#brief psychosis

[psychotic-tbh]

Shoutout to those who have had to go through things no one should as kids/adolescents due to their mental illness(es).

BUT ALSO:

Shoutout to those who developed their mental illness(es) after their tween/teen years and had to learn to adjust to life with mental illness.

ADDITIONALLY:

Lots of love to all with mental illness who had to adjust without much or any support from others/those you love(d).

END NOTE:

Mental illness is hard enough on its own, but these conditions can make it so much more difficult.

You’re worthy and deserving of love, support, and respect even if you haven’t been receiving it.

#actually psychotic #actually schizospec #schizospec #schizophrenic spectrum #mad pride #actually schizophrenic #disability pride #schizo spectrum #schizoaffective #brief psychosis #psychosis positivity #psychosis nos #actually schizotypal #schizophreniform #actuallypsychotic #substance induced psychosis #psychosis spectrum #psychotic spectrum #psychotic disorders

[schizosupport]

hello! i hope you are doing well.

i was wondering if you could explain double bookkeeping? and add some examples maybe?

my searches have come up very complicated.

i may be psychotic and i am trying to learn.

thank you in advance! (your blog is deeply appreciated)

Hi there! Double bookkeeping is when you hold two opposing things to be true at the same time, for psychosis we use it to talk about a specific type of insight that many people experience.

Insight is when you are aware on some level that your delusions might be the result of illness, and insight can exist at various levels and in various ways. Often there's an internal fight related to insight, so one day you might feel like "I think that my beliefs might not hold up with reality and that I might have a problem" and then another day maybe you think "oh no, I nearly fell for the conspiracy by thinking I was suffering with delusions". And there can be many in between states and more extreme states as well. It's not either or, it's a spectrum.

Double bookkeeping is when you at the same time do feel convinced of the delusional content, but you are also aware that you have a disorder that causes delusions and that your thoughts might be the result of that. Often this allows you to act in a way so as not to "arouse suspicion" about your delusions, bc you are still aware how it looks to people around you.

So you could say that you are keeping two "books" on reality at once, and they can't both be simultaneously true but you feel rather convinced that they are.

As an example I used to have a long-standing delusion that I somehow personally was the cause of the suffering experienced by living beings on this earth, it caused me a lot of guilt and self-hatred because I did believe it, but at the same time I didn't go ahead and "save the earth" by committing suicide, because I was aware that my beliefs didn't make sense in consensus reality and that if I was wrong, I would simply cause more suffering to my loved ones.

I hope this was helpful!

#suicide cw #just a brief mention #double bookkeeping #psychosis and insight

[lost-onpurpose]

I'm tired of trying to fix all of my mental health issues. I'm not a danger to myself or others despite the impulsive/intrusive thoughts and the occasional delusions/hallucinations/psychosis. I'm using so much energy trying to solve a problem that isn't actually causing any issues.

So what if I sometimes think something is trying to crawl out of my throat or I briefly think about several ways to hide a body. It's not illegal to THINK of these things and I'm not going to act on the thoughts. They're never really actually about the act of killing someone, just how easy a body would be to dispose of. Can't hide a body if there's no body to worry about so the thoughts are harmless.

Why should I worry about trimming away the strange jagged edges that make me, well me, when they're not really a problem?

I mean, sure, I'm going to keep my monthly check in appointments with my therapist to help manage stress and work on controlling the eating disorder because that can actually hurt me the most right now.

#lost onpurpose #mental health #psychosis #brief death mention #death #mental illness #eating disorder recovery #eating disorder mention #ed mention

[dappersautismcreature]

me seeing the blocked unreality tag knowing that im not mentally stable enough to see certain kinds of unreality: 👀👆 for me?

#i love having some sort of vague unknowable susceptibility to brief episodes of psychosis /sarc

[theethlezprincez]

WHY DOES IT TAKE THEM SO MANY YEARS TO GIVE ME DBT THERAPY. BY THE DAMN TIME I GOT IT IM ALREADY DEAD.

#mentally tired #sick and tired #ana is my friend #ana miaa #i'm so fucking tired #tw mia #actually mentally ill #tw m14 #m14 #actually psychotic #dbt therapy #dbt #bpd vent #actually bpd #bpd thoughts #bpd problems #bpd #bpd feels #borderline personality disorder #actually borderline #borderline things #brief psychotic disorder #psychosis positivity #psychosis #Spotify

[leprosycock]

cancer crew era is back i used to pray for times like this

leave me alone

#i don’t expect it to last long i just. i’m going through a brief psychosis #but thank u. #ccposting #bunnyaskz

[iamthescalesofjustice]

fairly recently i encountered some fnv content again and had a sudden jarring re-realization that fallout new vegas is an actual video game, which has been experienced by other people, and has an associated accompanying fandom, rather than, as i had subconsciously come to classify it, a peculiar sort of psychosis i experienced during the period between by father getting a stage 4 cancer diagnosis and the months after he died. 

#cancer mention cw #genuinely i almost completely lost two years of memory surrounding these events #and the role that fmv played in my life during that time was. probably better described in terms of #horrifying yet transcendent psychological alchemy than anything else #it was not A Game I Got Into so much as a base ingredient and lens and catalyst for some eldritch emotional processes i was experiencing #the use of the word psychosis up there is flippant but not wrong. i do have a history of it and i was very much experiencing psychosis then #fnv wasnt The psychosis but it was a major factor in it at the time #iirc i think i avoided involving myself in the fandom bc both it and i were undergoing severe volatility #i barely had the resources to get a handle on my own problems let alone internet peoples problems #anyway several months after he passed i abruptly shut down all fnv related mental processes i could and then #well okay i did still lose the next several months after that as well barring a few scattered memories but i know i had like completely #forgotten it existed at all outside brief moments that were quickly lost #i guess its been enough time that the radiation levels attached to all that have gone enough to think about any of it again? #anyway i know everyone has a secret better version of it in their head But Also i did achieve the 49th level of awareness tho #my secret better version of fnv that lives in my head is so much better than the secretbetter versions of fnv that live in yalls heads etc #joking but very much it was a thing where others were honing their understanding and art by following known paths and clashing blades with #each other while i was in a pocket dimension of accelerated time with my arms cut off having to survive against beasts and shit #developing powers the old masters didnt think were possible like a shounen protag and all that lmao #anyway thats why ive only ever posted about like. pared down versions of 1.5% of whats ever gone through my head about fnv #i didnt want the radioactivity out there or for people who dont have the context to try interacting with me about it

[queerly-autistic]

You really can't engage meaningfully with Ed's story in S2 without firmly centring his mental illness and suicidality, because that's inherently what the story is: it's the story of a man having a severe mental breakdown and going to increasingly erratic extremes in order to achieve his end goal, which is to not be alive anymore...and then it's the story of his recovery from that.

And so much of my frustration with the way I see this being talked about (or, in many cases, not being talked about) reflects my more general frustration with how we talk about mental illness and neurodivergence, so buckle in because this got long (also I am going to be discussing suicide here, as well as very brief mentions of psychosis and ocd, so please take care). There's this trend when we talk about mental health: we go 'oh mental illness isn't an excuse' or 'mental illness doesn't make you do bad things' or variations thereof. These are, in my opinion, some of the worst things to ever happen to the discourse around mental illness. It's reductive. Absolutely mental illness can lead you to do things that you would not have otherwise done, even things that you would be absolutely appalled by, if you were mentally well. What do you think mental illness is if it's not something that impacts your brain and how your brain functions? If your mental illness doesn't directly lead to problematic behaviour, then that's fantastic, but that experience is not universal. It's not an 'excuse' - it's an explanation for certain behaviours that's vitally important to acknowledge and understand in order to try and mitigate harm.

There's also this thing that happens with discourse around mental illness where we assume that what you do in the grips of mental illness is reflective of something that's innate inside you. You were violent whilst in the middle of psychosis? Oh, it's because you're an innately abusive person and this just reveals who you really are. You have Tourette's and one of your tics is a racial slur? Oh, it's because you're an innately racist person and this just reveals who you really are. Your OCD is rooted in a fear that you're going to murder your family? Oh, it's because you inherently do want to murder your family and this just reveals who you really are. It's bullshit. What you do in your mentally ill state is not some deep philosophical reflection of your true character, and the idea that it is is something that causes really deep, dangerous harm to mentally ill and neurodivergent people.

So, now that that's over with, back to Ed.

Ed was behaving in ways that were acknowledged in canon as being extremely out of character whilst in the midst of a severe breakdown. Fang himself said that he'd 'never' seen Ed behave this way; even Izzy, who actively pushed for Ed to embody the extremes of his Blackbeard persona, ended up concerned because it became so extreme and out of character that it was impossible not to be concerned by it. The crew who mutinied on Izzy within a day didn't mutiny on him for months, not until their lives literally depended on it, because it's heavily insinuated that they were hoping he would get better. Because this wasn't the Ed that they knew (the Ed that we came to know in S1 - an inherently soft man who is caught in a culture of violence and is tired of it).

The show wasn't subtle about this. It didn't bury the lead. As well as the constant reminders that he was acting out of character in increasingly alarming ways, this was very clearly depicted as a breakdown, an almost total collapse of Ed's mental health. We saw Ed detached and numb and completely dissociated from the world around him. We saw him in private moments of despair, breaking down. We saw him behaving erratically in the grips of mania. We saw him display absolutely textbook warning signs of someone whose made the decision to die by suicide. We saw him smile and say 'finally' at the moment when he knew he was going to die.

The show basically painted a giant neon sign over his head flashing 'THIS MAN IS EXTREMELY UNWELL' in bright lights, and if you miss that, then it's because you're deliberately avoiding looking properly.

(And, important to note, that most of the people that I've watched the show with outside of fandom discourse absolutely took away from these episodes what the show was intending - they saw how unwell Ed was, they were devastated for him, and they desperately wanted him to get better.)

When Ed steered the ship into the storm, and threatened to put a cannonball through the mast, his clear goal was to create a situation where the crew had no choice but to kill him. I've seen people describe this scene as Ed 'trying to hurt the crew', and I think that's very much a misrepresentation of what the show was depicting. It was very blatantly a suicide attempt. He wanted to die, and he didn't care what he had to do in order for him to achieve that goal. That doesn't make it good behaviour, and it doesn't mean people didn't get hurt, but it does make it a very different situation than if causing harm had been his main intent.

There is a fundamental difference between 'he is doing this because he explicitly wants to cause harm to the people around him' and 'he's doing this because he's suicidal and beyond the point of being able to rationally consider who might be getting hurt in the process of ensuring that he ends up dead'. One of those is a bad person who enjoys causing pain - and the other is a deeply unwell person who can be supported and helped to recover and be better (and should be, for the good of themselves and the people around them).

