.

Warnings: Angst, Slight Fluff. 

Word Count: 2.8k

-♦-

“Just leave him. You guys aren’t a very good match anyway.” 

You rolled your eyes at your best friend, not surprised by how easily he said life changing decisions. “Jungkook if I leave him all his friends will hate me.” “So what?” “His friends are my friends.” You sighed. He raised a dark eyebrow in questioning. “Who cares? Honestly, if they hate you for breaking up with him, then they’re not good friends anyway.” He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “I’m the only friend you need anyway.” You sighed, burying your face in your pillow. “But Jungkook you aren't…” You instantly stopped yourself. But Jungkook had already noticed.

“I'm not what?” “Real.” You looked over at him; your best friend. “You aren’t real.”

-♦-

“Can’t you get a new job? This ones so boring…” You ignored him, continuing to walk along the pavement, making sure your heels wouldn't catch in the stone. “It’s just not fun! I get boreeed, and I know you do too!” Jungkook whined, floating behind you, a few feet in the air. He didn't quit his complaining, even though it had become a regular argument between the two of you. “It’s not even your dream job.” “I can't even remember what my dream job was.” You replied. Then, realising the pedestrians around you were casting weird glances, and you hurried your pace. When you reached your apartment you wrenched the door open. “Jungkook get in here!” You snapped. He sadly drifted in. “I’m sorry Y/n.” “Didn't I tell you not to ask questions in public? I’m going to end up being taken to a mental asylum.” “I don't see the problem.” Jungkook complained. “We used to talk all the time in public and mom and dad thought it was cute.” “That’s because when you’re younger, having an imaginary friend is okay. When you're older, it means you're insane.” Jungkook sadly floated down a bit from his position. “But I’m not imaginary. You know that right, Y/n?” “I’ve doubted myself before.” You replied, not looking at him as you didn't want to get trapped in his big doe eyes. “Recently too…” He floated in front of you, eyes wide in concern, lip trembling. “Y-you don't think I’m real?” You looked down at the ground, instead of answering, moving through his translucent body towards your room. He followed you. “Y/n! Answer me!”

“Stay out Jungkook. I’m changing.”

He sunk to the floor, hovering halfway through as he couldn’t touch it. 

Did Y/n really think he didn’t exist? Was she just joking? Would she try and get rid of him?

“Okay Jungkook come in.” 

He bolted in straight away as soon as the last word left your lips, floating in front of you, a startled and upset look contorting his normally handsome face. “Y/n-”

“Jungkook I think you’re real. I don’t think you’re imaginary.” You sighed, turning away from him, tugging your long sleeves over your hands nervously. “But Jungkook, have you ever tried to like, leave me? How did we even end up together?” 

He looked away. “My earliest memory is a clear grey sky, cotton candy clouds lining the sky. I turned, walking down a clear street, the whole world monochrome. Then I saw a house, yellow, bright and begging for my attention. I went to open the door, only to find that I couldn’t physically touch it. “I resorted to wafting through it instead, like some sort of ghost or spirit. I drifted into the house, floating up the stairs until I reached a room. There was a woman and a man inside, sitting on the couch and watching TV. I asked if they knew who I was, but they never responded. I went to the room next to it, and the boy inside also didn’t respond to me. The only other room with a person in it was a room with a girl, about my age, lying on a bed. I went up to her and said-”

“Sorry to bother you, but why are you crying?” You finished, memories you had thought buried in your subconscious resurfacing. “Yeah. And you were crying because no one at your new school liked you.” You looked down, tears welling in your eyes. Jungkook had been with you through the worst moments of your life, encouraging you to keep going when you wanted to give up. But you had still doubted yourself if he was real.

“Honestly Y/n, does it matter if I’m real or not?”

You looked up, wiping the glistening tears from your eyes. “W-what?”

He smiled and drifted closer, eyes smiling as he reached his hand out, a wasted effort it may seem as it went straight through you per normal, but you felt the support waste over you either way. “If I’m not real, it doesn’t matter. We can still be friends if I’m imaginary. Which I’m not.”

You smiled sadly as you pulled your blankets over your head. “Where do you go when I sleep Jungkook? Can you sleep?” “I sleep in the air next to you.” He replied, floating horizontally in a relaxed position as you peeked out from under your covers. “I can sleep too. I sometimes float out of the house to look at the stars though.” “Why?” “Because there are more people in the world then there are stars that I can see from the roof.” His doe eyes focused on you, boring into your soul. “And with so many people, somehow, I managed to find you.” As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but sniffle to yourself, thinking of how you had dared to doubt Jungkook’s existence. 

