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@fallen-arkham
BREAKING NEWS: THE DIRECTOR GETS ADMITTED TO ARKHAM ASYLUM.
âââ
Jeremiah Arkham gets admitted to Arkham Asylum after a psychotic break.
âHis mind nearly fragmented. We gave him this blog in hopes of helping him find himself again.â A doctor reported.
...
Glad. ⊠you are home.
-holten.
-âŠ
Jeremiah pulled the boy close.
âŠb-baby⊠p-poppetâ?
what is everyone's favourite flower? I would like to know.
@drowninnoodles @umbral-paladin @cr4ft11 @belle-and-seblesbian @luigipowtumbl @absolutesilly3 @strangelycasualhorror @imnotactallycool
SNAPDRAGONS!!! THEY'RE SO COOL LOOKING!!! >:3
I'm gonna leave this open for anyone to join in on. X3
Mine are Pansies! In a way, they remind me of my growth with interacting with others online
@pipittypro @emberthearsonist @stargazingdustbunny @anything-but-the-kitchen-sink
Mine is not what anyone who knows my ocs is probably expecting me to say: it's actually Bleeding Hearts
Because they are pretty, have a dramatic name, and we have one in the front garden :)
@dorky-vest-incarnate @skyactually @livviedaltonvintagedoll @batgirlspain
Thanks for tagging me, @stargazingdustbunny !
Mineâs Tiger Lily. Theyâre vibrant, bold and fiery.
@batwoman-or-whatever @batmanspain @thedoctornumber11
//Thank you for tagging me, @batgirlspain!! The tiger Lilly certainly reminds me of a certain someone.
As for me, personally, I love night-blooming flowers, so the bright impatiens are some of my favorites. One day, I hope to have a moon garden.
Kate is sentimental, so she might say moonflowers are her favorite right now because thatâs Ivyâs nickname for her. Very gay behavior.
Tagging: @director-of-arkham-city @strikesfearbringshope @dividedbybinaries @hackxr @ask-doctor-quinn @crowsinthecornfield @ivy-posting @questionquery and anyone else who wants to join!
The corpse flower. It is elusive and fleeting. A reminder that even the repulsive can be beautiful and to be gentle with and in awe of the world around you.
@askd0ctorjcrane, @crowsinthecornfield, @teaholding-eyestrain, @temp-war-profiteer, @hermesofeyes
đđđŠđđ„đ„đąđđŹ. đđĄđ đ©đąđ§đ€ đšđ§đđŹ.
âŠ
âŠtouch-me-nots. Alâ also kn-known as the âshameplantâ.
He moved closer, clinging to his doctor and shaking.
H-heâ he k-kissedâ meâ badâ bad likeâ Hawkâinsâ andâ and he hurt meâ andâ andâ forced me to m-move⊠didnâ want toâ
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đđš đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđĄđđŻđ đČđšđźđ«đŹđđ„đ? đđš đđ±đąđŹđ đšđ§đ„đČ đđŹ đ đđđŹđ đŹđźđđŁđđđ đđ§đ đ đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đ„đđ đ«đđ?
Mhâ mhmmâ
âŠ
F-Fear isâ is g-godâ haveâ have toâ to make f-fear haâhappyâ DocâDocâor Popâpetâ t-told m-me
âŠ
Wanna⊠wanna h-help⊠f-fear⊠wanna be g-goodâŠ
đđđ„đ„ đđĄđđ§, đđđ. đđ đČđšđź đźđ§đđđ«đŹđđđ§đ đđĄđđ, đđ§đ đąđ đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđ đđđđšđ«đđąđ§đ đ„đČ, đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đšđźđ„đ đŹđđČ đČđšđź đđ«đ đŻđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ.
Jeremiah seemed very relieved at this prospect. He wanted to be good. Doctor Poppet and Doctor Bird are the only ones who have ever stayed by his side, helped him. He would be a good test subject â he would make fear happy. It was only the respectful thing to do.
âŠl-like⊠hel-helping⊠w-with⊠experi-experiments⊠like⊠being useâ usefulâŠ
It nods, running its hand through his hair again, wiping away any blood spills onto him.
đđđŹ, đđđ.
đ đđŠ đŹđš đ đ„đđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đ„đšđŻđ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đźđŹ. đđšđź đđ«đ đŹđš đ°đđ„đ„ đđđĄđđŻđđ đ°đĄđđ§ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđđ§ đđ„đđđ§đŹđđ.
His breath started to even as he calmed down. His grip loosening only slightly on Doctor Bird. But he remained leaning on him.
Docâ Docâorâ P-Popâpet⊠saidâ said thatâ ifâ if âm goodâ he w-will g-give me a blanket.
đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđđ„đ„ đđšđđđšđ« đđšđ©đ©đđ đĄđšđ° đ°đđ„đ„ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđĄđđŻđđ đđšđđđČ, đđ§đ đ©đđ«đĄđđ©đŹ đĄđ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ«đąđ§đ đČđšđź đšđ§đ.
Its other hand trailed up, rubbing circles into his back.
đđ đČđšđź đ«đđŠđđąđ§ đđđŹđđ«đŻđąđ§đ đšđ đąđ.
