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gryfflepuffinthetardis · 6 months

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Sweet Jane Part One — Campbell Bain x Reader

Summary: Y/n was admitted to Saint Jude's hospital in Glasglow soon after her eighteenth birthday when she developed a case of psychogenic/traumatic mutism; there she meets a talkative, optimistic, idealistic, hyperactive nineteen-year-old boy with Manic depression who dreams of becoming a DJ, follow them through their story and learn what happened to Y/n.

Series Warnings: Past Toxic Relationship, Manipulative Ex, Mentions of Past Rape, Mental Health, Discrimination against the Mentally Ill/Neroudivergent, Traumatized Reader, Abusive Parents, Mentions of deceased family members, Stalking, Suicide, Reader doesn't handle men touching her well, Mentions of Sex, Bad Caretakers, Implied Non-Scottish Reader, Implied Short Reader, Campbell Bain's Dad is Terrible

Chapter Warnings: Reader refuses to speak; Loving Campbell Bain, Traumatized Reader, Selectively Mute Reader, PTSD Reader, Psychogenic Mute Reader, Traumatic Mute Reader, Manic Depressant Campbell Bain, Bipolar Campbell Bain, Schizophrenic Furgus, OCD Rosalie, Reader Developed Selective Mutism as a Coping Mechanism, Reader may have an intense type of anxiety caused by trauma, Reader is implied to not be Scottish or at least from Scotland (I am American but just add where you're from), Reader is implied to be shorter than the six-foot Campbell Bain

“You are a mystery to me, yet so familiar. Like a song I’ve never heard before, and a tune I’ve known my entire life.”

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Y/N hadn't spoken a word since she was eighteen and long before that something had changed. Her parents finally decided enough was enough and sent her to Saint Jude's hospital in Glasgow.

Campbell had literally crashed into the new girl during his excitement at hearing that the Saint Jude's radio station would be reopened.

The girl screamed as he collided with her and she started screaming and kicking due to his body weight on her.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." He said, hurriedly, getting off of her and holding a hand out to help her up but she just stared at him, terrified, "I'm sorry. Uh..." He realized he didn't recognize her, as far as he knew he was the youngest patient at Saint Jude's and this girl was around his age. This was exciting! "Are you new? I'm Campbell Bain, I'll be the bane of your life until one of us is discharged." He chortled at his own joke before he realized she was still of the floor, "Oh, let me help you up." He crouched down and took her hand, helped her up.

She stared at him with a confused look on her face but she didn't pull her hand away yet more out of shock than anything. Campbell offered her a smile before she ripped her hand out of his grip and ran off, leaving Campbell very confused.

He asked the nurses about the girl but none would give him proper answers, until he got to Stuart the orderlie, who should've been a patient instead but... you know, life.

"She's a looney." He said, blankly.

"Ai, yes. Yes. Yes. I know that much but what's her name? What's her deal?" Campbell prodded.

"Y/N." Was all he said.

A few days later, Eddie McKenna arrived to be the DJ for Saint Jude's, with assumption that he'd be able to tell the difference between the staff and the patients.

He had an interaction with Stuart and assumed he was a patient but found out that he was a nursing assistant. Well, that couldn't be good.

Then he met Campbell, who seemed perfectly friendly and nice before realizing he was a patient himself.

Campbell and Y/N were on better terms, now that she had stopped bolting on the other direction when he tried to talk to her. And they listened to Eddie's show as Y/N read Narnia.

Soon after the show, Eddie heard Campbell playing and singing, Summertime Blues on his guitar which was only slightly out of tune, which Eddie had played on his show. He saw Y/N correcting Campbell's finger placement on the guitar as he whined that it hurt his hand.

Campbell enthusiastically praised Eddie and explained on his poor timing and the patient’s dependence of television.

Y/N caught sight of something moving outside the window and she threw a guitar pick at Campbell, making him pout in her direction before seeing her pointing and they ran to window as he said, “Hang on, you’re not boring me or that, but I’ve just seen a friend of mine flying past the window.”

Y/N and Campbell leaned out the window to see the hospital’s Schizophrenic who despite the schtick his disorder stereotyped him as he was just the most gentle soul you’d ever meet, if a little eccentric, grappling down the side of the building.

“Fergus! What’re you doing!?” Campbell shouted after him as Eddie joined them, “you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“Shall I get a nurse?” Eddie asked and Y/N shook her head.

“Fergus! You’re gonna miss your cocoa, you know!”

“I know.” Fergus told him.

“Can Y/N and I have it, then?” He asked.

“Help yourselves.” He told them.

“He’s escaping.” Eddie said, surprised how calm both of them were being so calm about this

“He’ll be knocking on the door in an hour or so. He always does.” Campbell reassured Eddie, “annoys the hell out of the staff but makes this one smile.” He nodded at Y/N as she sat on Campbell’s bed with his guitar, the look of fascination in Campbell's eyes was not lost on Eddie.

Campbell returned to his enthusiastic and impulsive idea-planning, the first being to bring up a story when a student nurse accidently gave everyone in the ward a laxative, making Eddie and Y/N look at him oddly and the only problem he saw with it was where he’d get that many laxatives.

“What about a request show?” He asked Eddie.

“I already thought of that. I haven’t enough records.” Eddie shot down that idea… well, he’s never disagreed with Campbell Bain before.

“So?”

“So? When folk request something, they usually like to be able to play it.”

“We just make them keep requesting until they hit something we actually have.” Campbell said, “‘if you can guess a record that we actually have in our library, then we will play it for you with a special dedication’.” He did a playful punch in the air, “who could resist?”

“It’ll never work.”

Y/N who had been playing with Campbell’s guitar, then played a jingly tune.

“You’re right, Y/N!” He declared, enthusiastically with an enthusiastic pointed finger at her and then he ran his hand through his light auburn-brown floppy hair, “We’ll need some jingles.” Y/N looked up when Campbell sang a jingle, “Hospital radio, Saint Juuuuude’s.” He smiled at Eddie, “that sort of thing.”

“You need singers to record jingles.”

Campbell picked up his guitar from Y/N and sat next to her, “and what exactly is sitting here before you?”

“A lunatic!” Eddie declared, making Y/N softly giggle.

“Aye, a singing lunatic!” Campbell agreed, enthusiastically. “We could record them in the station, aye?”

“Aye…” Eddie submitted.

“Brilliant!” Campbell exclaimed, going back to Eddie, “Now give me the key.” He held out his hand.

“What key?” Eddie asked.

“To the station.” Campbell said and ran to the door, looking out, “look, I’ve gotta start. Writing the jingles, rehearsing the singers, cataloging the albums.”

Eddie looked at Y/N as she looked back down and realized he hadn’t gotten her name, having been distracted Campbell’s… Campbell-ness and Fergus escaping. “Uh, ma’am… what’s your name again?” Eddie asked, making Y/N look up from a piece of paper she was now writing on, she gave him with a blank deadpan look at being called “ma’am”. She was only eighteen.

“That’s Y/N.” Campbell said.

“What’s your favorite album?” Nothing. She just looked at him, “can you sing?” She blinked twice and he turned back to Campbell, “what’s wrong with her?”

“Oh, she doesn’t speak. She hasn’t said a word since she got here.” Campbell said, “and there’s nothing wrong with her, she’s just looney like me!”

Eddie walked closer to him and asked as gently as he could, “Campbell, how exactly are you here?”

Campbell paused in which he faltered, knowing how his own father felt about his disorder before smiling, “Can you not guess? I’m manic.” Y/N looked up and smiled at him, making his eyes dart to her and a more genuine smile appeared on his lips before he reassured Eddie, “but don’t worry. The drugs I take make me completely stable. Except for headaches, of course.” He blinked in pain as he focused back on the painful headaches and he squeezed his eyes shut before blindly grabbing onto Eddie’s shirt who could sense a scene coming up as could Y/N who looked up to be amused by Campbell, “I get these headaches. I just comes over me and I cannae…” He flopped on his bed, next to Y/N and shouted out in pain, “ah, the bells! The bells!”

Y/N reached over and went to place her hand on Campbell’s back before stopping, hesitating to do so, not sure if they were close enough or if she wanted to admit that they were close enough and then suddenly Campbell’s mood shifted back to near manic and he shot himself up to look at Eddie, making Y/N pull her hand away, blinking briefly in surprise, “And I want my own show, by the way.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Well, after all this work, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” He questioned.

“Campbell, I cannae just give you your own show.” Eddie protested, “you need training on the equipment.”

“So? Train me!” Campbell pleaded, eagerly. “I’ll take Friday nights.”

“Will that not clash with Brookside?” Eddie questioned.

Y/N looked at the window where they had gone to to shout after Fergus.

—

The next day, Campbell and Eddie were in the common room with Eddie standing shyly while Campbell did the opposite and shouted through a party megaphone while Y/N sat with Fergus, writing down something for him to read. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make!” He spotted Fergus and Y/N and narrowed his eyes, “Fergus, stop flirting with Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and went to the couch rather bored now and put her headphones on.

Campbell and Eddie had announced the request show, while admitting that they had limited records. Eddie went to talk to Nana while Campbell stared at Y/N, feeling nervous to approach her since he worried she hated him with how scared she got when he interacted with her.

Then Fergus clapped him on the back, making him stumble and look at him, unamused before approaching the silent H/C-haired girl.

"Hey, Y/N," Campbell said, kindly, walking up to the silent girl but she didn't seem to hear him as she was listening to her Walkman. He tapped her shoulder, making her jump and stare at him with wide eyes just as she had when they first met. He gestured to her headphones, silently asking if he could take them off and she slowly nodded and he gently slid them off and could vaguely hear Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover by Sophie B. Hawkins.

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"Hey, we're doing a request show. You have any requests?"

She looked at him for a good while before getting up and leaving. Campbell frowned and his spirits were diminished before leaning forward and face planting his face into the couch cushion, groaning.

—

Campbell showed Eddie the radio station now cleaned and useable thanks to him, Y/N, and Rosalie and as he left Eddie questioned Campbell about Nana and Campbell answered in his own hyperactive way before Eddie questioned him about his obvious crush on Y/N.

“The silent girl, uh… M/Y/N.” (Mispronunciation of Your Name)

“Y/N.” Campbell corrected, automatically in a slightly defensive tone.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Campbell’s cheeks burned as they reddened and his heartrate quickened, “No. No. No. She’s new actually. Been here about a week. She… she’s a mystery.” He gave out a dreamy smile, “One I’d like to solve but…” He shrugged like, what can you do? —

Campbell was snoring when he was awoken by a friendly smack in the head. He woke up, groaning with confusion before turning on his light, illuminating Y/N who smile sweetly at him as she held something behind her back.

"Jesus, Y/N." He groaned, "what you do that for?" She just looked at him and he nodded, remembering who je was talking to, "right. Uh, what is it?"

Y/N brought a custom record sleeve out from behind her back and he slowly began to realize what she was trying tell him.

"Oh, you want me to play one of these songs during the show tomorrow, er… today?" He asked.

She nodded and sat on the edge of his bed, making him kick around spazzily and awkwardly before sitting up, trying to make room for her as his heart pounded and he looked down at her, feeling her body heat up against his but forced himself not to think about that as it was a bit of a creepy thought to have at two in the morning as she showed him the songs on the back of the vinyl which was also handmade, she pointed at the first song: a cover of The Velvet Underground's Sweet Jane by Cowboy Junkies.

"Is that your favorite song?" He asked and she nodded. "Wait, these are all from different bands, how'd you get this?"

She pointed to herself, "you made it?" He gathered, "Who made the record?" She pointed to herself again and he just smiled at her impressed and enamored by her. "You are one mystery, Y/N L/N. You may be my favorite mystery.”

She smiled, telling him that she liked the idea of being a mystery to him and kissed his cheek, near the corner of his lip, nearly making him melt with a loud dreamy sigh before running off. He looked after he with a starstruck look of awe on his face before flopping back on his pillow, groaning.

—

The next day, Y/N shared a smile with Fergus before listening in on the radio to the show, standing and watching Campbell through the window.

“Good evening! This is Ready Eddie.” Eddie introduced, “and on my left is my right-hand man…”

“Campbell Bain.” Campbell introduced, not seeing Y/N watching him and the smile on her lips.

“And you’re listening to the first ever Ready Eddie Radio Request Road Show.” He gave Campbell a thumbs up and the nineteen-year-old pushed a button, making a jingle play.

“Ready Eddie’s road show. Ready, Eddie, go.”

“That’s right. This is the premiere. This is the first. And you can tell everyone that you were there. You heard it! You saw it!” Campbell said, enthusiastically before joking, “And they’ll tell you, it’s all part of your illness.”

Y/N giggled at his antics before realizing this and she zipped her leather jacket up over her shirt with the sarcastic quote on it.

“We’re playing requests from Ward Eleven this evening. This one is for Francine. I hope you’re listening, Francine.”

Campbell then teased, “I hope anyone’s listening.” He then saw Y/N watching him and let out an audible smile that melted his insides.

“Is anybody listening?” Eddie asked, “Is anybody out there?”

Then Help! By the Beatles started to play and soon the patients came out and Campbell ran out of the station to dance with some patients before more came out, including Fergus. He gave Y/N a smile and thumbs up as he flashed the part of the television he had removed.

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Campbell ran back to Eddie and pulled his earphone off so he could talk to him, “the television’s broken, Eddie! There is a God!”

Eddie nodded in the direction of Y/N and Campbell’s face lit up and he ran to Y/N and taking her hands, trying to ease her into dancing. She shook her head before starting to shuffle awkwardly to the music before Campbell took her hands and pulled her against him so she danced with him to the beat of the music. She then giggled up against him and he smiled, triumphally.

He was about to comment on how beautiful her laugh when there was a BANG! And the music stopped, making them all exclaim in disappointment before Campbell and Y/N ran back to the station to see what was wrong.

“What’s wrong?”

“The mixing desk.” Eddie said, trying to fix it with his limited knowledge.

“Do something!” Campbell exclaimed.

“What can I do? I can’t even turn on the bathroom light without shocking myself.” Eddie remarked.

“Well, check the plug. Maybe it’s the fuse.” Campbell suggested as Y/N looked up at Fergus and gestured for him to come.

“It’s not the fuse.” Eddie sighed.

Campbell ran his hand through his floppy hair, “I cannae believe this. I’ve just had the world’s shortest career as a disk jockey.”

Fergus took out a screwdriver and headed inside to help and started to unscrew the screws of the mixing desk.

“Fergus, what are you doing?” Campbell asked.

“I’ll just have a look.” Fergus reassure him.

“No, don’t!” Eddie shouted, “don’t have a look there.”

Y/N helped Fergus lift the plate of the mixing desk as Eddie continued to try and stop Fergus and Y/N, “Fergus, Y/N, I’m asking you. Please, leave it alone”

“He’s gonna blow it up.” A patient said.

“He’s not!” Campbell protested.

“I think I know what the problem is.” Fergus told Eddie.

“He’s blowing it up.” Another patient said and the others started to chant Fergus’ name.

“Fergus, don’t, okay!? Just leave it alone. It’s all we’ve got.” Eddie pleaded and Y/N smacked Eddie’s shoulder when Stuart literally pushed her out of the way, making her squeak and stumble before Campbell caught her and glared at Stuart.

“Oi, watch where you’re going!” He shouted.

Stuart aggressively grabbed Fergus holding him in a near chokehold and Y/N tried to go forth to help but Campbell held her back, knowing she’d just be pushed away again, if not sedated.

“He’s not causing trouble, is he?” He asked Eddie and Y/N shook her head, frantically at Eddie.

“No, he’s just helping me, get the mixing desk going again.” Eddie muttered.

“Him? He couldn’t get his brain going again.” Stuart spat and Y/N scoffed, implying that she felt that better described Stuart than Fergus.

“Leave it, Stuart.” Isabella, the more kind nurse said, “it’s all over.”

Stuart let Fergus go and sulked out of the room, clearly upset that he didn’t get to hurt someone as Y/N gave him the middle finger.

Fergus closed the plate of the mixing desk and Y/N flipped the switch, making the light come back on.

“You two are geniuses.” Campbell gasped.

Y/N shook her head and pointed at Fergus like, no, he’s the genius.

“YOU’RE GENIUSES!” Campbell shouted and he slammed the door shut and got back to the microphone, “Sorry about the technical problems, folks. We’re now back on the air and we hope to keep it that way. Our next request is for Y/N and dedicated to her by me.” He chortled as he looked at her and clicked his tongue as he winked.

The cover of Sweet Jane played, making Y/N smile as Eddie looked at Fergus, giving him an apologetic and thankful smile as Fergus perpetually scowled before his lips curved into a gentle smile.

Later, Y/N helped Campbell clean up the hallways before they bumped into each other.

“Uh… so how did you know how to help Fergus?” He asked.

She took out her wad of paper and wrote: Learned. Taught.

He nodded, taking what he could get, “I always knew you were smart.” He said, honestly and he hesitated before leaning towards her to kiss her cheek like she had done the night, she shifted, conflicted as she could see the pure gentless in Campbell's personality, in his actions, in his eyes, and she could feel it in his cheek kiss. He had hesitated, not wanting to overstep boundaries and he was still nervous about his decision but before she could react Eddie ran out of the room, making them break apart and move out of the way before he rammed into them.

*This is a series from my Wattpad, so I'm moving in to Tumblr and Archive of my Own. There is an entire subplot later on of stalking and the cause of the reader's muteness or mutism (which ever is the correct term). Am I the only one who feels like Campbell Bain might also have ADHD or is it just because of his Bipolar/Manic Depression. I'm usually good at this but I'm having a hard time differentiating the two or maybe it's just David Tennant.

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noirvouzzz · 26 days

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Sunday Morning

Pairing: Campbell Bain x fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: After spending the weekend outside St. Jude's, you return to the asylum, excited to see Campbell and give him a small present you got him at a record store. However, when you walk into his room, you find him in the middle of masturbating.

Warnings: Caught male masturbation, implied non-virgin!reader, virgin!campbell, making out, (slight) hair pulling, dry humping, boob sucking, handjob, blowjob, mention of rough oral, kind of public? (they're in an asylum so idk), aftercare, fluff.

Word count: 3.7 k

Author's note: Hi there, it's admin Kyra! I wanted to start by letting you know that English is not my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes. And I haven't written a fic in forever, so bear with me. I tried to make Campbells dialogues sound like his accent, but keep in mind that I'm not Scottish so I don't know if it's right :'). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!! :D

You waltzed into the asylum door, holding your backpack tightly as you looked around the place. It seemed surreal, but you were kind of happy to be back. After getting a weekend pass, you thought they'd have to drag you back to this place, but living there for the past few months made the asylum feel like home. You skipped through the corridors, excited to find Campbell and tell him about the little record shop that you visited on your free weekend. You had picked up a small gift for him — a simple vinyl record keychain. While it wasn't extravagant, your budget had limited your options, and you couldn't wait to give it to him anyway. Something that you hadn't expected was missing him so much. Seeing him every day made the absence of his presence over the last two days feel oddly unfamiliar. And, walking to the common room, you couldn't help but wonder whether he missed you too. You tried to anticipate his reaction to your early return since you were supposed to come back after dinner, yet ended up deciding to do it a few hours before schedule. But, where could he be? He wasn't at the radio station because you could hear Francine's voice announcing the next song, and he definitely wasn't in the common room where you were standing. Maybe he was in his shared room, but that would be out of character for him. He wasn't the type to isolate himself in his bedroom, especially not in the middle of the afternoon. You thought that he could be playing the guitar, or he could have got a day pass and not be in the asylum at all. However, you decided to stop overthinking and just check his room; if he wasn't there, you'd just wait for him to return. Approaching the door, a fluttering sensation started filling your stomach while you held the wrapped keychain in your hand. You caught the sound of distant breathy groans and tried to peek through the small window, but the blinds were pulled down. Perhaps he was sleeping, but you still wanted to surprise him, so you pushed the door open and walked inside.

