#The whole lobotomy thing is still haunting my brain

[the-heaminator]

I am being incredibly Normal about this

[house-of-slayterr]

The Consequences of My Actions

Hannibal Family Pt. 7: @charliedawn @iloveslasher

Morgan’s POV:

Dinner had been interesting last night. Peter’s little friend was quite the character. They spoke in an odd way, almost like they weren’t afraid to speak their mind. Not even about confrontational subjects, just anything that came to mind. They seemed to think a lot, their brows almost always knit together in a confused display.

They were younger than Peter, that much was obvious, but they were in the same class. So they must be somewhat intelligent. Otherwise my little cousin would not hang out with them. He didn’t bring many students home, unless they were to become dinner guests. Hannibal called Peter away for help with something nearly half an hour ago. I watched Newt from the shadows as they stayed in the living room.

They where laying on the their stomach on the carpet, rubbing small circles into the plush fabric with their palm. Everyone few seconds or so they would shiver. It would start at the top of their spine and roll all the way through their toes. I could see them scrunch their nose each time it happened, as if it made them uncomfortable. Yet they continued to do it. How odd.

I watched a little while longer, entranced by their odd behaviour. No wonder Hannibal found them intriguing. They were no Will Graham, but they hadn’t seen the things that man had. They weren’t quite haunted in the same way. Instead they held an hier of naivety. Normally I’d be disgusted by it, but I sort of pity them.

Danger is lurking quite literally right under their nose, and yet they’re none the wiser. Of course, we all loved Peter. But if it came down to it, Newt would be disposed off if they became a threat. But this was possibly the most non threatening human I’ve ever observed. Even toddlers have more devious intentions.

They had a peculiar way of moving as well. Their movements were stiff, instead jagged. But not with pause like someone in thought, instead disconnected like someone who’s checked out. Mentally ill, I’m sure. They have to be, everyone else knew to stay away from Peter. Despite his shy demeanour, others could sense his sinister undertones.

They were kicking their feet to some uneven beat. Changing rhythm haphazardly and with no reason. I suddenly realised, I had no idea what they were even meant to be doing. Why were they hanging out in the living room with Peter? The television wasn’t on, they didn’t have a book in front of them, no puzzles… they were just playing with the carpet and completely content. I moved a bit closer, still staying out of their peripheral.

They began to hum a tune, their voice low and soft. It was gentle at first, almost timid. But it grew louder seemingly the more impatient they got with waiting. Until they began to mumble the words.

“Forget you’re apart of me, I know that you’re fond of me. But when I ask you if you love me, forget like lobotomy.” They sang.

It was unlike any song I’d heard before. Kevin liked to keep up to date on the latest music trends. But this sounded nothing like the type of thing he enjoyed. Hannibal and I had more refined taste, of course.

“I wish I could take a piece of my heart out. Make you leave. But even if they cut out my whole brain, feelings will always be.”

Their feet kicking became more rhythmic as they got into the song.

“Make me forget who I am. Say you’ll make me understand, you’re just taking my personal power.” They finished.

They ended the song with a dramatic sigh, turning to flop on their back. They shivered once again, yet this time it was more violent, almost like a small jerk. It caused them to sit up suddenly. Their eyes were screwed shut, I tilted my head curiously.

“Peter?” They asked?

It was so soft, I almost didn’t hear it. They must have noticed my presence so I stepped forward into the light. I wasn’t expecting them to jump as much as they did.

“Oh! Morgan.” They said.

“Peter is still with Hannibal, did you need something? I was passing by and I heard you call for him.”

Their face scrunched up.

“No, it’s fine Morgan, thank you.”

The frowned deeply. The kind that tugged at the corner of their eyes. I was going to take my leave, not wishing to over stay my welcome, I could always go back to observing later. They still needed a proper threat assessment; to be tested. To see if they could be trusted.

“Are they ok?”

“Hmm?” I hummed.

“Just- well, they’ve been gone awfully long time…” they said nervously.

A small bead a sweat formed where their throat met their clavicule. I watched as they swallowed thickly. They were nervous all of a sudden, but was it because of me, or something else? I took a step forward.

“I’m sure everything’s just fine, perhaps Hannibal got a call from Mr. Crawford and didn’t have time to drop Peter off back at home.”