Iâ⊠I didâ did so g-goodâ Docâor P-Popâpet made someâ something n-new andâ and I was s-so scaredâŠ
Jeremiah admitted this proudly, leaning into the touch. He couldnât help the nauseating waves of affection he felt towards these men. Regardless of what experiments they ran upon him.
đđđ«đ«đąđđąđđ?
He nodded.
âŠâs whyâ why âm cryâcrying⊠âm still scared.
đđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ, đđđ.
It produced a miniature first aid kit from its lab coat pocket.
đđĄđšđ° đŠđ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đ, đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đđĄđąđ§đ .
Jeremiah showed his hand to Crane, still pouring blood. He hummed happily from the compliments.
It shifts, laying his head in its lap. It lifts his hand and cleans the area, then begins to slowly stitch Jeremiah back together. It used to hum while it worked, but the sound would only come out as static if it did so now. So, instead, it lets the two of them fall into silence.
He wiped his tears with his other hand and cuddled Doctor Bird contentedly.
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đđš đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđĄđđŻđ đČđšđźđ«đŹđđ„đ? đđš đđ±đąđŹđ đšđ§đ„đČ đđŹ đ đđđŹđ đŹđźđđŁđđđ đđ§đ đ đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đ„đđ đ«đđ?
Mhâ mhmmâ
âŠ
F-Fear isâ is g-godâ haveâ have toâ to make f-fear haâhappyâ DocâDocâor Popâpetâ t-told m-me
âŠ
Wanna⊠wanna h-help⊠f-fear⊠wanna be g-goodâŠ
đđđ„đ„ đđĄđđ§, đđđ. đđ đČđšđź đźđ§đđđ«đŹđđđ§đ đđĄđđ, đđ§đ đąđ đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđ đđđđšđ«đđąđ§đ đ„đČ, đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đšđźđ„đ đŹđđČ đČđšđź đđ«đ đŻđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ.
Jeremiah seemed very relieved at this prospect. He wanted to be good. Doctor Poppet and Doctor Bird are the only ones who have ever stayed by his side, helped him. He would be a good test subject â he would make fear happy. It was only the respectful thing to do.
âŠl-like⊠hel-helping⊠w-with⊠experi-experiments⊠like⊠being useâ usefulâŠ
It nods, running its hand through his hair again, wiping away any blood spills onto him.
đđđŹ, đđđ.
đ đđŠ đŹđš đ đ„đđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đ„đšđŻđ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đźđŹ. đđšđź đđ«đ đŹđš đ°đđ„đ„ đđđĄđđŻđđ đ°đĄđđ§ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđđ§ đđ„đđđ§đŹđđ.
His breath started to even as he calmed down. His grip loosening only slightly on Doctor Bird. But he remained leaning on him.
Docâ Docâorâ P-Popâpet⊠saidâ said thatâ ifâ if âm goodâ he w-will g-give me a blanket.
đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđđ„đ„ đđšđđđšđ« đđšđ©đ©đđ đĄđšđ° đ°đđ„đ„ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđĄđđŻđđ đđšđđđČ, đđ§đ đ©đđ«đĄđđ©đŹ đĄđ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ«đąđ§đ đČđšđź đšđ§đ.
Its other hand trailed up, rubbing circles into his back.
đđ đČđšđź đ«đđŠđđąđ§ đđđŹđđ«đŻđąđ§đ đšđ đąđ.
Iâ⊠I didâ did so g-goodâ Docâor P-Popâpet made someâ something n-new andâ and I was s-so scaredâŠ
Jeremiah admitted this proudly, leaning into the touch. He couldnât help the nauseating waves of affection he felt towards these men. Regardless of what experiments they ran upon him.
đđđ«đ«đąđđąđđ?
He nodded.
âŠâs whyâ why âm cryâcrying⊠âm still scared.
đđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ, đđđ.
It produced a miniature first aid kit from its lab coat pocket.
đđĄđšđ° đŠđ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đ, đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đđĄđąđ§đ .
Jeremiah showed his hand to Crane, still pouring blood. He hummed happily from the compliments.
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đđš đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđĄđđŻđ đČđšđźđ«đŹđđ„đ? đđš đđ±đąđŹđ đšđ§đ„đČ đđŹ đ đđđŹđ đŹđźđđŁđđđ đđ§đ đ đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đ„đđ đ«đđ?
Mhâ mhmmâ
âŠ
F-Fear isâ is g-godâ haveâ have toâ to make f-fear haâhappyâ DocâDocâor Popâpetâ t-told m-me
âŠ
Wanna⊠wanna h-help⊠f-fear⊠wanna be g-goodâŠ
đđđ„đ„ đđĄđđ§, đđđ. đđ đČđšđź đźđ§đđđ«đŹđđđ§đ đđĄđđ, đđ§đ đąđ đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđ đđđđšđ«đđąđ§đ đ„đČ, đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đšđźđ„đ đŹđđČ đČđšđź đđ«đ đŻđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ.
Jeremiah seemed very relieved at this prospect. He wanted to be good. Doctor Poppet and Doctor Bird are the only ones who have ever stayed by his side, helped him. He would be a good test subject â he would make fear happy. It was only the respectful thing to do.
âŠl-like⊠hel-helping⊠w-with⊠experi-experiments⊠like⊠being useâ usefulâŠ
It nods, running its hand through his hair again, wiping away any blood spills onto him.
đđđŹ, đđđ.