Your eyes widened, seeing the scene that was unfolding before you. The room was quite dark, only being illuminated by a little ray of sunlight that peeked through the closed curtains. Campbell was sitting on his bed, his cheeks pink and his mouth slightly open as he let out heavy, sharp breaths. His back was leaning against the headboard, which would make little squeaky sounds whenever he moved. Your eyes travelled down to his hands. His left one resting on his lower stomach, twitching slightly, and his right one moving up and down under his boxers, palming his cock before stroking it in slow and long motions. Then, Campbell's gaze met yours. He jumped and quickly removed his hand from his underwear, before pulling up his trousers and draping the blanket over his body.

“Lass!” He exclaimed and took an anxious breath. “ye're early.” Campbell mumbled with a mortified look on his face. His shaky arms tightly held the blanket to his chest.

“Oh! So-Sorry I'll leave.” You let out, not knowing what else to do in this situation. Your cheeks were also pink now, and, as much as you wanted to turn around and disappear, your body wasn't responding.

“Fergus sneaked oot… for the day, and I didn't think ye'd be comin' until dinner, so…” His eyes moved to your hand, and he tilted his head. “What's that?”. You looked at the present and cleared your throat. With all this situation, you almost forgot about it. “What?… Oh… I got you something.” He leaned forward slightly and smiled.

“Aw, really? Yer so lovely.”

This was weird; should you just give it to him? The most normal thing to do would be to come back later, but you had been dying to see his reaction ever since you bought it. You awkwardly approached the bed and sat on the edge, handing him the gift without touching his hands. He eagerly took it and began breaking the wrapping paper with his still shaky fingers. Once the broken pieces of paper were scattered around the bed, he held the little keychain and looked at it with a huge smile on his face. “F-For the radio station keys” you quietly explained, looking at him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s brilliant; I love it! I'd hug ye right noo, but I haven't washed ma hands.” He responded, looking at you with a big happy smile. He loved it, and his excitement made you want to hug him too.

“I don't care, c’mere.” You opened your arms, and he quickly leaned forward and embraced you, holding you tightly while softly shaking you around.

“Ye're too sweet!” He told you as he nuzzled the crook of your neck. His fingers started tracing circles on your back, which filled your stomach with butterflies. Campbell had always been clingy and touchy, it wasn't unusual for him to hug you or caress you. But you had just caught him jerking off, and you couldn't deny you liked the sight.

“Ye didnae have to get me anything.” He moved his face in front of yours and placed his left hand on your cheek. “I know, but I wanted to.” His thumb started brushing your cheek, and your breath got caught in your throat. Even though he was usually a bundle of nerves and energy, he was trying to be gentle and caring, as if he didn't want to scare you away.

“Sorry for interrupting you." You joked in an attempt to make the whole situation less weird, but it didn’t help at all, as regret filled your whole body when that sentence came out of your mouth. You should've shut up and avoided acknowledging what you saw, acting as if it never happened and never mentioned it again — or at least that's what you wished you would've done. But it was hard to avoid talking about the only thing that was on your mind when he hugged you, when he rubbed his hands on your back, and when you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Oh, dinnae remind me,” he chuckled. "Sorry ye had to see that.” “It's fine; it was just kind of... unexpected.” He looked away and smiled.

“It was embarrassin’, ah'm still embarrassed.” “Don't be; you looked kind of hot.” You let out without thinking and felt your cheeks burning. You didn't know why you said that; maybe you just wanted him to feel better. He obviously did look hot, that was true, but you would've never said it to his face. You usually tried to be more subtle, with some innocent flirting here and there, never like this. He smiled, lifting his eyebrows. “Ye're sae mean.” His gaze shifted to your lips. “Teasin' me when Ah'm... like this.” He laughed quietly and briefly looked away. Your lips parted after you licked them, and your heart started thundering in your chest. “I mean, it was a good sight.” He lightly pressed his thumb against your lower lip, softly playing with it. “Ye didnae even let me finish before breakin' into ma room.” His hand held your chin and brought you closer. “I didn't break into-” You tried to finish your sentence, but the feeling of Campbell's mouth on yours interrupted you. He placed a quick kiss on your lips and moved away instantly. “Shit— Ah'm sorry.” He said quietly, his voice barely a whisper, “I wasn't thinkin'.” Campbell looked down awkwardly, he seemed more embarrassed about the sudden kiss than about you catching him in the middle of pleasuring himself. You let out a chuckle and took his arm, pulling him closer again. “Shut up.” He looked at you with a puzzled expression, and you kissed his lips again, wrapping his arm around your waist and making him press you onto his body. He moved his free hand to the back of your head, his fingers scratching your hair as you intertwined your arms around his neck.

You kept kissing for longer, lightly brushing your tongue against his lips, feeling his breath getting huskier and his grip squeezing you tighter. His kisses were a bit sloppy, you could tell that he was nervous and that he hadn’t done much kissing before, well, you knew that. He had shamelessly told you plenty of times how he couldn’t wait to get discharged to go to some party and lose his virginity. He wanted to get drunk with his friends, meet a pretty girl to get her a drink, and take her home. And he was sweet about it, making endless unrealistic plans of spoiling that girl, taking her on holidays to the beach, and making her the happiest woman in the world. You had always fantasized about being that girl, wishing that he would see you the way you did, and getting a bit sad every time he talked about having to find her when you were right there, waiting. But now you were kissing him, and he was kissing you back. Leaning onto the bed, resting his back on the headboard, and pulling you against him.

Campbell hesitantly bit your lower lip, delicately sucking it into his mouth and trying not to hurt you, while you placed your hand on his chest.

“Y'okay?” He whispered after separating for a moment. He was still playing with your hair as he looked at you with his big brown eyes, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “Mhm.” You licked your lips and gave him a small smile. “Are you?” “Aye.” He smiled back and leaned in to kiss you again. Campbell began to feel more confident, moving his hand up and down your waist and giving little caresses with his long fingers. His tongue was exploring your mouth, and his hand started sliding down your side and lingering on your lower half. You knew he craved to touch you, but he was too nervous to make a move. So you took his hand and moved it to your ass, which he instantly squeezed whilst he held your hair tighter.

You moved closer, sitting on his lap and sliding your hands under his striped T-shirt, sensing his skin quivering beneath your fingertips. Campbell pulled your head back by your hair and moved his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking, sending shivers down your spine. A little moan escaped your lips when he started nibbling your skin, which caused him to make his hold tighter. His eager lips released a soft groan as he pushed his hips up unconsciously, his body aching for some kind of friction to relieve the pain between his legs. Your hand began sliding down his abdomen, resting on his lower stomach while tracing your fingers along his waistband. The more you moved with him and pressed your thighs against his legs, the wetter your soaked panties became. You couldn't shake the mental image of him touching himself. You wanted to feel him, to get your hand under his pants, and make him squirm to your touch. But this was his first time, and you were still in an asylum after all; going further was way too risky, but it was also so really tempting. As you kissed passionately, your bodies kept moving in sync, hips pressing firmly and rubbing against each other, making you both struggle to suppress the escalating urge to moan. “…can I?” you murmured quietly, your fingers playing with the elastic of his pants while he moved to look at you with an amused expression. “Really?” His breath got caught in his throat, and he quickly nodded enthusiastically, “Aye, o' course.” While your gaze remained fixed on his face, your hand made its way to his groin, pausing there for a moment. “You sure?” You asked again. Campbell tucked your hair behind your ear. “Aye, please,” he responded eagerly, “but ye dinnae have to do anythin' if ye dinnae want to.” From his nose down to his neck, you planted soft kisses that turned into gentle sucking, causing small moans to escape his kiss-swollen lips. You then moved your hand to his crotch, pressing and palming it in a slow, rhythmic motion. With a long sigh, he squeezed your ass, his fingers sliding under your shirt to caress your skin. Heavy breaths escaped him as his digits toyed with the hem of your bra. “Can I touch ye? Please?” he requested breathlessly. You nodded towards his neck, feeling his hand slip beneath your bra, cupping your boob, and tracing circles with his thumb around your hard nipple. While you continued kissing his neck, you unbuttoned his jeans, and, with a lift of his hips, he helped you slide them down to his knees. Campbell held the bottom of your shirt and glanced at you, silently seeking your consent to take it off. Once more, you nodded, raising your arms for him to swiftly remove the shirt and admire your body. “Yer so beautiful.” He whispered softly and began gently caressing your sides, his fingertips gliding over your skin as they returned to your bra. You gently stroked him through his boxers, moving slowly, sensing the tension in his muscles building. Gasping in your ear, he fumbled with his hands, the movement becoming sloppier as his fingers trembled slightly. He brushed them under the hook of your bra, locking eyes with you while you nodded once more. Your bra loosened, and he slid it down your arms, pausing to meet your gaze briefly before returning to fondle your breasts whilst planting kisses from your neck down to the curve of your collarbones. Moving to your cleavage, Campbell's tongue brushed its way to your nipple. He grasped your breast with his big hand and sucked you into his mouth, flicking his tongue and letting out sharp breaths.

“Is that okay?” he asked gently, looking up at you with a caring expression. "Yeah,” you whimpered, and he smiled before going back to sucking on your nipples. He was getting harder under your hand, wet spots forming on his boxers as you slowly palmed him. You were being painfully subtle, moving slowly and teasing him, enjoying the sound of his eager sighs and groans. So, with a tender touch, you slipped your fingers beneath his underwear, gently tracing along his lower abdomen without moving any further. “God, lass, ye're killin' me,” he whined, breathing heavily against your chest, “please, jist touch me already.” Amused by his needy attitude, you decided to cease the teasing, planting a sweet kiss on the top of his head and removing his boxers. Looking at his arousal, you nervously bit your lip, your gaze switching between his hard cock and his hungry eyes. You took a deep breath and spat on your palm, and a sharp gasp from Campbell echoed at the sight. Your hand inched towards his erection, fingers brushing the underside of its length, provoking a responsive twitch to your touch. You softly held him, circling around the head, rubbing some spit and precum on it, and gliding your fingers along his sensitive slit.

Campbell quickly turned into a whimpering mess, attempting to stifle his moans while you barely even touched him. As your grip tightened slightly, moving up and down his shaft, his rhythmic breathing hitched, his body melting under your touch when you started going faster. “Mmm… Jesus,” he whimpered, his hand trembling as it reached for your neck, caressing it lazily.

“Is that good?” you asked with a cheeky smile. His glazy eyes fell on yours, his lips parting slightly. “Mhm,” he whined, “it feels so good.” He jerked his hips in a slow rhythm, gently thrusting into your hand and panting with each motion. “Really?” you responded in a playful tone, spitting on his cock again to keep your movements smooth. “Want it to feel better?” Campbell’s eyes lit up, and he nodded almost desperately. His words caught in his throat; all he managed to respond was a faint “Please,” uttered almost silently. You scooted down from his lap, now kneeling between his shaky legs while you set your hair behind your ears. His mouth dried when he felt you placing a kiss on his tip. Moving quickly, he brushed your hair away from your face — putting it in a makeshift ponytail — and a low groan escaped him when he felt your breath on his skin, his cock twitching against your tongue as you brushed it up his side. Then, you made contact with his tip, swirling your tongue around the head and dipping it into his slit. You placed your hand on his hip, balancing yourself and finally letting him into your mouth.

You began slowly, sucking gently and moving your head up and down while glancing up at him. He was admiring you, his slightly open mouth letting out grunts and sharp breaths when he ran his fingers through your hair. After a few minutes, you started bobbing your head in deeper motions, taking most of his length into your mouth and feeling it hitting the back of your throat. The room's silence was broken by Campbell's breathy moans and the wet sounds of your choking and slurping.

At that moment, everything about you appeared beautiful to him — your cheeks softly hollowing around his cock, the saliva running down your chin from your swollen lips, and your pretty watery eyes. With his free hand, he was using his thumb to gently dry your tears while using the other to guide your head, urging it to move faster. He was holding back, resisting the urge to hold your head and start fucking your throat, but he wanted to be gentle with you and let you take the lead, knowing that you had more experience than him and you definitely knew what you were doing. He wasn’t going to last much longer anyway; the feeling of your mouth and tongue all over his cock was too intense for him.

“Ahh… Ah'm gonna…” he whimpered, his eyes shut and his hand starting to grip your hair when his whole body tensed up. You pulled him out of your mouth, still jerking him off. “Are you gonna come?” You teased him and kept stocking him quickly as he moaned, “Mmm… Aye, please… ahh” “Come for me, darling.” You groaned, letting him pound your hand until thick strands of come splattered over your palm and his shirt. Your hand kept moving up and down through his orgasm, slowing down until he collapsed onto the headboard with a little smile on his face, taking a moment to catch his breath and recover. “Ah… thank you” Campbell purred and opened his eyes. He glanced at his clothes, letting out a chuckle. “What a mess.” He murmured under his breath, removing his T-shirt and using it to wipe your chin, hand, and himself before planting a soft kiss on your lips. “You’re so gross,” you laughed, “could've washed my hands.” “No, ye're no goin' anywhere." He threw his T-shirt on the floor and pulled you into a hug, holding you and eagerly placing a bunch of soft kisses over your face. “Yer so perfect.” "Relax, Campbell,” you grinned, and he continued squeezing you into his arms. “I cannae,” he cheered and kissed you again. “Cannae believe this just happened." “Okay, let’s calm down." When he loosened his grip, you drew him onto your body, cradling him while he rested his head against your bare chest. His pounding heart began to gradually slow down, and his embrace was no longer crashing you, so you covered yourselves with the blanket and kissed his forehead. “How are you feeling?” you asked, and he looked at you. “Brilliant, Ah'm gonna remember this day forever,” he grinned and started caressing your arm. “Ah'm gonna remember the keychain, Ah'm gonna remember you coming through the door, Ah'm gonna remember yer pretty face…”

With a smile, you held onto him, watching as he continued ranting and rubbing your skin with his long fingers. And then, you heard the sound of the radio echoing through the corridor's speakers.

Up until that point, a stream of uninterrupted music had been playing. However, when Francine announced the final song, Campbell let out a sigh and buried his face against your shoulder. Despite not wanting to acknowledge it, you knew that as soon as the show ended, the corridors would become crowded with patients and nurses. Dinner was about to start, and Isabel wouldn’t hesitate to walk in the room and drag you both if you weren’t there. “We should get dressed,” you said, and he whined, squeezing tightly, “Come on, we’ll miss dinner." “Ah'm really cosy,” he protested, nuzzling your neck. "Dinnae wanna move." “Wanna get in trouble? You’ll miss your cocoa,” you responded, giggling and nudging his arm. He shook his head without looking up. “Get up then.” Rising from the bed, Campbell began to get dressed, throwing on his colour-block hoodie and jeans. You, too, put your top back on and retrieved his dirty T-shirt from the floor. “You’re never getting the stains out,” you teased before tossing it into the laundry basket. “I dinnae care,” he responded and walked to you, placing his hand on your cheek, “it was so worth it." You smiled, he pecked your lips one last time. He took the keychain, adding it to his key, and placed them in his pocket. Then, he took your hand while opening the door. “Ready?” he asked, as he placed a kiss on your knuckles. “Yeah, let’s go.” Campbell gave your hand a squeeze and cheerfully walked you out of the room. “Ach, I nearly forgot! How'd yer weekend go, then?” He asked, lovingly gazing at you while waiting to hear all of your adventures outside the asylum. When you decided to return to the asylum before you initially intended to, you could've never expected for any of this to happen. However, as Campbell led you through the corridors with the happiest smile on his face, you realized that you had made the right choice, and you would not change it for anything.

This is the first fic i've written in ages so I hope you liked it. If you have any prompts for Campbell fics x reader fics let me know and ill take a look :). Like, rb, and follow if you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!

#takin over the asylum #takin over the asylum fanfic #campbell bain #campbell bain x reader #campbell bain x fem!reader #campbell bain fic #campbell bain fluff #campbell bain smut #im in love with campbell #david tennant #david tennant characters #young david tennant

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rennorthernlights · 4 months

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The World We Knew Masterlist

A year ago you were working on your finals for being a certified nurse. Now you’re too busy trying to not become a zombies next Big Mac. Life has a funny way of shitting on your food doesn’t it?

At least the radio you found works as a diary. Can’t help it if you feel a lil insane that the only voice you hear is your own… until one day it isn’t.

Why the fuck is there a Scottish man and a British man speaking on the radio in bum-fuck no where Texas???

Warnings For This Series: Zombies, Depictions Of Zombies Eating Humans, Kidnapping, Abuse, Abuse Towards Men, Abuse Towards Woman, Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/References Non-Con, Gore, Blood, Guns, Knives, Death, Minor Character Death, Fire, Cannibalism, Non-Con Cannibalism| Reader Had No Knowledge That She Partook In Cannibalism, Religious Symbolism, Bad Religious Views, I Will Be Adding More When Needed

Chapter 1: Radioheart

Chapter 2: Take a Trip Down The Lane

Chapter 3: Past Catching Up

Chapter 4: Snakes in The Garden

Chapter 5: The Catalyst on The Dinner Plate

Chapter 6: The Timing of Violence

Chapter 7: The Nights Eve

Chapter 8: Your Loving Arms

Chapter 9: Keep Me From Harm

Chapter 10: Fire and Smoke

Chapter 11: Cathedral Glass

#rennorthernlights #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #john price #Poly141 #Poly141 x reader #ZombieAU #The World We Knew #TWWK

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x-reader-theater · 7 months

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Hey hey hey!!! So you want more asks then, be not afraid dear author, here I am once again.

Today I am not feeling the angst, might i interest you in a Soap x italian!male reader, where they are obviously enamored with each other but they are both hot headed so every interaction they have is a screaming match in gaelic and italian.

I don't really know where i was going with this prompt but i hope you can find it interesting! Keep up the good work!!

pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Male!Reader

word count: 338

warnings: He/Him pronouns are not used, but it is heavily implied the reader is male. Also there's talk about having sex but the story ends before anything explicit happens.

a/n: i am so sorry this isn't be best. i don't know if this is what you wanted, but this is what you're gonna get. also, i don't know scottish or italian accents well enough to really write out their dialects in dialogue, so I apologize for my half assed attempt. also i used google translate so that's why the italian and gealic are bad. i hope you still like it though. my requests are open and you can find my request rules here.

“You are too fucking reckless!” you scream at Soap as the two of you storm out of the Helo. “You have a real fucking problem with authority!”

“I doon have a problem with authority when they doon treat me like a fuckin’ child!” Soap yells back. You try to speed up to lock him out of the showers, but he keeps up on your heels, always so much faster than you. “Tha thu cho feargach, tha mi dìreach airson do dhùnadh suas!”

“Sì? Vuoi farmi tacere? Come? Utilizzerai la tua stessa bocca per farlo?” you mutter back, and you swear you hear Soap’s steps stutter, before he’s back to his overly confident self.

“Is dòcha nach cleachd mi mo bheul, ach rudeigin eile,” Soap says, and now it’s your turn to stumble.

Luckily, you’re at the door to the showers, and so you stumble through the door. Luckily, you and Soap got back late enough, there’s no one else in the showers as you move to your lockers. You both undress in silence, stuffing your dirty fatigues into your locker and grabbing clean ones.

“La tua bocca è troppo bella per dire cose così sporche,” you whisper close to Soap’s ear, before walking towards the showers.