This only made them more worried. They shook their head, hugging their body.

“I Hope not, Peter doesn’t belong at places like that.”

What a strange statement. Peter thrived in the realm of the dead. We all did, killing was our specialty. He wouldn’t be disturbed by a measly criminals sloppy murder scene. They were all amateurs, which is why they got caught. Of course I knew where they were. They were dealing with a particularly nasty piece of shit. The more I observed Newt, the less I could understand how their father could abuse them as much as Hannibal seems to think he did. He didn’t tell me much, and I didn’t pry. If it was pertinent, I’d be the first to know.

But I couldn’t tell them that. That we kidnapped their father and we’re torturing them. That Peter requested to do most of it himself. He wanted to make that man hurt for every bad thing he did to his best friend. And I respected that, seeing him take initiative for once was thrilling. It’s a shame I had to be here instead, babysitting. Making sure they didn’t run.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

They tilted their head, brows furrowing much more. Almost as if nobody had ever asked them such a question. Perhaps no one had.

“We shouldn’t eat until everyone’s back home.”

Interesting, they called this place their ‘home’, not Peter’s, not mine, just home.

“Nonsense, a snack never killed anyone. I won’t tell if you don’t.” I offered.

I had to get them to trust me if I was going to test their loyalty. Scaring them away would do no good, not this time. Not when Peter seemed to actually care for this one. He would be devastated and I cannot have that clouding my conscious. I held my hand out for them to take, which they excepted.

“Thanks.” They mumbled.

They trailed behind me to the kitchen. I thought about what I could cook them. I knew for a fact, Hannibal had yet to serve them anyone yet. I don’t know what he was waiting for, it’s not like they would know. He’d done it many times, with Miss Lounds, Alana, Jack… Will. They’d all eaten someone without knowing. Even Abigail had, so Newt being a minor wasn’t what was stopping him. But I shouldn’t go behind his back, he had his reasons. As tempting as it would be to watch them devour someone, and see them break when they found out.

That was always the most fun, watching them break. The men were more satisfying, they always tried to me ‘manly’ about it. But they’d resort to puking and tears in no time. And the women, the women grew hysteric and would plead to whatever god they believed in for forgiveness. But Newt, how would they react? They belonged to neither classification, not fully. Despite looking like a girl on the outside, their brain was much more complex than that. I wondered what it would taste like. I shook the thought from my head, and looked back when a hand was placed on my shoulder. I raised a brow at them.

“Lost you there for a moment, where did you go?” They asked.

“Go?”

The gave me a nod, chuckling softly under their breath.

“In here.” They pointed to their head. “Your eyes went dark, like Peter’s do when he’s thinking.”

They too were observant, interesting. Maybe they would be more useful then I originally gave them credit for.

“Nowhere you need to worry yourself about.” I answered plainly. I knew they didn’t mean to pry, but they didn’t seem to understand we were still strangers. They shouldn’t pretend to know me because they knew Peter.

“Kevin doesn’t disappear in his head much.”

I raised a brow once more, daring them to continue.

“He hides in someone else’s instead. Poking around in whatever hole he can find. Digging deeper until they’re to confused to question his motives.” They started.

Bjr it didn’t sounds scared, or judgmental. It was like they were stating a simple fact. It wasn’t harsh, nor soft, just spoken plainly, with utter disinterest.

“You make my brother sounds like a narcissist.”

“With a tendency for sociopathy actually. He doesn’t like me very much.”

I frowned. Had they read Hannibal’s folders? I knew he kept files on each of us, his own way of feeling in control. He was in charge while Hannibal Sr. was in jail after all. We’d have to break him out soon; he’d been locked up for far to long.

“You believe Kevin is a sociopath?” I questioned.

I took some cheese from the fridge; grabbing the proper knife to cut it into cubes. Cheese and crackers would be a simple snack they would enjoy. They didn’t seem to be the type for a broad pallet. Their taste were quite childish.

“Is that what I said?” They asked back.

It wasn’t quite challenging in tone, more defensive.

“But you believe he had a tendency to be so.”

“He’s cynical, charming, arrogant, impulsive, irritable, presents as having little empathy and frequently gets in trouble in school. Often times, dragging Peter with him.” The concluded.