đ đđŠ đŹđš đ đ„đđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đ„đšđŻđ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đźđŹ. đđšđź đđ«đ đŹđš đ°đđ„đ„ đđđĄđđŻđđ đ°đĄđđ§ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđđ§ đđ„đđđ§đŹđđ.
His breath started to even as he calmed down. His grip loosening only slightly on Doctor Bird. But he remained leaning on him.
Docâ Docâorâ P-Popâpet⊠saidâ said thatâ ifâ if âm goodâ he w-will g-give me a blanket.
đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđđ„đ„ đđšđđđšđ« đđšđ©đ©đđ đĄđšđ° đ°đđ„đ„ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđĄđđŻđđ đđšđđđČ, đđ§đ đ©đđ«đĄđđ©đŹ đĄđ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ«đąđ§đ đČđšđź đšđ§đ.
Its other hand trailed up, rubbing circles into his back.
đđ đČđšđź đ«đđŠđđąđ§ đđđŹđđ«đŻđąđ§đ đšđ đąđ.
Iâ⊠I didâ did so g-goodâ Docâor P-Popâpet made someâ something n-new andâ and I was s-so scaredâŠ
Jeremiah admitted this proudly, leaning into the touch. He couldnât help the nauseating waves of affection he felt towards these men. Regardless of what experiments they ran upon him.
đđđ«đ«đąđđąđđ?
He nodded.
âŠâs whyâ why âm cryâcrying⊠âm still scared.
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đđš đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđĄđđŻđ đČđšđźđ«đŹđđ„đ? đđš đđ±đąđŹđ đšđ§đ„đČ đđŹ đ đđđŹđ đŹđźđđŁđđđ đđ§đ đ đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đ„đđ đ«đđ?
Mhâ mhmmâ
âŠ
F-Fear isâ is g-godâ haveâ have toâ to make f-fear haâhappyâ DocâDocâor Popâpetâ t-told m-me
âŠ
Wanna⊠wanna h-help⊠f-fear⊠wanna be g-goodâŠ
đđđ„đ„ đđĄđđ§, đđđ. đđ đČđšđź đźđ§đđđ«đŹđđđ§đ đđĄđđ, đđ§đ đąđ đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđ đđđđšđ«đđąđ§đ đ„đČ, đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đšđźđ„đ đŹđđČ đČđšđź đđ«đ đŻđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ.
Jeremiah seemed very relieved at this prospect. He wanted to be good. Doctor Poppet and Doctor Bird are the only ones who have ever stayed by his side, helped him. He would be a good test subject â he would make fear happy. It was only the respectful thing to do.
âŠl-like⊠hel-helping⊠w-with⊠experi-experiments⊠like⊠being useâ usefulâŠ
It nods, running its hand through his hair again, wiping away any blood spills onto him.
đđđŹ, đđđ.
đ đđŠ đŹđš đ đ„đđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đ„đšđŻđ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đźđŹ. đđšđź đđ«đ đŹđš đ°đđ„đ„ đđđĄđđŻđđ đ°đĄđđ§ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđđ§ đđ„đđđ§đŹđđ.
His breath started to even as he calmed down. His grip loosening only slightly on Doctor Bird. But he remained leaning on him.
Docâ Docâorâ P-Popâpet⊠saidâ said thatâ ifâ if âm goodâ he w-will g-give me a blanket.
đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđđ„đ„ đđšđđđšđ« đđšđ©đ©đđ đĄđšđ° đ°đđ„đ„ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđĄđđŻđđ đđšđđđČ, đđ§đ đ©đđ«đĄđđ©đŹ đĄđ đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ«đąđ§đ đČđšđź đšđ§đ.
Its other hand trailed up, rubbing circles into his back.
đđ đČđšđź đ«đđŠđđąđ§ đđđŹđđ«đŻđąđ§đ đšđ đąđ.
Iâ⊠I didâ did so g-goodâ Docâor P-Popâpet made someâ something n-new andâ and I was s-so scaredâŠ
Jeremiah admitted this proudly, leaning into the touch. He couldnât help the nauseating waves of affection he felt towards these men. Regardless of what experiments they ran upon him.
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đđš đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđĄđđŻđ đČđšđźđ«đŹđđ„đ? đđš đđ±đąđŹđ đšđ§đ„đČ đđŹ đ đđđŹđ đŹđźđđŁđđđ đđ§đ đ đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đ„đđ đ«đđ?
Mhâ mhmmâ
âŠ
F-Fear isâ is g-godâ haveâ have toâ to make f-fear haâhappyâ DocâDocâor Popâpetâ t-told m-me
âŠ
Wanna⊠wanna h-help⊠f-fear⊠wanna be g-goodâŠ
đđđ„đ„ đđĄđđ§, đđđ. đđ đČđšđź đźđ§đđđ«đŹđđđ§đ đđĄđđ, đđ§đ đąđ đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđ đđđđšđ«đđąđ§đ đ„đČ, đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đšđźđ„đ đŹđđČ đČđšđź đđ«đ đŻđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ.
Jeremiah seemed very relieved at this prospect. He wanted to be good. Doctor Poppet and Doctor Bird are the only ones who have ever stayed by his side, helped him. He would be a good test subject â he would make fear happy. It was only the respectful thing to do.