You get yours turned on when you’re slammed into the wall, a familiar body pressed against yours, already aroused. He spins you around, and Soap kisses you, hard, bruising, all teeth.

“I’ve wanted to do this all fuckin’ mission,” Soap growls into your mouth.

You slap his ass loudly, the sound not hidden by the spray of the ice-cold water on the dirty tile, though your words are. “Guess you’re not as impulsive as I thought you were.” Soap kisses you again, just as hard, and you say in between breaths, “Se non mi scopi adesso, giuro su Dio, non ricambierò mai più il favore.”

Soap chuckles and spins you around, pinning you to the wall again, and he whispers in your ear, “Ge bith dè a chanas tu, a ghràidh.”

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pfhwrittes · 4 months

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store meeting time! you and the 141 are politely informed that you’ll be attending a store-wide mandatory meeting after the store closes one sunday afternoon.

implied fem!reader, use of hen and love as pet names, and my attempt at scottish slang.

600ish words.

- - price is on the doors as staff members come in and reminds them to clock in when they walk in and clock out when they walk out – especially colleagues that aren’t scheduled to work. “you’ve come into work on your day off, yes you’re getting paid. ignore the store manager. pizza doesn’t pay the fuckin’ bills.” and for colleagues who were scheduled to work he’s already handed out pre-signed overtime slips “don’t take the piss, just fill in 1600 for start time and fill in the finish time before you leave.” my god this man just wants this over and done with so he can go home. he turns a blind eye to soap’s shenanigans. he scoffs at the pure corporate bollocks that the store manager is coming out with (and it’s loud enough that your manager has to stifle a snigger in response). he asks you to hang back with him to collect the overtime slips as everyone leaves and offers to walk you to your car or to the bus stop. he glares daggers at the store manager when he saunters past and it makes you look away.

soap has dragged all the chairs from the staff room (including a sofa somehow) and is jealously guarding five of them at the back of the crowd because like hell is he standing for an hour while the store manager drones on about morale and KPIs, profit protection improvements, the new display area layout or whatever the fuck it is he’s talking about (you're not sure what he's talking about to be honest but at least you look like you're trying to pay attention). soap also just blatantly texts through the whole meeting. you smack him lightly on the arm when he leans into your space and stage whispers about stopping off at mcdonalds before going home. “ow! whit was that for, hen? i just want to know if yer wantin’ a milkshake is all!” he saunters off roughly in the same direction simon took across the car park when you let him know that you're fine actually, you just want to go home so you can start on your laundry.

kyle actually makes a few notes about the changes the store manager wants to implement with a frown on his face and ever so politely challenges him when things don’t add up. you get the impression that even though kyle is being polite (unlike price) and attentive (unlike soap), he’s also thinking this is a complete waste of time (like simon). kyle will absolutely grab a box of pizza to share with his favourite people and lets you grab the first slice during the 15 minute break. kyle is one of the few members of staff (along with lewis from the interior decorating department) that collects up the rubbish so the cleaner doesn’t have a shitfit in the morning and that brings him way up in your estimation (he was already close to being your favourite non-checkout member of staff and now he’s pretty much cemented it for you). he's also good enough to grab the chairs and ropes lewis into helping him move the sofa back to staff room before he leaves too.

simon slips in last and is the first one out of the doors when the store manager dismisses everyone with a completely false “have a good one ladies and gents!”. you get the impression that he absolutely doesn’t want to be here. he refuses to sit down in the chair that soap saved for him and stands directly behind you as far away from the store manager as he can physically get. he shakes his head when you ask if he wants a slice of pizza and offers a gruff “don’t like pizza, love” in response. he does manage to nod at price on his way out of the store. quietly (and only to yourself because you’re not sure simon would appreciate you sticking your nose in his business), you’re worried about him. you’ve barely seen him after his enforced two week annual leave after the warehouse incident and you just get the feeling that something is bothering him.

#retail hell au #jp #jm #kg #sr #it's still light and fluffyish for now but i can sense plot is working its way into retail hell au #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader

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kirascottage · 3 years

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a James x reader fic where it’s the morning after her first time with him and she is suddenly getting insecure and overthinks if she was good enough, if he really liked her body etc etc and he is reassuring her that she was wonderful and how much he loves every single part of her etc 🥺

cerulean blue

james potter x f. reader

summary: james assures you the morning after your first time.

word count: 1.0k

warnings: non-sexual nudity, insecurity, swearing, kissing, implied sex, fluff !

join my taglist here !

Cerulean blue. The distinct type of blue that radiated off the sun's rays of a dewy spring morning, almost the perfectly transparent type of blue. They were right in front of you, covered by a pair of eyelids and fawn eyelashes that fluttered throughout the day. Yet, they maintained their calming presence merely awaiting to come into contact with your irises from the vigorous mornings to the brink of moonlit nights.

You readjusted the shell of your ear that was strategically placed over his relaxed bicep, his torso bare with a small peakage of wispy hairs adorning the lower half of his midriff. Your torso wholly covered in an ivory sheet as the burnt orange hues of the sun arose through the window covering the Scottish grounds, the spinning gears in your mind had naturally begun moments ago when you had awoken to the sight of James Potter utterly stripped next to you in his bed.

The night running long previously of unravelling clothes, his lips suckling at any sufficient amount of skin he could find, your hands grasping desperately at his midriff, his hands—

Your eyes thoroughly expanded at your distinct recollection of memories, the stereotypical ‘first time’ inevitably following with appraising affirmations, vermillion petals adorning the floor and candle lights. Tender kisses, unforeseen gasps, nipping at your bottom lip.

Certainly a memorable night it was, a night spent; now the morning following with fret.

James Potter was a popular Quidditch player. He waved at every face in the hallway. He exceeded in his schoolwork to the promotion of Head Boy. What a title that was.

His three loyal friends following him in popularity, mind you Remus or Peter wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Yet, here was the popular, experienced Quidditch player in his Head Boy dormitory with you gently wrapped in his sheets like a present.

“Am I that nice to look at? You should take a picture.” Fuck. His coarse voice was stirred with dull lethargy, mind you the sun had barely risen, and his steep vocal cords contorting in his larynx. When you were despondent with his teasing comment and there it was, cerulean blue fluttered open in front of you.

You profoundly sighed, your lips tugging downwards in a futile attempt to conceal an unassertive frown. Your nervous hand came to rest beside your ear, naturally fitting into the muscular contours of his appendage. The pad of your forefinger swirled in consistent patterns on his brachium for a few moments before gently tapping on it a few times as he analyzed your features. Your face twisted with a set of contorted eyebrows, your bottom lip suckled between your teeth and your pathetic attempt at maintaining eye contact.

“Hey,” He spoke, allowing his unoccupied hand to come and rest at the lineation of your cheek. All ridicules far gone from his tone of voice and his features now twisted. His brows were now creased together and a slight head tilt followed his words.

“I wasn’t like… bad,” You coughed, attempting to hide your potential embarrassment, “Was I?” You carefully questioned without a tinge of dishonesty in your tone.

“No, you were perfect, always are.” His tone depicted as if it was the most apparent thing in the world, “Why in the name of Merlin would you think otherwise?”

Your eyes promptly shot towards the abnormal curvature of the headboard, almost memorizing it as a poor distraction, as well as maintaining the least amount of eye contact as possible. Your throat cleared before you spoke once more, “Well, you’ve been with other girls, beautiful girls, and I don’t know if I’m… less to those standards.” Your eyes fidgeted as you voluntarily spoke, your fingers bringing a tapping speed to his bicep, then curling under one another in an attempt to pop them.

Your fruitless endeavour to dull down your inhibited words that happen to lie on previous insecurities fixated in your brain. “How— how could you possibly think that way about yourself?” He began to prop his body with one elbow hovering over the bed and his broad fingers combed at your hair behind your ear. Your mouth began to blubber like a fish without any audible answer to his question.

“I love you, all of you. Zero question about that.” He began to tug at your torso to carefully lay adjacent to his, Your body wriggling at the close proximity and the sheet long discarded, a deep respire releasing from your throat as his calves laid in conjunction with your own. His arm slung around the curvature of your waist and the other remained at your cheek. Your optics in direct viewpoint with his own.

“Other girls, they’re nothing but my past, that’s it. I love you, all of you. Experienced or not I don’t care.” His voice was filled to the brim with evident determination, his head shaking in almost anger to sufficiently prove his point.

“But— what about—“

“No,” James had swiftly cut you off before you could further doubt yourself. “You,” He gently pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, “Are perfect,” another to your cheek, “And beautiful,” another to your forehead, “And mine.” He finished with a fervent kiss to your lips, describing the kiss as chaste would’ve been a complete word misusage.

It was deliberate, gentle, it was passionate. Passionate enough for your arms to clasp around his neck and your digits to curl around the spewage of hairs that clung to his nape.

“You understand me? Only want you.” He positively affirmed in a whisper, any other tone would’ve been inappropriate considering the distance shared between you was tremendously minimal.

“Yeah?” He wisely concluded with a small muzzle of his nose against your own. You nodded approvingly with a deep sigh, “Yeah.”

taglist: @thesettingsun @angstology @shadesofvelma @acosmis-t @emmaev @lesbiansammyy

#james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter x oc #james potter x slytherin!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter hc #james potter headcanon #marauders fanfiction #marauders #marauders era fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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writerforfun · 3 years

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How to Write Character Accents: 5 Tips for Using Dialects in Writing

Accents give us information about where a character is from, and the use of distinct speech patterns can give your story a rich texture and flavor. Here are some tips to consider when giving your characters accents:

Make sure your character’s speech isn’t distracting. When writing dialect or a particular accent, it can be tempting to write a character’s dialogue using phonetic spellings. However, this use of dialect can distract your reader. If your character is French and is constantly saying “ze” instead of “the,” the reader will be focusing more on decoding the line of dialogue than they will on plot or character development. When writing fiction, your reader’s attention should always be on the story, and anything that distracts from that probably isn’t worth including.

Research slang and colloquialisms. Each region of the world has its own standard pronunciation, sentence structure, and slang. If your main character has an Australian, Jamaican, Spanish, or Scottish accent, their word choice will likely be different than if they grew up speaking American English. Research commonly used foreign words, slang phrases, and colloquialisms from your character's part of the world. Listen to podcasts that feature speakers from your desired region. Be as specific as possible: If your character is from New York, their word choice might be different depending on if they’re from the Bronx or Staten Island.

Use pieces of other languages. If you’re writing a character who speaks a foreign language, one way to communicate their accent is to simply include snippets of their native tongue in their lines of dialogue. This will demonstrate the character’s native language and implied accent without resorting to the distracting eyesore of phonetic spelling. When writing words from languages besides English, you may need to include accented letters. Writing accented characters is simple to do on a common keyboard; you can apply accent marks and special characters by using keyboard shortcuts. You can also change your keyboard settings to an international keyboard, which will make it easier to type accents that use accent graves or other accent marks.

Don’t stereotype. Writing different dialects indelicately can make you appear condescending towards non-native English speakers or people who use the English language differently than you do. One of the most common offenders is the use of “eye dialect,” which refers to using misspellings or nonstandard spellings in order to depict a character’s accent (for instance, writing “fixin’” with an apostrophe instead of “fixing” in order to demonstrate Appalachian or Southern accents). By focusing on the “otherness” of regional dialects and non-native speakers, a writer may give the impression that they are making fun of the way people speak. When writing different accents, keep eye dialect to a minimum.

Recognize that character speech is determined by context. Accents aren’t always determined by region or nationality. Sometimes, our own accents change depending on who we’re speaking to or our emotional or physical state. We may slur our speech when we’re drunk, or we may attempt to use complex English words when we’re speaking with someone we perceive to be of a higher status. Seeing a character change their accents in different contexts can serve as a clever way of revealing the emotional condition of a character.

Article source: here

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annecoulmanross · 4 years

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A Review of Ice Blink (2000) by Scott Cookman

Being stuck inside has somehow given me the miraculous ability to read books quickly once again, so I’ve begun reading some of the physical, paper books on the Franklin expedition that I snatched from my library before it closed. So, here are some thoughts on Scott Cookman’s Ice Blink: The Tragic Fate of Sir John Franklin's Lost Polar Expedition, an informal history with some… interesting takes.

Below the cut, you’ll find:

– What Cookman cares about telling his readers re: the Franklin expedition.

– Errata (aka, things Cookman got wrong, and a valuation of how much we can blame him for those errors.)

– Select quotes (feat. Thomas Jopson, some melodrama, and cannibalism!)

What Cookman Cares About:

The “Good” – Cookman goes into very extensive detail on the logistics of the expedition, especially with regard to the mechanics and layout of the ships and their provisioning. This is useful information, though difficult to trust because Cookman’s conversational style does not tend to include very many citations. Cookman also does quite a lot of work to humanize and explore the backgrounds of Sir John Barrow and Sir John Franklin in particular, which is helpful narrative work in a history like this. I also enjoy Cookman’s take on the relationship between Lady Jane and Franklin. He understands that Lady Jane is terribly bright and ambitious, and yet ties herself to Franklin because he is a good man (or at least she correctly sees that he is very genuinely good to her).

The “Bad” – Cookman really, really, REALLY wants you to see Stephan Goldner and his tinned goods as the ultimate source of evil and disaster in this story. He lavishes detail upon the effects of botulism and all the possible contaminants in the cans supplied to the Franklin expedition. He liberally calls Goldner “evil” among much worse things, up to and including the use of incorrect legal Latin and a brutally unnecessary sexual assault comparison. History isn’t simple; the Franklin expedition didn’t have one villain – even Dan Simmons (even the terrible Doctor Who Audio Dramas!) were smart enough to know that.

Errata:

– “Nothing [in the Antarctic] was named for Crozier.” (pg. 53) This isn’t true; cf. Cape Crozier. Furthermore, this is James Clark Ross slander.

– Fitzjames is described as “thumpingly, lispingly English to the core.” (pg. 55) This book was obviously pre-Battersby, but the use of “English” as Fitzjames’s primary character trait is a bit glaring.

– Cookman happily declares that the only non-English officers in the expedition were “the Irishman Crozier and two Scotsmen (an ice master [James Reid] and an assistant surgeon),” (pg. 61) thereby missing the very Scottish Lieutenant John Irving and the other of the two assistant surgeons, both of whom were, in fact, Scottish (The lucky one Cookman is picturing appears to be MacDonald who is noted as a “Scotsman” (pg. 64); the similarly Scottish Goodsir is incorrectly wrapped into “Fitzjames’s all-English-officered Erebus” (pg. 65), as is Fairholme, who was born in Scotland.)

– Cookman manages to interpret the loneliness in Crozier’s last letter to James Clark Ross as solely an expression of Crozier missing Sophia Cracroft. While that was probably a factor, Cookman makes the unfortunate choice of using a quote that was specifically entirely about how Crozier missed Ross: “in truth I am sadly lonely and when I look back to the last voyage I can see the cause and therefore no prospect of having a more joyous feeling.” (pg. 55)

– Cookman sees the “All well” of the Victory Point Note as meaning that not a single man died during the time between the death of the Beechey Three and when the note was left (p. 107). This isn’t a historiographically sound argument.

– Cookman implies that every member of the Donner Party who survived cannibalized the dead to do so (pg. 179); in fact, several families may have managed to refrain (the Reeds, possibly the Breens.)

– This interesting analogy: “The utter hostility of the Passage can only be judged in comparison. Humankind has make eight successful voyages to the moon. To date, it has traverse the Northwest Passage only seven times.” (pg. 197) This manages to be both out of date (re: the Passage) and incorrect (re: the moon).

– Reader, I cringed, when I saw the Cookman had written that it took “over fifty relief expeditions more than ten years to find Franklin.” (pg. 205) Yes, this was written pre-Ross 2002 on the number of rescue expeditions. Still. (To summarize Ross 2002: there were not “more than fifty” rescue expeditions; there were, generously, fewer than 40, and that’s counting supply expeditions too.)

Select Quotes:

“[Crozier] snapped up Thomas Jopson, the steward who’d served with him in the Antarctic, dismissing a steward he’d enlisted only a day before to make room for him. Likewise, he signed on Thomas Johnson, Terror’s old boatswain’s mate, and somehow stole the Erebus’s cook, John Diggle, right out from under Commander Fitzjames’s aristocratic nose.” (pg. 61-62)

“The ship [Terror] was the wife he’d [Crozier] had never had, certainly the enduring love of his life.” (pg. 161)

“The survivors dragged the boats in harness, like Egyptian slaves harnessed to pyramid blocks.” (pg. 167)

“In fact, that [the Inuit group who encountered the survivors of the expedition] shared what little seal meat they had was noble; that they stole away at the first opportunity is understandable. Imagine yourself on a family camping trip when, suddenly, a gang of fifty hairy, incoherent Hell’s Angels appear out of nowhere. They’re plainly starving, heavily armed with guns, knives, and hatchets – and openly carrying human body parts.” (pg. 181)

This has been Ice Blink by Scott Cookman. Next up, hopefully: Lady Franklin’s Revenge by Ken McGoogan!

#franklin expedition #franklin expedition historiography #terrorposting #cannibalism cw #gore cw #illness cw

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kattahj · 7 years

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Why Marsali MacKimmie Fraser is more awesome than you think

After The Doldrums aired, I've been dismayed and a little surprised to see the overwhelmingly negative reaction to Marsali from non-book readers. There have been some book readers saying "she gets better", which is true, but it also implies that she isn't good now, which to my mind she is.

Now, the way I see it, the problem is threefold. One is the sheer physical resemblance between Laoghaire and Marsali which makes people go "It's another Laoghaire, KILL IT WITH FIRE!" Not much to be done about that. (Interestingly, there have been some reactors who were highly suspicious of John at first sight out of similar guilt by association: "It's a redcoat who's attracted to Jamie, KILL IT WITH FIRE!" But of course that one was sorted out fairly quickly.)

The second is the assumption - which is frequent in fandom - that minor characters exist to make life convenient for the fan favourites, and if they don't, they're by definition horrible people. Marsali is rude to Claire, therefore she must go. Never mind that it's pretty obvious that Marsali's opinions "have been in a sack before they were put in the bag", as we say in Sweden - i.e. she's clearly just repeating things her mother has been saying. And never mind that nobody ever sits her down and goes, "Hey, Marsali, this is what has ACTUALLY been going on, and by the way, you really shouldn't listen to your mother when it comes to a whole lot of things." Nope, as a minor character she should be reacting as the audience does to the information THEY know, whether or not she actually knows it herself.

The third has to do with some subtle changes in the framing of Fergus' and Marsali's relationship from book to show. I've seen a bunch of people complain, "Fergus, you can do better!" which is wryly funny to me, because that was never the issue. Jamie was looking out for Marsali, not Fergus, and even in the show, in the cabin scene between him and Fergus, it's implied that he still does. But the complaint that "ye hardly know each other!" - which is thoroughly reasonable to a modern audience - was never part of the books.

Instead, we get bits like when Fergus first tells Claire he wants to marry:

“Oho,” I said, everything becoming clear. “You want to get married? To a respectable young lady?”

He nodded, a little shyly.

“Yes, Madame. But her mother does not favor me.”

I couldn’t say I blamed the young lady’s mother, all things considered. While Fergus was possessed of dark good looks and a dashing manner that might well win a young girl’s heart, he lacked a few of the things that might appeal somewhat more to conservative Scottish parents, such as property, income, a left hand, and a last name.

Likewise, while smuggling, cattle-lifting, and other forms of practical communism had a long and illustrious history in the Highlands, the French did not. And no matter how long Fergus himself had lived at Lallybroch, he remained as French as Notre Dame. He would, like me, always be an outlander.