And on that note, the failure to engage with this as a mental health story is also, I think, why I've seen some people get so upset about the show not doing Ed's redemption arc 'right' - because this isn't a redemption arc, and it's not trying to be. One day I'll do a separate post about how much I love that the show explicitly rejected a carceral approach, opting to essentially put him through community rehabilitation rather than punishing him, and even mocking punitive prescriptive measures (that rubbish youtuber apology speech was supposed to be rubbish and unhelpful), but that's one for another day.

The fact is that the show is telling a story about mental illness, and that inherently means that Ed's arc is a recovery arc, not a redemption arc. And if you're expecting a redemption arc, then you've fundamentally misunderstood the story that they're telling (and the revolutionary kindness at the heart of the show).

I have a lot of feelings about this because I genuinely believe that it was one of the best depictions of mental illness and suicidality that I've ever seen. Within the confines of it being a half hour, eight episode comedy show, they told a story about mental illness that was surprisingly realistic (with the obvious fantastical over the top elements of it being a pirate show - and piracy is explicitly depicted as a culture where violence is heavily normalised), and that didn't shy away from the messier, darker, more complex elements of mental illness (particularly of being suicidal).

And then, most importantly, after all that, the show took me gently by the hand said 'you are not defined by what you do in your lowest moment - you can make amends, you can recover, you are still loved, and you are worth saving'.

#cw suicide #cw suicidal ideation #cw mental illness #cw ocd #cw psychosis #i'm tagging all the things just in case someone has them muted for their own wellbeing #ofmd #our flag means death #edward teach #ofmd meta #mental illness #neurodivergence #erin rants

[libraford]

I think the word 'psychosis' is really heavy and it shouldn't be. Because I think that there are a lot of people who experience moments where they might lose touch with reality, even if its brief. Like sometimes you get in a downward spiral or you lose a moment when you get mad. To my understanding, this is psychosis and is more common than what we tend to think of when we use that word to describe something.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 || billy knight x nurse!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || during his time in hospital, billy couldn't help but fancy the sweet but headstrong american nurse taking care of him. it would've been harmless if it weren't for your own growing crush on your patient: the quiet, gentle man with those brown eyes that made your heart flutter when he looked at you like that.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 9.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (18+ ONLY!!, male masturbation and brief oral m receiving), medical ethics violation so kinda dubious consent but trust me it is very much wanted, fluff, some angst, touchstarved billy, american reader, mentions/discussions of psychosis and other psychotic patients, brief mentions of SA, hopeless romantic billy, yeah just lots of sweetness with some filth in the middle

"It's important that you stay calm."

That was what made him look at you, scared and confused, before he seemed to finally notice the hand you'd laid on his shoulder to try to soothe him: that was always a risk, touching them without permission, but he'd woken up with a start and been so clearly upset and disoriented, you didn't know what else to do.

Thankfully, as he looked at your hand on him, he stilled, hesitantly leaning back onto the propped-up bed.  The doctors thought it would be better for him if the bed was partially upright while he began to exit his coma, preventing too much blood pooling near the wound at his chest.

You took your hand away as he stilled, and he looked around the white-and-beige room.  "Where am I?" he asked.

"Saint Anne's, South London," you answered.  He raised an eyebrow at you and you figured why he asked.

"Did you think you'd somehow woken up in America?  Because of my accent?" you snorted.

He blinked self-consciously; "Err— I guess not."

"You wouldn't be the first," you assured him.

"What's an American nurse doing in London anyway?" he wondered.

"Not much," you shrugged, "just healing the sick, feeding the hungry— generally being a saint."

He smirked a bit, and you smiled at him in return.

“I’ll be your day nurse while you’re here,” you explained, “so if you need something, you can press this button here— and it’ll be me that comes, most of the time, if I’m not too busy and have to send somebody else.  Anything you need, I’ll do my best to help you, alright?”

A moment’s hesitation was followed by a nod, and he seemed too nervous to even look right at you— he would take these little glances over you, then up at your face, then back down to his bed again.  He wiped his fist under his nose quickly.

“William, is it?”

“Erm, Billy,” he corrected.  “Jus’ Billy.”

He cleared his throat dryly as his voice cracked, and you tilted your head.  “Would you like some water?”

He nodded again, and thankfully you already had a cup of chilled water ready for him— the big kind with a handle and straw, and markings on the side so you could monitor how well he was hydrating.  You picked it up and held it for him, guiding the bendy straw to his chapped lips so he could drink.

You knew already what kind of patient he’d be— the kind who didn’t like to ask you for anything, so you had to figure it out on your own.  There were definitely more like that here than back in America where you’d first started nursing; patients in the States seemed to have a much easier time asking for what they needed.  Here, there was usually some rigamarole to get them to admit they needed something— unless what they needed was painkillers, everyone’s pretty vocal about that.

“Is that better?” you asked quietly as you took the cup away, and Billy swallowed as he nodded.  “I’ll set it here where you can reach it, just be careful with that IV,” you explained.  “How’s your pain?  Is your chest hurting you?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he promised, “can’t feel a thing… I’m guessing that won’t last long, though.”

You nodded in agreement.  “They’ve still got you on the good stuff.  They’ll switch you to Tylenol by the end of the day,” you explained.

“Afraid I’ll become an addict?” he assumed.

“Not quite,” you chuckled, “afraid you’ll get too constipated— side effect of the morphine.”

Billy choked, face turning a little pinker.  “O-oh.”

You only rolled your eyes in amusement as you turned around to fiddle with one of his monitors.  Patients, and Brits, were pretty shy by your standards; you preferred to be brutally honest, because there isn’t much need for prudishness in a mental ward.  “If your heart rate gets too high, or too low, it’ll page me,” you explained.  “Anything else, press this button here and I’ll be on my way— got it?”

“Yeah,” Billy hummed, “thanks.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” you dismissed, “it’s just my job, and I love it.  I’ll be back to check on you later, but Nurse Tilly’s bringing you lunch at noon.  You’re not vegetarian, are you?”  He shook his head.  “Great!  Do you want the TV on?  Oh, uh, the telly, I mean…”

He shook his head again, and you nodded, leaving the remote on his bedside table in case he changed his mind.  You could feel his eyes on you as you left, somehow, and his image was still in your mind as you shut the door behind you.  Even as you went about the rest of your shift, checking in on your old patients and meeting some new ones, Billy in room 3041 was in your thoughts.

You didn’t know too much about the circumstances that brought him to your hospital— no one did, because he’d refused to tell police or paramedics who stabbed him.  His chart gave a colorful history— psychotic breaks, episodes of delusion and paranoia, on and off medication for years— but his behavior was so… gentle.  And very few of the people you’d encountered in this line of work were dangerous, despite the harmful stereotypes; but Billy was even more delicate than the usual, even more reserved.  Maybe he’d brighten up a bit when he wasn’t freshly awake from surgery.

Shaking the thoughts of him away and trying to focus on work, you figured it was just a little infatuation with a handsome patient— happens to everyone, right?

//

It had taken quite the effort to get the woman to sit down— she’d been pacing and chewing her nails, and you finally convinced her that it would be better if she was sitting, and she did.  After dodging some questions and looking around at the space behind you as if something was there— which, yes, was kind of unsettling but something you got used to— she finally got on with it and told you why she’d come to the hospital.

"They've put wires in me," she whimpered.  

"I've never heard of that happening before," you admitted.  "I wasn't even sure if aliens are real…"

"They are," she insisted.  

"And how do you know there are wires in you?  Did you see them put in?" you asked.  If she said yes, you'd know her hallucinations were severe, but she shook her head; you took a note of that on her chart.

"I can feel them," she replied instead.  "I can feel the electricity.  They're making me like— like an antenna.  For their ships, y'see?  And it hurts."

Your heart twisted.  "That would be terrifying," you agreed, "and painful—"

"Please, someone's got to take their wires out," she begged.

"Hold on," you tried to soothe her, "I'll check for entry wounds first, okay?  To see if I can tell where they've put them in."

She shakily nodded, looking down at the floor where her feet shuffled around on fleck-patterned tile.

You carefully lifted her hands to examine her fingertips and wrists.  "I haven't seen anything yet," you offered her quietly.

"Th-they hide them," she explained, "so the doctors can't see."

"Tricky, those aliens," you frowned as you nodded thoughtfully.  "They don't want you to get any help, do they?"

She shook her head. 

"But we can help you," you promised.  "If we can't find the wires this way, we should do a CAT scan."

"What's tha'?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just a bunch of X-rays taken all at once," you explained.  "If there's anything metal in you, it'll right up.  They are metal wires, right?" 

She nodded, already seeming to soothe a little at the prospect of a surefire way to find the wires she was feeling inside her.  It made you feel better, too, that you could help her somehow just by listening.

"I'll have the doctors give you a thorough scan," you nodded with a smile, "and we can see what we find, okay?"

It seemed like a great idea at the time.  You started to question it now that it was a few hours later and Dr. Humphries was glaring down at you.

"You ordered a CAT scan for a woman with schizophrenic delusions?" he snapped, looking up from the chart and back at you with a red face and flared nostrils.

"Uh, well—" you started to defend yourself.

"She doesn't need an MRI, she needs to be fucking medicated!" the doctor spat at you. 

Straightening your back, you frowned as you took offense to his tone. "You think I don't know that?" you returned with just as much intensity as he'd thrown at you.  "She's not going to take any pills we give her if we don't take her seriously.  A CAT scan will take a half hour and it might give her some peace of mind."

"Believe it or not, nurse, the purpose of that million dollar machine is not 'peace of mind'."

"Don't you mean million pound?" you rolled your eyes.

"No— you're such a dolt, I know if I'd said that you'd've asked how I knew what it weighed," he sneered, all too proud of his wit no matter how minimal it was.

From inside his room, Billy watched the argument unfold; he couldn't hear much, but he could see you crossing your arms and puffing your cheeks and getting right back in the face of the man in the white coat while he barked at you.  Another nurse was tending to his linens, and she caught a judgemental glance of the spat outside before shaking her head.

"Quite American, isn't she?" the nurse scoffed.  "Can't back down from a fight— or keep her mouth shut, ever."

Billy smiled a little.  

"And she's got no clue how to make a cuppa, either," the nurse added, "can't even use a kettle.  Not sure how she plans to find a husband if she can't figure that out!"

Billy felt his chest warm, and not in the painful way he was used to with his healing wound.  He didn't think you'd have much trouble at all.