-♦-

“So what about that blind date?”

You rolled your eyes, now your signature move, at your coworker. She had been wanting to get you to go out with her friend since when you’d started working there. ‘You’re just his type!’ She’d always say. You just laughed and kept working. ‘He’s really good looking!’ This made you hesitate for a second, then you mentally kicked yourself. There’s more to people than looks, idiot. 

“You can’t spend the rest of your life alone!” This one was just too desperate, and you shot her a sympathetic look. Her brother must be really lonely, or his family was really desperate. 

“I give up!” It had been a year since you began working part time at the shop when she finally said this to you. You raised an eyebrow, suspicious that this stubborn girl had finally given up. “He’s just a really nice guy and you’re his type, even though he would never admit it. He’s going away to college soon anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” 

You finally looked up, taking off your cap to place it in your locker, hair messy from a day's work. “Collage? For what?” 

“He wants to be a psychiatrist. Or maybe it was a councillor?” She threw her hat in her own locker. “Doesn’t matter does it?”

Your mind raced. “Actually, I want to meet him.”

Her eyes widened and she lunged at you, making you flinch from shock, thinking she was about to slap you. However, she just grabbed your shoulders, staring straight into your eyes. 

“Are you serious right now?” 

“Yeah.” 

She silently screamed, jumping up and down in excitement. “After a whole year? Really?! Whatever, I’m so happy!” 

You rolled your eyes. “K.” 

She frowned, suddenly sceptical. “Why so suddenly?” 

You shrugged, trying to avoid giving any way to your real reason. “I dunno. Maybe hearing that he’s going to college made me realise I’m getting old?” 

She laughed and turned back to continue fixing her now wild hair. “You aren’t old. Only 19 right?” When you nodded she scoffed non too quietly. “I’m 22 this year. All my mother ever asks is when I shall find a husband. Or a wife. She doesn’t care either way, as long as I’m married.” 

“How old is he?” You asked. 

She rolled her eyes back at you, sticking her tongue out as she did so. “Did you ever hear me speak to you about him? Oh well. He’s 23 this year.” 

“Five year age gap?” 

“It isn’t too large. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be crazy for him, he’s pretty attractive.”

You rolled your eyes right back at her. 

“Why are you going on a blind date?” Jungkook complained. “You don’t even know him!” 

You fixed your earrings in place and smoothed down your dress. “It’s for a good reason!”

“Yeah I heard you,” He made a silly face and raised his fingers in bunny quotes. “‘made me realise I’m getting old.’ Screw old age, it doesn’t matter!” 

“That’s cause you’ve always looked good.” You scoffed. 

“What's the real reason?” He pestered. “What's the real reason? What's the real reason? What's the real reason? What's the real reason? What's the real-”

“Fine! It’s just because since he wants to be a psychiatrist maybe he’ll know if I’m crazy.”

Jungkook giggled, floating mid air, his brown curly hair dangling towards the ground. “He’ll think you ARE crazy if you talk about me on the first date!” He put on his biggest smirk. “But I am flattered that you would date someone just to talk more about me.” 

You slipped on a pair of sneakers, not caring to twist your ankles over some boy. “You’re too full of yourself Jungkook. Maybe I give you too much attention.”

He muttered it under his breath as you opened the door to leave, but you still heard him nonetheless. “You’re the only one who can give me attention.” 

-♦-

Your coworker had told you to go to the famous Smelarado Café to meet him, and she said he would be wearing a black long sleeve shirt tucked into jeans with a black bowl cut. ‘Like a grumpy cat’ she described him. 

You skipped down the streets, Jungkook floating close by, ready to finally tell someone about your invisible friend. Then you saw him. A lean boy with angular eyes such as a tiger's, lips that seemed to frown, but didn’t do so in a cruel way. The warm breeze rustled past you, blowing his hair out of his face, and he turned to look directly at you. He smiled and walked forwards, holding out the bouquet of flowers he held in his hands.

Then he froze. Dead still. He suddenly grabbed your arm, yanking you towards him. He cupped a hand around your ear. 

“There’s a boy.” He hissed.

You turned, trying to work out what he meant. You only saw Jungkook, who was blissfully hovering in mid air. You pressed your own lips against his ear. “Who?”

“The one floating, of course!” The boy gasped, seemingly exasperated. “Who else?!”