And then the same issues are brought up when Fergus and Marsali come on board:

“We—I—did ask the lady Laoghaire for the honor of her daughter’s hand, milord,” Fergus put in. “Last month, when I came to Lallybroch.”

“Aye. Well, ye needna tell me what she said,” Jamie said dryly, seeing the sudden flush on Fergus’s cheeks. “Since I gather the general answer was no.”

“She said he was a bastard!” Marsali burst out indignantly. “And a criminal, and—and—”

“He is a bastard and a criminal,” Jamie pointed out. “And a cripple wi’ no property, either, as I’m sure your mother noticed.”

“I dinna care!” Marsali gripped Fergus’s hand and looked at him with fierce affection. “I want him.”

Yeah, I was already rooting for her at that point. How could you not?

I can understand why this was changed for the show - really, Jamie, you shouldn't be saying such hurtful things to your foster son - but it does change perception of Marsali's character, from a girl willing to stand by her man regardless of what other people say about him, to a girl who's stubbornly unwilling to admit that this romance might just be an infatuation.

And we also lose the factor that while Marsali is like Laoghaire in a lot of ways, she's also willing to go right against what her mother would want for her.

So while the parts that make Marsali who she is are still there, they're subdued enough that the primary impression a lot of people get is of someone who looks like Laoghaire and is really rude to Claire.

ETA: This is really cheating, because it comes later, but since it showcases Marsali’s opinion on the matter, have it anyway:

“That’s when I told him I loved him,” she went on. Her eyes were fixed on her skirt, and a faint tinge of pink showed in her cheeks. “And he said he loved me, too, but my mother wasna going to ever agree to the match. And I said why not, there was nothing so awful about bein’ French, not everybody could be Scots, and I didna think his hand mattered a bit either—after all, there was Mr. Murray wi’ his wooden leg, and Mother liked him well enough—but then he said, no, it was none of those things, and then he told me—about Paris, I mean, and being born in a brothel and being a pick-pocket until he met Da.”

She raised her eyes, a look of incredulity in the light blue depths. “I think he thought I’d mind,” she said, wonderingly. “He tried to go away, and said he wouldna see me anymore. Well—” she shrugged, tossing her fair hair out of the way, “I soon took care of that.” She looked at me straight on, then, hands clasped in her lap.

(The rest of that conversation is even better, but I hope we’ll get the other part on the show, so I’ll not spoil it now!)

#outlander #marsali mackimmie fraser #fergus fraser

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gryfflepuffinthetardis · 5 months

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Drunk in Love — Campbell Bain x Reader

Sweet Jane Masterlist

Summary: Campbell calls Y/N drunk so she can pick him up from his station’s night out at the bar.

Warnings: Drunk Campbell; Drunk Campbell is clingy, Reader is mentioned to be much shorter than Campbell who is roughly six feet tall (I am personally five foot two); Reader is implied to not be Scottish but it can be interpreted by being from a different part of Scotland (I am personally American)

Note: I'm not crazy about the Beyonce song, it doesn't really fit, but if you had any other suggestions of songs about intoxication and love...

(Post-Asylum; May be connected to “Sweet Jane” or read alone)

"They were utterly intoxicated by each other."

"Even drunk, I am caught off guard by the way I remain intoxicated by you."

"Be drunk with love, for love is all that exists."

1994 *Six months after the events of “Takin’ Over the Asylum”

It was two in the morning when the phone rang about six months after Campbell got the Scotland Radio job.

“Ahhhg.” She groaned, blindly and lazily feeling around for her phone, knocking some things over, and answered her phone, “Hello.”

“Heeeeeey! Baby!” Came Campbell’s voice, clearly drunk. “Oh, I love you so much. Also, I’m super drunk with Eddie and them from work. Did I tell you I helped Eddie get a job at the station!?”

“Yes, Cam. I did. I was there when you did it." Y/n said.

“Twice a week.” He laughed, “But I’m just so sloshed! I can’t drive and neither can Eddie. Francine’s picking him up. Can you pick me up!? Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase…” He kept that high pitched tone up until she said yes which she was going to anyways.

“Okay, yes. I will, just stop whining in that tone.” She said, “Let me get ready to leave first.”

“Love you!” Campbell sang and then he started singing Goin’ Out of My Head before Y/N hung up.

She groaned and rolled out of the bed.

When she arrived at the station, everyone else was gone except Campbell who was singing, drunkenly, I Want Your Cray-Cray at a high-pitched singing voice dressed in one of his hoodies just as his girlfriend was.

“I want your cray-cray!”

"Hey, radio star." Y/N said, walking up to her intoxicated boyfriend.

"Baby! My love! My world! My universe!" He laughed, getting up and throwing his arms around her neck, with him being so much taller than her, he nearly knocked her over but she managed to get a firm footing before that happened.

"Why are you sitting out here? It's way too cold."

"It's too hot in there." He said and tried to take another swig of alcohol.

"No. No, Campbell." She said, wrestling the bottle from his boyfriend who was whining now like a baby. "Come on, let's get you home."

"You first. I'm loving the view." He flirted, looking her up and down shamelessly, as he brought his hands to her waist, running his fingertips gently on her skin, below the hoodie. "You know how much I love seeing you in my clothes, especially my hoodies."

"Campbell, you're drunk." She sighed.

"And I did exactly what you told me to. I called you."

"Yes, I did. And you did so well." She cooed, her hand cupping his cheek and he nuzzled into it, proud of himself. "now come on. Let's go home."

She pulled him towards her car and helped him into the passenger's seat before moving to the driver's seat.

Campbell dozed off on Y/N's shoulder during the ride before she woke him up.

"No..." He whined so she turned the car inside light on and he groaned, "Ahhhhhg."

"Come on, party animal. Let's get you ready for bed." She said.

Campbell tried to be on his best behavior while drunk but he felt anyone else would've just dropped him on the couch... but not Y/N, not his Y/N.

She sat him on the edge of the tub in the bathroom.

"How many drinks did you have?" She asked

"I don't know." He mumbled without opening his mouth.

She brought a breathalyzer to him and held the nozzle to his mouth, "Open." He opened his mouth. "Breathe." He breathed. The breathalyzer beeped and read... ".16... so you had like seven drinks?"

"Sounds 'bout right." He slurred, nodding.

"Campbell, that's too high." She scolded and he pouted like a little puppy. She placed her hand on his forehead, he leaned his head back, looking at her with an alcohol-glazed lovey look, and then she felt his cheek and once again he nuzzled into her hand. "You don't seem cold or clammy, your skin doesn't seem to be any paler than usual. You're breathing is quick. So, you don't have alcohol poisoning..." She took him by the hands and pulled him to his feet, "let's brush your teeth, your breath stinks."

"I think a kiss from you is enough. Because you're so sweet." He flirted, leaning in for a kiss.

She leaned away from the kiss, making him pout and give her his puppy-dog eyes. "And you're so cheesy." She brushed his teeth for him and then told him to stay still in the middle of the bathroom while she got him some pajamas, slightly worried he might topple over and hit his head on the sink or bathtub. She got him a Radio Scotland t-shirt as he usually slept in a tee and his boxers. She brought the t-shirt as he started to shed his hoodie and unbuckle his belt.

She blushed, "Uh, Camps, here." She muttered, handing him the t-shirt, avoiding looking at him but he didn't take it and she looked at him as he had planned and he pulled his shirt over his head and smirked, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner.

"Campbell!" She said, sternly.

"Alright. I was just jokin'. I'll be out in a minute." He said with a drunken giggle in his Scottish accent and she left.

A minute later, he called, "Help."

She opened the bathroom door to find him just barely keeping himself from tripping due to his jeans at the floor now, pooled at his feet and him still being very drunk, and trying to put his head through a sleeve. "I'm stuck." She could hear the pout in his voice.

Y/N smiled, gently and she walked over to him, "stay still." She advised him.

"Never." He mumbled with a hint of a childish whine.

She eased him to stillness before fixing the t-shirt so his head went through the head hole and helped him navigate his arms through the sleeves.

"Aye, my hero." He smirked and she leaned up, gently kissing him and he never refused a kiss from her.

She was a goddess from Scottish or Celtic mythology in his eyes. She was the Baobhan Sith, the female vampire who seduced men with her beauty and he would gladly give her his blood if she asked. She was Mórrigan, the Irish-Celtic warrior-queen goddess. She was Cliodna, the Scottish-Celtic goddess of beauty, love, and passion. He worshipped her with his every being.

"Okay, superstar, time for bed." She giggled.

"Will you stay?" He asked, forgetting whose house this was.

"Well, this is my house. So..."

"I like to wake up, looking at you." He mused before flopping face-first on the bed.

Y/n rolled her eyes and pushed him on his side of the bed.

Y/N turned off the lights and climbed into bed. A few minutes went by before Campbell said, loudly, right in her ear, "WAIT!?" He startled her with the volume of his voice, making her jump and pull away from him, and he lowered it, "Sorry." She reached next to her and turned on the sidetable lamp. "What were you doing when I called you?"

"Sleeping..." She said, hesitantly.

His eyes turned back into puppy-dog eyes of sadness.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, love." He apologized, he cupped the back of Y/N's head. "I must've been pretty annoying all night."

"No, you weren't." She reassured him, puncturing each sentence with a kiss. A sure-fire way to keep his drunk self entertained--also a sure-fire way to keep his sober self enterained. "I'd get up in the middle of the night to come and get you as much as you need. I love you."

He smiled and kissed her before bringing her in so she could rest her head on his arm and he stretched the turn off the light and the two fell asleep to a morning of him whining about his hangover.

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ao3feed-snape · 5 years

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Bad Blood (Bellatrix Black x OC)

read it on AO3 at http://bit.ly/2UBAZMn

by nevillesIongbottom

Maeve Macleod had been told all her life that there is no such thing as bad blood, that had been the case until she had failed to receive her Hogwarts Acceptance Letter. She's a Squib and it turns out her parents had lied, there's such thing as bad blood and Maeve has it.

Bellatrix Black is the eldest child of her family and all her life she's been taught that she's Pureblood royalty, and above all, she's taught not to consort with bad blood.

And, while she's okay with believing what her parents have told her and believing that she's on the top of the food chain, she can't stop herself from that doesn't stop her from wanting to know more. Bellatrix wants to know what makes her blood so pure and others' so bad. When she finds Maeve stumbling around the sunflower fields of her family's summer home, Bellatrix finds not only the answers to her questions but a friend as well.

Maeve is taken in as a maid and soon Bellatrix finds herself questioning more than just her family's beliefs. As the years go by, one question continues to plague her mind: Is Maeve Macleod really the one with the bad blood or is it Bellatrix Black?

Words: 1144, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Rise of a Sun \ Fall of a Star

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: F/F

Characters: Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Original House-Elf Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Andromeda Black Tonks, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Rita Skeeter, Frank Longbottom, Alice Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Augusta Longbottom, Druella Rosier Black, Cygnus Black III, Walburga Black, Orion Black, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Kreacher (Harry Potter), Marlene McKinnon, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape

Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Original Female Character(s), Bellatrix Lestrange Black/Reader, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Original Character(s), Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s), Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Alice Longbottom, Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s), Rodolphus Lestrange/Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Pre-War, Death Eaters, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Child Neglect, Adopted Children, Everyone Is Gay, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Seer, Scottish Character, Squibs, Male-Female Friendship, Femslash, Prequel, Minor Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Internalized Homophobia, Voldemort's child, Good Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Mental Instability, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Secret Relationship, Infidelity, Childhood Sweethearts, Augusta Longbottom is the Best Mom, Family Secrets, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Requited Love, First War with Voldemort

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2UBAZMn

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Severus Snape #Snape #Professor Snape #SS

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scriptmedic · 7 years

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How To Write More Memorable Doctors (Even If They Never Speak)

This post appeared first on Patreon! Want to see the future? Consider donating!

(Image (c) Jeff Eaton. Commercial use approved.)

Let’s face it: doctors are almost never at the heart of storytelling. For the vast majority of stories, if a doctor or nurse is getting mentioned, they’re patching up a main character, or delivering a piece of bad news. They’re bit parts. They’re plot devices, not characters.

And all too often, that means that they become bland, or a stereotype. They get ignored. They get forgotten.

But what if they didn’t have to be? What if I told you that even the most background doctor, nurse or medic could be made to stick in the audience’s mind?

Let’s consider an example.

The doctor smiled. “Hi. I’m Doctor Roberts. Your son was in an accident, but he’s okay, we’re just finishing up the stitches now.”

As prose goes, this is simple, quick and to the point. The focus is allowed to remain on the event: accident, stitches, almost done.

But the doctor in this example is a non-entity. What’s their voice like? How old are they? Are they sympathetic? Apathetic?

Now, going into too much detail for a drive-by character like Dr. Roberts here would obviously be too much. But there are still ways to make her memorable. (You didn’t even know she was a female, did you?)

Formula: Understand the Assumption, Turn It On Its Head

Really, this is the foundational idea of all of these techniques. Background characters are going to come with a load of assumptions, most of which you, as the writer, do not control. When I say the word “doctor” to you, you have an image that comes to mind. It’s probably very, very different from mine.

But there are certain commonalities. Many people assume that the word “doctor” means someone who is:

Young

White

Male

Attractive

For an example, this is what Google Images pulls up when you search for a “doctor”:

Medicine, and medical personnel, are anything but. We come from all walks of life, all ethnic backgrounds, all identities and orientations. We are proud of our diversity. So any time you can subvert this harmful stereotype, especially in a noticeable way, you can take what might have been a wooden cut-out of a character and make them at least mildly memorable.

Here are some techniques that implement this strategy beautifully…

Technique: The Red Stethoscope

This is a tried-and-true technique to add just a hint of human-ness to otherwise wooden background characters.

The doctor smiled. “Hi, I’m Doctor Roberts.” She adjusted her bright red stethoscope. “Your son was in an accident, but he’s okay, we’re just finishing up the stitches now.”

This is a subtle change, but your readers will notice it. They’ll notice it because it stands out. The stethoscope itself is furniture, sure, but it’s unusual furniture. Typically, stethoscopes are black or navy blue, or a handful of muted colors. A red stethoscope, then, is out of the ordinary.

It implies that the person wearing it is also unusual. It begs a question, even subconsciously: what kind of a doctor would wear a red stethoscope?

Typical “red stethoscope” items could include:

A “Hello My Name Is” sticker on her namebadge. (This is an Actual Medical Thing, with real history, if you’re curious.)

A fountain pen, or a jelly pen with a pom-pom on the end

An ugly troll doll pinned to her scrubs

A flower made out of medication bottle caps on her ID card

Librarian / bedazzled glasses

Bright orange running shoes, or excessively pink scrubs

Scrubs, gowns, or even skin that’s splattered with blood.

Technique: The Big Birthmark

Admit it: our popular media has trained us into thinking of what a doctor looks like. Typically they’re movie-star pretty and only barely pushing 30, or else they’re grizzled and have that rough-hunky quality (House).

So that’s our assumption. How can we turn it on its head? Nontraditional beauty comes in lots of forms:

A big, splotchy birthmark right on the cheek that draws your eye no matter what you do

Smeared or mussed makeup

Looking just like that one movie star

A shock of hair that’s gone gray prematurely

An ER doctor who appears to be in his 70s

A big ol’ scar, anything from a nasty jagged cut to fishhook marks

A lopsided smile or droopy eyelid

A limp

A strange or humorous name, like Dr. Wigglesworth or Nurse Hammer.

Technique: The Surgeon With A Lisp

Turning physical attributes on their head are one challenge, but another is to make a character memorable by how they speak. A couple examples could be:

A lisp (lithp?)

A st-st-stutter on certain words

An accent that isn’t common to the area in which your character works (a Minnesota accent in a story set in N’Orleans), from the other side of the world (an Irish accent in Japan), or that might not match assumptions made about someone’s appearance (such as a man with an Indian name and dark skin speaking with a Scottish accent)

Someone with definitive speech patterns, such as never using contractions (“I do not think that he is in much pain”) or swearing (“Fuck, I just sutured that!”)

Muttering things under their breath as though they’re distracted.

Putting It All Together

So if we snag one item from each column—which is overkill, by the way, you may only need one feature on the list—now we get something like…

The doctor smiled, and adjusted her bright red stethoscope. “Hi, I’m Doctor Roberts.” She brushed back a shock of very prematurely gray hair. She had East Asian features, but her accent was pure Texas drawl. “Your son was in an accident, but he’s okay, we’re just finishing up the stitches now.”

See what we’ve done? Nothing has functionally changed. But now Dr. Roberts has personality. She has a story all her own, even if we never learn it. She’s still the same plot vehicle as before, but now there’s something to remember about her.

But what if they never say a word?

Well, consider the following examples…

Dr. Saunders rushed by, her curly hair a tangled, wet mess, presumably headed for the punch clock.

A nurse passed through the hallway, her Hello Kitty stethoscope belying the serious look in her eye.

The nurse was back, the one who changed my meds. I couldn’t remember her name, but her birthmark drew my eye in such a way as to make me slightly embarrassed for staring.

The medic doing CPR had bright green hair and an undercut. It bounced into her eyes as she pushed on my father’s chest.

Functionally, all of these characters are still just background pieces, but now they stick out, at least a little bit. Your character will remember that event differently because of those details.

What are YOUR best tricks for making unique background characters?

Drop them in the comments or in a reblog/share!

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

disclaimer

We’ve been helping people write better medical characters and events for over 1,000 posts now. Have you considered supporting us on Patreon?

#write better doctors #doctors #paramedics #nurses #write better nurses #write better medics #background characters #masterposts

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randomconnections · 6 years

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The Good, The Bad, and The Irish

Clonmacnoise Abby and Ruins, 2015

In my single, young adult life St. Patrick’s Day was the biggest excuse for a party of the year. I’d dust off the green and tweed and trot out the Irish ancestry (William Taylor, the ship Earl of Donegal, County Antrim, etc., etc., etc.), and purchase large quantities of the chosen poison for the evening, whether Jamison, Guinness, Bailey’s, or some green concoction. It didn’t help that my usual partner in crime back then, Bob Donnan, celebrated his birthday on March 17. I remember a couple of particularly epic parties (barely.) It was also about the only time I’d listen to Celtic music.

Fast forward a few decades and my St. Patrick parties are much less epic, if they occur at all. Since this year’s celebration was on a Saturday, there was the potential for more epicness. While the actual date was celebrated quietly, it was a weekend full of Irish music, including the good, bad, and ugly.

The week’s music started non-Irish. Wednesday I attended my first session with Bring Your Own Ukulele at Empire Ale. I mixed up the chords a couple of times, confusing them with either banjo or guitar chords, but I think I did OK. They had a good turnout for the session.

Thursday night was another first. This was the first meeting of the Turtle Jam group up at the Bellingham Folk School. It’s an outgrowth of the Slug Jam group with which I’ve played a few times. As one might expect from the name, this one is for those wanting to go a bit faster than Slug Jam speeds. Also, this group emphasizes learning tunes by ear, so music is not allowed.

There were several folks there that I knew from Slug Jam and other sessions. Fiddler Colleen Freeman led the group.

We did a mix of Irish, Scottish, and even Nordic and Appalachian tunes. There were a couple of lap dulcimer players there, so the old-time tunes fit right in.

The session went well with different ones suggesting various tunes. Colleen had sent out three tunes for us to learn, and afterwards several sent out suggestions for others they would like to learn. We were given homework to find a tune set to present to the group. Turtle Jam meets every other Thursday, so that gives me two weeks. We’ll see.