//

He could tell you were in a worse mood than usual when you came in— even though he could also tell you were trying to hide it.  “How are you feeling today?” you asked him, a little exasperation tinting your tone.

“Better,” he nodded.

“Not too much pain?  Any soreness?” you continued interviewing him, but his chest deflated a bit as he watched you go around the room without ever really looking at him— you were just going through the motions, he was just another patient.

“Are you alright?” he asked you, and it seemed to break you out of your trance.  You looked at him, and you looked tired— not something he’d tell you, because it would sound like he was saying you looked bad, which you didn’t.  You looked a little sad, really, in a breezy sort of way like you were trying to shake it off.

“Oh, I— I’m fine,” you promised.

"Is that doctor giving you trouble again?" he wondered.  The question seemed to catch you off guard, before you glanced down shyly and then over your shoulder at the window into the hall.  

"You saw that, huh?" you noticed.

"He seems like an arse," Billy decided.

"He's not so bad," you sighed, "he's really smart— problem is he knows it, and he thinks it makes him better than everyone.  Thinks us nurses are basically just maids, too, or secretaries.  I swear, if he walks into the break room one more time and asks where his tea is, I'm telling him it's in the fucking harbor."

Billy snorted at your comment, stammering through his next question.  "Don't have anything against Brits, do you?  'Cause you picked a bad place to live."

You sighed, stopping your work for a moment.  "Well… no, I don't.  But I do have a bone to pick, I guess.  I moved here for a guy— this amazing, too good to be true guy.  Thought we were gonna get married and stuff.  I only thought that 'cause he told me so!  But he, uh… he had a few of us going, actually.  I was the only one who moved this far to be with him.  But after I found out, I didn't have anywhere to live, and I can barely make rent as it is so I can't afford a ticket home… so, yeah.  Stranded across the pond.  Because of some fucking guy."

Billy shrunk a bit inside as he looked at you— he could tell you were trying to be casual and silly about it, to hide how much you were still hurting.  "We-we're not all like that," he blurted out, and you looked up.  He felt even more stupid for saying it now that you were looking at him.  "Englishmen," he clarified.

Your lips slowly curled into a smirk.  "Not all juggling a half-dozen girlfriends at once?" 

"Some of us are lucky to just get one!" Billy agreed, and you laughed.  Your laugh was fucking angelic, he thought; it made him want to jump right out of this blasted bed and hug you, as bizarre as that would be.  Ever since he saw you he imagined you'd be nice to hold, but every day it only got worse— and you were so pretty and sweet, you probably had every patient wrapped around your finger.  You probably thought he was another dirty, sick stranger; you probably thought he was work.  And he couldn't even blame you.

"I guess I'll have to give y'all another chance, then," you shrugged.  Y'all.  How quaint.

"You can probably get a lot of guys' attention with that accent," he suggested.  And that arse.  But he didn't say that.  

"I don't really want a lot of guys' attention," you sighed.  "Just the one."

"Which one?"

"The right one."

His heart hurt because he knew the feeling, the one he saw on your face, the one that made your eyes sparkle differently for a second.

"But I don't have much time for that anyways," you shifted topics quickly, "working all the time."

"Must be tough," he nodded.

"I like it, actually," you corrected, "I always keep busy.  And the people here…certainly keep me busy."

He felt a little self-conscious when you said that.  "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, not you!" you clarified quickly, leaning closer and reaching out apologetically like you might touch him again.  He wanted you to, so badly, but you didn't.  "I mean the staff more than anything.  The patients are what make me want to come back every day, even the tough ones."

"Am I one of those?" he wondered.

"No," you smiled.  "Don't tell, but you're my favorite."

Oh, you shouldn't have said that— it only hurt him more because he wouldn't let himself believe it.  "Bet you see crazies like me all the time," he shrugged dismissively.  

"Crazies? Yeah," you laughed lightly.  "But I've never met anyone like you."

His face flushed briefly and he looked down at his lap under the white woven blanket.

A page startled you out of the moment.  "That's my cue," you hummed.  "Ring if you need me, please."

He nodded and watched you dart away as quickly as you'd arrived, wishing he could keep you here forever but knowing it was better to let you help the others, too.

//

“Knock knock!” you greeted as you leaned into room 3282 to see the patient gathering her things.  It had been a while since you saw her in street clothes— not since you’d admitted her and ordered that infamous CAT scan— and she looked so much better than she had then.  Her hair was brushed and she was smiling at you, visibly less disoriented even when she was just standing beside the bed.  “I’m glad I could catch you before you left— I came as soon as I heard you were discharged.”

“I feel like we’re sort of meeting for the first time, now,” she explained.  “You saw me a few times the past couple days, but I wasn’t really myself…”

You nodded in understanding, and she bit her lip for a second; you could tell she was getting a little self-conscious remembering how dysregulated she was.

“It felt so real,” she breathed shakily.  “I could feel them watching me…”

“I know,” you nodded.  “That’s how powerful our minds are— everything we know comes from that squishy pink brain, so if it gets the wrong idea, it’s gonna convince you to believe just about anything.”

“You must think I’m an idiot,” she decided, “to ever believe that.”

“Not at all!” you promised.  “Listen, Miss Dougherty— it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.  You came here for help, that’s what you should be proud of.”

She nodded, but didn’t seem to really believe you, looking down at the floor.

“Honestly, people believe all kinds of ridiculous bullshit,” you announced, and the crude language got her attention if nothing else.  “Far, far too many people think that the Earth is flat, or that the polio vaccine could cause autism, or that immigrants are somehow both lazy and stealing jobs— or that you can look like Kim Kardashian with just some tea from the internet and portion control.”

She laughed a bit, and you laughed too, even though you were perfectly serious.

“At least we can give you medication for believing what you did!  Those people just have to live with it, that’s the really sad thing.  You take one of these with breakfast every day and you can be normal,” you explained as you pointed at the bottle in her hand, “they’re stuck with whatever they’ve got.  You’re the lucky one.”

“Thank you,” she nodded.  “I’ve been to hospitals before— but you really listened, even when I didn’t make any sense.”

“Hey, it made sense to me,” you shrugged, “I’d’ve been scared, too.  Keep up with the prescription, okay?  Don’t wanna have to see you here again— no offense.”

She laughed in agreement; “I will.”

//

He was halfway through watching something terribly mediocre on the telly when you came in; he jumped up to grab his fork and try to pretend that he’d been eating his dinner, but he started to frown shyly as soon as he caught your disapproving look.  “Billy, you’ve barely eaten it,” you noticed; it was obvious, with three quarters of the chicken breast still on the plate and the green beans untouched.  “Didn’t she bring that an hour ago?”

“Erm…”

“Is it the medication?” you asked, quieter, stepping further into the room.  “It can suppress your appetite.”

“D-don’t make me change to something else,” he blurted out, “I like this one.  I can actually think straight.”

You smiled patiently, and he couldn’t even look at you while you did it— you were so fucking pretty when you smiled like that, it hurt to look at it.  “I won’t make you change medications just because you haven’t finished your chicken, Billy.”

“I was worried Dr. Humphries might—” he began, cutting himself off with a hum.  “He said he was worried about me eating enough on this one, and that he’d change it if I lost any weight— b-but I like it…”

“We’ll just tell him you didn’t like the chicken,” you decided.  “If I bring you an extra slice of cake, will you eat that?”

He had to fight his smile from getting too big.  “I can try.”

“Easier to get down than dry chicken, that’s for sure,” you winked, putting the plastic cover back over his plate and grabbing the tray to set aside somewhere else.  “What are you watching?”

“E-erm, some melodrama, I think.  She’s been cheating on her husband with his evil twin,” he explained, just as the advertisement ended and an inquisitive musical sting indicated the show was back on.

“Don’t you hate when that happens, huh?” you offered sarcastically.  Your eyes stayed on the screen as you sat down on the edge of the bed, right by his hip; his heart fluttered with you so close, the warmth of your body just one pesky bedsheet away.  “Mind if I watch it with you for a minute?”

“N-no,” he assured, voice thin and wavering as he tried to act natural.  “Stay as long as you like…”

Unfortunately, you were interrupted almost immediately as a male nurse swung the door open— Billy somehow felt like he’d been caught doing something bad, when he wasn’t really doing anything.  The nurse said your name and you perked up.  “Been looking all over for you,” the nurse said, with a tilted grin that seemed a little flirtatious— maybe any smile would seem flirtatious when you’ve got perfectly white and straight teeth like those, and sparkly blue eyes and perfectly quaffed hair— Jesus, was this guy a model or something?

Billy hated imagining you spending time with this guy, selfishly.  “S-sorry,” you mumbled as you stood up, “I was just taking Mr. Knight’s dinner tray.”

“Tilly can do that,” the other nurse dismissed with a shrug.

“But she’s busy,” you noticed.

“Could you come out here?” the man asked you, and when you turned over your shoulder, Billy gave you a quick wave as his way of approving your departure.  You smiled at him one more time as you followed your coworker into the hall, just outside Billy’s door.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” he heard the man’s voice continue, right before the door shut all the way.

Billy furrowed his brow and turned the volume on the telly down, hoping to hear the conversation better.  He could still barely make it out— and he was afraid if he muted the show, you’d notice.

“...since you came here, and actually, I was thinking—” he heard part of a sentence, but it sort of went in and out.  He couldn’t tell anything else for sure until he heard your voice again.

“I prefer to keep my work and personal life separate,” he heard you say, distinctly, and he couldn’t decide how to feel— excited, that you seemed to be turning his guy down for a date?  Or heartbroken that he would never have a shot with you because of this policy you held?

You never had a shot with her anyways, his inner voice told him.  Well, at least Mister Handsome Nurse Man didn’t either.  Misery loves company, or whatever.

//

It had been years since Billy felt something warm.  He was all too familiar with his hand, rough and shaky— all too familiar with using his imagination to get himself off.  Of course, back at his flat he had porn to ease the way, give him something to picture… here all he had was the telly in the corner and the unending thoughts of you you you.

Just the other day you'd leaned over his bed and he could smell your hair.  He wanted to hold your head and bury his nose in it, breathe the sweet scent of you.

Once he caught a quick glimpse down your shirt before he looked away, out of nervousness as much as gentlemanly discretion.  But he wasn't feeling so much a gentleman now, after waking up in the middle of the night from a dream of you in a more compromising position.

He'd never had an orgasm from a dream, only gotten hard and woken up unsatisfied.  There was a monitor clipped to his finger on his hand— so he took it off and moved it to the other, so he wouldn't have to worry about it or the IV while he did this.