Jungkook, Yoongi, who was your blind date, and you sat around a table, silently glancing at each other, readying yourselves for whatever conversation would inevitably happen. Finally, Yoongi spoke. “So he’s a ghost?” “No.” Jungkook said, apparently shy to be finally talking to someone who wasn't you. “This is my only life, and I am not dead, I age too.” “But how come you’re floating? Why aren't you famous or something-” You interrupted. “Only I can see him. And now, apparently you can too.” Yoongi’s mouth dropped open a little, then he closed it, squaring his jaw and nodding solemnly. “I understand.” “Oh thank goodness you can see him.” You finally gasped out, not being able to stay calm and postured any longer. “I thought I was insane!” Jungkook huffed. “Rude.” Yoongi laughed slightly, eyes still wide and expression still slightly that of a frazzled one. “Sorry mate, it’s just so strange.” “I second that.” You agreed. Jungkook finally broke into a smile. “Well, I don't think it’s too common.”

“Aren't you glad that you finally went on a date with me?” Yoongi asked as you smelled the beautiful flowers he had finally handed you. “Well I guess it went even better than expected.” You laughed. He grinned cockily. “Do I meet your standards? In looks, I mean.” You rolled your eyes and he chuckled. “Guess that's a yes.”

“I’m not third wheeling!” Jungkook whined from behind you.

But for the first time since when Jungkook had drifted into your room, you were finally calm. You werent worried your best friend was a brain disease in disguise, and you didn't think you were insane any longer. Another person could see, could hear Jungkook. But in your relief, Jungkook was left trailing behind. Finally put out to pasture, ready to leave him for something new. Something better. 

Jungkook couldn't leave you. Even if he wanted to. When he had first seen you, the monochrome world split into vibrant colour, and his heart lifted in joy. He wasn't sure he could survive without you. More importantly, he didn't want to.

When you got home, you realised Jungkook was happily floating after you, rather he looked as though someone had died. “What's wrong Kookie?” He looked up at you, eyes raw as if he were about to cry. “Y/n… Will you replace me?” Your eyes flew open and you spun to him. “Jungkook?” “I’m serious Y/n! Will you want me gone? Should I just leave now?” You frowned, taking in his frantic, upset face. “Kook-” “No!” He yelled, tears now freely flowing from his eyes. “I don't want to be thrown aside like I don't matter! Just because you can finally speak freely to someone, someone who's real doesn't mean you can just leave me!” “I won't!” He flew forward and you stumbled back, legs falling out from under you and you hit the ground. He reached his hand out to you, the shaking hand passed through your head as he reached for your hair. “How do I know you're telling the truth? I can't even touch you.” You reached up, your hand going through his head as well. “Jungkook. Look at me.” He finally met your eyes, his tears still flowing freely. “You're all I’ve ever needed. You're all I’ll ever need. “Y/n… You can't be sure.”

You frowned. “Jungkook. I don't need anyone else. You're my destiny, my future and my past.” “Do you love me?” “Of course.” He giggled, wiping away his tears with his sleeve. “I mean as a boyfriend.” You quickly shook your head. “No! As a friend.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I didn't wanna give you the wrong idea of what I feel for you.” “No! You're a brother. No you're closer than a brother. You're my soulmate.” He rolled his eyes back at you. “Soulmate? Soulmate? Is it because I'm ‘not real’?” You laughed and stood up as Jungkook floated away from you. “Maybe.” “So when are you meeting up with your boyfriend?” You looked at him, skeptical. Only moments ago this apparent boyfriend had been the cause of Jungkook’s crying. “Do you really want me to meet him again? Should I not?” His doe eyes widened and he shook his head, long hair rustling as he did so. “No, no, no! I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you! I was insecure! He looks like a nice guy, really!” You smiled warmly at him, heart softening. “Thanks Kook.” “If he's mean to you, I’ll-” “You'll what?” You snorted, washing water into your eyes to relieve the tears, grabbing tissues as well. “You'll float through him yelling?” He pouted, eyebrows creasing at your teasing. “Don't be mean Y/n.” Despite his words, he laughed along with you.

