i was thinking this morning i miss your updates

Loving insanity pt. 7 {{Jerome Valeska x Reader}}

Author Note: two parts in one day!!! I’m so proud of myself😂😂😂 hope y'all like this!!!
Length: medium
Requested: request/collaboration
Warnings: None

A few weeks had passed and still no Jerome. You heard the circus had left town and you assumed he went with them. You knew you needed to get over it but it was hard.

In better news you had your first day on the job as a Psychiatrist in training at Arkham. You were currently being given a tour of the facility. It was huge. You had 3 other friends that had also been accepted here, but only Sierra stayed with you. Anastasia was going on a tour of the counseling sector which was a hallway away from the Psychiatrist hallway. Madeline was on a tour of the med bay.

The lady took you into one of the offices. She stopped and turned to you.

“There are basic things in her already such as a lamp, book shelves, a desk, a computer, a desk chair, a couch, file drawers and a chair for patients. You can not get into these rooms without a pass. There will be a beeping noise when someone enters and exits. The rooms are soundproof and there are no cameras do to keeping confidentiality on the patients. There are buttons in every room that can be used to signal security.”

You and Sierra were both given files. The guide looked at the both of you and spoke up.

“Go through the files. Now you can choose to be a Personal Psychiatrist or an open Psychiatrist. Both of you will start out as Personal. Pick 3 files of patients you wish to attend to personally. Report to us when you decide. You have 5 days to set your offices up and decide.”

She handed you both your passes and guided you to your rooms. You waved to Sierra then entered your room. You looked at a smaller desk across your room.

“Shiela’s tank would fit on there.”

You walked over to the bigger desk and sat down. You set the files down on your desk and started to go through them.

You already had two picked out which were old time friends of yours. You read through their files anyways.

“Name: Blake Morrison
Age: 19
Mental stability: low but improving
Reason: uncontrollable anger issues
Threat: low
Cell: solitary |current|
Sentence: until solution is figured
Medications: none yet
Psychiatrist: none yet
Counselor: Ashley Trevor
•Angered easily
•only let around others when eating”

“Name: Allison Riley
Age: 18
Mental stability: on the line
Reason: murder of parents
Sentence: 20 years of rehabilitation due to claiming it was in self defense
Threat: medium
Cell: normal
Medications: none
Psychiatrist: none yet
Counselor: none yet
•can be violent if she feels threatened”

She sighed. She remembered when those two were living normal lives. She met Blake in high school and Alli in 5th grade.

She set their files aside. she kept going through when a name caught her eye. It was the last thing she expected to see. But there it was, the file for Jerome Valeska. She quickly opened it and started reading:

Name: Jerome Valeska
Age: 18
Reason: violent murder of mother, threat to others
Mental stability: Insane
Sentence: life
Threat: high
Cell: normal
Medications: none
Psychiatrist: none yet
Counselor: none yet
•very dangerous
•not afraid to attack authorities"

You couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be real. You refused to believe it until you saw him yourself. You grabbed the three files and went to the director. You knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

You walked in and sat down.

“I found the patients I would like to talk to.”

You set the files on his desk and he looked through them.

“You are approved for Mr. Morrison and Miss Riley but are you sure about Mr. Valeska.”

“Yes I am sure.”

“He won’t be easy.”

“No one here will be.”

He sighed.

“I just don’t know if putting him in the hands of a new employee is a smart idea.”

“Please sir, I want to work with him. I know that I will be able to handle it.”

The director looked at you before sighing.

“Fine you can have Mr. Valeska. Now when would you like to see your patients.”

“I would like to see Miss Riley and Mr. Morrison on Thursday and Friday. As for Mr. Valeska I was hoping to see him tomorrow.”

“I’m sure I can arrange some things. I will have their updated files on your desk tomorrow morning.”

You nodded and left the room. You walked back to your room lost in thought. After weeks of thinking he left you…. You find out he’s here….. Why did he kill his mother? Yeah she was a bitch but still. Why didn’t your father tell you? Why didn’t Jerome tell you? Would he be happy to see you? Would he be angry?

All you knew for certain was that tomorrow… All your questions would be answered.