He already had to bite his lip just from slipping his hand into the hospital-issue pants, just from wrapping some weak fingers around his aching cock.  He'd made a bad habit of wanking frequently at home— not much else to do when you're trapped and alone, and it was the only thing he liked doing just as much whether he was off his rocker, or semi-stable, or medicated.  Thankfully, he wasn't on the kind of medications that removed his libido: that, or his fancying of you was just that powerful.

The room was incredibly dark with the shades shut, only half the lights in the hallway on, but even then he couldn't make out any light except for the dots where the strings ran through the blinds.  He watched that window when his eyes were open, but sometimes he shut them— it didn't make much difference, either way all he saw was you.

As he jerked faster on his cock, letting his hand tighten occasionally, he pictured you climbing on the bed and straddling him, resting your hands on his chest (even though that would hurt).  Remembering your hand on his shoulder when he first woke up made it easier to imagine, but he couldn't even conjure up how you would feel inside, how your body would take him— he just had to think about how it would look.

He grunted your name to himself, shutting his eyes tight, trying so hard to think of the way you'd moan as your hips rocked above his.  He wanted to watch you as you picked up your pace, so desperate for pleasure that you couldn't slow down.  You'd be such a wild thing, he decided, just as brash and shameless in bed as you are at work— if not more.  

He would give anything to make you say his name in that exact way, that needy hungry way just like he mumbled your name now.  His hips were starting to rock up off the bed, and he imagined his skin clapping with yours as you moaned louder and louder.  As unrealistic as it was, he was imagining you showering him in praises, so good, Billy, you're so good, fuck! but he couldn't always get your accent right in his head. Please don't stop, god, just don't stop, need t'come—

"All yours," he answered you under his breath, "not gonna stop, feels so fucking good…"

And then he couldn't stop himself from imagining you admitting, in bed or otherwise, that you'd wanted this.  That you had thought of him the same way— fuck, what if you touched yourself, too?  That'd be too fucking rich.  Billy wasn't really sure if girls did that— obviously they did in porn, sometimes, but he knew a lot of that wasn't real.  He heard that most won't do anal, either, but that's different; touching yourself is more normal, more natural, and fuck how bloody natural you'd look on your back with your legs spread, rubbing your needy cunt, begging to be touched, desperate for a partner— for him, for Billy who could fill you so nicely and make you sound so pretty.

He was already so close, in part from having taken a few days off from this, mostly because the thought of you was making his cock fucking throb.

As he got closer and closer to the peak, his mind raced with images of you— but not in the poses of the girls in dirty magazines, not how he pictured you naked, no.  It was different.  The way you'd look in normal clothes, or dressed up for a date.  How it would feel to watch you sleep next to him as the sun's coming up through your bedroom window.  Not just his name on your lips in pleasure, but in casual conversation with others— my boyfriend, Billy— or in a cackling yelp as he made some joke you hated to laugh at, maybe while he tickled your ribs to see you smile— Billyyy, stop it!

Holding the back of your head while he kissed you, your little whimper as you tugged him closer because you needed more.  Putting a necklace on for you, hopefully one he'd bought or made for you, and touching the back of your neck.  Kissing you there— and everywhere— and hearing you hum with satisfaction.  Don't do that, we don't have time before— oh god, Billy, we'll be late if you do that… hm, okay, just a quick shag before dinner.  No wait— just a quick fuck before dinner— the American way.

The intimacy, which sex was only one of his favorite parts of, was what he was imagining.  Cuddling up on the sofa, sharing popcorn at the cinema, cooking for you… that's what he was imagining as he realised he was going to come.

He panted and squinted his eyes shut as he fucked his hand faster and faster, heart pumping hard and fast as well, hand shaky but determined as he chased pleasure right around the corner—

The door swung open and you burst in in a flash, running to his bed, but you stopped dead in your tracks as he pulled himself off— well, not in that sense, like he had been a half-second ago— rather, pulled his hand away and pulled the blankets up, scandalised and stammering.

"Oh, fuck m'sorry— I—" he began.

"N-no, I'm sorry," you insisted, looking down awkwardly, "I thought— your monitor, it was— I thought you were having a fucking heart attack."

His baking-hot face turned down sheepishly, and he noticed the thin sheet and blanket did nothing to hide his unsatisfied erection, the fabric clinging to every contour so you could see basically the whole thing.  He coughed and put his hands over himself atop the blankets.

"I should've knocked— but I was worried you needed immediate attention—" you explained hoarsely.

"I didn't know you were on tonight," he mumbled, like that mattered.  Not as if he wanted any other nurse running in on this.  But it was different, more shameful, knowing he'd just been getting off to the thought of you.

"Wasn't supposed to be, but someone asked me to— doesn't matter," you shook your head.  "Sorry to burst in on you…"

"I wasn't…" he began, questioning if he should say it but going on anyways.  "I wasn't doing… what you probably think I was."

"I-it's nothing I haven't seen before, Billy," you promised, seeming a little surprised, if not irritated, by his obvious lie.  "You're a free man, got every right to take care of yourself—"

"Don't—" he pleaded, before he interrupted himself with a mumbled, "Jesus…"

"I'll go," you decided, "and leave you to it—"

"Christ!" Billy added, almost as if he were just now finishing the curse.  "S'not like I could… do that now, is it?"

"Seems you've still got everything you need to do it," you smirked, and he choked.

"God, don't tease me, said m'sorry an' all," he pouted.

"Not teasing," you shrugged.  "It's natural, everybody does it."

Even you?  "Y-yeah, s'pose…"

"Not much else for you to do here anyway, stuck in bed… can't help if you get horny—"

"Not horny, okay?" he spat out suddenly, and defensively.  "M'just— god.  Just lonely."

He wouldn't normally admit something like that, but it was so late and his chest hurt in a sense totally unrelated to his wound.  

When he heard the door shut, he worried you'd just up and left.  How cold that would be, to leave him alone as he said how lonely he was.

He only knew you were still on this side of the door when you stepped up to his bedside again, your shoes clicking on the floor.

"You should go back to sleep," you noticed.  Then why'd you shut the door?

"I— even if I take care of it, I don't think I can," he admitted.  "Sometimes I have—"

"Nightmares," you finished.  "It's in your chart."

"Please stay," he whispered.  "It's easier with you here…"

"Sleeping, or…?"

"Sleeping!  God, sleeping," he coughed.  "I mean, both, but—"

"I can stay," you offered.

"That was the first good dream I've had in months," he told you, easier to confess these things in the dark.  "The one that made me… like that."

"Very good dream," you agreed with a smirk.

His oxygen monitor beeped softly behind it all.  "Y-yeah…" he mumbled.  "It was— well, I bet you know it was you."

"Oh— how would I know that?" you sighed.

"Because you must have been able to tell I'm proper mad about you," he explained, "aside from just mad."

"I… I wondered if you were," you replied, softer.  "I hoped you were."

Billy, unsure what to say, turned to look up at where he was sure your face was in the room— and he could barely see it, his eyes still readjusting from the door being opened.  Your features were softened when they were lit up in light blue by the monitors behind him.

"I came in here to take care of you," you promised with a whisper.  "It's my job.  Just tell me what you need."

"I need— god, I can't say it," he whined. 

"If you can't tell me, then show me."

Your hand rested for a second on his shoulder, and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing it.  After debating it for a moment, he pushed the blanket and sheet down again, and sighed with a wide open mouth as he guided your hand to his throbbing cock.  It bounced up into your fingers before he'd even finished putting it there, so needy for your attention, so greedy to be finished off after being brought up to the edge like that.  Billy had never had the patience or fortitude to tease himself, the closest he'd ever come to edging having been those times he was on a certain type of meds and could jerk off all day and never come. 

He had the exact opposite problem as he hesitantly let go of your hand and watched you do it yourself, slow and gentle brushes over him, almost reverent in the way you touched him where he needed you most.  He almost didn't want to let go of your hand, he wanted to keep holding it just for holding it's sake, but he wanted you to act on your own: to not feel trapped or forced.  You were so delicate about it— he was so worked up you absolutely didn't need to be that gentle, he probably would've still blown his load if you tried to tug the bloody thing off— and he could see in the dark how little sighs fell from your mouth as you stroked him.

"God, I'm not supposed to do this," you breathed.  "S'it sensitive?  Your heart rate's spiked again…"

"V-very," he murmured out.  "God, you're— god."

"Fuck— I'm really not supposed to do this," you repeated again.  "But I— I've been wanting to for a while… no one's gonna come in while I'm in here, but shit, if someone did…"

It would be a huge mess, for sure, but sort of hot.  Even better if it was somehow another patient who thought they were the only one with affections for you.  Even better if it was that nurse who was hitting on you.  "Never— fuck— wanked a patient before, right?"

You laughed.  "No, haven't given a hand job in years, actually— feels a bit high school, doesn't it?"

"Fuck, wouldn't know," he groaned.  He meant it both as in 'you wouldn't know because you're so good at this' and 'I wouldn't know because nobody was wanking me in high school'.  "Your hand f-feels good.  I-I don't deserve this, I definitely don't deserve this— pretty sure I'm dreaming actually—"

"No, it's real," you promised, "I know it's real, 'cause in my dreams I've never got my work uniform on."

"Y-you don't have your work uniform on in my dreams, either," he joked.

How desperately he wanted to reach out and touch you with one of his hands— it didn't even need to be somewhere scandalous, though he wouldn't mind a chance to feel you up under your shirt.  Even just to hold onto your hip, or even to hold your hand, would be so perfect right now.  But he didn't want to take this too far and ruin it.  It was already too good to be true.

"F-fuck," he sighed as your hand twisted gently when it reached the ridge of his head.  He couldn't remember the last time anything felt this good, just being touched by you.

"Like this?" you asked in a meek voice— how precious, you asking him how he wanted you to wank him.  Even just you asking made his toes curl under the blanket.

"Yes," he hissed, "l-like that… little slower, maybe?"

You followed his command, and his chest reverberated a groan.  He liked it best like this, savouring every second— normally he'd just be beating himself off senselessly by now, desperate to come, chasing pleasure with reckless abandon.  But this was so different, and he never wanted it to end, even if his balls were tight and aching with the need to release what he'd been holding in for much too long.

"I… I can't believe this is happening," he blurted out as he watched with better-adjusted eyes your movements in the dark.  Your pretty, tender hand squeezing his swollen tip, giving his whole length nice, long strokes.  

It was incredible enough, then you pulled your hand away— and he was about to whine pathetically, beg you not to stop, he even thrusted his hips up in the air in search of more— and spit in your palm quickly before getting back to it.