âŠl-like⊠hel-helping⊠w-with⊠experi-experiments⊠like⊠being useâ usefulâŠ
It nods, running its hand through his hair again, wiping away any blood spills onto him.
đđđŹ, đđđ.
đ đđŠ đŹđš đ đ„đđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đ„đšđŻđ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đźđŹ. đđšđź đđ«đ đŹđš đ°đđ„đ„ đđđĄđđŻđđ đ°đĄđđ§ đČđšđź đĄđđŻđ đđđđ§ đđ„đđđ§đŹđđ.
His breath started to even as he calmed down. His grip loosening only slightly on Doctor Bird. But he remained leaning on him.
Docâ Docâorâ P-Popâpet⊠saidâ said thatâ ifâ if âm goodâ he w-will g-give me a blanket.
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đđš đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđĄđđŻđ đČđšđźđ«đŹđđ„đ? đđš đđ±đąđŹđ đšđ§đ„đČ đđŹ đ đđđŹđ đŹđźđđŁđđđ đđ§đ đ đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đ„đđ đ«đđ?
Mhâ mhmmâ
âŠ
F-Fear isâ is g-godâ haveâ have toâ to make f-fear haâhappyâ DocâDocâor Popâpetâ t-told m-me
âŠ
Wanna⊠wanna h-help⊠f-fear⊠wanna be g-goodâŠ
đđđ„đ„ đđĄđđ§, đđđ. đđ đČđšđź đźđ§đđđ«đŹđđđ§đ đđĄđđ, đđ§đ đąđ đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđ đđđđšđ«đđąđ§đ đ„đČ, đđĄđđ§ đ đ°đšđźđ„đ đŹđđČ đČđšđź đđ«đ đŻđđ«đČ đ đšđšđ.
Jeremiah seemed very relieved at this prospect. He wanted to be good. Doctor Poppet and Doctor Bird are the only ones who have ever stayed by his side, helped him. He would be a good test subject â he would make fear happy. It was only the respectful thing to do.
âŠl-like⊠hel-helping⊠w-with⊠experi-experiments⊠like⊠being useâ usefulâŠ
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đđš đČđšđź đąđ§đđđ§đ đđš đđđĄđđŻđ đČđšđźđ«đŹđđ„đ? đđš đđ±đąđŹđ đšđ§đ„đČ đđŹ đ đđđŹđ đŹđźđđŁđđđ đđ§đ đ đđđ«đ„đąđ§đ đ„đđ đ«đđ?
Mhâ mhmmâ
âŠ
F-Fear isâ is g-godâ haveâ have toâ to make f-fear haâhappyâ DocâDocâor Popâpetâ t-told m-me
âŠ
Wanna⊠wanna h-help⊠f-fear⊠wanna be g-goodâŠ
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
It pauses.
đđš đČđšđź đđđ„đąđđŻđ đđĄđđ đČđšđź đđ«đ?
Iâ I wa-want to b-beâŠ
đ:
đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
Apparently, Jeremiah was not deserving of a pet name, either.
đđ«đ đČđšđź đĄđđ©đ©đČ đđš đđ đĄđšđŠđ?
Jeremiah was lying in the corner of his cell, choking on hyperventilating sobs. Doctor Poppet obviously had not treated him kindly, much to the patientâs dismay.
He nodded, heartbroken at the lack of his pet name. He had so foolishly hoped for some mercy from Doctor Bird. He wailed, barely choking out his affirmative hum.
Mh- m-hmmâ
đđšđ°. đđš đŹđđ«đđđŠđąđ§đ . đđđŻđ đČđšđźđ« đŹđđ«đđđŠđŹ.
It did not enter his cell, simply lingering outside and staring at him through the bars.
đđĄđđ đđąđ đĄđ đđš, đĄđŠ? đđĄđČ đđąđ đČđšđź đ„đđ đĄđąđŠ? đđšđđŹ đđĄđđ đđšđźđ§đ đđŹ đ đšđšđ đđđĄđđŻđąđšđ«?
His words were unintelligible as he choked and gasped for air, mumbling something about âDoctor Poppetâ, âdeserving his punishmentâ and ânot being scared enoughâ.
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ°đĄđČ đČđšđź đđš đ§đšđ đ„đđ đ©đđšđ©đ„đ đđđ€đ đČđšđź đ©đ„đđđđŹ. đđĄđđČ đ«đźđąđ§ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đđ«đđđ€ đČđšđź. đđĄđđČ đŠđđ€đ đČđšđź đđĄđąđ§đ€ đđĄđąđ§đ đŹ.
đđ§đ đ°đ đđđ§đ§đšđ đĄđđŻđ đđĄđđ, đ§đšđ° đđđ§ đ°đ?
Static.
đđźđ đ đđđ§ đđąđ± đđĄđđ.
đ đđđ§ đ©đźđ«đąđđČ đ°đĄđđ đĄđđŹ đđđđ§ đŠđđđ đźđ§đđ„đđđ§.
Iâ Iâ tryâ triedâ g-goâ baâck homeâ
But it wasnât enough. It is never enough. He desperately wanted to be good. He didnât want to go there, he wanted to stay home. Why wonât they acknowledge that he didnât want it? That he didnât mean to?
đđĄđąđŹ đąđŹ đ§đšđ đ đ©đźđ§đąđŹđĄđŠđđ§đ, đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ.
The door opened.