-♦-

“Y/n. You look amazing.” You took Yoongi’s extended hand, stepping up to him. Your hair was shining, eyes glistening, baby blue dress swishing around your knee level, ruffles floating like a dolls, a yellow sash tied around your waist, matching your shoes. ‘Thanks Yoongi. You look great as well.” He gestured down to his white suit, blue collared shirt matching your dress, yellow rose in his lapel. “I think we match rather well.” You smiled. “Wanna go in?” “Where's your soulmate?” He asked, looking behind you, searching for the usual presence of Jungkook. “He's taking a break.” Yoongi's eyebrow darted up. “Really?” You nodded. “He wanted to get some more rest time. He's tired today.” Walking down the corridor in silence, Yoongi’s hand gripped yours. “Y/n, did something happen with you two? I know we've only been dating for a few months now, but you can tell me anything.” You looked up at the decorated ceiling. “No. Nothing is wrong. Jungkook.. He might leave me soon.” Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks. “Leaving? Why? Where?” “He wants to try and find more people who can see him. Or maybe even people who are just like him.” “What do you feel about this?” Your eyes misted over. You didn't want to cry though. It wasn't a bad thing. It was good that Jungkook was finally getting to do something by himself, for himself. “I think it's good.” “Won't you miss him?” You laughed. “No. Wherever I go or he goes, it doesn't change the fact that he's my soulmate.” Yoongi looked at you lovingly. “He’ll always be your soulmate?” “Always.”

[d3-iseefire]

Through A Glass Darkly Chapter Two

Bilba sat curled in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the corner of the common room, arm draped across a knee as her eyes scanned the file in her hand. A large stack of nearly identical folders, along with two smaller piles, sat on the table in front of her, all stuffed to the brim with paperwork.

Beyond that, the room opened into a wide airy space, lined with windows to allow in natural light. Tables and chairs were scattered throughout, many occupied with other patients reading, doing puzzles or quietly talking. Orderlies and staff moved about them, sometimes stopping to talk to a patient or escort them to and from the room. A few of them looked her way, but none attempted to approach. Dr. Chambers had made it clear she was to be left alone.

She returned her gaze to the chart she’d been reading, but had barely managed to read the same line four more times when someone slid into a chair across from her. Irritated, she looked up, prepared to send the clear, and concise, message that whoever was bothering her was deeply unwanted.

It was Blondie, and the sight of him caused her brain to short circuit.

He’d taken her advice. He was clean shaven, hair neat and trimmed, and wore a freshly laundered t-shirt along with the requisite sweats and slippers. On anyone else, they looked non-descript but, on him, they became a fashion statement.  

“So, Celeste,” he started. “I wanted –”

He trailed off as she raised her fingers and pressed them together along with a sharp, “shush! Masterpieces don’t talk, they exist to be admired.”

The corner of his lip twitched, and he shook his head in exasperation. Then he folded his hands in front of him and proceeded to stare at her, in silence.  

This time, it was Bilba fighting back a smile, even as she bemoaned the discovery that he had a sense of humor. She didn’t want him to have a sense of humor. It was bad enough that he was unfairly attractive.

“I changed my mind,” she stated flatly. “Don’t shower. You’re distracting.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re so busy in here you can’t afford to be distracted?”

“Exactly.” He reached for one of the folders, only to pause as she slapped a hand onto them. “Anyone ever teach you that nosiness is a vice?”

He didn’t pull his hand back. “Anyone ever teach you that sharing is a virtue?”

Confident, and very self-assured. If asked, Bilba would have insisted she didn’t have a so-called perfect man in mind, or list of traits she considered desirable in a partner. She had no time for such things. Now she was quickly realizing that not only did she apparently have a list, but Blondie was rapidly checking every box.  

“What are you doing?” he asked, nodding at the graveyard of dead trees.

“Reading,” Bilba said dryly. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Not at present,” he said easily as if she’d just asked him about the weather. “What are you reading?”

Bilba sighed. She knew she should get rid of him. Insult him until he left, or give him the silent treatment, or just threaten to track down his car once she got out and set it on fire. Instead, against her better judgement, intelligence, and all sane reason, she found herself shutting the folder she was reading and offering it to him.

She wasn’t sure who was more surprised by her actions, her or him.

Granted, she was really bored. She’d always been more of a “shoot the thing in the face until it stops trying to kill you,” and less of a “risk death by a thousand paper cuts doing research” type of person.

Blondie flipped the folder open and frowned at the contents. “Patient records? Isn’t this a violation of privacy?”

“They’re all old, and dead.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I like history,” Bilba lied. The upper floor had been shut down for decades following a fire, and it was only recently that the hospital had started renovating it. Whatever the construction had awakened must have predated the fire, or been killed by it. It narrowed her search down a little but, given the place was one of the oldest operating asylums in the country, it was still looking for a needle in a haystack.