"Oh god," Billy moaned, his head falling back on his pillow as your hand smeared your saliva all along his hot skin.  Your strokes were smoother now, and you could grip him tighter without tugging the skin the wrong way— and he couldn't stop fucking moaning, couldn't stop himself from trying to buck his hips up and fuck your hand.  The sensation was incredible, but the raunchiness of it was what really did him in.  Spitting in your hand so you could jerk him off better, really giving him the proper treatment; his whole body was sort of overheated and numb at the idea that you cared so much about doing this right.  With a dry hand it felt more like you were doing him a favor, but after doing that he was sure you wanted this for your own reasons.  He couldn't imagine what those would be, but he dared not question them.

"How's that feel?" you asked, almost clinical in your tone, the same way you'd asked when helping him stand up or after giving a fresh dose of painkillers.  And yes, he had imagined something like this when you asked him that before, so good to know he was on the right track.

It was sort of silly that you asked when he couldn't stop moaning and writhing in the bed, but he nodded as he answered: "R-really fucking good.  You're so good…"

He heard you hum a bit, a tiny pleased laugh, and he whined pathetically.  You seemed to be revelling in how little you could do to him to make him so desperate.

"So good," he said again under his breath, cock pulsing in your grip.  He was so close but he couldn't let it go yet, he couldn't finish now and just have you clean him up and go: he'd fight it off all night if it meant keeping you here, feeling you, being pleasured by you this way.

"I— I'll get fired if they catch me," you reminded him.  "But I just— sorry, I've been wondering about your cock for a while."

Jesus, she keeps saying things like that and I'll lose it in a second.

"And it's bigger than I thought."

Jesus!  He screwed his eyes shut tight in hopes of staving it off further— he didn't want this to end, you'd just barely started.

"I'm so fucked, fuck, might as well— oh god, you know the saying, right?" you prompted.  "In for a penny—"

"In for a p— oh, fuck, fuck!"

You'd bent down and captured him in your mouth, still stroking at the base with your hand but bobbing your head on the rest.

"Baby," he whined, bucking up into that perfect wet heat encompassing him, "baby, I'll come, god, I'm so sorry— I'll fucking come—"

You hummed around him.  You didn't even stop, didn't even flinch, as he began to spray his come on your tongue.  He grabbed your head and tilted his own back with a loud moan— dangerously loud— as his whole body seized up for a second.  Each wave of it seemed to hit harder than the last, especially when you sunk your lips down further and he could feel you swallowing it, god you were so sweet and you acted like a proper slut given the chance.  He couldn't have made you more perfect if he built you himself.

"Oh, fuck," he sobbed, looking down at you in the dark again, petting your hair, keeping you there just a bit longer as he basked in the warmth of your mouth.  Drool was sliding down his cock and balls in droplets, maybe some of it was his come you hadn't gotten down.  "Fucking perfect," he blurted out.

He felt you smile slightly around him, before you carefully slid your mouth off of his cock and popped back upright again.  "There you go," you said chipperly as if you'd just tied his shoes for him or something— not like you'd just given him his first non-self-induced orgasm in years and easily one of the best of his life, with only your hand and a couple seconds of a blow job.

"I— fuck," he choked, "you— thank you, I— oh my god… I'm sorry, I—"

"Sorry?" you repeated.  "What for?"

"Just— dunno, m'sorry, if I made you think you had to do that…"

"Well I had to do something to get you back to sleep," you joked, making his face heat up even more.  "Of course I didn't have to— actually, I think it might be, um, illegal, so… don't tell, I guess."

As if he could even imagine doing anything that would interfere with the chance it could happen again.  He had no idea if it would happen again either way— but he didn't care, he was still riding the high from it happening at all.  "I— I tried not to come that fast, but your mouth—" he began awkwardly.

"It's sexy," you promised.  "It's cute."

He blinked bashfully, as if he had any right to be bashful now.  "You're sexy," he returned, "really, really sexy, god.  You know how many guys' fantasies you just fulfilled?"

"Not interested in many guys' fantasies," you quipped.  "Just the one."

He beamed.  "Which one?"

"C'mon, Billy, I just swallowed your jizz, don't be coy with me," you frowned.

"S-sorry…"

You leaned down and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek.  "I've gotta get back to work—"

He grabbed your head and forced a kiss on your mouth, hungrily slipping his tongue between your lips and groaning as you relaxed your jaw to let him in.  

He hadn't kissed like this in ages, either, and the last girl he'd managed to go home with after some pub crawling hadn't even kissed him at all; he groaned against your mouth as he moved his hands from your face to your neck, your waist, your back… anywhere he could reach, he wanted to touch you.

He got lost in it instantly, you had to push pretty hard on his shoulders to peel him off, and he cleared his throat nervously.  "S-sorry," he said again, "I— I just had to kiss you, sorry."

"Even after that?" you chuckled.

"Especially after that."

"Even with the, you know, taste?"

"Oh," Billy smiled, "so that's what that funny flavour is…"

"You never tasted it before?" you realised.

"No," he frowned, "why would I?"

"I dunno— I've tasted mine," you shrugged.

"Oh— Christ," Billy choked.  He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to stop imagining you pulling two fingers out of your cunt after using them to make yourself come, bringing them to your slack lips and kitten-licking the cream off your hand…

"Really gotta get back to work now," you insisted, "try to get some rest—"

"Wait," he begged as he grabbed your wrist.  "Stay a little longer— we can just talk, if you want— I should return the favour though, shouldn't I?  Are you, erm… are you turned on at all after that?  If you stay I can help you, too— you can get in the bed with me and I'll make love to you—"

You snorted out a laugh.  "We don't have time for that, Billy, I've already been in here too long, there are other patients—"

"Don't go yet," he insisted again, squeezing your hand in his.

"What more do you need?" you asked, and the question made his heart jump.

"Just some time with you," he explained.  "Just— was that— are we—?"

He stopped as you leaned in and kissed his face again— the side of his nose specifically— gently.  "I'll check on you again in the morning before I go, okay?"

He pouted a little, reaching up to hold your shoulders for a second, before nodding and relaxing back into his bed.

You tucked him in carefully and encouraged him once more to get some rest.  "I'll be back just before shift change at seven," you assured.

He fell asleep so quickly, so exhausted even when his mind was wired, that it only felt like a few moments before he woke up again with a jump as the door opened.  He expected to see you come in, but he frowned at the back of Nurse Tilly, bringing the breakfast cart.  "Good morning, Mister Knight!" she greeted, and he sighed as he glanced up at the clock: 8:30.  He'd slept right through shift change.

"Morning," he greeted her flatly.

//

"I've got good news," the doctor smiled at Billy, tilting his head; somehow it almost seemed condescending.  "You're cleared for discharge.  You’ve healed well and you’re responding just how I’d hoped to the new medication.”

“But…” Billy started to protest.

“What’s the matter?” Dr. Humphries wondered.  

“Could I stay longer?”

“Erm, well… it’s a hospital, not a hotel, Mister Knight,” he frowned.  “What makes you want to stay?”

“I just— is my nurse here?” Billy asked instead.

“Which one?” the doctor asked before seeming to realise something.  “The American?!”

“Err…”

Dr. Humphries scoffed quickly.  “She’s just had a twenty four hour shift, she won’t be back until Thursday.  You certainly can’t be here another two nights with no medical need for hospitalisation.  I’m guessing you’d hoped to say goodbye?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded.

“And you were hoping to ask her on a date as well, I presume?”

Billy choked, glancing self-consciously at the other nurses present— one of which was the handsome male one from before.  That face had a sort of sneer on it— subtle, but noticeable— as if to say yeah, good luck with that, mate.  “I— I just wanted to thank her,” Billy lied.  He honestly hadn’t been sure if he’d ever get the courage to ask you out, but now he’d never know.

“I’ll pass along the message for you,” the doctor offered, though he didn’t sound too enthused about it.

//

Google, delete history, chew nails, repeat.  illegal for a nurse to have sex with patient, can you lose your nursing licence for sexual contact at work, is masturbating a mental patient crime UK...

The search results were a mix of inconclusive and unencouraging.  They kept talking about why you shouldn’t have sex with patients— as if you didn’t know— but rarely clarified the exact consequences of your exact situation.  You didn’t know if the hand job counted as sex, anyways, or if it really mattered since you were both consenting adults of sound mind (well, some not quite as sound as others, but still), or if this rule really only applied to doctors who had a genuine power over patients in a way nurses didn’t exactly— they just gave more and more scoldings to anyone considering ‘beginning a relationship’ with a patient.  They gave examples that were obviously violations— like a doctor who was tried for sexual assault after convincing a patient that an invasive physical exam was necessary when it was actually elective and not related to their condition, or a nurse who was fired after touching an unconscious patient, stuff like that.  Billy had wanted you to touch him, that much you knew, he put your hand there himself; god, just the memory made you shiver, and you shook your head as you cleared your history again.  There was no real chance anyone would see what you’d been searching up, but the shame that burned in your gut every time you saw your own history was worth avoiding.

The really concerning thing was how little, after all that Googling, you actually regretted it.  Yes, you were fully aware at the time how risky it was, why it was a bad idea, what would happen if you were caught.  But for all this searching up about nurses and patients, it didn’t feel like that at all… it just felt like two people with a basic human instinct surrounded by insanely complicated circumstances.  

It wasn’t like you at all, either, and not just because you’d never made an advance on a patient before: that was obvious.  You usually didn’t do that much even with your actual dates, even with guys you’d met under exactly the right conditions.  Usually, a hand on yours guiding you there would make you shudder and jump away; usually, you wouldn’t even think to touch somebody like that on the first date.  You hadn’t even gone on one date with Billy, though the amount of time you spent imagining it was almost like you were trying to delude yourself into thinking you had.

You’d been daydreaming more and more since you met him about that sort of thing, about what it would be like if you met in some random way after he was discharged from some other hospital, one of those cute ways like in the movies where he helps you get something from the top shelf at the grocery store or you find his lost dog or he just sees you on the street and has to tell you that he thinks you’re beautiful—

Groaning, you shut your laptop and stood up; you were gonna be late for work if you kept torturing yourself with these fantasies.  

// 

Oh god, I’m actually mental— more than usual, he realised as he stood there, holding the pathetic arrangement of cheap daisies; the plastic around them crinkled as he relaxed his grip slightly from the sadness sinking in his gut.  She does me a favour, takes care of me for nearly a week and wanks me off once and I start stalking her— she’ll think I’m a creep.