Fascinating. Yet they dared to challenge him last night at dinner. I continued to make their snack. They sat at the counter, fidgeting with their nails.

“You’ve paid attention to Kevin’s behaviour at school, before you were intimate with Peter?”

They scrunched their nose.

“Please do not use that word. There is nothing going on between Peter and I. Intimate suggests… unsavoury things, we’re familiar, harmonious, but not intimate.”

I raised my hands in mock defence. There was that shiver again, a visceral reaction.

“But yes, Kevin has been called down to the office 47 times, been reprimanded in front me 24, but I’m sure there’s been countless more, he’s gotten in 7 fist fights, two of which he didn’t initiate and he’s been suspended 3 times. All since the beginning of the year when I got here.”

They picked at the skin of their fingers more harshly, clearly becoming worked up. I knew I should step back, Hannibal wouldn’t be pleased if I started to wear down Peter’s new toy so quickly. But I couldn’t help myself.

“And what do you think of me?” I asked.

They looked up for the first time since they sat down, a bewildered look crossing their features.

“I don’t know you Morgan… I won’t pretend to.”

“Assume me.” I pushed.

They sighed heavily.

”You seem to have compulsive tendencies…” they poked around their head for more descriptors.

“Oh?”

“You’ve readjusted your grip on the knife 9 tiems, three for each time you’ve had to pick it up again after pausing. You did the same thing last night at dinner. You also spin your fork twice before eating. You tap for times on the table with your left forefinger once you’ve set a utensil down. And you adjust your sleeves between each action, which doesn’t come off as a nervous behaviour. In fact you don’t seem to be a nervous person in the slightest. You’re quite confident in all your actions.”

They cleared their throat.

“I could have declined your offer for a snack, but you would have persisted. Which suggests to me your obsessive need for control. You’re a perfectionist. If I had said no, it would have ruined how you pré-planned this whole interaction in your head. You wish to get to know me because your protective of your family, but more importantly Peter. Because you’re paranoid, a symptom of your PTSD.” They finished.

My grip on the knife tightened, my knuckles turning white. Now I knew why Hannibal’s patients felt uncomfortable when he read them. It was like being splayed open on an autopsy table for all the buzzards to pick and chose which sort of you they bore into. Their eyes trailed down to my hand. I expected them to react, pulling back in fear, and I would have to think quickly how to handle this. But I was stunned at what they did next.

Their hand felt gently on top of my own.

“I’m not going to hurt you, or Peter, Morgan. I answered because you asked. Don’t read to much into it.” They said, giving me a gentle smile.

I relaxed my hand a little.

“And Hannibal?” I questioned.

They were coming too close to figure us out, I would have to call a family meeting later. They didn’t retract their hand until they felt me pull my own away. They dropped their hands in their lap.

“Hmmm. He’s difficult to read. He doesn’t leave much time during our sessions for me to observe him. He asks too many questions. And outside of his office, we only meet during meals. He’s a very busy man. Possibly afraid of being alone with his own thoughts for too long. Perhaps Peter’s narcism was learned from Dr Lecter. He doesn’t mean to, but he’s not great at hiding his prejudice. But he judges with the best of intentions. Some Doctors join the feule because they like the sense of control, but he wouldn’t have become a psychologist if he didn’t want to help, right?”

Now this was interesting. A real question. A little intonation of hope at the end, they wanted a real answer.

“I do believe Hannibal enjoys his job, yes.”

They smiled at me.

“He too is low on empathy, which isn’t a bad thing. He makes up for it in showing sympathy, at least I can feel it. I’m sure his other patients do to.”

“So you’re officially a patient?”

“We’ll, no, no more than you are, I suppose. Perhaps I should be, I think Dr Lecter thinks so. He thinks our chats are useful, I find them boring. But it makes him happy, which in turn makes Peter happy, which-“

“Makes you happy”

I slid the plate to them.

“Peter makes me very happy.” They said.

I could tell it was sincere. The first statement they’d made this far that wasn’t flat. It held a type of warmth that I couldn’t rightfully describe. It was nice to know they didn’t have any sinister intentions with my cousin.

“Did I answer all you questions Morgan?”

“For now. Unless there’s anything else you’d like to share. Or I could leave you be until dinner.”