Blondie frowned. “Haven’t they ever heard of digitizing?”

Bilba wholeheartedly agreed. Her life would be so much easier if someone had thought to transfer the paper files to electronic media and added a search function. As it was, she was left to scour boxes of crumbling, records with next to nothing to go on. Later, she’d head out to see what she could find about the four teen victims but, until this, it was doing her best to not die from pure boredom.

Blondie pointed at the folders she’d separated out into smaller piles. “What are those?”

Bilba studied him for a few seconds and then leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Figure it out yourself.

That should keep him busy for a bit and give her time to continue her own research.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you treating me like an irritating child right now?”

Bilba shrugged. “Are you acting like one right now?”  

He grumbled something unflattering under his breath, before dragging some of the records she’d organized over to start flipping through. He finished surprisingly quickly and moved onto the other group. Once he was through them, he leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “You’ve separated them based on whether or not they died at the hospital. You also appear to have some interest in any record of violence, either done by them or to them.”

Bilba scowled. “You’re not allowed to be smart.”

He crossed his arms, which caused his biceps to bulge in a way that almost derailed her brain again. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Bilba crossed her own arms to mock—mimic him, and glared at him. “You’re not allowed to be pretty, and funny, and smart, get it? You can have one, maybe two, but not all three.”

This time, he pursed his lips and looked away for a second to poorly hide a smile. When he looked back, his face was sober, but his eyes still showed clear amusement. “You’re in luck.” He spread his arms out to encompass the common room. “If I had any intelligence at all I wouldn’t have ended up here, would I?”

There was a hint of bitterness in his voice that Bilba found relatable. The life of a hunter hadn’t exactly been what she’d wanted, but sometimes life chose for you and there was nothing you could do about it.

“You weren’t stupid,” she said, surprising herself. “You were resourceful. You’re lucky you weren’t murdered yourself.”

He leaned forward, eyes suddenly alight with some unknown emotion. “You see there?” he said. “That’s the second time you’ve acted like you know something about me, about my case.”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “You’re reaching.”

“I’m not.” His voice was intense, and it really shouldn’t be giving her butterflies in her stomach, but there it was.

Bilba bit back a sigh and reluctantly admitted the truth. She was wildly attracted to him and didn’t see it calming down anytime soon.

“You asked about what I saw in the sewers.”

“Curiosity,” Bilba said, her tone bored.

He shook his head. “No. You asked if I saw anything unusual, out of the ordinary, and when I described those puddles you didn’t seem surprised.”

“You’re basing this off my not being surprised by their being giant piles of disgusting in the sewers?” Bilba asked, incredulously. Blondie was like a bloodhound on a scent for heaven’s sake.

“And now, today,” he continued, ignoring her, “you say I’m lucky I didn’t die along with my father. Why?”

“Because it’s common sense,” Bilba said sharply, irritation setting in at his refusal to just let it go. “Someone knocked you out, tied you up and murdered your father. I doubt they were planning to pat you on the head and let you go afterward.”

“I don’t believe you,” he challenged.” What do you—"

He cut off as Bilba got to her feet and gathered up the folders. “I get it. You’re stuck here, and it sucks, but grasping at straws isn’t going to help. You’re making something out of nothing. You need to let it go.”

The light in his eyes dimmed, and Bilba wished the sight didn’t send a shard right through her. It went against everything she was and believed in. She existed to help people, not hurt them.

Problem was, she’d already hurt him. She’d given him hope, or some semblance of it, when there was none to be had. It was already over for him. She couldn’t save him because there was no longer anything to save him from.

“If you did know something, would you tell me?”

Bilba sighed in exasperation. She curled her fingers into the manilla folders she held until they crumpled under the pressure and then went and stood over him where he sat.  

“What good would it do?” she asked quietly, looking down at him. “I can’t help you. Nothing I know, or don’t know, can help you, do you understand? There’s no magic password, no key that’s going to open the gates and let you out. I can’t help you.”

“At least tell me I’m not crazy.”

The words were low, and edged in exhaustion, and despair.

Bilba hesitated, and then shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “For what?”

For not being here, Bilba thought. For not being able to save you, for a whole host of things that weren’t her fault but that she’d carry the guilt for anyway.

She shook her head again and left him sitting behind her.  

It was better this way, she told herself firmly.

Better to kill the hope now before it had a chance to grow any further.