It reached forward, and started to take the straitjacket off. Gently.
đ đđŠ đŹđąđŠđ©đ„đČ đĄđđ„đ©đąđ§đ đČđšđź đđš đ°đđŹđĄ đČđšđźđ« đĄđđ§đđŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđđČ đ°đđ«đ đŹđš đđ«đźđđđ„đ„đČ đđ§đ đźđ§đđđąđ«đ„đČ đđ«đđ đ đđ đđĄđ«đšđźđ đĄ đđĄđ đđąđ«đ.
đđšđź đ°đšđźđ„đ đ§đšđ đ°đđ§đ đđš đđ«đąđ§đ đ«đšđ đąđ§đđš đđĄđąđŹ đđźđąđ„đđąđ§đ , đ°đšđźđ„đ đČđšđź?
He shook his head no, wincing when his right hand was touched. It was badly bruised and swollen. Broken. Done without precision â likely by the person who took him.
He still cried desperately, his words nigh incomprehensible.
Thâthaânkâ yoâouâ docâorâ biârdâ
It sat down in front of him, its legs tucked neatly beneath it. It tilted its head staring down at him and the straitjacket now in its hands.
đđĄđđ§ đĄđ đđšđźđđĄđđ đČđšđź, đąđ đ„đđđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đđđĄđąđ§đ.
It set a scalpel on the floor between them.
đ đ§đđđ đČđšđź đđš đđźđ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ«đ©đ«đąđ§đđŹ đšđźđ.
Jeremiah made a sound between a choked scream and a whine. He picked up the scalpel and sobbed, unmoving.
It folded the straitjacket neatly, letting it rest in its lap. It watched him expectantly, confident in its ability to stop him from doing anything too stupid. Confident in his ability to cause himself enough pain.
It said nothing.
It waited.
Jeremiah looked at him desperately. He wanted Doctor Bird to take the command back, to hug him, to run his fingers through Jeremiahâs hair and recognize that Doctor Poppet had already punished him for this offense.
Docâor BiirrrdâŠ
He whined, wiping his tears pitifully with his broken hand.
đ đđŠ đ°đđąđđąđ§đ , đđ«đ€đĄđđŠ. đđ§đđ đČđšđź đđąđ± đČđšđźđ« đŠđąđŹđđđ€đ, đ đ°đąđ„đ„ đ„đđ đČđšđź đđ đŠđČ đ©đđ đđ đđąđ§.
Jeremiah shakily took the scalpel, beginning to cut around the bruise. He whimpered and sobbed, looking up at Doctor Bird for guidance. Reassurance.
It offered no such thing, its eyes fixed on the blade and the blood seeping from Jeremiah's hand. When it spoke, it was not to give kind words, or tell him to stop, or even to say that he was doing it right. Now, when it spoke all it said was-
đđšđź đŹđđąđ đđĄđđ đĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹđđ đČđšđź?
Mhmmmâ scary. Reminâremindedâ me ofâ of Hawâ Hawkinsâ
âŠfeâelâ soâ soâ violâatâedâ Doc-Doctor Birdâ
He reached up, tracing an X over Jeremiah's mouth. His touch painfully gentle.
đđšđźđ„đ đČđšđź đ„đąđ€đ đđš đđźđ đđĄđđ đšđźđ, đđšđš?
đđđŠđšđŻđ đđĄđ đ€đąđŹđŹ đđ«đšđŠ đČđšđźđ« đŠđđŠđšđ«đČ?
He nodded vigorously, still cutting at his hand, trying to remove the fingerprints.
đđšđšđ. đđ„đ„ đąđ đđđ€đđŹ đąđŹ đ đđđ° đ„đąđđđ„đ đđźđđŹ. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đ©đđąđ§. đ đ„đąđđđ„đ đđąđ đšđ đđđđ«. đđ§đ đČđšđź đ°đąđ„đ„ đđ đ°đĄđšđ„đ đđ đđąđ§.
Blood poured from his broken hand as he begun cutting his lips in the same x Doctor Bird made over them.
He cried in horror and pain, the scalpel clattered to the ground and Jeremiah reached for Doctor Bird once the act was done, trying to receive comfort from the man.
It patted his head, pulling Jeremiah's head to its chest, not minding as blood smeared across its clothing. Its other hand picked up the scalpel, wiping it clean and tucking it away.
He offered no words. Nor medical care. Just a simple hug, gently rocking Jeremiah back and forth.
Jeremiah relaxed, gripping tightly onto Doctor Bird. He barely whispered his words.
âŠa-am good..?
There was a knock at the door.
*He casually walked up to it. He wasnât expecting anyone, but was he ever?*
*He slowly opened it.*
âHello?â
- The War Profiteer
In the doorway stood. Crane. Though not the one Kilroy knew. Limbs in tact. A glint in eyes with light not yet stolen. Long hair tied back, clean. Organised. It was all. Too. perfect.
Good evening. I believe you have my patient.
*He blinked a few times, fighting the initial urge to squeeze him tight in a hug. He bowed his head.*
âMy liege. Your patient?⊠Oh⊠ohâŠâ
Oh. Quite the fascinating sight. A poisoned one. With illness so progressed. The crows were yet to collect him? Strange. A follower. Clearly. What else would there be to do in his state? Perhaps that. Was the thread he hung onto. Red string. A claim to life. Even when his hands trembled. Codependency. A denial of fearâs claim. Someone who must be fixed. Wasnât he so generous.