“No, I think I enjoy the company. Unless, of course, that was just your polite way of telling me you have better things to be doing. Thank you for the snack.”

I sat beside them on the counter, and watched a small smile grow on their lips.

“Your turn.” They said.

“You wish to know what I think of you?”

They nodded as they took a bite of the cracker. It was odd how happy they got from such a simple meal. It was so bland. They offered me one, but I pushed the plate back to them.

“We’ll, I’m not quite sure.”

“You don’t think you understand me, do you?“

“Does anyone understand anyone?”

They chuckled.

“I won’t be offended if you’re wrong. I’m sure I got a lot wrong earlier. My analysis was quite brutal, at least form a normal societal standpoint. Narcissism, and other personality disorders aren’t something that are taken lightly. People demonise them far to much. The people suffering with these conditions are still people, and society conveniently forgets that.”

No wonder they feel for Peter’s charms. They held all the cards to see the red flag, yet chose to wear rose coloured glasses. I pity them.

“We’ll, you care deeply, you show it with your actions rather than words. Acts of service are your love language. You’re adverse to touch most times, but you’re more comfortable when you initiate it first. And you do so when you’ve decided the other persons feelings are more important than your own.”

I watched as they chewed at their bottom lip, squirming in their seat. It was fun to watch.

“I don’t think you live in reality. You’re in heavy denial about something which is why you focus all your energy on being a people pleaser. You try your best to fit in, but not because it’s what you want to do, rather as a survival technique. You know your ship is sinking, so you desperately cling onto the most stable thing you can find, which happens to be my cousin. You idolise him, wrongfully so.”

They tore into the skin of their nails this time, little droplets of blood, beading at the surface.

“You don’t think Peter is worth looking up to?”

“Nobody ever is. Your attachment to my cousin is unhealthy, which is probably why Hannibal insists on making you one of his patients. He can stop you from taking things too far.”

They pushed out their chair.

“Thank you for your analysis Morgan. I think I’m done with snack time.”

They quickly left the room. I could tell they were fighting back tears. Sure, it was harsh, but was I wrong? Their interest could quickly turn to obsession. And I didn’t want to see Peter her his heart broken when Hannibal and I would have to put them down. They couldn’t stay long, it would be better to convince them to leave on their own. I took out my phone and called my uncle.

“How’s Peter doing?” I mused.

“You didn’t call just to talk about Peter, Morgan, spit it out.”

“The child is getting too close, you’ll have to work harder on your manipulation. They know you’re trying to sway them in some way, they just aren’t sure of what, or why. I’ve planted a seed of doubt, be sure to water it, won’t you?”

I hung up the phone. Hannibal and I were quite sparse in our communication. It wasn’t rude, just not laced with all the bullshit embellishments. Poor little Newt walked away with their tail between their legs. This should be fun.

Newt’s POV:

I felt stupid, utterly stupid. I promised I wouldn’t get upset, and like a cry baby, I went and ran away. How pathetic. But he wasn’t right. Peter was my friend, my normal friend. Sure, I’d never made one before, but this is how they described them in books.

My danger sense had been going off all day. But not strong, just a mild buzzing. And the longer it went in, the more I grew concerned. What the hell were Hannibal and Peter up to. The feeling grew in the pit of my stomach, and I knew I had to swallow my pride. Morgan knew where they were. I went around looking for him, finding him in the library. I stood at the entrance, debating if I should come in.

“Do come in Newt, I believe I owe you an apology for earlier” he said smoothly.

His tone of voice made me uneasy.

“No matter, it’s a nonissue. It’s late, I’m worried.”

“I spoke with Hannibal only an hour ago, everything’s fine.”

“No offense, but i don’t believe you. Not about this, not this time.”

He put down his book and slowly walked towards me.

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“No, I- I can’t explain it. I just have a feeling something is wrong. It’s making me sick.”

He tilted his head at that.

“Fine, I’ll take you to them. Then you’ll learn to trust to take my word.”

I nodded. Something told me not to follow him into the car, but I pushed it aside. Making sure Peter was fine was my first priority. Everything about Morgan’s body language screamed instability. He was upset, but I don’t think he’d hurt me. He’s too smart, too proud. But as we made our way further from town, towards the woods, my stomach twisted further.