He’d been waiting all morning by one of the entrances to the ward, hoping to catch you as you walked back in to work on Thursday, but as the hours passed he became more aware of how disturbing his behaviour really was.  You probably knew you wouldn’t see him again when you did that, that was probably why you did it— so you wouldn’t have to worry about exactly this happening, about him wanting more from you.  Hadn’t he taken enough?

Slumping his shoulders, he stood up from the bench and contemplated what to do with the flowers.  He was about to toss them away when he saw someone exit the building, an older woman, crying into a handkerchief as she talked on the phone.  “He’s gone,” she informed whoever was on the other end of the line.  “They just told me— he went this morning.”  

“Ma’am?” he asked her, not quite getting her attention at first.  He stuck the flowers out towards her and she looked at him with a hint of confusion.  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“O-oh… thank you…” she breathed, and he nodded at her as he turned and stuffed his hands in his pockets on his way towards the car park.  “Y-yes, sorry, someone just gave me flowers…” she continued as she talked on the phone, harder to hear as he walked away, “no, I don’t know him— some man outside the hospital— they’re daisies…”

He smiled a little to himself as he hopped across the street, jaywalking in a break between cars zipping by.  He’d nearly turned the corner when he heard your voice.

“Billy?” you noticed him, smiling wide as he turned to look at you, standing on the street— walking to work, apparently.  You were wearing your uniform already, and he’d almost missed it, even with how much he’d been dreaming about seeing you any other way.

“O-oh, erm, hi,” he stammered, wondering if he should pretend it was a coincidence he ran into you.

“You’re… you’ve got jeans on!” you noticed, and he looked down at his outfit— just the aforementioned jeans and an old t-shirt, with his hoodie on top for the chilly weather.

“Not much of an improvement from what you’re used to,” he mumbled nervously, rocking back on his heels.

“No, you look good,” you insisted.  “H-healthy, I mean— maybe I shouldn’t have said that, it could sound… forward.”

“Forward?” he repeated.

“Well, I was hoping to talk to you today,” you admitted, chewing the inside of your cheek.  Oh god, I’ve heard this talk before— ‘I like to keep my work and personal life separate’.  “I wanted to apologize.”

“Eh?”

“I shouldn’t— we can’t— I’m sorry,” you started over a few times, “if I exploited any… dynamic, that we had.  I don’t want you to think that because I’m your nurse, you couldn’t say— that you can’t say ‘no’ to me.”

“You’re not my nurse anymore,” he noticed, “I’m not a patient— I’m…”

He wanted to say it quickly, before he lost the courage, but with you staring at him expectantly he couldn’t keep his thoughts in order and he sort of just spit it out all at once.

“I’mjustsomeblokewhocan’tstopthinkingaboutyou,” he rushed.

“Huh?” you frowned, understandably unable to parse what he’d said.

“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, “doesn’t matter— y’don’t need to apologise, i-if anything I was gonna thank you again.”

“Well, you don’t need to do that, either,” you mumbled quietly, a shy smile crossing your face.  “We’ll call it even.  You got a happy ending and I get to keep my job.”

“Not quite even,” he recalled, face getting warm as he pictured exactly what he’d have to do to make what happened that night completely fair.  “I want something else.”

“Oh…?” you wondered, tilting your head.

“Your number, maybe?” he finally asked, heart pumping dangerously fast, and you smiled.

“Okay,” you agreed.

“A-and I could call you sometime.”

“Okay,” you repeated.

“And ask you to dinner.”

You smiled wider.  “Okay.”

“O-or I could just ask you now…”

“Okay,” you laughed.

“But maybe I should wait!” he decided suddenly.  “Maybe it’s better to do it later— I don’t know, I don’t do this very often…”

“I noticed,” you smirked, and he blinked at you shyly.

“I-I’m not totally helpless, y’know, I got you flowers,” he informed you proudly.

“You did?  Where are they?” you asked.

“E-erm, over there,” he pointed across the street, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion.  “I’ll get you different ones, better ones—”

“I don’t want flowers, Billy,” you replied, “I just want you to come pick me up when I get off today— my shift’s over at—”

“I know,” he interrupted with a beaming smile, “I’ll meet you by that door and we can go somewhere nice.”

“How about your flat?” you recommended.

“W-well… it’s not very nice…” he admitted, biting his lip as you stepped closer.

“I bet I’ll like it,” you purred, and he couldn’t resist the urge again— he grabbed your face and kissed you, way too needy and passionate for the seemingly-mundane situation here on the street by the hospital. But you hummed into it and kissed him back; he knew he couldn’t blame that first kiss on it being the middle of the night anymore, being all sleep-deprived and desperate, because he felt the exact same way at eight in the morning on a Thursday in the middle of the pavement.

Again, you had to push him back gently to cue him to stop, and he looked at you as your eyes fluttered open and your bitten lips smiled at him. 

“Not gonna run me late to work, are you?” you challenged.

“No,” he promised, “I-I really want to, but no.”

“That’s a shame,” you jokingly pouted as you lowered yourself from your tiptoes and started to cross the street.  “See you tonight!” you called as you went on your way, and he wanted to say something back— something smooth, but anything would do, really— but he just got mesmerised watching you go, knowing the next time he saw you would be for a date. 

He could hardly believe it was real, that he’d gotten this lucky, but he decided not to question that anymore and just accept whatever gift from the universe this was supposed to be.  He was almost tempted to just stand outside and wait for you for your entire shift, but he decided instead that he could at least go and pick out some new flowers for you, despite what you’d said about not wanting them… better safe than sorry.

#billy knight x reader #joseph quinn x reader #billy knight smut #billy knight strike

[meowticta]

just so you know,

i love you people who are in remission of their psychotic disorder/symptoms.

i love you people who don't have a diagnosis yet

i love you people who are psychotic and loud, and have no filter while talking and ranting.

i love you people who dont suffer from any shame when they're psychotic and say ''weird'' shit that only them understand

those who do not care if people think they're weird, annoying, ''dangerous''

those who are violent, who get restrained, those who are in psych wards, the so called ''crazy and insane''

those who have more delusions than hallucinations, or the other way around.

those who, will never recover, those who dont take meds nor therapy

the schizoaffectives, the schizophrenics, the schizophreniform, the brief psychotic disorder ones, those delusionals, to anyone who had or has a psychotic episode because of drugs or other reasons

i love you, you're not a bad person, you have 0 control of what your mind thinks or does, your condition is stigmatized, but i love you, you can take up space, you can talk about your experiences, and that will be valid, and cherished, i know people are afraid of you, of what the mind can do, of what they don't experience, but never believe that you are a bad person because of your psychosis,

be loud, be scary, be dirty, be ''embarrasing'' be ''gross'' be everything, or nothing at all, be proudly mad.

let people know about you, you have a voice, you have stories to tell, and your stories? will always be accepted by the right people, you won't be judged by the right people

this one is for the schizos, for the psychotics, the delusionals.

shoutout to you

#i recently had another psychotic episode a few months ago #and it was the worst thing ever possible #ik how hard it is #hang in there #actually schizoaffective #actually schizospec #schizospectrum #schizo spectrum #schizospec #actually psychotic #psychosis #madpunk #mad punk #is that the correct hashtag?

[awyeahitssam]

My Writing Masterlist

Since I post on here far more consistently then on ao3 for reasons, I figured I would compile a list of my writing for those who don't like sifting through fandoms they could care less about to get to the good stuff. 

Separated by fandom, and somewhat by trope. 

Harry Potter:

Harry eats a God. 

Harry just can't seem to stay dead. TW: Suicide, character death, frequent character death, torture, murder, disjointed snippets, discontinued + Harry dissociates. Connected, same warnings may apply. 

First Encounters: Time loop, Voldemort-as-Quirrell visits the Dursleys and is less than pleased. 

First Encounters: The first time Harry meets Voldemort, the man he's been trained to kill all his life, he's nineteen, and Voldemort recognizes him. 

Prisoner Harry tells Voldemort about the Dursleys like it's a bedtime story. 

Except for the incident, Harry really doesn't tend to talk a lot when he has a concussion. Stream of thought narrative, character injury.

Literally just Empath!Harry spoilers. Harry, at his trial, allowing himself be petty to an extent. 

Harry gets drunk, pulled into Voldemort's mind, and decides he wants to share his good mood.

Tea shop AU.  + more  Tea Shop (weather) AU. + something actually Tea-based under the cut

Four of a Kind AU: Learning to kiss split-scene. Harry/Harry, referenced Harry/Horcrux + They meet. They kiss. What if. Voldemort/Harry + In the aftermath Voldemort/Harry

Kid Fic: Harry ‘dies’ as a child. Mentor!Voldemort, absolutely not a pairing ficlet. 

Kid Fic: Harry and Voldemort’s kid lands in the past during a duel at the Ministry. Pre-Harrymort, Micah, not quite the kiss you'd expect.

Female Harry, world-jumping, rationally angry. Tom/Harry intended, if Harry will chill out on the murder. 

Harry likes to feel pretty. Horcrux/Harry, Harry wears makeup, etc. 

Tom and Harry jump through time to each other. Tomarry, growing up, fluff, brief kissing, Harry’s older

Dragon AU, I have a lot more of this one written, I should dump that some day. Harry/Horcruxes

Harry/Tom: pillow forts, soft angst, unresolved, broken promises

Harry's really fucking sick and tired of being told what the fuck to do. 

Tom-after-Voldemort is the first person Harry has ever spoken to. Isolation, lighthearted, odd, old and forgotten. 

Harry never imagines the effect getting a boyfriend would have on Riddle. Jealous Tom. 

Harry messes with Diary!Tom

Harry and Voldemort have to complete a task based on the colour of the others' robes, for some reason?

Harry is kidnapped and wakes up in an incredibly comfortable bed. Voldemorts knows Harry is his horcrux.

Harry ruthlessly defends Hogwarts against encroaching Death Eaters. Sixth Year.

It's one paragraph guys.

Prompt-based: Tom possesses Harry when he's afraid. Hermione POV.

Prompt-based: Santa forgot about Harry, again.

Prompt-based: Tom watches Harry draw dirty, dirty things at church.

Teen Wolf, all at least peripherally intended as Stiles/Peter

Kid Fic + Genderbend + Time Travel: Stiles is in the past and nobody is raising Malia, so she sure as shit will.

Stiles has known about werewolves since he was nine, and now that he's off the college it seems his dad has gottten involved. No Hale Fire, Protective Stiles

The first thing Kate does when she comes back to Beacon Hills is kidnap Peter. Human!Alpha Stiles, eventual Steter, pre-slash

Stiles has the curse of obedience. Stiles/Peter

Flower shop AU! Ft. Petty Peter and insulting bouquets.