Jeremiah. Arkham. Bring him to me now. You do not want the police involved I presume. Given that this resembles an illegal arms factory.
He would keep the mask. To be safe. Until this man made the mistake of showing he did not want it.
*He paled, and gave a shaky inhale.*
"Yes... Of course... You don't kn-... Would you like to come in to collect him, or...?"
Come now. My friend do you think I am stupid? Why would I follow a kidnapper. Likely one with a fixation on roleplay. Fake life. Friends. Family. Into a location I know nothing about. Bring him here. Now.
*He frowned with a growl. He didn't like this Dr. Crane... He was a meany.*
"It's awfully cold. That's all... and he's a bitch to drag around. Whatever. I'll be back..."
*He turned to fetch the screaming lunatic.*
Jeremiah was trembling, but sat up straighter. He heard his Doctorâs voice. Doctor Poppet was here.
*He opened the door to the bedroom he was keeping the man in.*
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your parent's here to pick you up from daycare."
Doctorâ Doctor Popâ petâ needâ need Doctor Poppetâ
He stood up, trembling and trying to push past Kilroy to get to Jonathan.
"Ugh! Fine, lead the way."
*He in turn pushed the man ahead of him and followed loosely behind to the door.*
"Here he is."
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Jeremiah practically threw himself into Craneâs arms tearfully. Begging for forgiveness.
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Oh. My dearest crow. You were so frightened. right. Come here.
He grabbed Jeremiahâs chin. Looking down at him with a tilted head and hollow grin. Equally empty Eyes scrutinising shaking features. But the tears. Were not fast enough. The shakes were inadequate. Oh. He would have to up the dose again. Wouldnât he. Well. This would do for now. His face fell. The grin darkening. The eyes. Sharper. He glared, at his patient. Raising a hand Jonathan slapped Jeremiah across the face.
Not. Enough. Are you not grateful that I came to save you? You pathetic wreckage.
Jeremiah sobbed, clutching onto Jonathan in terror and shame. He didnât know what he did wrong.
His voice was near unintelligible as he babbled about âDoctor Poppetâ, âscaredâ, âHawkinsâ, and being âso gratefulâ
Ah. There we are. My perfect toy. My dearest crow. You always come back together again. The man on the wall must be jealous of you. He fears fragility. Let us go home. Hm?
H-Hoâomeâ pleâaseâ
He wanted to go home so badly, he clung to Jonathanâs side desperately.
âŠ
D-Doctorâ Popâpetâ?
Yes. Yes. Your doctor is here. Jeremiah. Angel.
Docâ Doctorâ Popâpetâ? Haâ have quesâionâ
He spoke quietly, barely over a whisper as he relaxed into his doctorâs hold, still shaking.
Hm? You can speak freely. Youre too afraid to lie right now. Arenât you?
Wonâ wonâtâ lieâ tââ myâ docâorâ loâveâ myâ docâ docâorâ
Good. Then ask your question.
IâIfâ Iâ be g-goodâŠ
âŠm-mayâ haâveâ weâweigâhtedâ blâ blankâet?
âŠpl-please?
âŠWe will see. I do believe you are ready for my new. Creation. I am sure if you take it well. A little exchange could be made. Friend. Now. Wait outside in the car. For me. My interests are not finished here. Not yet.
âŠthâthankâ y-youâ docâorâ
He squeezed Jonathan once more in a tight hug. He asked one more question before he began to pull away.
âŠw-weâ heâelpâ g-godââŠ. he-helpâ f-fearâ?
Clever boy.
That was all Jeremiah needed, he shakily began walking to the car, getting into the back seat and lying down in await for Doctor Poppet to return.
There was a knock at the door.
*He casually walked up to it. He wasnât expecting anyone, but was he ever?*
*He slowly opened it.*
âHello?â
- The War Profiteer
In the doorway stood. Crane. Though not the one Kilroy knew. Limbs in tact. A glint in eyes with light not yet stolen. Long hair tied back, clean. Organised. It was all. Too. perfect.
Good evening. I believe you have my patient.
*He blinked a few times, fighting the initial urge to squeeze him tight in a hug. He bowed his head.*
âMy liege. Your patient?⊠Oh⊠ohâŠâ
Oh. Quite the fascinating sight. A poisoned one. With illness so progressed. The crows were yet to collect him? Strange. A follower. Clearly. What else would there be to do in his state? Perhaps that. Was the thread he hung onto. Red string. A claim to life. Even when his hands trembled. Codependency. A denial of fearâs claim. Someone who must be fixed. Wasnât he so generous.
Jeremiah. Arkham. Bring him to me now. You do not want the police involved I presume. Given that this resembles an illegal arms factory.
He would keep the mask. To be safe. Until this man made the mistake of showing he did not want it.
*He paled, and gave a shaky inhale.*
"Yes... Of course... You don't kn-... Would you like to come in to collect him, or...?"
Come now. My friend do you think I am stupid? Why would I follow a kidnapper. Likely one with a fixation on roleplay. Fake life. Friends. Family. Into a location I know nothing about. Bring him here. Now.
*He frowned with a growl. He didn't like this Dr. Crane... He was a meany.*
"It's awfully cold. That's all... and he's a bitch to drag around. Whatever. I'll be back..."