“Morgan”

“They’re just a little further, old family cabin.” He stated.

We indeed arrived at a cabin, which calmed my anxiety a bit. But I was still on edge. It reminded me of when my father would take me out of town for our hunting trips, and we’d stay in cabins liek this one. He took the keys out of the car.

“We’ll go on, they’re just inside.” He said.

I frowned.

“You’re not coming in?” I asked suspiciously.

“I don’t need to, I know they’re here.”

I squinted at him, scrunching my nose before hesitantly opening the car door. I slowly made my way to the cabin, knocking a few times but not hearing a response. I turned back to look at Morgan, who just shooed me forward. I tried the door and it was unlocked. Weird, that seemed unlike a man like Hannibal.

Most of the cabin was pristine, just like the house. This was definitely one of Hannibal’s properties. It was also fairly quiet. What were they doing out in a cabin by the lake all day? The sun was almost setting and Peter hadn’t checked his phone since he left. A little mouse scurried across my foot, and I looked after where it went. There were little red foot prints leading to a hole in the wall.

I followed the mouse to the little hobbit hole and held out my hand, waiting. It peaked it its nose out after a minuet or so, and I let it sniff my hand. It slowly climbed onto it, and I brought it close to my face to observe. It was covered in some sort of red substance, perhaps they were painting? I set the mouse back down and let it go back into the wall. I pushed forward, noticing a latch in the floor near the back of the house.

I thought for a moment, knowing it would be rude to enter. Morgan was probably just setting me up, getting back at me for earlier. But that bad feeling didn’t go away, so I opened the latch. I could see a light in the distance, they were down there. I could go, but, something urged me to push forward. So I carefully made my way down the later and slowly rounded the corner. I didn’t want to sneak up on them, but talking didn’t seem right, right now. My voice would come out too shaky.

I stepped in a small puddle, but shrugged it off, until I looked around the corner. My heart nearly stopped. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Hannibal and Peter where here alright, but so was my father. Despite everything yelling in me to run, my instincts betrayed me.

“Daddy?” I asked.

All three men turned to me. My father looked shocked, but could barely react from how swollen his face was. I thought I saw a glimpse of anger appear on Hannibal’s face, but I couldn’t care less. My eyes were trained on Peter. He held a knife in his hand, and his jumper was covered in blood, so was his skin. His perfect, welcoming, skin. It was tainted now. Marred with the blood of my father.

“Newt.” Hannibal started.

Peter opened his mouth multiple times to speak, but it was clear he couldn’t come up with anything to say. I didn’t dare take my eyes off him though. Hannibal took a step forward and I took a step back.

“Peter?” I asked.

I watched his eyes shift to Hannibal, like he was looking for some kind of confirmation. Hannibal moved forward again, but I moved back.

“I won’t run.” I stated simply. “So please, stop trying to chase me.” I said calmly.

Hannibal looked hesitant, but agreed to my request.

“Morgan brought me. I was worried you weren’t well. You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Morgan called an hour ago, he should have told you we would be home shortly.”

I chuckled dryly.

“And leave a job unfinished? That’s seems unlike you Dr Lecter.”

“You aren’t upset?” Peter finally spoke.

God, his voice broke me. Actually hearing him speak made this all the more real. He sounded scared. Of me?

“Oh, I’m livid right now Peter. The only thing stopping me from making and rash decisions right now, is the fact that you’re holding a knife, and I know Hannibal won’t hesitate. And I’m sure Morgan’s behind me right now.” I finished.

As if on cue, he gabbed me from behind, holding me tightly to his chest so I couldn’t flee.

“You we’re getting too close.”

“I told you not to read to much into it.”

“Reading into things is the Lecter specialty” he quipped.

“You weren’t meant to see this.” Peter brought my attention back to him.

He stepped forward, and due to Morgan’s hold on me, I couldn’t budge.

“Any of this.”

“So you were going to leave me to wither alone in the dark, forever? We’re meant to light each others flames Peter, not smother them. You promised.” My voice broke.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He was at arms reach now, knife still in hand. But I didn’t dare look at it, I held eye contact dispute how uncomfortable it made me.

“You think your lies do not hurt?” I was quickly becoming enraged.