Peter says he hates Stiles. Stiles begs to differ. 

Werewolf Stiles wakes up in the middle of Beacon Hills woods naked, and tries to keep it low key from there. Bakery AU, kinda. Peter/Stiles

First Encounters: The Hale pack summons Stiles to the past. 

First Encounters: The first time Stiles meets Peter he is drunk. Stiles is a rude, very straight-forward drunk who steps all over issues like dead family and psychosis. It’s like he had a minefield map and is intentionally stepping on every trigger. 

Stiles meets Peter in the hospital.

Stiles pulls back because he doesn't want Peter to mess up his dress shirt, not because he doesn't want the bite. 

Stiles crochets magic shit. Fluff. 

Negotiations go well. 

Peter being the literal worst, holy hell, this hurts to read. Have some angst. Past-Stiles/Peter

Okay, my bad for that last one. Have some comfort. Crying, comfort, Stiles & Peter

Dragon Stiles is constantly underestimated. 

Stiles beats Peter, sore loser extraordinaire. 

Me acting like Stiles has shame for some reason.

Female Stiles gets forcibly genderbent and is not putting up with anybody's shit. Body dysmorphia, shitty friends, anger issues, sexism. Peter/Stiles

Female Stiles and Peter. Shower, soft.

Stiles writes smutty fanfic, as he should. 

Stiles being a bad influence on his little self, ft Knowing Himself Too Fucking Well. Time travel AU, torture

Peter walks away. 

Peter/Stiles, marking, one of the sexiest things I've ever written imo 

Peter is dumb, stupid, silly villain. 

Peter’s timing is about as good as Stiles’ filter. Dumb, stupid villain antics. 

Stiles threatens Peter, /lh

Stiles is justifiably sad after a movie. 

Tony Stark-centric:

Gen: Tony takes after Maria. Few people recognize a predator wrapped up in such Tony packaging. 

Gen: Tony bantering with, and teasing, Peter. 

Tony Stark uses the infinity stones. 

Tony survives the stones. 

Tony proposes. In public. In a way that undeniably affirms his feelings. Loki/Tony

Loki meets Morgan for the first time. Loki/Tony, kid fic

Hair Kink—I mean braiding! Aha, ha, ha… Loki/Tony

Female Toni doesn't take well to her children being threatened. 

Soulmates? Tony/Loki

Rhodey gives Loki the shovel talk ft. Parks & Rec

Tony saves the day…?

Bleach / Time travel: Ichigo isn't supposed to be here. 

The 100: Cage Wallace stages a coup before the forty-eight arrive. (Or: Dante Wallace dies before his time.) This changes everything.

Tagged: 10 Characters, 10 Fandoms, 10 Shorts

#My writing #masterlist #all snippets compiled #all but one #heheheh 😈

[lemonavocado]

i have many many thoughts about the portrayal of elizabeth (and henry) in adaptations of frankenstein and they need to be broadcasted immediately. feverish incoherent raving about this subject under the cut. tw for very brief mention of SA

so. elizabeth lavenza. by the time of the wedding, elizabeth is rather obviously portrayed to be just as morose and brooding as victor is, she just isn't as susceptible to episodes of mania and psychosis so it doesn't seem nearly as dramatic compared to victor's trauma. she's been through the gutter herself, being an orphan for starters, then being adopted into a family and having to assume the role of caregiver in the frankenstein family because of the coercion of her dead mother to not only take her place as the maternal figure in the family but also marry her surrogate brother (or literal cousin, depending on which version you read). then her surrogate younger brother william dies, and the within weeks she has to watch her closest heterosexual life partner justine be unjustly hung by a corrupt justice system. and she vocalizes, actively, her pessimism and hopelessness in light of these many tragedies. tldr she's fucked up and rightfully so, and while she's a little less crippled by depression than victor, she still has the distinct appearance of being rather ill, listless, and tired, especially towards the end of the novel. anyways my point is in the novel, the most important thing about elizabeth is not that she's a woman and victor's bride. yes, that's obviously the purpose she was created for, but shelley went out of her way to give elizabeth an extremely definite and unique character. she's gentle and maternal like most woman in early 19th century literature, but she's also introspective, intelligent, and perceptive. she displays agency and self-awareness repeatedly (her guilt over the locket, going to the execution of justine even when alphonse tells her not to, waxing poetic on the failures of the justice system, asking repeatedly and rather pointedly if victor actually wants to go through with the marriage, obvious anxiety and solemnity concerning the wedding) we also have to take into account that elizabeth's personality is being relayed to us BY VICTOR, and he wants to see elizabeth as docile and femininely passive, even if a lot of her actions themselves in the novel actually seem to contradict that. also, i am peppering in that many people can (and have) made a genuine and convincing argument that victor and elizabeth are not in love and were groomed to accept their union by their weirdo parents - that they care for each other, but the text includes important nuances that make it evident that victor doesn't feel anything for elizabeth like that. it is a legitimate interpretation of the book - dare i say it's the correct interpretation of the relationship between victor and elizabeth. but that's another essay for another day and it's not SUPER integral to my rant here today. it just highlights the complexity of elizabeth as a character.

so. for some fucking reason, writers do not understand this when they are adapting the novel, and do not want to apply more than eight seconds of critical thinking and the absolute shallowest 3rd grader levels of reading comprehension to this character, so they simplify her from what she was in the original novel, freshly complex, opinionated, and introspective to boring useless incest lady. victor is never portrayed with the same amount of nuance he deserves in any adaptation (also another essay for another day), because adaptations also have a very surface level reading of him as "guy who was ambitious and played god which immediately cements him as an irredeemable self-aggrandizing asshole and/or a raging insufferable narcissist who's a dick to everyone around him EXCEPT for elizabeth" but at least SOME adaptations are able to kiiinnnddaaaa capture the sympathy meant to be felt for the character in the novel. not so for elizabeth. her character in basically every adaptation can be boiled down to this: "omg victor my brother let me hammer in that you are my brother. im just going to stand here and look clueless and annoyingly naive for the entire time im on screen/stage. im just a little girl and idk what's going on victor but im gonna stay blindly devoted to you and ask numerous but completely useless questions 🥺 let me stare at you with tender worry in my eyes and treat you like a child even though we have absolutely no romantic chemistry and you're an objectifying dick towards me and we have nothing in common and the audience is actively dry heaving as we sensually make out for no other reason than to have characters in this movie sensually make out. im basically a carbon copy of original-novel-henry expect super boring and super useless because im a woman which means the doylist explanation for why im here HAS TO BE ONLY for the main character to fuck me and to hold the attention of the male viewership. now time for me to get SA'd by the creechur for basically no reason" we can observe something approximating this in basically every frankenstein adaptation i've ever seen: kenneth branagh's (my enemy) 1994 film, the 2004 hallmark miniseries, the musical, and the ballet. also in the 1931 film, but that one isn't really trying to be book-accurate so it doesn't really count for this rant.

with this understanding of elizabeth, writers then attempt to artificially generate more romance between these characters, mostly by, yes, replacing a lot of henry's role in the novel with elizabeth, hence why we see so many adaptations (1994, 2004, ballet) make elizabeth nurse victor back to health in ingolstadt instead of henry, which generates... so many problems. one problem with this is that it just sorta ruins henry's original role in the novel in one go. writers recognize that henry is supposed to be victor's character foil, but now they don't have much for him to do so he can demonstrate that role in the story since they gave all of the romantic tension moments to elizabeth. meaning that in adaptations you can tell the writers didn't really know what to do with henry because he's reduced to a comic relief bumbling idiot (1994, ballet, 2004 to an extent) with his only personality traits being "random xd" and "morals good playing god wrong!!!! 😠" (2004, musical, several independent stage adaptations). they keep him as a character foil, but just replace all of his compassion, tenderness, and devotion with elizabeth, while effectively draining henry of all of his original appeal and charm and stamping those traits onto their already stripped-of-all-nuance elizabeth. so now both henry and elizabeth are not only extremely different from their original roles in the novel but extremely, woefully less charming and complex. this especially pisses me off because it's explicitly stated in the book that henry was victor's only friend precisely because he was victor's intellectual equal, so seeing henry reduced to a smiley idiot and/or stupid generic male side character with Morals fills me with a visceral rage. writers will also sometimes make victor and henry meet in college (ballet, 1994) and try to strengthen the bond between victor and elizabeth by making it appear as though she was victor's ONLY childhood friend and companion. other times, victor and henry will be friends pre-ingolstadt (2004, musical) but most of the relationship development will be between elizabeth and victor. those two have all of the tender bonding moments while henry is just kinda inexplicably there sometimes. but i digress. this post is supposed to be about elizabeth. but IF YOU NEED A CHARACTER TO BE A SUNSHINE SOFT OPTIMISTIC LOVER FOR VICTOR IN A FRANKENSTEIN ADAPTATION, HENRY IS ABLE AND WILLING ARE YOU STEPPING ON MY BALLS

clervalstein is true. anyway

elizabeth is somehow more complex and powerful as a female character than the literal adaptations produced almost 200 years later. in adaptations, the most important thing about her is somebody else. the development of all of her character traits (which usually never go beyond standing around and looking helpless) are solely dependant on victor. she feels more like an appendage of the protagonist than an individual with thoughts and experiences separate from victor, and her character is loosely defined and flimsy so the writers can have her conform to her actions in the book whenever it's convenient and then change things up entirely that completely contradict her characterization in the book whenever it's convenient. i have no idea why the fuck this keeps happening with frankenstein adaptations (it's misogyny) and because it isn't looking like guillermo del toro's film (from what ive heard) is going to be super book accurate, i dont foresee too much of a shift in frankenstein adaptations.

look i get it. it's a movie/play/ballet which lasts like 2 hours and you have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. i understand you have to make sacrifices for brevity and these characters are, frankly, a lot less interesting and exciting than victor and creechur. people didn't come to see john hughes levels of charm and complexity in the side characters, they came to watch the creechur do scary shit and for victor to say IT'S ALIVE 😱 and be an evil mad scientist you love to hate. they came for their values of "it's wrong to play god!!!" and "too much ambition bad!!!" to be re-cemented even though that's not even the original point of the novel. which is why imo if you're going to adapt frankenstein in a manner that does justice to the beautiful and sublime subtlety of the original novel, it needs to be either a miniseries or a REALLY LONG film. it's a short book, but it's very eventful, and imo for an adaptation to work you have to let the audience sit with it. which is why you all need to donate to my gofundme so i can produce an honest to god frankenstein adaptation. in fact, im running for president in this year's primaries :3

just a disclaimer: im not an academic or a scholar or anything. i just like the book. i probably have no idea what the fuck im talking about. but im a very very passionate little guy and this has been my rant

#frankenstein #literary analysis #avo's soap box #i wish i was more articulate #i dont even know if this rant is intelligible 💀 #there's not even a main point really im just rambling #i wish i could drop all of my life plans and become a screenwriter so i could produce a frankenstein adaptation #they don't know the book like i know the book </3 #there's no gofundme by the way i was just joe king #this is also a problem to a lesser extent in adaptations of dracula and c&p #with mina harker and dunya raskolnikov respectively #but i don't have the energy to go on a whole separate tirade about that #im so normal about classic lit guys it's ok

[twig-tea]

Shadow the series: hopefully an enabling post

I want as many people as are interested to be able to watch this series so as promised: Here's a non-spoilery summary of potential triggers and squicks in Shadow the Series eps 1-7.