Friday I took my homework to heart. I’ve got a massive collection of online tunes as well as PDFs. It was a gorgeous day, so I hauled out just about every instrument I own (or, at least, half of them.) I had my banjo and a guitar, the accordion, melodica, and two tin whistles. I had something with which to work on melody as well as harmony. I enjoyed the accordion the most, and even managed to play the tunes with a chordal accompaniment. I’m hoping I didn’t annoy Laura and the neighbors too much.

Friday evening we had tickets to hear the Irish group Dervish play at McIntyre Hall in Mount Vernon. Several of my fellow musicians were from the different sessions. We had great seats. This photo is from a different performance I found online, but we had exactly the same view. I didn’t take any photos during the concert.

The group was amazing. There were six musicians – a piper, fiddler, mandolo, bouzouki, button accordion, and bodhran. Cathy Jordan played bodhran and percussion and was the lead singer. Her voice was absolutely captivating but sounded very familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard them before.

The level of musicianship was also incredible. I now understand why the Village Pizza session is considered a “slow” session because these guys were blazing fast. I recognized a couple of the tunes from their sets, but most were unfamiliar. It seemed like the concert was over far too early, but it was an absolute blast.

Thus inspired, on St. Patrick’s day proper I spent a good bit of the day learning more tunes. My keyboard had been in the shop so we made a trip out that way to retrieve it, then I spent more time playing. Our St. Pat’s day was a bit more laid back. Laura made excellent pot roast for dinner that we said was close enough to Irish stew. Our martinis had green olives, so we figured that was good enough. We did have dessert with green mint.

That was the good, now on to the ugly (and that’s not to imply that any of the other weekend events were bad, to complete the trilogy)…

Sunday afternoon rolled around and time for another Irish music session at the Littlefield Celtic Center in Mount Vernon. My last experience at one of these sessions was not very good. I felt completely lost. However, I’d practiced and had a great time at a couple of other sessions. I felt…better but not exactly confident. I told Laura that it felt like I hadn’t studied enough for a test. And that wasn’t too far from the truth.

At least there were more musicians than the last time. There were several fiddlers, three flute players, a guy with a button accordion, and my friend Laura, the bodhran player. My tin whistle instructor was playing whistles and concertina. I was the only guitarist. Again.

There was a HUGE audience this time. However, once again I felt completely lost. It was as if my mind blanked out completely. Even with tunes that I knew, for some reason I couldn’t get the chords. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt that uncomfortable. I think I got some outright glares from several of my fellow musicians, which made me feel even less confident. I made it about an hour and a half, but felt like leaving after the first 20 minutes.

I’ve had it. Really, I have. I’ve tried, but I just can’t get this. And I don’t know why this has to be so hard. I am a professional musician and a fairly decent guitar player. I’ve had absolutely no problems with the Scottish sessions and have thrived in those settings.

The problem is the incredible set of strictures set on an Irish music session. I tried Googling “Irish music session…” to find sessions I could attend back home and Auto-Complete’s first suggestion was “Irish music session etiquette.” There were TONS of hits.

It seems that this obsession with etiquette is primarily a USA phenomenon amongst those that strive for a Traditional Irish Music session. I found the best summaries of these sentiments on the AmeriCelt website.

As we just noted, in Ireland’s Capitol, Dublin, there are no written ‘rules’ for sessions. However, if you have ever attended an Irish session here in the USA you may have been surprised by the expanded expectations of the participants. With some Irish sessions, one might well wonder whether one has accidentally disturbed a private party, even though the gathering is in a public place like a public house (Pub) or restaurant!

…or, I might add, publicly announced in print and social media that it’s a session open to musicians.

The web page features commentary by several musicians. Shay Black is a guitarist who runs a session in Berkeley, CA, and specifically addressed some of the challenges facing rhythm players in TIM sessions. Here are some excerpts from his comments:

I am a guitar player and run an Irish session on a regular basis. It is an open session, which means open to anyone that wants to join in, provided they already know how to play Irish traditional music. There is an unsaid institutional knowledge in session etiquette, and I will attempt to give my take on it….

Irish music sessions are usually characterized by everybody playing lead, all the time. There actually is no traditional harmony, as Irish music does not have a history of rhythmic background structure per se, apart from some classical Carolan or harp tunes….

As rhythm players, we first need to be cognizant of the fact that very many Irish session players want NO rhythmic accompaniment. They can find it off-putting, intrusive, distracting, off-beat and often just plain wrong….

First off, know the tune. That last half-sentence is important. There is nothing worse than sitting beside someone who is a ‘noodler’. Noodling is trying to keep up (and failing) because others are playing faster, not knowing the tune and guessing at it, or if you are playing a lead instrument, playing ‘ad lib harmony’. Musicians love it if the guitar player plays ‘lead’, in that they are playing tunes like a mandolin or banjo player, i.e., keeping up and actually playing the notes of the tunes. Please, people, do not noodle. If you don’t know a tune or can’t keep up, don’t play. It spoils it for everyone. Do not guess chords.

Oohhhkaaay…But here’s a problem. There are thousands upon thousands of tunes with just as many variations. I know enough about music theory to figure out the chord progressions but I wouldn’t even try to play a tune if I didn’t know it.

In order to learn tunes I’ve tried to concentrate on several “set lists” – core tunes that should be in every TIM player’s repertoire. However, at most sessions the regular players want nothing to do with these core tunes. It’s like being asked to play “House of the Rising Sun”, “American Pie”, and “Freebird” over and over again. I get that. I had this made abundantly clear when I suggested the slip jig “The Butterfly” at a recent session. I might as well have requested Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World.”

Barry Foy wrote a book entitled Field Guide to the Irish Music Session. On the same web page as the Shay Black commentary Foy was interviewed by AmeriCelt.

My book’s definition of ‘session’ was meant to encompass any non-concert gathering of Irish musicians, whether in a kitchen or at a pub or on a sandy beach, but some readers have taken it to refer strictly to pub sessions and have found fault in that.

So, Foy thinks these rules of etiquette apply anywhere?? WTF??? Continuing with his interview…

AmeriCeltic: Many host restaurants and publicans describe these gatherings as ‘Irish jam sessions’ and the like. You disapprove?

Barry Foy: Irish music will be better off once people stop associating the word ‘jam’ with it in any way (assume that someone who does, knows very little about the music in the first place). That word is freighted with far too many associations with other musics, whose values and protocols are worlds apart from those of Irish trad, to suit this context.

I’m 58 years old; I saw Jimi Hendrix play, and I can sing for you, note for note (God help us), Clapton’s solo from Cream’s live recording of Crossroads. So believe me, I know what a jam is, and this isn’t any such thing. You won’t show up at an Irish session and ‘jam’ to it any sooner than someone who has never picked up a spatula will walk into a kitchen and ‘jam’ an eggs Benedict (they’d probably try to put jam on it). I definitely prefer to trust the experts when it comes to Sunday brunch-why should I want any less from Irish music?

AmeriCeltic: So, the target audience of your book is those who carry a musical instrument into a session unaware of what to expect?

Barry Foy: It’s worth asking where anyone gets the notion that he can saunter in on a spell of music making by devoted, diligent players of a particular music and essentially try to remake it in his own image, on the spot. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to answer that question. The fact is, Irish music, like any handed-down music, is full of strictures and borders and prohibitions, and it signals its distinctive identity by treading a finite number of well-worn paths. That scenario won?t appeal to everyone; some may find it inhibiting, a threat to their self-expressive impulse. Luckily, the world is large, and there’s likely some other form of music that would suit those people better. If so, the players of Irish trad welcome them to pursue that other music, and we promise not to impose our own standards on it. In the meantime, we’ll try to make the most of our sometimes limited opportunities to play this music in the way we learned to play it, and have a good time doing it.

I guess if I had to pick one sentence from Field Guide to the Irish Music Session that matters most, it would be this, from page 52: ‘The fact that you are holding a musical instrument in your hands at a session does not automatically entitle you to play it.’

So, according to Foy only “experts” should play in sessions. Right.

That leaves me to figure out my options. First, the Irish sessions at Littlefield and Honey Moon Mead are out. If I feel that uncomfortable at those sessions I have no business there and it’s not worth my time and the headaches. I think I’m also done with ultra-slow sessions like the Slug Jam, and maybe even the Turtle Jam. These progress too slowly for me and I get frustrated. For now the Irish session at Village Pizza is doable, and only one person scowled at me (and was one of the ones who scowled at the most recent Littlefield session.)

I’ll continue to practice the tunes as I’ve always done, both on rhythm and melodic instruments. I’ll finish out my tin whistle lessons. I will keep playing with the Scottish group and practice sessions. I’ll keep searching for sessions where I can join in comfortably and have fun. I will avoid TIM snobs that tend to suck the fun out of everything. Let them keep to those that have memorized the liturgy.

Fortunately (or, perhaps, unfortunately), I only have a few more months out here. The comfort-level discovery process starts all over when I get home. Will those Irish sessions be just as snooty? Time will tell. Perhaps I’ll just get my friends and family together and start my own.

OK, rant over.

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animalfactsus · 7 years

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Top 10 Black Cat Facts and Myths – Cats 101 – Animal Facts

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Top 10 Black Cat Facts and Myths – Cats 101 – Animal Facts

No feline is more maligned than the black cat. The black cat along with pumpkins, bats and witches, and spiders … yes and spiders … has become a staple of Halloween imagery.

While black cats are typically associated with Halloween, witchcraft and bad luck, and the #1 Halloween costume choice for both children and women in their freshman year of college… oddly enough… there’s much more to these dark-colored fur balls that you probably didn’t know. [I thought I taw a puddy tat] Let’s take a look at our shadowy feline friends.

Let’s get started. But, before we start, take a moment to like and subscribe for more fun, fauna facts.

Our Black Cat Binx

Meet Binx. Binx is our resident black kitty in the Animal Facts household. Binx showed up at our doorstep two years ago and well. We can say without a doubt that the only spells he’s ever cast were … [meow] What’s that? Oh right… get on with the list, it’s almost dinner time. OK.

10. Beginning in the Middle Ages, black cats became associated with witches and witchcraft and of-course the Devil. Some people went so far as to believe black cats were cohorts to witches or even witches who had taken animal form.

This widespread superstition resulted in the horrific mass executions of black cats—and sometimes even their wrongfully labeled owners.

The elderly, solitary women who often fed and cared for stray cats were also often misidentified as witches and the cats as their evil conspirators.

Well… Well, we did do the nose and the hat. She is a witch. Burn her.

We publish Every Monday and Friday, so hit that notification icon to not miss a single fact.

9. Maybe these “witches” were onto something.

Forget the stereotypical depiction of the perpetually single crazy cat lady. In some parts of the world, it’s believed that black cats can actually improve your love life. That is as long as you remember to hit your outfit with the lint roller before going out for a date. Or you could just wear that little black dress.

In Japan, for example, single women who own black cats are believed to attract more suitors. And in Great Britain’s English Midlands, a black cat is the ideal wedding gift. They’re believed to bring good luck and happiness to the bride.

If you’re in Germany and a black kitty crosses your path from right to left, good things are on the horizon.

Right to left Binx, Right to Left

8. Not only can a black cat beef up your love life, but they can amp up your good luck and improve your finances, too.

Historically, sailors brought cats aboard ships to hunt mice—and, presumably, for companionship—but British sailors in the Royal Navy believed a black cat, in particular, would bring the ship good luck and ensure a safe return home. A few of these kitties have been enshrined in maritime history, like Tiddles, who traveled more than 30,000 miles during his time with the Royal Navy.

If you were a pirate it became a little more complicated, though.

Pirates believed a black cat walking toward you was bad luck; a black cat walking away from you was good luck; and if a cat boarded the ship, then jumped off, the ship was headed to see Davey Jones.

7. It’s common to think that black cats in shelters are the last in line to find their forever homes, but a recent survey from the ASPCA suggests otherwise.

Although euthanasia numbers for black cats were of the highest, their total number of adoptions was the highest of any hue as well.

But his wicked past does still haunt him.

Aside from continuing to rep all things eerie, the fear of black cats still has some influence today: Many animal shelters won’t place black cats in homes during the month of October, for fear of them being used sacrificially.

Yeah, that’s some bad Joujou.

Many also advise keeping your black cat indoors on or near the Halloween holidays.

6. The black cat is not a breed.

The Cat Fanciers’ Association recognizes 22 different breeds that can have solid black coats—including the Norwegian Forest Cat, Japanese Bobtail, and Scottish Fold—but the Bombay breed is what most people picture: a copper-eyed, all-black shorthair.

The resemblance to a “black panther” is no coincidence. In the 1950s, a woman named Nikki Horner was so enamored with how panthers looked that she bred what we now refer to as the Bombay.

The Bombay’s nickname is the “parlor panther,” because of his resemblance to the big cat.

Many black cats have golden eyes, which is the result of high melanin pigment content in their bodies.

5. Put your lab coat on. Researchers at the US National Institutes of Health discovered that the genetic mutations that cause cats to have black coats may offer them some protection from diseases. In fact, the mutations affect the same genes that offer HIV resistance to humans.

Because cats can experience many of the same health issues as we do—cancer, HIV and Alzheimer’s, to name a few—they make perfect models for studying human disease. By figuring out how cats have evolved to resist diseases, researchers can, potentially, learn how to prevent disease in humans as well.

And we thought the only thing cats ever did for us was to knock stuff off the furniture.

4. Black Cats can “rust”.

Okay, so they don’t actually rust like a tin can or bike. A black cat’s color all boils down to a genetic quirk. There are three variants of the black fur gene (solid black, brown, and cinnamon), and the hue works in conjunction with the pattern. If a cat has a solid black hue, but also the dominant tabby stripe gene, heavy exposure to the sun can make the pigment in his fur break down to reveal his once-invisible stripes. Your once black cat is now a rusty brown cat.

3. They’re difficult to photograph—but it can be done.

The modern-day conundrum black cat owners face isn’t bad luck, but bad lighting. In a world filled with people sharing photos of their pets on Facebook and Instagram, black cats can end up looking like a dark blob in photos. A photographer’s advice? Minimalist backgrounds, so your kitty can stand out, and angling him towards natural light sources (but keep him out of bright sunlight!).

If you’re snapping pics on your smart-phone, tap on your cat’s face, to lock exposure on your cat.

2. A black cat with an arched back and bared claws was used as a symbol by the Industrial Workers Of The World, the US-based labor union known as the Wobblies. It conveyed the idea of a wildcat strike but was also meant to unsettle employers, implying that a black cat was crossing their path and they should watch out.

According to one story, the logo was originally devised during a strike that was going badly. An emaciated black cat strayed into the strikers’ camp, where it was fed. As it grew healthier the strike prospered [and when the workers won some of their demands they adopted the cat as their mascot.]

1. Can’t get enough black cat in your life? You can visit a cat cafe devoted to black cats.

Step through the doors of Nekobiyaka in Himeji, Japan and get ready for your wildest cat lady dreams to come true. Black cats are the stars at this café and visitors are invited to pet (but not pick up) these bewitching felines.

Since it’s hard to tell the cats here apart, they all wear different-colored bandannas around their necks, and their names incorporate their identifying color. The staff will lend you a little book with photos of all the cats, listing their names and birthdays.

Want more fun, fauna facts? Go ahead and smash that subscribe button and hit the notification icon to not miss a single fact. If you like THIS video, go ahead and push the like button, or that other button also works. If you’d like to help us grow, consider becoming a patron on Patreon or clicking the Paypal link on AnimalFacts.us. And as always catch ya next time.

Top 10 Black Cat Facts and Myths – Cats 101 – Animal Facts was first posted on October 13, 2017 at 12:00 pm. ©2017 "Animal Facts". Use of this feed is for personal non-commercial use only. If you are not reading this article in your feed reader, then the site is guilty of copyright infringement. Please contact me at [email protected] from Top 10 Black Cat Facts and Myths – Cats 101 – Animal Facts

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gryfflepuffinthetardis · 5 months

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Winter Sounds — Campbell Bain x Reader

*This chapter has words with slashes. This is means you use the word that applies to where you live. Like GED in America means "General Educational Development Test" while there is no U.K. Equivalent (based off a thirty-second Google search) but I found A-Levels which is what Rose Tyler refers to when talking about school in the revival Pilot so... this is how I learn about things, I pick up what I've heard in TV shows. Obviously there are other countries but I’ve never heard of any other terms for these so comment if I missed some.*

Summary: It’s Campbell and Y/n’s last day together before he goes traveling for a Radio DJ competition, unfortunately Y/n can’t come with and Campbell has become a little clingy

Warnings: Mentions of the suicide of a good friend of theirs, Spoilers for Takin' Over the Aslyum, Winter activities, Skating, Implied Short Reader, Implied Non-Scottish Reader; Mention of Past Toxic Relationship; Referenced but not mentioned relationship involving rape.

Note: I had the perfect gif for this when it was on Wattpad but I have a new laptop now and they took down my account and I can't find the gif. It was a gif of a couple kssing on the ice and then they slipped and both fell down.

(Post-Asylum; May be connected to "Sweet Jane" or read alone; If you decided to include this in Sweet Jane, this takes place between the ending of the series and the epilogue written by me.)

"I want your love to consume me like an oversized winter coat. Hands clasped around my waist like buttons done up properly."

Early March, 1995 (Early Eight months since the events of Takin’ Over the Asylum)

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They had known for nearly two months that Campbell would be leaving but Y/n was on her way to get her A-Levels/GED since she had dropped out of secondary school/high school to go to the asylum but now it seemed that it had hit Campbell as he was even more clingy than normal.

"Campbell." She groaned as he hugged her from behind as she was trying to make Scottish Lentil soup for the two.

"But... baaaabe, I'm leaving tomorrow. I won't be able to see you in three weeks." He whined, burying his head into her back. "I won't be able to touch you. I won't be able to snuggle you as we sleep. I won't' be able to hear your voice."

"We can still talk on the phone." She protested.

"It's not the same! I won't be able to kiss your back." He whined.

He kissed her back before trailing to her shoulder as he pulled her sleeve up to reveal her shoulder and kissed it, "I won't be able to kiss your shoulder." He moved to her neck, "I won't be able to kiss your neck." He grasped her hips and turned her around and kissed her cheek, moving to her jaw and chin. "I won't be able to kiss your cheeks, your chin, your jaw." He pulled away to ease her to the counter beside the stove before pressing her against it as she couldn't help but smile and giggle. He kissed up her face to her forehead. "I won't be able to kiss your face." He tilted her head up and he kissed her lips. "I won't be able to kiss your lips."

"Cam... we..." He kept quieting her with kisses before moving to her neck, though it seemed he was taking in her scent as he kissed her neck. She had leaned her head back so he could have access with he happily obliged with open-mouthed kisses. "Campbell, it's five. I, uh, I had some plans for a date tonight. But we need to eat first."

"What kind of date? Dinner? Movie?" He hummed.

"No, that's why we're eating now." She said.

"Wait a minute, it's nearly twelve in the morning. What date takes place after midnight?"

"It'll be outside. You'll need to dress in warm clothing. But I need to finish the soup first."

He gave her a smile with a deep emotion in his eyes, she couldn't quite detect, "What?"

"I just love you so bloody much." He said, earnestly.

Campbell and Y/n walked through Glasgow with her being all vague which kept Campbell frustrated and all pouty.

"Be patient, Cam."

"I'm not a patient person!" He almost yelled.

"Oh, I know." She said, playing with her satchel that she refused to show Campbell what it contained. "Just wait and see."

"Just wait and see!? Do you have any idea how irritating that is!?" He whined.

She eventually led him to a park, it was a rather snowy March, so the pond at the park was frozen, she took a pair of ice skates out of her satchel.

"You want to skate at one in the morning?" He laughed.