*He turned to fetch the screaming lunatic.*
Jeremiah was trembling, but sat up straighter. He heard his Doctorâs voice. Doctor Poppet was here.
*He opened the door to the bedroom he was keeping the man in.*
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your parent's here to pick you up from daycare."
Doctorâ Doctor Popâ petâ needâ need Doctor Poppetâ
He stood up, trembling and trying to push past Kilroy to get to Jonathan.
"Ugh! Fine, lead the way."
*He in turn pushed the man ahead of him and followed loosely behind to the door.*
"Here he is."
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Jeremiah practically threw himself into Craneâs arms tearfully. Begging for forgiveness.
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Oh. My dearest crow. You were so frightened. right. Come here.
He grabbed Jeremiahâs chin. Looking down at him with a tilted head and hollow grin. Equally empty Eyes scrutinising shaking features. But the tears. Were not fast enough. The shakes were inadequate. Oh. He would have to up the dose again. Wouldnât he. Well. This would do for now. His face fell. The grin darkening. The eyes. Sharper. He glared, at his patient. Raising a hand Jonathan slapped Jeremiah across the face.
Not. Enough. Are you not grateful that I came to save you? You pathetic wreckage.
Jeremiah sobbed, clutching onto Jonathan in terror and shame. He didnât know what he did wrong.
His voice was near unintelligible as he babbled about âDoctor Poppetâ, âscaredâ, âHawkinsâ, and being âso gratefulâ
Ah. There we are. My perfect toy. My dearest crow. You always come back together again. The man on the wall must be jealous of you. He fears fragility. Let us go home. Hm?
H-Hoâomeâ pleâaseâ
He wanted to go home so badly, he clung to Jonathanâs side desperately.
âŠ
D-Doctorâ Popâpetâ?
Yes. Yes. Your doctor is here. Jeremiah. Angel.
Docâ Doctorâ Popâpetâ? Haâ have quesâionâ
He spoke quietly, barely over a whisper as he relaxed into his doctorâs hold, still shaking.
Hm? You can speak freely. Youre too afraid to lie right now. Arenât you?
Wonâ wonâtâ lieâ tââ myâ docâorâ loâveâ myâ docâ docâorâ
Good. Then ask your question.
IâIfâ Iâ be g-goodâŠ
âŠm-mayâ haâveâ weâweigâhtedâ blâ blankâet?
âŠpl-please?
âŠWe will see. I do believe you are ready for my new. Creation. I am sure if you take it well. A little exchange could be made. Friend. Now. Wait outside in the car. For me. My interests are not finished here. Not yet.
âŠthâthankâ y-youâ docâorâ
He squeezed Jonathan once more in a tight hug. He asked one more question before he began to pull away.
âŠw-weâ heâelpâ g-godââŠ. he-helpâ f-fearâ?
There was a knock at the door.
*He casually walked up to it. He wasnât expecting anyone, but was he ever?*
*He slowly opened it.*
âHello?â
- The War Profiteer
In the doorway stood. Crane. Though not the one Kilroy knew. Limbs in tact. A glint in eyes with light not yet stolen. Long hair tied back, clean. Organised. It was all. Too. perfect.
Good evening. I believe you have my patient.
*He blinked a few times, fighting the initial urge to squeeze him tight in a hug. He bowed his head.*
âMy liege. Your patient?⊠Oh⊠ohâŠâ
Oh. Quite the fascinating sight. A poisoned one. With illness so progressed. The crows were yet to collect him? Strange. A follower. Clearly. What else would there be to do in his state? Perhaps that. Was the thread he hung onto. Red string. A claim to life. Even when his hands trembled. Codependency. A denial of fearâs claim. Someone who must be fixed. Wasnât he so generous.
Jeremiah. Arkham. Bring him to me now. You do not want the police involved I presume. Given that this resembles an illegal arms factory.
He would keep the mask. To be safe. Until this man made the mistake of showing he did not want it.
*He paled, and gave a shaky inhale.*
"Yes... Of course... You don't kn-... Would you like to come in to collect him, or...?"
Come now. My friend do you think I am stupid? Why would I follow a kidnapper. Likely one with a fixation on roleplay. Fake life. Friends. Family. Into a location I know nothing about. Bring him here. Now.
*He frowned with a growl. He didn't like this Dr. Crane... He was a meany.*
"It's awfully cold. That's all... and he's a bitch to drag around. Whatever. I'll be back..."
*He turned to fetch the screaming lunatic.*
Jeremiah was trembling, but sat up straighter. He heard his Doctorâs voice. Doctor Poppet was here.
*He opened the door to the bedroom he was keeping the man in.*
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your parent's here to pick you up from daycare."
Doctorâ Doctor Popâ petâ needâ need Doctor Poppetâ
He stood up, trembling and trying to push past Kilroy to get to Jonathan.
"Ugh! Fine, lead the way."
*He in turn pushed the man ahead of him and followed loosely behind to the door.*
"Here he is."
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Jeremiah practically threw himself into Craneâs arms tearfully. Begging for forgiveness.
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Oh. My dearest crow. You were so frightened. right. Come here.