He’d been lost long before she ever arrived, and there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it.

 ***

Fili skipped dinner.

He just…couldn’t do it somedays. Every day, it was the same. Same clothes, the same food, same useless therapy sessions where no one believed a word he had to say. The same white walls, the same people, and the knowledge that no matter what he did or said…it would never change.

Not unless he was suddenly declared competent to stand trial, and then he’d be sent to prison to start it all over again, just in a different place.

He wasn’t insane, but the endless repetitiveness might well drive him to it one day. There were days he couldn’t bear to stand at the window, looking out at the world he’d been locked away from, picturing his family and friends going about their lives while his was just…stopped.

Permanently.

He wandered the halls, trying not to think of what he’d lost. People had described him as dedicated, driven. Busy. There had been scholarships. College. A bright future with a career he’d been looking forward to.

A fiancée.

All of it gone in the blink of an eye.

It made him want to scream sometimes, in anger, in desperation.

In despair.

Fili rounded a corner and stopped with a frown as he realized he didn’t know where he was. In front of him, the hall was lined on both sides by doors into what he assumed were offices. He swore under his breath. Patients weren’t allowed in staff areas without permission. He wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to get here without being seen.

He started to backpedal, hoping to get back without being caught. He’d just rounded the corner when, behind him, a loud explosion rang out. Instinctively, Fili dropped to a crouch, heart racing in his chest.

He spun around and leaned forward onto his hands to peer around the corner.

At the far end of the hall, one of the office doors appeared to have exploded from within, showering the hall with bits of broken wood and debris.

He heard a low groan, and a dark shape he’d dismissed as part of the debris moved against the opposite wall. It resolved itself into a person, pushing up shakily onto their hands and knees.

Dark hair and a slim figure registered, and recognition hit.

Celeste.

She was wearing jeans, a dark t-shirt and a leather jacket. She pushed up to her knees, swaying in place, and Fili’s eyes went back to the door. Had it exploded as she’d passed it?

He got to his feet, and started to go to her, only to slow as a large figure stepped into the doorway of the office. Fili vaguely recognized him as one of the doctors at the hospital, an older, graying man with a formidable presence. Fili had never interacted with him personally but had heard from others that he had a reputation for being hardnosed and no nonsense. He wasn’t the most well-liked doctor, but he was apparently well respected.

As he watched, the man strode across the narrow hall, yanked Celeste up and completely off her feet as if she weighed nothing and began to strangle her.

“Hey!” Fili broke into a run toward the two.

The doctor’s face turned toward him, and Fili froze mid-stride without making the conscious choice to do so, as if some primal force had yanked him to a stop.

The doctor’s face was…wrong. An ashen, sickly gray with dark splotches as if mold had started to grow on his skin. His eyes were a dull white, no pupil or iris visible, and he had some sort of thick, black liquid dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

Without warning, he released Celeste. She dropped to her hands and knees, gasping for air.

The doctor made a strangely jerky turn and stumbled back into his office. Behind him, Celeste struggled to her feet, only to immediately buckle again and start to fall again.

Snapped out of his paralysis, Fili lunged forward the last few feet and barely managed to catch her before she slammed into the laminate tiles. This close he could see wood chips and dust coating her body and several small scrapes dotting her skin where it was exposed. He looked at the shattered door incredulously. Had she been thrown through it?

“Help me up,” she mumbled, words slurred. “I have to--”

She grabbed onto him, struggling to get back up. Her eyes were unfocused, and her legs kept buckling so much that Fili ended up dragging her arm around his neck and sliding his around her waist to support her.

He looked into the office, just in time to see the doctor open a window and, without so much as a second of hesitation, leap out.

Fili gaped, and a chill ran over him. He didn’t remember taking stairs in his wanderings, but he knew that offices were on the upper floors of the building. Fourth and fifth at least.

Celeste struggled to get out of his grasp, but he held her easily and lowered her to the floor as her legs gave out. “It’s too late,” he told her. “There’s no way he survived that.”

Celeste swore, her words slurred. Then her eyes suddenly rolled back in her head and she slumped in his arms, head lolling back against his shoulder.

Footsteps pounded along the hall and several staff members rounded the corner before skidding to a stop. Fili saw their eyes dart to him, Celeste and the broken door and a sinking feeling settled in.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said weakly.

He could see they didn’t believe him, just like they hadn’t believed him the last time. Cold washed over him as he realized that he was most likely about to be falsely accused of murder.

Again.

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