"Well, I'm a looney." She teased.

"Yes, you are." He grinned and kissed her, he cupped her face with both hands. "Yes, you are."

Ten minutes later, Y/n was teaching Campbell how to skate, though he was a bit clumsy but she kept him up by holding his hand.

At one point, she did an impressive spin, which made her hair spin around her head like a H/C halo as Campbell watched with a dropped jaw... drooling slightly.

"How'd you learn how to do this anyways?" He laughed, flailing his arms, trying to keep himself upright.

Y/n spun around and her smile faltered before turning bittersweet, "Uh, when I first arrived to Saint Jude's... Fergus took me."

"Oh."

"He took me a few times, not even expecting me to talk. I picked this up quick and I even laughed. He considered that a victory." She said, sadly.

Campbell slid over to her and embraced her, which he originally intended to do but also to stop him from falling. "I miss him too." Campbell said in her ear, he pulled away.

She handed her hand out in front of her, offering it to him which he took and she skated with him, he... well, to say, he got the hang of it isn't right, but he wasn't completely fall-on-his-face-with-each-stroke terrible.

At one point, she tripped and nearly fell but Campbell caught her through this threw him off balance and he fell with Y/n landing on top of him.

They laughed at this and kissed, they decided they had had enough and put their shoes on that they had clipped to their belts and got up on the ice.

Campbell brushed off some snow and then turned to his girlfriend who was looking at him with a sparkle in her eyes.

"What?" He laughed.

"I love you so bloody much too." She said.

He grinned... like a maniac... like a looney and he pulled her in by the waist for a slow, passionate kiss but slipped on the ice now wearing his normal shoes and he pulled Y/n closed which brought them both down with her, once again, landing on his chest.

"I just can't play it cool." He laughed.

"I don't know. Nineteen-year-old Radio DJ. Hyperactive, loud, energetic, passionate, enthuastic, charismatic, spontaneous, easy-going, creative, independent, brave, funny, sarcastic, sexy..." He clicked his tongue and winked at her.

"Mmm, do say more things you like about my personality." He hummed, playing with a short lock of hair of hers.

"Impulsive, loud, hard to keep track off." She teased.

"Oh, you wound me." He groaned, dramatically.

"How about this? Sweet, loyal, handsome, romantic, hot..."

"Yeah. That's the ticket." He said, nodding, "But you forgot one thing. Totally, ridicouslously in love with you and definitely going to miss you for the next three weeks."

"Me too. You've been in my life for less than a year and already... I can't imagine my life without you. You're all the things I just said and more. You are the best guy I have ever dated though granted, given the last and only other one abused me for years on end and traumatized me into muteness, that wasn't a high bar." She looked down, averting eye contact with Campbell.

Campbell tucked the lock of her hair behind her ear, "He won't ever hurt you again, baby. Never ever."

She shivered a little and concerned appeared on his face, "Shite. Your nose is all red. You're freezing. Let's get ho... let's get you home." Once off the ice and pulled him back and he looked at her.

She stepped closer, raising herself on her tip-toes while weaving her hand through his hair on the back of his head and kissed him slowly when she pulled away, his eyes fluttered open and then shook his head.

“Sorry, you know, most girls, normal girls, always dream of having the perfect kiss with the perfect guy.” She said and then cringed, “Sorry, that was like the cheesiest thing ever.”

“Yeah, it was. So that’s super embarrassing for you.” He teased but then she sneezed. “Let’s get you home before I have to drop out of the DJ competition to take care of you. Come with me, Juliet. Follow your Romeo.” Then he immediately slipped and fell back down, face first in a pile of snow.

Campbell handed her a cup of freshly made hot chocolate with whipped cream after she got out of the shower when they got home.

"Oh, how thoughtful." Y/n said, cupping her boyfriend's cheek and stroking it with her thumb.

She took the mug and drank a big gulp, letting it warm her insides as she had already began to get cold from the shower.

Campbell grinned when he saw she had whipped cream on her nose, he leaned over and licked and kissed it off.

"Campbell!" She laughed.

"Mmm. Tastes only slightly more sweet than usual."

"The whipped cream?" She asked.

"No, you. Your taste. The taste of your skin." He teased.

"God, you're a dork." She drank some more hot chocolate and as soon as she swallowed he kissed her, allowing him to taste the hot chocolate on her lips and she giggled against his lips. "You're so weird, Bain."

"You are simply beautiful, L/n." He hummed.

Thirty minutes, later at like, two-thirty in the morning, they were both finally in bed.

"Promise me something?" She asked, laying on his chest.

"Hmm-mmm." He hummed, half-asleep.

"Campbell." She smacked his chest and he propped himself of his elbows to look at her, albeit, slightly sleep blurry-eyed.

"Hmm?" He asked but she didn't answer, he looked at her and saw her biting her lip, nervously. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees, "Babe, what is it?"

"Promise me you won't find some girl wherever this competition is going to to take you, someone who's willing to have sex with you..."

Campbell tilted her head up and kissed her before pulling back and looking her dead in the eye and saying, seriously, "One year ago, if someone were to ask me what my perfect dream girl would be, she wouldn't even come close to you." He kissed her gently again and then gave her a goofy smile, "That cheesy enough for you?"

"Yeah, and it was super embarrassing for you." She teased and he pulled her into his chest as they laid back down with him burying his face in the top of her head.

"I'm in this for the long run, Y/n. I promise. Your first time should've be special but it wasn't, I'm willing to wait until you're ready." He whispered. "God, I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too." She said and leaned up and kissed him.

He turned off the light and they drifted to sleep.

At the airport, the next afternoon, Eddie was saying goodbye to Francine while Campbell hugged Y/n, repeating how much he loved her and kissing her passionately.

"Call me? Every day. Even if it's the middle of the night for me." She requested.

He laughed, "You bet. I'll tell you about my day. Probably have to get another room from Eddie or else, I'll annoy him. You call me too. If you just want to talk, you call me. Even in the middle of the night."

"Babe, you'll be having a competition. I can't do that. You call me, I'll call you if you're awake. You call me every time you land and I'll look up the time zone differences and call you."

"I'll keep my mobile on me at all times." He promised and kissed her.

"Campbell, we've got to go." Eddie said, irriatedly.

Campbell groaned, "Bye, babe. I love you." He said and pecked her lips before going with Eddie to board the plane.

“Wait!” Y/n shouted, running at him, he turned and felt her attack him with a hug. "Two years ago, when I was still talking, if you asked me to describe my perfect dream guy, he wouldn't even come close to you either." She said into his ear.

He chuckled, “You stole my line.”

“Campbell!” Eddie shouted.

“IN A MINUTE! I have to go. Love you.” He kissed her again and ran off with Eddie.

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gryfflepuffinthetardis · 5 months

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I’ll Stand by You (Sweet Jane Part Two) — Campbell Bain x Reader

Sweet Jane Episode One: Hey Jude

Warning: One gif shows mild self harm. (The digging nails into palm from Riverdale)

“You were a risk, a mystery, and the most certain thing I’d ever known.”

Campbell finished playing a song and he spoke into the microphone, “That was Money (That's What I Want)—"

“Cannae hear ye, Campbell.

“From way back in 1959—” Campbell continued, now louder

“They still cannae hear ye.

“AND THIS IS CAMPBELL BAIN, THE BANE OF YOUR LIFE!” Campbell all but shouted.

“Campbell—” Eddie started.

Campbell turned and snapped, irritably at Eddie, “Eddie, I'm a mentally ill person. If I shout any louder I'll be restrained and sedated!”

He felt Y/N take his hand and brought it to the fader as Eddie pointed this out, “The fader, Campbell.”

He paused. “...Oh, I knew that!” He lied.

“Okay, Campbell, we'll try it again.”

Campbell started to jingle again, making it let out a screechy staticky whistling as it played, making Y/N jump up, suddenly, clamping her hands over her ears, making Campbell look at her with deep concern before Fergus reached over Campbell’s turned shoulder and pulled the slider down

“You'll blow the monitors if you push 'em like that.” He told them, “Along with Y/N’s eardrums.”

“Fergus! I nearly got it right that time! What're—” Campbell complained but cut himself off when he saw Fergus wearing a white doctor’s coat and glasses with his pulled back into a ponytail, “Well, well! The poacher's turned gamekeeper, eh? Where did you get the coat?”

Fergus looked down at the nametag to read it, “From, uh, Doctor Brady.”

“You look dead handsome like that, so you do.” Rosalie complimented.

“Get everything you needed?” Eddie asked.

“Almost.” Fergus said as he held up an electronic device, “That only cost 50p. I'll strip it for the power transistors.” Then he gestured to Campbell. “Are you sure you trust him on that desk?”

“Fergus, this desk and I are on intimate terms. This desk and I are practically engaged. We're doing our first show together tomorrow night.”

“Not tomorrow, Campbell.” Eddie told him.

“But I'm standing at the threshold of one the most important moments of my life here!” Campbell whined before saying, fervently, “Give me an audience; give me punters and I will deliver, Eddie!”

“Well! I hadn't expected such a crowd.” A woman said, entering, and Y/N rolled her chair away from her, looking at her suspiciously as she nodded at Fergus, “Doctor.” Then to everyone else, “Which one of you is Eddie McKenna?”

“Um, I am.” Eddie said, standing up.

“I'm Mrs. MacDonald, assistant administrator.” She said

“Mrs. MacDonald.” Eddie said, shaking her hand.

“Call me Evelyn. Just thought I'd pop my head in and say hello, ask if you need anything.” She said and Y/N and Fergus exchanged looks before the silent patient gave her a blank stare.

“Aye, we do.” Fergus said.

“I'm sorry?” Evelyn asked as Y/N handed Fergus a cable.

“We need some shielded three-core flex. This stuff is useless. The doctors' bleeps are coming through on the air.”

“Well, that should be possible.” Evelyn said, having understood very little of that but smiling to pretend that she did.

“And some paint! This place needs redecorating, so it does.” Rosalie interjected.

“Oh, hang on. Just let me make a list.”

Y/N smacked Fergus in the shoulder, lightly and gestured to the mixing desk. “Yes, the main thing is the mixing desk.” Fergus opened said mixing desk, “Now, we've got a lot of crackle coming through on these faders, and these two here have had it, really.” Y/N used a screwdriver to demonstrate which wires, “Now, we could do with a couple of new ones if you can still get them, but what we really need is a new desk. A six-into-two would even do us.”

“My goodness!” Evelyn laughed, “Are you a doctor or an engineer?”

“I'm a patient.” Fergus said as Y/N smiled, cheekily at her before he took his glasses off, laughing as Evelyn’s smile fell but not having the open mind that Eddie had when he mistook a patient for a doctor.

“We're all patients. Except him,” Campbell said, nodding towards Eddie, “who isn't, but should be. But don't worry; we're heavily tranquilized and pose no danger to the public.” Campbell then gave her an adorkable smile.

“No, that's marvelous, involving the patients.” She said but Y/N could tell she wasn’t genuine and was being very fake, not exactly going to be the next Oscar winner, “I'll see what I can do about this list. Uh, there's an endowment trust we can approach. But the hospital board will want to see some figures, I'm afraid.” Her voice was now hesitant. Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up on this at once.

“What kind of figures?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, just a budget proposal, really. Current running costs, projected capital outlay, that sort of thing. If you've got your books up to date and you've got some written estimates of the equipment you propose to purchase, you can—” Evelyn said as Campbell and Y/N started to get very bored and they exchanged very bored, like in Math(s)-class-level-bored looks before Campbell played the jingle.

“That was dedicated to the bored and boring board of Saint Jude's Hospital, that bloated, bilious body of befuddled brains we'd like to befriend. Just give us your dosh, boys!” Campbell said into the microphone cheerfully.

Can’t Buy Me Love by the Beatles played before Eddie scolded, “Campbell!” He slid the fader back down, quieting the music.

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“Well. Pretty impressive! Anyway, Eddie, I'll pop in again in a few days when you have a chance to get some figures together. And... thanks for the wee demonstration, as it were.” Evelyn said, taken aback, confused, and not wanting to be near Campbell as she felt he definitely was mentally unstable and she didn't like the death glare that was being given to her by Y/n.

“Oh, well done, Campbell.” Eddie said, sarcastically.

“I told you I could do it if I had an audience!” Campbell said, the sarcasm going right over his head.

“No that. What's Evelyn gonna think of that?” Eddie nodded at the mixer, having been referring to Campbell’s performance out of boredom.

“She'll think I'm a loony. I am a loony. ...Come on, Eddie. Let me do my own show tomorrow, eh?” Campbell pleaded.

Eddie looked at Fergus and Y/N, the older of the two quiet and gentle patients shook his head ‘no’ while the youngest and most quiet on, nodded her head, enthusiastically, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!

Eddie sighed, looking at Campbell and conceded, “...Aye, okay.”

Campbell then jumped up from his chair, either really excited or having a mild manic mood swing. “You beau-taay! Tomorrow night! The Campbell Bain Show debuts tomorrow night!” He extended his arms out and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling like, I’M ON TOP OF THE WORLD as Y/N watched with a sparkle in her eyes. “Eat your heart out, Ken Bruce, you bastard, ha!” His smile immediately fell when he spotted his father entering the room, “Oh... Hello.”

“They, uh, told me I'd find you in here.” His dad said, uncomfortably.

“...Aye.” Campbell glanced at his friends, rather nervous about how his father would react to them given his disbelief in his son’s own mental disorder, “Well... here I am." He turned back to his friends, who were uncomfortably waiting for him to introduce this man to them, "...Eh, you lot, this is my dad." Eddie smiled in greeting but like Y/n, his eyes kept darting back to Campbell, noticing his obvious uncharacteristic nervousness and stillness, "Dad, this is that lot and this is Y/N, my best friend…” He said, placing a hand on the back of Y/N’s back as she looked at him, considering they had only met two months ago and she’s never even spoken to him despite the many, many, many times he’s spoken to her, before quickly adding, “but-but not my--not my-my girlfriend…”

He cut himself off as his dad gave them all apart from Campbell a cold look while the one he gave Campbell was just uncomfortable and disappointed, like he thought he had to walk on eggshells around him.

Then his dad just left, intending for the unsettled Campbell to follow. Campbell turned to Y/N and pleaded with her with his eyes to follow in case things went wrong which they most likely would, knowing his father and Y/N got up and walked solemnly after them, glaring at Campbell’s dad the whole time.

The father and son entered the day room as Y/N slowly walked in, glaring at Campbell’s dad still, before sitting down and continuing to glare daggers at Campbell's dad.

“Uh,” Campbell glanced at Y/N with her rather terrifying stare at his father like she was planning on murdering him, “have a seat.” Then he joked to lighten the mood, “I'd get you a cup of tea, but they don't trust us with kettles.”

“No, you might burn yourselves.”

“Aye. Or wear them on our heads. Either way, it requires medical intervention.” The teen chuckled, nervously.

“I've just, uh, had a word with your doctor, by the way.”

“Oh, aye?” Campbell asked with mild curiosity.

“He gave me some good news... I think. He says they'll be letting you out of here soon. Next week, he reckons.” Campbell’s dad said and Y/N’s insides flipped, not sure how she should feel. Her empathetic side was happy for him but her selfish side was sad that she wouldn’t be able to see him as often.

Campbell had defied all her expectations after her trauma. He was everything she had started to lose belief in in men. He was kindness and gentleness and sunshine.

Campbell clearly thought this was great news, “You're joking — next week?” He said, excitedly and then jumped up, excitedly, shouting, “YES! YES! FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST!” He walked over to Y/N and kissed her on the head, enthusiastically, “THANK GOD ALMIGHTY, I'LL BE FREE AT LAST!”

He spotted the bittersweet look on Y/N’s face, making him pipe down and look at her with confusion and concern so his dad took this opportunity to talk.

“Aye, well. Just thought I'd come and ask you if you'd, uh, any plans for when you come out.”

Y/N scoffed, knowing what he meant at once. Was that really his only concern? Not welcoming his wonderful son home.

“Aye! Loads of them!” Campbell said, enthusiastically, not understanding, “Massive booze-up with all my pals. Holiday in the Seychelles—or Majorca; I'll slum it. And… lose my virginity. I'm nineteen, I think I should lose my virginity, don't you?”

For some reason, Y/N felt even more sad at this, not noticing how Campbell’s brown eyes darted at her before his dad ruined his excitement… as per usual.

“Listen, stop your daft act! You'll make me think you need to stay here.” Campbell’s dad snapped, making Campbell’s mood switch from manic to depressed as he slumped into a seat, seeing his dad hadn’t changed as much as he had as Y/N glared at the ununderstanding father, her nails digging into her skin, something she had done from a young age to keep herself from violently lashing out. The pain grounding her but she had never told anyone this due to it being considered as self-harm.

“I was talking about your future, son. You didn't get your exams, you know. Your mother and I was wondering if you'd thought about going back to do your exams.”

Yes because exams are fair and test all kinds of intelligences equally instead of one or two because that would be massively unfair to those with mental and/or learning disorders by forcing them to conform to the way normal people think. Y/N thought, sarcastically, her nails breaking skin.

“Well... cannae say that was the first thing that crossed my mind.” Campbell admitted.

“Well, think about it, son!” His dad said, like, what else could you possibly be thinking about, “There's a recession on. Nobody gets nothing for nothing. You need qualifications.”

Alistair looked back at them in annoyance before catching the deadly glare Y/N gave him like, say something if you dare.

“Well, it's just... I don't know what I wanna do yet.” Campbell sighed.

“Ah, don't give me your daft talk. We're talking about a job. I mean, what you want has nothing to do with it!” Campbell’s dad snapped as Y/N’s nails pushed harder into her palm.

“Aye, well, I could always be a road sweeper, I suppose.” Campbell snapped, bitterly, getting up and turning his back to his father.

“I am not a road sweeper! I work for the Cleansing Department. And I'm a foreman.” His dad defended and Y/N audibly scoffed.

You sweep the road.” Campbell said, coldly.

“Oh? I never heard you complain about the food it put on the table.” Perhaps because you were too busy criticizing him and refusing to listen to him to hear him. “Do you want to be a waster all your life?” You’re the waster. “'Cause I'm not having it. You've got to pull yourself together, because this thing is killing your mother. It's positively killing her. I mean, the doctor's had to put her on tablets because she's so upset about it.” Then why isn’t she here?

Y/N’s eye started to switch as her nails continued to dig.

Campbell just breathed out a bitter laugh at that, “That makes two loonies in the family.”

“Your mother is not a loony. We've never had a loony in the family before you. Not on my side or your mother's. You've just got to stop this. Put it all behind you. Pull yourself together. You understand me?” His father ordered like it was something Campbell could turn on and off or like it was some act for attention.

Campbell just nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking but he still didn’t turn around. His dad went to put his hand on Campbell’s shoulder but stopped himself before he could.

“You just have to think about your future, son.” He told him as Campbell stared solemnly at the floor

Y/N glared at Campbell’s father as he left as he gave her a cold look back, once he was gone Y/N walked towards Campbell and hugged him from behind, he grabbed at her hands before turning around in the hug and pulling her into a stronger hug as he buried his face into the top of her head.

—

The next day, Fergus and Campbell announced “Campbell Bain’s Looney Tunes Show” with Campbell in a wheelchair with balloons and streamed on it… also on Fergus.

Later that night, Campbell, Y/N, Rosalie, and Fergus were in the station and Eddie wasn’t there yet.

Campbell stressfully took out a cigarette out of his pack as Fergus squeezed a yellow balloon, “He should be here by now!” He looked down at Rosalie who was under the desk, spraying Campbell’s boots and Y/N high tops. “Rosalie, what are you doing?”