The really brief version: this show is really good, lots of intense things happening with family trauma, family violence, mental health, and abuse, but the actual supernatural stuff is pretty mild and the gore and violence is very minimal. There are also light comedy moments, and pining, and friendship, and the mystery is fun to watch unravel, so I didn't find it too spooky (but I have a high spooky tolerance so you may want to take breaks or otherwise do what you need to).

Ep1

Vomiting

Some creepy music

Slight jump scares

Depictions of drowning

Homophobic slurs

Bullying (including punches)

Scars (potentially self-harm but it's not clear)

Mention of ghosts, non-graphic ghost, creepy amorphous smoke

Ep2

References to hypnosis, potential gaslighting or hallucinations, uncertainty of reality

Institutional homophobia

Bullying (non-graphic)

Homophobia

Mention of possible teacher/student relationship (potentially unrequited)

Ep3

Bullying, homophobia

Mention of dead bodies

Mention of ghosts

Mention of family violence

Depictions of drowning

Flickering lights

Mild corporal punishment

Non-graphic ghost

Mentions of cancer

Creepy grinning (lmao idk how else to list this)

Ep4

Mentions of cancer and treatment including deteriorating physical state

Depictions of deteriorating mental state

Depiction of end-of-life medical care in hospital

Depictions of family violence (yelling, grabbing, threats, slapping, kicking, beating, threats with a gun) of both a mother and child

Hospitalization for mental illness, psychosis

Mention of antidepressants

Threatening someone's freedom with hospitalization

Accusations of infidelity

Depiction of suicide by hanging (not the actual death, just the body in partial shot)

Description of what sounds like childhood sexual assault from the perspective of a child (non-graphic, vague)

Depictions of alcoholism

Child neglect (feeding a child food they are allergic to)

Allergic reaction in a child

Beating (not too graphic but there is blood on knuckles and blood on face shown)

Funeral, death of a parent (mother and father)

Floating body

Ep 5

Floating body

Systemic inertia (probably not triggering but seriously infuriating)

Mentions of narcotic use

Mentions of bipolar disorder

Creepy mask

Casual mentions of father's death

Implied one-sided teacher/student crush (student hugging teacher from behind)

Non-graphic ghost

Homophobia, bullying

Teacher/student relationship (kissing, implied sexual relationship between older woman and younger male)

Negative self-talk around mental illness and medicating mental illness

Descriptions of hallucinations

Ep6

Smoking (supposed to be marijuana but looks like manufactured cigarettes)

Wet dream resulting from an erotic-coded moment with amorphous smoke (idk how to properly warn for this lol)

Scratches on body (ambiguous source)

Mentions of pregnancy

Implied infidelity (by a married couple)

Slap

Bite, punches

Non-graphic ghost, mild jump scare

Creepy "fun house" with decorations including a lot of bloody handprints/blood-sprayed walls, creepy clown, distorting mirrors, screaming, flashing light, red lighting

Ep7

Creepy "fun house" with decorations including a lot of bloody handprints/blood-sprayed walls, creepy clown, distorting mirrors, screaming, flashing light, red lighting

Multiple people punched in the head, bruised faces from being punched in the mouth (mostly student-on-student but one parent punching their child)

Mild jump-scare with a loud sound

Vision of multiple bodies on the ground, with pools of blood (brief, no visible wounds, gore is mild)

Clothed heavy makeout between married female teacher and male student

Flash of someone blindfolded and someone with a gun

Implied sexual dream with amorphous smoke

Mention of loss of a limb, dripping of blood (no wound visible)

Mentions of drug use (spoon over a flame shown, implying heroin)

Depictions of someone dying by firing squad as a death sentence (death not shown)

Non-graphic ghost

Someone being choked

The preview for the second half has a bunch more stuff, but nothing that hasn't been warned for in the first half (choking, punching, hanging, creepy mask, amorphous smoke, etc.)

#shadow the series #bl meta #potential triggers and squicks

[serialunaliver]

yo hey hi i like hearing ur thoughts, they’re an interesting perspective. anyways i’m coming to u today because i genuinely have no idea who else to ask 😭😭😭 no need to reply either, i’ll work it out eventually but you seem more experienced and maybe you might know something about this?? anyways for a whole decade or so i thought (the symptoms of) psychosis were a normal thing that everyone experienced, and then i was a bit too honest with my mother and found out that no, it wasn’t, apparently? she wants me to talk to a psychiatrist and try to see if i can get on meds for that, but i’m not sure i should. like, generally i guess it interrupts my life, but it’s not THAT big of a deal to me?? like the memory issues that come with it really suck and does tend to affect a lot of my life, and it sucks not really being able to trust the memories i do have, but the other stuff i think i can handle just fine. like the hallucinations usually only affect me for a little and then i can focus (although sometimes they appear while driving which is frightening, but still, it’s brief and i doubt i’d crash). anyways i’m troubled about this because i hear that antipsychotic medication tends to have especially negative side effects. like i’m willing to take them if they can definitely fix my memory problems but it sounds like it’s just not worth it?? especially weighing the pros and cons, im just not sure i should do it. idk,, what do you think? or is there a third option here. maybe i should just look into a lobotomy

i'm not sure exactly what all your symptoms are but there are different psychotic disorders and some can be more manageable than others depending on the severity of the psychosis. mine is based more in a 'delusional' thought process. therapists believe I hallucinate but I think it's just a combination of dissociation and hyperphantasia (vivid mental imagery).

driving is an issue for some psychotic people because of distracting hallucinations and it can still be dangerous so you should probably talk to a doctor and see what your options are.

knowing beforehand that side effects of antipsychotics can be negative helps because you can ease into things but I want to clarify that most people on antipsychotics do not end up with the level of neurological damage I have. this was a result of being severely overmedicated on them as a minor and it would not have happened if I had autonomy in treatment and knew what to expect. there are plenty of people who stay on *normal* doses of antipsychotics and are fine with it. it really depends on whether you have a better quality of life on or off them. i'm lucky that my family can support me but they still would prefer I be on antipsychotics.

good luck and don't be afraid to advocate for yourself <3

[loving-n0t-heyting]

If it’s not too personal, can I ask about your experience with antipsychotics and why they didn’t work for you? And general opinions? I was considering them really hard but I’m very wary and don’t want to take something that isn’t like. Worth stopping hallucinations. I guess.

Definitely. Somewhat tmi at parts, below the readmore

So i should say upfront that I am not psychotic and was not prescribed antipsychotics for psychosis, and the medications on reflection achieved basically nothing for me beyond their “side” effects; so I can’t speak directly to the comparative badness of hallucinations and antipsychotics (though there are many, many psychotic ppl you can easily find who will attest the cure is worse than the disease, and I have promised myself on the basis of my own experiences not to seek out medication even in the event I start undergoing serious hallucinations—it’s just that bad ime). This is the sort of thing that happens in psychiatry bc the entire discipline is half-submerged in the equivalent of bloodletting and humours-balancing

My own experience is principally with “extrapyramidal” symptoms: akathisia, dystonia, and a weird symptom I have not found attested in the literature that tended to co-occur with dystonia where I would desperately seek out circles in my field of vision. Akathisia was the worst of these (followed by the circle lust and then dystonia—tho they were all torture), and it went away after 6wk on lurasidone, but would start up again from 0 if I dropped the meds for more than a few days and then picked them back up. I experienced a brief respite from suicidality when I started the drug, which at the time I chalked up to efficacy, but looking back was more plausibly just akathisia painfully draining so much of my attention to itself I could not even contemplate suicide. Propranolol helped mitigate it, but only partially. You can find a lot of claims on the internet to the effect that akathisia is torture (the wiki article even includes citations for the claim it was used as such against political dissidents in the USSR), and they are right

The other two were also quite awful, developed only some time into my taking them, usually occurred together by the end, and persisted until I quit the drugs altogether; I am told from a nurse that inducing dystonia over the course of years is known to cause permanent neurological disability, which I was lucky to escape. My particular brand was “oculogyric crises” every 2-3 nights lasting ~5-7h, in which my eyes would roll painfully far back into my head virtually uncontrollably, taking a Herculean effort to move at all, at which time I would suffer from horrifying intrusive thoughts and lose my ability to speak clearly and without needless repetition. I could go into great detail about the circle lust, too, but suffice it to say it was miserable and incapacitating to the point that unlocking my phone became a struggle (too distracted by the circles in the numbers on the keypad to focus on entering the passcode)

At some points the drugs I used to treat these symptoms were almost as bad as the side effects themselves. Cogentin was the only one to really stop the dystonia, and even at a low dose it caused urinary retention that forced me to go to the ER to get a catheter installed so I could walk around for the next several days with a tube connecting my bladder thru my urethra to a bag of piss strapped to my leg. After that, I had to start relying on increasingly large doses of Benadryl to achieve a lower level of dystonia suppression; I did not reach the point of the drug’s notoriously bad trips, but I was running the risk

I was lucky enough to avoid the cognitive blunting also known to commonly affect antipsychotics druggies but that was dumb luck on my part, and they sound both nightmarish and fiendishly self-obscuring. Check out robnost’s category tag in the link

In conclusion, I would strongly urge you to seriously question whether the hallucinations are bad enough to be worth it, especially in light of the drugs’ tenuous levels of long term effectiveness . I think categorical denunciations of drugs are generally most likely to shut down thought one way or the other, but this comes as close as anything could for me I think. I would urge particular caution getting them prescribed by a professional embedded in a system capable of forcing compliance if at some point you abandon compliance of your own accord: involuntary confinement and drugging are very much realities for the psychotic and otherwise seriously mentally ill

Good luck, whatever path you decide on. I’m sorry the hallucinations are giving you trouble

#ask #anon