This wasn’t Peter, my Peter. This Peter was ugly, and cold.

“He just wanted to help. Your father is a monster. The things he did to you-“

“To me! This isn’t your call to make!” I was yelling now.

I was never one to raise my voice, but I couldn’t help myself.

“He’s my father… MINE!” I screamed.

My body was shaking with rage at this point, my vision growing blurry with frustrated tears. I could hear Morgan chuckle behind me, he was enjoying this.

“Not yours Peter.” I tried to calm myself.

“Despite all this, have I given you any reason not to trust me Dr Lecter?”

He thought for a moment.

“No. You have not.”

“Then when I said I wouldn’t run, I meant it. Please tell Morgan to let me go. I don’t like being touched, let alone manhandled.”

Hannibal gave him a nod and he let me go. I adjusted myself, brushing off the icky feeling that cling to my skin. Peter tried to approach but I pushed past him. I approached my father, and the three men watched, on edge. I grabbed his face In my hands, looking him in the eye before ripping out his gag.

“Speak.”

“You vindictive little bitch, I should have let your mother smother you with that pillow when you were an Infant.”

He spat in my face. A mix of salvia and blood hitting me, the warmth of it made me want to vomit. I used my sleeve to wipe it away.

“Huh. No apology?” I asked.

“The only thing I’m sorry for is raising a bastard child like you. I forgave your mother for the affair, she paid for that. But she grew attached to you, that was her mistake.”

My eyes widened. I wasn’t even his blood? This whole time I felt disgusted being related to someone like him. And my mother, she- it didn’t matter now. I started laughing, the kind of laugh the final girl gets when she escapes the killer at the end of a movie.

“We’ll, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions. To think, I brought some poor stranger into my family problems. Poor you, the husband of a cheating whore, and the surrogate father of an innocent child who loved you unconditionally.”

I scoffed.

“I cried for you, you know. Every-time I’ve thought about telling the school, or the police. The thought of you rotting in jail made my stomach sick. Mother would never forgive me, and I’d be the outcast who put their own father in jail. Cause what you did to me wasn’t that bad, right? Everyone’s father lost his temper sometimes, it was normal. I was just being dramatic, and a baby. Well guess what dad, I’ve grown up!”

I grabbed an ice pick from the table of tools and quickly plunged it between his rib cage, narrowly missing his heart.

“I’m not that naive little kid anymore, who thinks daddy just wants what’s best for them. You can’t order me around anymore.”

I twisted it in. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I flinched back, pulling my shoulder out of the way. In turn taking the weapon with me. Something clicked when I looked down at my hands, seeing the red, feeling the hot sticky sensation of his blood on my hands. I was going to be sick. I dropped the ice pick and stumbled back in shock.

“What did I-“

Peter pulled me into a hug, I crumpled to the floor, a sobbing mess. He shushed me, rocking me back and forth gently.

“It’s ok Newt, he’s never gonna hurt you again. And I don’t have to lie anymore, I promise.” He said.

“Morgan, get them home. I’ll clean this up.”

The rest of the evening was a blur. I was too stunned to have any coherent thoughts, or hear any of what they tried to say to me.

An: I was having a bad day, and this fic made me feel better lol. Hannibal is my OG comfort character.

[thewhitefluffyhat]

Thoughts on Gideon the Ninth

This post isn’t an analysis or even truly a review. It’s more like a loose collection of thoroughly subjective opinions on random aspects of the book. It exists mostly to provide context on any other posts I make.

But it also exists because I can never get enough of reading about other people’s experiences with fiction I enjoy, so it felt right to contribute my own post in return. :)

My first exposure to this series was definitely through tumblr. I came in already familiar with the whole “lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space” description, and it felt like half the people I followed on this hellsite were into the series. (Since reading the books and being able to recognize the characters more, I’ve found that the true amount is closer to 3/4, heh.)

Other vague details about this series I’d absorbed through General Tumblr Osmosis: I knew the main protagonist was a badass lesbian with a Cool Sword (nice), I knew there was some kind of enemies-to-lovers-ish arc (awesome, my fave dynamic), I knew there was someone named Ianthe who had a skeleton arm and was the Worst (rad, couldn’t wait to meet her), and also something something homebrew lobotomy in the second book(what???)? It all added up to quite the intriguing picture!