Originally posted by teriarty

Originally posted by murderous-manipulative-angel

Creepypasta #673: Rough Patch

Story length: Long

You enter the kitchen, totally unaware I’m watching you. That I’ve been watching for days. You turn on the radio just as the 8am news is starting, as you always do after your morning run. You’re nervous, waiting for any news on the girl. Missing, only 6 years old. The report starts, it details her disappearance from her bed, her family’s terror when they found her room empty on the morning of her 6th birthday, how there were no fingerprints, no sign of a struggle. There are no updates, still missing, no evidence. But the world is searching for her, and that’s great.

You turn off the radio after that report, the only report that matters, and begin to make yourself breakfast. A hearty plate of bacon, eggs, beans, toast and mushrooms. I don’t know how you can eat, how you can even think of food. I know I can’t. I get a little more comfortable, it’s hard sitting here in your garden every day. Under the shade of the trees, at least I have protection from the sun. I watch you leave your house, you check the back door lock, and leave by the front. You always do that. I think about my wife and children. I think about how this would make them feel. I wait.

When you return, I’m sleeping. I know this because I wake angry at myself. You could have seen me. Then you’d have known all of what I plan to do. That can’t happen. But you don’t see me. You’re so stupid. When I’m sure you’re occupied, I pull out the scrap of denim from my pocket. The scrap that matches your jacket. The scrap left on my daughter’s bedroom floor after you stole her. I pick myself up off your garden and make my way to the back door.

Upon entering the house, I pick up a knife from your kitchen. Nice and sharp. Careful not to make a sound, I open the door to your living room a crack and peer in. You’re sitting in your red velvet chair, not a care in the world. That makes me angry. I grip the knife harder, and recall the day I passed you in the street. The first time I saw that torn denim jacket. Your dead, empty eyes, hollow in their sockets. I tread lightly to the back of your chair. Lucky that it’s red, maybe your blood won’t show when I slit your throat.

Your skin cuts like butter. You struggle, and that excites me. I’m so happy to finally avenge my baby. There are big, black bin bags in your kitchen, I grab one for your disgusting, lumpy body. You’ve got blood everywhere. I put your limp body in a bag and drag it in to the basement that’s connected to your kitchen. I open the door and push your body down in to the darkness. A methodical search of the house bears no useful information, I return to the living room where my mobile phone has been charging.

I’m furious, so frustrated with myself. How could I have been wrong again? I’m certain that scrap of denim matched your jacket. It was you, I am sure. I sit, slumped in the red arm chair, the blood soaking my back. I want to cry, to vomit, I can’t bear that I’ve got it wrong again. I can’t be wrong, there’s something, I know it.

My phone vibrates on the chair of the arm. A text message, from Jan. I unlock my phone, and throw it at the wall seconds later, before covering the floor in sick.

‘I need you to come back home. They have found her, baby. Turn your phone back on, come home, I know this affected you but our baby’s back. She’s alive, she’s back, come home please!’

In the background, some news report, '3 more found dead their homes in South London, this makes for 7 total, however police still suspect there to be more. Keep your doors locked at all times, we are searching for the killer.’

Credits to: georgeoliscott

Nurses: How do you deal with these new interns?

I’m a relatively new nurse, and I’ve just gotten the hang of dealing with the interns. I know which ones will come as soon as I say that I feel something is wrong with my patient, and I know which ones never do anything unless I threaten to call someone else. I know which ones think ativan is the answer the everything, and which ones will absolutely not put orders in unless the patient is going south. I like knowing them! But we are getting the new ones next week. Any advice for the new nurse? -Nurse Greyface

Ooh, what a great question! 

Ugh, don’t get me started on the Ativan-is-the-answer interns. That’s a big no-no at my program!

As an intern on an inpatient service, I learned TONS from the nurses. They would call me about a patient and of course would know that I had know idea what to order, so rather than calling and saying “I need an order for PRN Labetalol for Mr. Smith’s blood pressure,” the really good ones would say something along the lines of “I know Dr. Respectable Attending usually orders XYZ in this situation. Would that be appropriate?” or “how do you feel about giving Mr. P a little dash of blahty blah?” That was a great way to approach an intern. You are teaching them on the sly and also letting them make the decisions. 

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