He grabbed Jeremiahâs chin. Looking down at him with a tilted head and hollow grin. Equally empty Eyes scrutinising shaking features. But the tears. Were not fast enough. The shakes were inadequate. Oh. He would have to up the dose again. Wouldnât he. Well. This would do for now. His face fell. The grin darkening. The eyes. Sharper. He glared, at his patient. Raising a hand Jonathan slapped Jeremiah across the face.
Not. Enough. Are you not grateful that I came to save you? You pathetic wreckage.
Jeremiah sobbed, clutching onto Jonathan in terror and shame. He didnât know what he did wrong.
His voice was near unintelligible as he babbled about âDoctor Poppetâ, âscaredâ, âHawkinsâ, and being âso gratefulâ
Ah. There we are. My perfect toy. My dearest crow. You always come back together again. The man on the wall must be jealous of you. He fears fragility. Let us go home. Hm?
H-Hoâomeâ pleâaseâ
He wanted to go home so badly, he clung to Jonathanâs side desperately.
âŠ
D-Doctorâ Popâpetâ?
Yes. Yes. Your doctor is here. Jeremiah. Angel.
Docâ Doctorâ Popâpetâ? Haâ have quesâionâ
He spoke quietly, barely over a whisper as he relaxed into his doctorâs hold, still shaking.
Hm? You can speak freely. Youre too afraid to lie right now. Arenât you?
Wonâ wonâtâ lieâ tââ myâ docâorâ loâveâ myâ docâ docâorâ
Good. Then ask your question.
IâIfâ Iâ be g-goodâŠ
âŠm-mayâ haâveâ weâweigâhtedâ blâ blankâet?
âŠpl-please?
There was a knock at the door.
*He casually walked up to it. He wasnât expecting anyone, but was he ever?*
*He slowly opened it.*
âHello?â
- The War Profiteer
In the doorway stood. Crane. Though not the one Kilroy knew. Limbs in tact. A glint in eyes with light not yet stolen. Long hair tied back, clean. Organised. It was all. Too. perfect.
Good evening. I believe you have my patient.
*He blinked a few times, fighting the initial urge to squeeze him tight in a hug. He bowed his head.*
âMy liege. Your patient?⊠Oh⊠ohâŠâ
Oh. Quite the fascinating sight. A poisoned one. With illness so progressed. The crows were yet to collect him? Strange. A follower. Clearly. What else would there be to do in his state? Perhaps that. Was the thread he hung onto. Red string. A claim to life. Even when his hands trembled. Codependency. A denial of fearâs claim. Someone who must be fixed. Wasnât he so generous.
Jeremiah. Arkham. Bring him to me now. You do not want the police involved I presume. Given that this resembles an illegal arms factory.
He would keep the mask. To be safe. Until this man made the mistake of showing he did not want it.
*He paled, and gave a shaky inhale.*
"Yes... Of course... You don't kn-... Would you like to come in to collect him, or...?"
Come now. My friend do you think I am stupid? Why would I follow a kidnapper. Likely one with a fixation on roleplay. Fake life. Friends. Family. Into a location I know nothing about. Bring him here. Now.
*He frowned with a growl. He didn't like this Dr. Crane... He was a meany.*
"It's awfully cold. That's all... and he's a bitch to drag around. Whatever. I'll be back..."
*He turned to fetch the screaming lunatic.*
Jeremiah was trembling, but sat up straighter. He heard his Doctorâs voice. Doctor Poppet was here.
*He opened the door to the bedroom he was keeping the man in.*
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your parent's here to pick you up from daycare."
Doctorâ Doctor Popâ petâ needâ need Doctor Poppetâ
He stood up, trembling and trying to push past Kilroy to get to Jonathan.
"Ugh! Fine, lead the way."
*He in turn pushed the man ahead of him and followed loosely behind to the door.*
"Here he is."
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Jeremiah practically threw himself into Craneâs arms tearfully. Begging for forgiveness.
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Oh. My dearest crow. You were so frightened. right. Come here.
He grabbed Jeremiahâs chin. Looking down at him with a tilted head and hollow grin. Equally empty Eyes scrutinising shaking features. But the tears. Were not fast enough. The shakes were inadequate. Oh. He would have to up the dose again. Wouldnât he. Well. This would do for now. His face fell. The grin darkening. The eyes. Sharper. He glared, at his patient. Raising a hand Jonathan slapped Jeremiah across the face.
Not. Enough. Are you not grateful that I came to save you? You pathetic wreckage.
Jeremiah sobbed, clutching onto Jonathan in terror and shame. He didnât know what he did wrong.
His voice was near unintelligible as he babbled about âDoctor Poppetâ, âscaredâ, âHawkinsâ, and being âso gratefulâ
Ah. There we are. My perfect toy. My dearest crow. You always come back together again. The man on the wall must be jealous of you. He fears fragility. Let us go home. Hm?
H-Hoâomeâ pleâaseâ
He wanted to go home so badly, he clung to Jonathanâs side desperately.
âŠ
D-Doctorâ Popâpetâ?
Yes. Yes. Your doctor is here. Jeremiah. Angel.
Docâ Doctorâ Popâpetâ? Haâ have quesâionâ
He spoke quietly, barely over a whisper as he relaxed into his doctorâs hold, still shaking.
Hm? You can speak freely. Youre too afraid to lie right now. Arenât you?
Wonâ wonâtâ lieâ tââ myâ docâorâ loâveâ myâ docâ docâorâ