I then bought GtN as a Christmas present for myself last December. After having a very disappointing (and frustratingly queerbait-y) experience in my last fandom, I was feeling burnt out and extremely cynical. I’d said at that time that it’s foolish to trust writers who aren’t queer to do justice by queer characters… meaning, it was long past time I got around to reading a bunch of queer books by queer authors that I’d seen widely recommended but had passed on because I majored in Anime Nerd.

As it happened, I started reading the book one random Friday afternoon sometime during the holidays. 

I then proceeded to not put it down until literally 9 a.m. the following morning.

Now, to be fair, reading through the night and past sunrise isn’t super uncommon for me, but it doesn’t just happen for anything. (This also meant I got to the real juicy horror bits at like 4 a.m., an experience I can highly recommend.)

And after I finished the book… I took a deep breath, went to bed, and spent the next afternoon ranting to my little brother as I tried to iron out some rather mixed thoughts!

Things I took a while to warm up to:

-I know lots of people love Gideon as a narrator and protagonist - and very deservedly so, since sympathetic yet unapologetically butch protagonists like her are so woefully rare! - but she actually didn’t click with me at first, haha.

-As a sex-averse-ish ace, and as someone whose prior experiences with horny protagonists in published fiction has mostly been of the Gross Anime Dude variety, I absolutely did not know what to make of Gideon’s very openly lesbian brain. I kept expecting her to turn around and slap me in the face by abruptly becoming an unlikeable creep (see: Keiichi, Battler). 

And then she… didn’t? What? A horny protagonist that didn’t make me want to stab my eyes out? Even after I finished the book, I was struggling to wrap my head around that aspect of her. (Even now, I’m still not sure I can put my finger on what makes her so different from an Awful Anime Dude - but I suspect it’s in the way that Gideon is so kind and genuinely respectful of other people’s boundaries. No random humiliation-as-titillation jokes here!)

-Meanwhile another thing I had a hard time with was - and this will sound exceptionally silly - oh boy I am so very much not an athlete and I love magic and magic worldbuilding. So for me, a significant part of the book was mentally wanting to shake Gideon and yell at her to Pay Attention to the Necromancy Dammit! It’s cool and interesting and I wanna to know more, sure your swords are nice but I don’t care about swords that much! XD

-And, perhaps most oddly: I did not know what to make of the main relationship arc. Because - especially at the start - Gideon and Harrow’s relationship was a lot more fraught and unequal than I was expecting. I also tend to take characters at face value about how they say they feel (until proved otherwise) - so initially, I completely believed Gideon when she narrates about how all she wants is to leave the Ninth and for Harrow to die in a fire. Which then made scenes like where she goes to save Harrow from dying in a bone cocoon seem like a very abrupt and confusing reversal, haha.

It all added up to something that didn’t quite feel like a typical enemies-to-lovers. Like it was something else that felt weirdly familiar and just on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t remember what it was…

And then after I finished the book I learned that the author was a former Homestuck and OH. They were each others’ KISMESIS! Suddenly all the pieces fell perfectly into place and I was all EXCELLENT YES GOOD CARRY ON.

-(Tangent: my experience with Homestuck is that I encountered and read through it during the Act 6 hiatus while I was on break during college. I thought it was decently interesting, enough that I stuck around to read a few fanfics afterward. Then I just moved onto other things. And nothing I’ve heard about the author or the rest of the story has really made me want to go back and finish it. *shrug*

So while I’m certainly familiar with Homestuck, I am by no means an expert or even really a true fan or anything. Homestuck appears to be one of those things you either love it or hate it, and I’m a weirdo who just finds it “okay I guess.” Honestly, I’ve found it most interesting as a thing that went on to inspire other things! *cough* Undertale *cough*)

Things that are apparently controversial but didn’t bother me:

-The writing style: Gosh, I loved Muir’s style. How to even describe it? “gothic shitpost” is what I said to my brother. A swirl of lurid, almost purple prose spiked with sudden and irreverent memes that manages to be beautiful in one moment and laugh-out-loud hilarious the next.