“Just polishing your shoes, son.” Rosalie said and Campbell felt his cigarette be pulled out of his fingers by Y/N and dropped in a pitcher of water. Campbell looked over at Fergus in disbelief.

Campbell excused Y/N by asking her to get him some water that didn’t have cigarettes in it and then lit a new cigarette.

“We're gonna have to go without him.” Fergus said as Y/N came back with the water and frowned at Campbell who taking a nervous puff of his cigarette.

“Ten... nine... eight... seven... six...” Fergus counted down as Y/N took the cigarette from Campbell and stubbed it out, giving him a disapproving look. “Two... one. You're on.”

Campbell leaned towards the microphone and spoke, “That was I Hear You Knocking, But You Can't Come In, dedicated to all the medical staff here at Saint Jude's Hospital. They hear you knocking, but you cannae get out! And this is Campbell Bain with the first ever Campbell Bain's Looney Tunes Show!” Y/N pushed the button that played the Looney Tunes jungle, “And our next request is for Senga on Ward six, who tells me that she's being controlled by aliens from another planet.” He put on the record, Puppet on a String and then he joked, “Sengaaa, the nursing assistants are only doing their job.”

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He heard Y/N giggle beside him, making his heart do flips. Y/N. She was definitely what he was going the miss most. Even with her never saying a single word to him.

Fergus and Y/N spotted Eddie stopping from a dash when he saw Campbell, sorting through the records. Fergus waved casually at him.

And now, I've been asked to play a "dead smoochy" tune by Alison on Ward 7.” Campbell said in a comedically husky voice, “So here's a song that should cause each of us to experience a wee flutter in the heart, a wee catch in the throat; a tune that we can truly call our song.” He said the last sentence while looking at Y/N.

Campbell put on the song, Goin’ Out of my Head and then he spotted Eddie and he smiled at him, before looking at Y/N who was bopping her head along to the song.

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—

“Cocoa's up. You coming” Campbell asked Eddie as Y/N waited for him, quite proud of the looney.

“No. Gotta get these figures together for Evelyn.” Eddie refused.

Campbell was nervous yet excited as he put his hands in his pockets, “I had fun tonight, guys. I think that's the most fun I've ever had without being manic.” There was a nervous pause. “Was I any good?”

Y/N didn’t even hesitate, she nodded and gave him two thumbs-up. That was as good as he was going to get with her.

Eddie paused, considering before turning to look at him, “Aye.”

This was the kind of support Campbell never got from his father and it excited the young man, “I've never been good at anything before, Eddie. I spent four years of my life learning to play guitar and the only song I can play all the way through is ‘Knock Knock Knockin' on Heaven's Door. And I only did it to try and pull women. I'm no good at that either.” He sighed and Eddie breathed out a laugh, knowing that Y/N was quite infatuated with him, even without her ever saying a word to him… or to anyone in the hospital, “I want to do this. Professional, Eddie, Y/N. D'you think... I could?”

Y/N gave him a smile while Eddie said, “Maybe, aye.”

“But I've got to take it seriously.” He said, starting to pace, “It's got to be taken seriously, this thing. First thing I'm gonna do is get some cans like yours, Eddie.”

“Beyer DT-100s.” Eddie said, flatly.

“Aye. Professional cans, with my name on them in big yellow fluorescent letters. Build up my own record collection; specialize in something. Get some routines together. What else do I need?

“Experience, Campbell?” Eddie suggested.

“Aye, good point! They're no gonna hire somebody who just walks in off the street. They're going to hire somebody who has spent days, if not weeks, developing their show into a creature that's, is totally fresh and fundamentally loony in every way!” He said, excitedly.

“‘Days, if no weeks’?” Eddie repeated his words, considering he had been trying to go professional for eight years.

“They're letting me out of here next week, Eddie. And I wanna come and work for you. Full time. I want you to teach me everything you know. We'll be a double act. We are gonna make this the most outrageous and original hospital broadcasting outfit in the country! This station is gonna take us places, Eddie.” Campbell proposed and Y/N’s heart began to lift.

“‘Us?”

“Well, you're no gonna sell double glazing all your life, are yeh?” Campbell pointed out.

“Uh, no likely, anyway.” Eddie muttered, figuring he was going to be fired in a few days due to his literal workaholic boss’ impossible standards.

“Then go for it! Have you never wanted to go professional, Eddie?” Campbell asked.

“I've sent out the odd tape.” Eddie said as Y/N tilted her head.

“And?”

“Uh, general consensus seemed to be, um, I was shite.” He muttered.

Campbell thought about this for a moment before saying, “Ah, well, that's where you went wrong. You see, you went to them. That's one thing I'm sure of, is you've got to get them to come to you. What's it called...”

“Abduction, Campbell, and it's illegal.” Eddie deadpanned.

“No! No! No!” He spotted Y/N pad which she had written the word on, “Yes! Market strategy. Creating a seller's market. Can you see the potential? We are one of the only loony radio stations in the country! Think of the angle, the publicity!” He mimed a newspaper headline in the air, “‘Loonies Take Over Asylum at Saint Jude's’. All we have to do is be brilliant as well as original, and they'll be coming to us. With your knowledge and experience and my hypomania, how can we lose? Come on, Eddie. You with me?”

Eddie thought about for a moment before nodding, “Aye. Campbell grinned widely at his answer.

“Are you sure you're no manic?” Eddie asked.

“I'm inspired, Eddie.” He corrected.

“What's the difference?”

“Inspired is when you think you can do anything. Manic is when you know it.” Campbell explained and went to get his cocoa. Y/N smiled and followed Campbell to get hers.

Later Campbell was reading a book called Careers in Radio when he looked up to see a soaking wet Fergus with a shopping bag.

“Fergus! Did you get them?” He asked, excitedly.

“Aye. Secondhand. Fifty quid.” Fergus said, opening the bag for Campbell.

“This is brilliant! Brilliant! My first professional headphones.” Campbell said, getting his headphones out and putting them on as Fergus got a towel to dry off. “Did you get the paint?” Fergus pointed at the bag and Campbell fumbled with the bag until he got the pain out, “I have to put my name on them. That's how they do it in professional radio.”

“Where'd you get all this cash, anyway?” Fergus wondered.

“Sold Mad John all Y/N and my cigarettes. She doesn’t smoke so she was happy to.” He explained.

“For sixty quid?”

“Well, it was nearly eight packs. And he did offer; he was desperate.” Campbell said.

“But what are you gonna do for smokes?” Fergus asked.

“I'm giving it up. I've gotta take care of my voice. And may God strike me dead if I so much as engage in passive smoking.” He said.

“But everybody smokes in here.” Fergus said, “Except your girlfriend.”

Campbell merely glanced at him, slightly irritated at him calling Y/N his girlfriend but decided not to comment on it. “Then I'll stop breathing in. I’ll do whatever Y/N does. C'mon! Let's try these out at the station.”

He went to run out of his room and to the station when he was stopped by his father entering, looking just as lethargic and boring as ever. So, the exact opposite of Campbell in every conceivable way. “Dad! Hello.”

Campbell’s dad looked at Fergus and frowned, “You're wet!”

Fergus pressed his finger against his temple like he just got an idea or was getting a psychic message from someone and then said, sarcastically, “Next time I'll take my clothes off before I get into the bath.” The he gave Campbell’s dad a somewhat loony-esque look as he walked out.

“I thought he was a doctor.” Campbell’s dad said, confused and slow.

“Only part time.” Campbell said with a slight nervous chuckle.

Campbell’s dad then decided to ignore this, not having his son’s acceptance and love for “loonies” as his son put it. “I was wondering if you'd thought about what we were saying.”

Neither noticed Y/N appear at the door, leaning against the door frame, watching the scene with scrutiny but not interrupting.

“Yes. I have. And I've decided that you're absolutely dead on. I'm nineteen years old and it's time I started thinking about my future.” Campbell said with a big smile.

“Oh, aye?” His dad asked.

“You're gonna be proud of me, Dad.” Campbell hoped, but somehow, this was doubtful with what was known about Campbell’s close-minded dad. “Because I've decided that my future, my life's work, my soul's passion is gonna be this.” He pulled his headphones from around his neck to over his ears.

“...You're going to be an airline pilot?” His dad asked.

“Nooo!” Campbell drawled out, making Y/N lips twitch into a smile before her glare settled back onto his dad. “A radio disc jockey! And I can get all the experience I need right here in the hospital station!”

Campbell's dad was not proud in the slightest, just disappointed and exasperated for what he assumed to be his son’s latest “obsession” but was actually more accurately a Bipolar hyperfixation. “Back to that, are we?” He asked, sitting down.

“Back to what?” Campbell frowned, pulling his headphones down.

“Well, six months ago you wanted to be a pop star.” His dad reminded him.

“That was different. I cannae sing.” Campbell told him.

“Two years before, you wanted to be a racing jockey.”

“I'm afraid of horses.”

“Before that, you wanted to be an actor!” His dad complained.

“I cannae remember lines. But this is different! I'm good at it! I know I am! Y/N told me, I mean not so much with words, but she did in her own way!”

“The mute girl?”

“SHE’S NOT MUTE!” Campbell shouted, angrily, gesturing to Y/N at the door who waved sarcastically at Campbell’s dad with a sarcastically sweet smile.

“Ah, well, there's a lot of things are gonna be different from now on. Your mother and me have been talking, and... we've decided it would be a good idea if you went to your auntie Susan's for a bit.” Campbell’s dad told him.

“But she lives in Perth.” Campbell said, shocked.

Y/N’s heart fell at this. Campbell wasn’t just leaving the hospital, he would be even further away. If he meant Perth, Scotland then he’d be sixty miles away, that would be over an hour’s drive. If he meant Perth, Australia, then that was in a whole different time zone.

“Yes, but you can go to adult classes there. You'll get the peace and quiet that you need.”

Y/N scoffed at his dad’s reasoning. It sounded more like if Campbell had another episode, he didn’t want to deal with it and he was using his education as an excuse.

“I cannae go to Perth! I've gotta stay in Glasgow to work in the station! I need the experience!” Campbell freaked out, holding up his headphones at his dad, Y/N eased over to behind Campbell, sensing his anger rising.

Y/N took Campbell’s headphones from his hands and replaced them with her headphones.

“You need to get well!” His dad protested like he was arguing with someone who was actually ill and Perth was actually going to help do that. How exactly?

“BUT I'M NOT ILL!” Campbell screamed and just as Y/N had predicted Campbell threw his headphones at his bed, they bounced and hit the floor, she could hear them break even though Campbell was shouting as she slinked back out of the room, “YOU CANNAE MAKE ME GO TO PERTH! I'M NINETEEN YEARS OLD, AND I'M STAYING IN GLASGOW TO WORK IN THE STATION! I'M GONNA BE A PROFESSIONAL DJ WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!”

“You stand there, shouting at the top of your voice, throwing your arms about like some mad scarecrow, and you're telling me you're not ill?” His father scoffed as Y/N glared with him with such hatred. “You're not capable of thinking straight, and some straight thinking needs to be done. Now, your mother and me have done our best to look after you.” Y/N clenched her jaw as her hatred increased, “If that's not good enough for you, then there... there's nothing left but... to have you sectioned, and let the doctors decide.”

Campbell’s anger turned to shock and brokenheartedness as Y/N’s turned from fiery hatred to ice-cold hatred. There was officially one person she hated more than she hated Campbell’s father. She could see that he wanted to love a normal son but he didn’t have that so he tried to shape Campbell into being normal, but he wasn’t but he just didn’t have the capacity to understand that and just blamed Campbell for things that wasn’t his fault.

“...Oh, Jesus. You'd have me sectioned?” Campbell breathed, looking at his father with horror through his floppy light auburn hair.

“I'll come round on Monday to collect you. Your uncle has loaned me his car.”

Great. Y/N thought, Then I could key it with curse words.

Campbell’s father went to turn to leave when his son spoke again in a heartbroken tone, “Have you never been young, Dad? Was there never anything you wanted to do, you wanted to be, more than anything in the world?”

His dad paused and then said, “Oh, aye. Goalkeeper for the Glasgow Rangers. Lot of fucking good it did me.”

Yeah, because you have no talent whatsoever, nor compassion, empathy, or unconditional love for your so. Only if he’s the way you want him to be. Y/N thought with sardonicism.

Campbell looked up to see Y/N blocking his dad’s way, glaring daggers at him before he shuffled past, muttering about loonies.

Campbell looked at her with tears in his eyes, “WHAT!? YOU THINK I’M JUST AS BROKEN AS HE DOES! THAT’S WHY YOU FOLLOW ME AROUND BUT NEVER SPEAK TO ME!” He lashed out but Y/N showed no emotion on her face, she just took it like she was used to being screamed at… she was. Campbell got up and ran past her and she ran after him.

Evelyn was showing her true colors to Eddie, to her the only normal who worked at the station.

“Eddie, nobody could admire you more than I do for involving the patients. But I think the intention when we decided to fund the station was that there would be a regular staff of outside volunteers. Reliable people.” She voiced her opinion. Which was wrong in every way imaginable because in her mind, they were dangerous, unstable, and every stereotype their mental illnesses and/or disorders presented via said stereotype or movies or discrimination in general when in actuality people with mental illnesses which was over one third of the Earth’s population were eleven times more likely to be the victims of crime and/or violence than the general public.

“I've never been let down.” Eddie frowned.

“Eddie, some of these patients have horrendous problems. It's not fair to expect too much.” Evelyn explained to him like she was explaining what a surplus was to an eight and then to a five-year-old. Even though each “patient with horrendous problems” had done just as much if not more than Eddie had.

“They keep telling me how much they enjoy it.” Eddie said, shocked and confused. Wasn’t this woman supposed to be the Assistant Administrator of mental health? It was becoming more clear why she was Miss Evelyn MacDonald and not Mrs. Evelyn MacDonald or Doctor Evelyn MacDonald.

“You can't always listen to them.” Evelyn said, even though that’s what people already did that and when it should be the opposite with less screaming at them that their view of the world was wrong and the normals’ view of the world was right.

Then she left as Eddie looked after her, not understanding why she would think that, he had spent ten minutes in this hospital before realizing that his initial assumptions towards the patients had been wrong, thanks to the contrast between Stuart and Campbell.

Then he noticed that Francine had been eavesdropping on the quite upsetting conversation and she ran off.

“Francine!” He cried after her.

Campbell visibly upset and trying to light a cigarette with his lighter stalked past behind Eddie.

“Campbell? Campbell!” Eddie called as Y/N ran past him after Campbell with his new headphones around her neck.

Eddie had never seen Campbell so upset before, given Campbell was either always happy, manic, or overwhelmed, so he followed Campbell and Y/N. Campbell stormed into the studio, sulked over to the chair next to Fergus and flung himself into it, dejectedly before Y/N opened the door and knelt by Campbell’s side but he twisted his torso so the swivel chair turned him away from her, refusing to look at her, feeling guilty for what he said and not wanting to look her in the eyes.

“I thought you said you were gonna give up cigarettes.” Fergus told him.

“Aye, well, I also said I was gonna become a DJ.” Campbell said, bitterly and depressedly.

Eddie came around the corner and traded looks with Fergus. Eddie nodded at Campbell like, do you know what’s wrong?

Fergus shrugged like, No idea and I have no idea how to help him.

Y/N held up her hand, reassuringly like, I got this, boys.

Y/N grabbed Campbell’s arm and pulled him but refused to get up so the chair rolled until Fergus grabbed the back of the chair, making Campbell reluctantly stumble after Y/N who pulled him to his room, closing the door behind them and sat him on his bed and sat next to him so he could vent.

“Maybe, my dad’s right. Maybe following your dreams only exits in television.” Campbell sighed and tried to take another puff of the cigarette but Y/N took it from him and put it out on his ashtray. He looked at her and took out another cigarette which she took from him. He tried three more times in which she did the same.

He finally looked her in the eyes, “Well, that’s the least fun game ever, Y/N,” He deadpanned and she gave him a smile as she tilted her head and a sparkle twinkled in her eyes like, come on. Come on, buddy. Interact with me. He let out a half-scoff, half-chuckle and said, “Look, I’m sorry that I shouted at you, Y/N. I really am and I know you don’t think I’m broken and I don’t think you’re broken—I know I didn’t say that but I know you think you are because I know that look in your eyes. I’ve been here a while and I’ve had that look in my eyes for a long time.”

He stopped his rambling when Y/N placed her hand on his, sending waves of warmth through his body like hot cocoa on a cold day, “Maybe I need to be more like Eddie, a realist. Get a job to get by. Maybe, I’m just not that good. Maybe idealism is for suckers and I’m not as talented as I thought I was.”

“No.” Y/N spoke.

Campbell shook his head in disbelief and looked at Y/N with wide eyes, “Did you just…”

“Don’t give up, Campbell.” She said, softly, her voice was soft and bit hoarse from going ten months without speaking and so her vocal chords had atrophied a little but nothing too bad.

Campbell let out a laugh and cupped her cheek, “you’re talking. You’re really talking.”

“Your dad is close-minded arse who’s just miserable with his life and takes it out on you. I wanted to attack him and I wanted to key his car but he took the bus here… I checked. I wanted to scream at him and make him go crazy so he’d know what being loony is like.”

“You’re a really dark person, aren’t you?” Campbell chuckled, not at all worried or upset with her for wanting to commit physical and psychological damage upon his father.

“Manic-Depressive disorder is eighty percent genetic and most likely passed down from the father’s side of the family, just because there’s no known family members of your family doesn’t mean there weren’t any. Until seven years ago, they called attention deficit hyperactivity disorder or ADHD, ‘hyperkinetic reaction to childhood” despite the disorder being known since either the late seventeen-hundreds or the early nineteen-hundreds. Stress, emotional abuse, neglect, being bullied, loneliness, isolation, pressure, etcetera, etcetera.”

Campbell studied her as she spoke, seeing she was rather intelligent though he had expected that from her engineering skills but this was knowledge of mental health that even some of the therapists he saw didn’t seem to know as they just insisted that he needed to calm down or he wouldn’t be able to function in society or lazy or over enthusiastic or a slacker or pointed out whether he seemed happy or sad that day like he needed it gauged and vocalized or that he was faking his episodes before they finally diagnosed him with manic-depressive disorder. She had a Y/A (Your accent) accent that sent his heart a-fluttering.

“You are not mentally incompetent or unwell. You are not acting out or putting on a daft act.” His eyes became misty with happy tears, “You are perfect just the way you are. You’re so much stronger than all the white noise in the world,” She gestured out the window, referring to the normals as white noise, “You’re stronger than your father, you’re stronger than Stuart, you’re stronger than Evelyn MacDonald. You’re so much stronger than anyone I know. You are holding the station together, you are holding the show together, so please, please, don’t let go.”

He nodded and cupped her cheek, stroking her soft skin with the pad of his thumb, “Why’d you wait until now to talk? You’ve been here for weeks and according to Stuart, you haven’t spoken in eight months and that was nearly two months ago, so ten.”

“You.” She said, “You were going to give up. Don’t. Please, don’t.”

“You’re talking… because of me. To encourage me?” He asked, touched and surprised that she cared for him that much.

She nodded and touched her forehead against his as she spoke softly, “You are more brilliant and talented than your dad ever could imagine. He doesn’t understand your disorder, he doesn’t see how brilliant it is. You know creative people are twenty times more likely to be manic-depressives? Creative people are more likely to be loonies.” Campbell chuckled softly, loving the sound of her voice and the passion twinkling in her E/C-colored eyes as she placed his headphones around his neck. “You have ambition, genius, loyalty, and compassion that doesn’t even rival your father’s by a long shot. Your disorder reminds you to relate to others and know when they’re struggling. You saw me. My parents only sent me here because I refused to talk but you knew there was more than that. They never did. And I see you and I understand you and I accept you.”

Campbell had tears of joy in his eyes and he pulled her towards him, hugging her, making her straddle him so not to be in an awkward angle, she stiffened before relaxing, hugging him back.

She turned her head to whisper into his ear, “And I have a plan.” She pulled away and looked into his brown eyes, “How’s your acting?”

Campbell raised an eyebrow at her before getting distracted, “I thought I broke the headphones, I threw but these aren’t broken.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s…” She nodded to the floor where he spotted her headphones now broken.

“Oh, shit! I broke your headphones, don’t-don’t worry, I’ll replace them.”

"Campbell... the plan." She reminded him.

"Oh, right, right... what's your plan?" He asked.

Y/n leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, however he didn't get a single word from being too distracted by their closeness.

"Could you say all that again? I didn't get any of that."

Campbell started the show the next day with Y/N as Eddie was a bit late but anyways, it was his show today—his last show.

As This Ole House by Rosemary Clooney played, the patients danced outside the station and Campbell, looking more restrained and calmer than usual. He also seemed deeper and more lost in thought than his usual spur-of-the-moment, impulsive, didn’t-think-this-through self. They sorted through the records and looked at the ones that Y/N handed him as she spoke softly with her back to the others so they couldn’t see and take her away now that they knew for certain she could talk because then she’d miss this and she didn’t want to miss this.

“What about Tears for Fears’ Mad World? It’s one of my favorites.” She suggested, holding up the 1983 song. “It can explain a looney’s tiredness of the world around us. To everyone else, we’re the ones that are mad but to us it’s the everyone else in the whole world that’s mad.

“Mmm. Great choice but I think some people are going to be a little bit depressed already with what I’m going to do.”

“Or I could play it after you leave.” She shrugged.

“Oh, you trying to take over my show, L/N.” He teased, spinning his swivel chair to her.

“Maybe, I am, Bain. What are you going to do about it?” She teased back.

The song ended and Campbell took over as Eddie entered, “This is Campbell Bain's Looney Tunes show, and I hope everyone in this old house is tuned in and ready to rock and roll.” Y/N pushed the button and the Looney Tunes jingle played as Eddie gave Campbell a proud smile, being far more supportive to him than his dad ever was, “That's right, because it's time for the Looney Tunes show, and I want you dancing, loonies, I want you singing along, I want you clapping your hands and stamping your feet! If there's a strange voice in your head, get it to sing along! If there's a catatonic sitting next to you, WAKE ‘EM UP!” Y/N giggled at his antics, making him give her a grin, “This is for all of you having ECT tomorrow; I hope you get some good vibrations.”

He started playing Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys and grinned at Y/N as that was one of her suggestions which he rather liked as it resonated with his feelings for her.

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Outside the stations as per usual, Hector sang along to the lyrics of the song into a spoon while as per usual Alastair was annoyed that they were interrupting his TV time

Campbell put the fader on, so the song faded out and he spoke into the microphone again, “Well, I suppose you're all wondering why I asked you here tonight. As you may know, this is the fourth and last Campbell Bain's Looney Tunes show. The good news is that it's because I'm being discharged. The bad news is, I'm gonna be living in Perth. And our first competition tonight was to find a special dedication to the town of Perth. And the winner is Margaret on Ward eleven, and she dedicated this song to the town of Perth.”

He started playing We Gotta Get Out of This Place by the Animals. He looked at Y/N and winked, giving her the signal while forcing himself not to look happy or manipulative. She smiled, then she leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek before leaving to join Fergus and Eddie and actually spoke to them, “He's hot the night.”

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They did a double take at her but she wouldn’t say anything else when she was questioned about it as she closed the door, watching Campbell with amusement at what was going to happen and because his cheeks were now bright red.

Campbell waited a minute so that her leaving right before wouldn’t seem planned before taking his headphones off and looked at the studio door, as he pieced together what he was going to do. He walked over to the studio door and locked the door, locking eyes with Y/N.

Fergus and Eddie exchanged looked before Campbell walked over to the record player and pulled the tonearm off the record with a scratch and he sat back down, placing his headphones back over his ears and spoke in a manic pace of voice, “Ach, that's no dance music, is it? We're supposed to be rockin' an' rollin'! Because we are loonies and we are proud! I'm a manic-depressive and I'm proud, my friends. Some of the greatest geniuses in history have been manic-depressives on a manic roll! Vincent van Gogh, Handel, Schumann—”

Outside the station, Isabel the only good nurse apparently opened the medicine cabinet to see that Campbell hadn’t taken his pills and then looked over towards the studio door, concerned, given how severe his episodes could become if untreated.

“Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Spike Milligan, Vivien Leigh—” Campbell continued, “that is one hundred percent true, folks—and this is for all you manic-depressives out there; we are loonies and we are proud!” Then he let out a sort of shout/howl, “AAAOOOOW!”

Then he put on Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher by Jackie Wilson and the patients continued dancing while Alastair yanked the spoon from Hector’s hand and then sat back down, grinning triumphally as Hector frowned.

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He exited the day room, only to run into Y/N who handed him a new spoon. He grinned and started to sing along into it. She walked into Alastair’s view who was frowning in disbelief at her as she gave him a sarcastic smile and then gave him the middle finger before taking Hector’s arm and leading him out of the day room and to the hall so Hector wouldn’t take the second spoon away from him too.

“Have you ever noticed how much mental illness imagery there is in popular music? Tonight our guest on the Looney Tunes show is professor of musicology, Doctor Boogie!” Then Campbell started to speak in bad German accent… or Romania given how he was pronouncing some words… somewhere near Transylvania where Dracula lived, “Aye, aye, in the popular music we find much imagery of ze mental illness, indicating an underlying fear and faskination vith madness. For example…” He started to play A World Without Love by Peter and Gordon.

“He's away.” Fergus said, a bit concerned.

He stopped the song with another record scratch, Campbell’s voice seemed to be increasing speed, “And this expresses the deep anxiety about going a little bit crazy, huh? Another example is…”

The needle scratched on the record and Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis. “This expresses the deep anxiety about going a lotcrazier with a,” His eyes were bugging out of his head and waggling his fingers, manically and Y/N had to force herself not to giggle at how he looked, “pyromaniac overtones. And then again in a song like—"

A less prominent record scratch before Paint it Black by the Rolling Stones played,“—We see a fascination with obsessive behavior. And some songs provoke the greatest fears of all, in this case—”

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He took the needle off without a scratch this time and then he played Sugar, Sugar by the Archies.

“—the tvin fears of abject mediocrity and of writing crap songs. Ah ja! But zen of course—” Campbell said, still speaking in the odd Central to Eastern European accent as Eddie finally tried the door, only to find it locked., “—there is, uh—"

He started playing Da Doo Ron Ron by the Crystals as Isabel and two assistants (thankfully not Stuart) hurried down the corridor. He dropped the accent, “—which has got nothing to do with loonies, but it's a great song!”

He glanced at Y/N with the silent message of: should I up the mania? She subtly nodded, he flashed her a grin as he tore off his headphones, “Whoa! I'm sweating! I'm just going to open a window.” He went to the window and opened it as Margaret from Ward eleven bit her thumbnail with concern, Campbell stuck his head out of the window and looked around, “Whoa! It's a long way down from this window, but I'm so high I'll bet I could fly.”

Eddie growing more and more concerned now that Campbell seemed to be threatening suicide or at least several shattered bones, banged his open palm on the studio door window glass.

“Oh, cue the song, cue the song!” Campbell shouted as he put on Fly Like an Eagle by Steve Miller Band.

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“Jesus, Campbell!” Eddie shouted.

Campbell leapt on the windowsill and Y/N shifted as this was getting a bit too close for her but surprisingly she trusted Campbell and saw that he was clutching onto the bottom of window sash frame as he shouted enthusiastically and manically into the microphone

“What do you think, boys and girls? Do you think if we close our eyes and say ‘I do believe in magic’ that Peter Pan will really be able to fly?” Everyone was concern by now, realizing how serious Campbell’s episode was by now as he pushed the window sash up a little more and Y/N smacked the window, making him look over as she gave him a message like, don’t be so manic that you kill yourself because then I will kill you! “Let's try it, eh!?” He turned away from the window, locking eyes with Y/N through the floppy bangs in his brown eyes,“I do believe in magic.” Then he shouted, loudly, stepping away from the window thankfully, “COME ON! I DO BELIEVE IN MAGIC!”

Isabel pushed her way through the concern crowd to the door, Y/N refused to move out of the way.

“Oh, they're coming to get me, folks! They're coming to get your very own Campbell Bain! BUT WAIT!” He shouted, throwing his hand out, “Wait, I've got the perfect song!” He ran to the record player and scratched the record off as Isabel pounded on the door with her palm, finding it locked as he scratched on They're Coming to Take Me Away Ha-Ha by Jerry Samuels.

“Oh, yes, we're really seeing some action now, Brian!” Campbell shouted, his voice getting even faster, Y/N was sure that not even the Doctor from Doctor Who could talk that fast, he put his fingertips to the top of the shell of his ear, like a sports commentary, speaking into an earpiece, commentating what was happening as he saw it to those who were only listening, “Oh, the nursing staff have been at a temporary disadvantage, but I think they're beginning to get the upper hand now! YES! They found the spare key! It may be all over soon, and,” The key couldn’t turn due to the first key being in on the other side of the lock, “Oh, nooo!” He dramatically fell to his knees, “the key's in the lock from the inside and there's not a thing they can do about it!” Then he spotted Stuart approaching, “Oh, wait! Oh, it’s wee Stuart's got something, and he's not happy. If he can't break through the doors then I don't think anyone can.” Stuart aggressively pushed Y/N to the side which made her scream and fight back, suddenly, punching Staurt and clawing his skin off, “He tried to manhandle Y/N and she’s not happy; he’s made her angry! He’s pressed her trauma button!” Isabel then pulled her away and she immediately calmed down, “Ah, Isabel to the rescue.” Stuart then smashed the studio door window with a fire extinguisher, making Y/N flinch violently.

“YES! He's done it! He's broken the glass! And he's in! Wait, I haven't told you my loonies joke yet!” He shouted as Stuart and another assistant grabbed a hold of Campbell, picking him up as he continued to tell his joke at full speed, “This loony walks into a pub with his dog. The barman says, ‘Can't be any dogs in here, bud.’ But the loony tells him ‘it's a talking dog’, and he says to him ‘Look, if he can answer three questions, can he stay in the bar?’ ‘Let's see it.’ So the guy says to the dog, says, ‘What's the texture of sandpaper?’ And the dog says, ‘Rough.’ And then the loony guy asks, ‘Who was Scotland's goalkeeper in the 1978 World Cup?’ And the dog says, ‘Rough’.” The crowd followed them as Stuart carried Campbell, even Alistair had gotten up from the TV to watch with concern, “And then, ‘Who was the greatest American baseball player of all time?’ And the dog says, ‘Ruth.’ The barman's definitely not impressed. He grabs the guy by the collar and throws him into the street.” They brought Campbell into the treatment room with Isabel stopping Eddie and Y/N from following them in.

They slammed Campbell against a wall roughly, making Y/N flinch as Campbell, now slightly disorientated from the impact done to his head, repeated the last sentence he said, “Then he grabs the dog by the collar—” They pulled his jeans down, leaving him in his underwear, making Y/N flinch, violently as he continued to tell the joke, “—and throws him into the street. They slammed him aggressively against the treatment table, making Y/N flinch again, “And as they're lying in the gutter the wee dog looks up with tears in his eyeee—!” He cried out in brief pain as Isabela jabbed the needle into his buttock cheek with the sedative, making Y/N flinch. He was quiet for a few moments as the sedative took effect, making him drowsy and relaxed and then he spoke in a much more slower speech to finish his joke, “The wee dog looks up with tears in his eyes and he says... ‘DiMaggio...?"

He chuckled at the joke before succumbing to the sedative as Eddie watched ruefully and Y/N guiltily through the window before walking back to the station. She stepped through the glass and sat down, “Hello, this is Y/N, sorry for the craziness but our Campbell Bain has suffered a violent mania attack thanks to his father’s closed-mind, judgmental, disappointment in his DJ career, neglect, and general awfulness about him. So, I fucking hope you’re happy, Mister Bain, you think your son is the only looney in the family, you likely made him that way. This next song is Mad World.”

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She played the song as Eddie looked at her through the window. A little bit later, she spoke again, “The last song of the day will be Bang and Blame, dedicated to all pathetic waste of spaces that are abusive parents, once again Mister Bain, thank you for making your son ‘unwell’ as you put it and putting pressure on him to find a job like you have such high standards, you road sweeper.” She played song as she looked through the window to see Stuart and Isabel waiting for the song to be over so they could deal with her and the fact that she’s talking.

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The next day, Eddie walked in to see Campbell still groggy from the sedative with Y/N by his bed in the same clothes as yesterday, holding his hand. He was awake and they were just looking at each other in a comfortable silence.

Campbell groggily looked at Eddie to see him in a suit and in a slow yet facetious tone said, “What's this? Did somebody die?”

Y/N fetched a glass of water and made him drink it, he resisted at first more just to be a nuisance than anything but gave in and complied as Eddie chuckled and said, “I came from work. Big day today.”

“Ooh, did your boss get fired for overworking his employees? Or drop dead from exhaustion because he’s working seven days a week?” Y/N asked, sardonically yet with a cheerful tone.

Eddie chuckled again yet not sure if he liked it better when she didn’t speak, considering he was finding out she was a very sarcastic and sardonic person. to vastly contrast Campbell's personification of sunshine-ness. He pointed to his tie tack, “Salesman of the Month.”

“Salesman of the Month, eh?” Campbell asked in disbelief.

“What were the other salesmen like?” Y/N teased.

“How are you?” Eddie asked Campbell.

“Great. Y/N slept with me last night, yet I still remain a virgin. He teased and Y/N slapped his shoulder, playfully as he smirked, cheekily, “Saw my shrink this morning. He says I'm definitely not stable yet.” Y/N grinned and leaned down, pressing it against Campbell’s hand to hide it while pressing a kiss to it. “They're, uh, going to keep me in another six to ten weeks.” He briefly got distracted from the hand kiss, “Do you realize how much we could make of that station in six to ten weeks? Anything's possible now. And Y/N could be my protégé, now that she speaks again.” He wanted to ruffle her hair but his limbs felt like lead, so he just let out a half-hearted noise of not-really exertion.

“Aye, well. If you think you're up to it. Both of you.” Eddie told them.

Campbell looked at Y/N like, can I tell him. And she nodded, enthusiastically.

“Great acting, eh?” Campbell grinned as Y/N giggled.

Eddie looked confused as both teenaged patients looked up at him, then they both winked out of sync and it dawned unto Eddie that there was no manic episode. That’s why Y/N had left the room just before the “episode” started, why she remained calm up until Campbell was fake-threatening-implying to jump out of the window, why Campbell kept looking at her during the episode, why Y/N had looked so guilty and then blamed Campbell’s father like she had rehearsed it.

“It was Y/N’s idea. She’s an evil genius.” He smiled at Y/N before looking back at Eddie, “We’ve beat them, guys. I'll beat the bastards.”

After Eddie left, Campbell looked at Y/N as she climbed back in the bed with him just like she had last night and cuddled next to him letting the blanket act as a barrier of platonic intimacy between them, she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped a loose arm around his covered waist.

It was silent for a little bit before she moved her hand so it went to Campbell’s hand, resting on top of it and she stroked Campbell’s hand with her thumb.

“How long have you been here?” He asked.

“As long as I could. They wouldn’t let me in at first but I kept finding ways in. I needed to be by your side.” She said, “They kept pulling me out, especially when I started shouting… well, it was more like whisper-shouting due to my likely atrophied vocal chord and they tried to take me away to some shrink but I wouldn’t let them. Eventually, they gave up and let me stay with you.” She whispered, “as you know, I slept next to you. I’m sorry if my plan hurt you.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He asked and he managed to shift so his arm was on the other side of her and able to just barley touch her waist and to her surprise she didn’t flinch. She felt him move his head and press a kiss to the top of her head and again, she surprised herself by not flinching.

She was surprised herself on how this little, hyperactive, persistent kid had somehow gotten past her guarded defense walls, gotten under the wire, despite all her efforts to forevermore keep another heart from touching hers, the one she tried so hard to hide in the past ten months. She had been successful until Campbell Bain had crashed into her two months ago.

But the last time, she had trusted someone to be their best friend, she got hurt and was violated and therefore traumatized into a nearly year-long muteness.

There is a couple Doctor Who references. One straight out states it and the other is a reference to a quote from the Tenth Doctor in Fear Her.

There's also a reference to a line from Queer as Folk, but I've never seen this show but I have heard the audio clips of this scene in fan videos.

Personal Mental Heath Rant (Skip if you don't care)

Sorry for being tough on Campbell's dad but I have severe ADHD (since I was three and getting worse with ever presistent pessmisstic criticism I'm given), Anxiety, Depression, and possibly two ambigious and debatable types dylexia and if complexes count an inferiority and guilt complex and I have spent my whole life being shouted at for seeing things differently, for seeing that there is no metaphoric box to think in, for focusing on so many things at once that it's just as useful as not focusing on anythingat all and so people think that I', not even trying, for being overwhelmed with tasks that are so simple to everyone else yet near impossible for me (due to being yelled at my entire life for everything I did. I was once shouted at for about or over thirty minutes because I didn't put something down right after I was told to do so becuase I was so terrified of the person who shouted at me, I was convinced they were one meltdown from turning verbal abuse to physical abuse though then I would be able to call the cops of them, I tried to see the silver lining in my own dark and twisted way of thinking). People expect me to act like I don't have a disorder or they treat me like I'm stupid because apparently I'm the one with the issue rather than them googling the symtoms (IT'S FOUR LETTERS) and try putting themselves in my shoes. (My mom once told me that ADHD was not a learning disorder; techinically she's right because IT'S SO MUCH MORE THAN JUST A LEARNING DISORDER! It can affect your entire life and shouting at me is just making it worst! But I have to be the calm one and force my temper down. Somehow I'm the most patient persn in the house in terms of temper. How!?

I have been forced to try and learn and study to only two type of intelligence rather than the one I understand best I have been forced to try and think socieity's way of thinking when my mind just doesn't work like that. I'm literally wired differently.

(About the "ambiguous and debateable types of dyslexia, I was tested for Bipolar when I was young and somehow they got I was dylexia because I kept drawing lines in the opposite directions that they told me and if you were to give me directions, it would be like in a cartoon when a character spins an arrow sign and it points in like every direction at once just indicates "Directional Dyslexia" or "Left-Right Confusion" but I don't like that term as it sounds like I have the intellect and common sense of a first grader who can't tell the difference from right and left.

A few years ago, I went to the therapist and I was diagnosed with a math learning disorder but wasn't told what kind so I went to my most knowledgeable ally: Google! And the only one I can find is Dyscalculia which is basically math dyslexia. In my head, it's like some astronauts in a kid's game or show is placing number down in outer space but the moment I let go of them, they float away and I can't place more than two down, I can barely think about numbers without getting a headache as if I'm trying to understand time travel.

These two types of dyslexia I suspect I have, have been debated on whether or not they're an actual form of dyslexia

So I haven't been "officially" diagnosed with these but I'm not just saying, "hey, I have trouble with (insert dyslexia-induced trouble), maybe I'm dyslexic too", I hate that (Like don't say "I get distracted too, maybe I'm ADHD"), I have sufficient reason to believe this.

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