Of course, one of my other favorite authors is Terry Pratchett, so the idea that pulpy genre works with humorous narration can also have Big Themes and invoke genuine emotion and drama didn’t come as a surprise for me in the slightest.

What maybe did surprise me a little was how… comfortable? this narrative style felt for me. I had been reading tumblr posts for years before I even made an account, and I’d been reading fanfiction even longer. So for me, the “unusual” slant of Muir’s writing wasn’t unusual at all. It was more of a slow realization of  “ahh. one of My People.”

-I’ve seen some people turned off by the way these books throw you in at the worldbuilding deep end and expect you to roll with it. But as I was reading, I didn’t even notice it, let alone register it as something to be bothered by? Diving in headfirst and learning the LoreTM as I go along is how I approach a lot of things, heh. Did I know the meaning of all the anatomy terms being tossed around? Hell no, but as long as I could make a decent assumption from context, that was fine by me!

(Not knowing much anatomy does, however, mean that writing fanfic for this series is going to be… just a little intimidating. eep. ^^;)

-The elephant impaled on a fence post in the room: Gideon’s death. So fair’s fair, I sure do love me some Angst and Suffering (see also: everything else on this blog). However, had I read the book on release, then the blatant Bury Your Gays might have made me more pessimistic and nervous (especially after those previously mentioned bad experiences…). But luckily I didn’t do that. I went into this book with the knowledge that the series continued and people were still raving about it. So I was willing to extend the author a tiny bit of trust.

Plus, of course, there was all the necromancy! Bury Your Gays, meet a very determined girl with a magic shovel. (See also: Madoka Magica Rebellion, which may merit a whole comparison post… but that’s for HtN and another time.)

-So yeah. I finished Gideon the Ninth, poured out all my jumbled feels and confusion to my little brother… and then put the series aside. Like, sure, I quite enjoyed it, and the writing/worldbuilding was so good that I was interested to read more eventually. But I wasn’t, like, obsessed or frothing at the mouth to read the sequel. I very rarely buy books for myself these days, and I had other things I was doing at the time. Like still attempting to write my Higurashi fanfic… :,)

Next time: Harrow the Ninth

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Asylum (1.10)

Pairing: N/A, Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: The siblings are sent on a hunt by an unknown number, a crazy doctor gets his hands on Sam, and things go downhill for Dean and Olive very fast

Warnings: mental asylum, crying, cursing, guns, threats, etc

Word Count: 7385

“No. Dad was in Cali last we heard from him. We just thought, since he goes to you for munitions…” I sighed deeply. “Maybe you’d heard from him in the last few weeks… Just… please call us if you hear anything.”

“Will do.”

I sighed again. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you bet.”

“Caleb hasn’t heard from him?” Dean looked up as I flipped the phone shut.

“Nope. Sams?” I turned to him, tears welling in my eyes.

Sam only shook his head. “Neither has Jefferson. Or Pastor Jim.”

“De, what about the journal? Any leads in there?” I tried to hold back my breath.

“No. Same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out… I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like frigging Yoda.” Dean scowled.

Sam sighed and put his arm up, offering the space. I ignored him, instead standing at the base of the bed, arms crossed over my chest.

“Maybe we should call the Feds.” He sighed. “File a missing person’s report.”

“We’ve talked about this.” Dean shook his head. “Dad would be so pissed if we put the Feds on his tail.”

I scowled, tears now dropping down the curve of my nose. “You know what Dean, who cares anymore?”

His phone buzzed, but I kept going.

“After what happened in Kansas? He should’ve been there, Dean! You even said it yourself!”

“Ollie, I know!” Dean scoffed as he rummaged through his duffel bag. “Where the hell is my cell phone?”

“You know, Olive’s right. He could be dead for all we know.”

“Don’t say that!” Dean turned, angry. “He’s not dead! He’s-he’s…”

“He’s what, Dean? He’s hiding? Busy?” I shouted, seeing spit fly out.

“Olive, stop!” Dean screamed back at me, chest heaving with his phone in his grip.

My shoulders fell and I let myself cry. Dean’s face softened and he sighed, shaking his head, trying to say something. I sighed, staring at Dean and feeling betrayed.

“Dean, where the hell is he?” I sniffled. “Where’s the hell’s Dad?”

Dean sighed. “Ollie, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, but he isn’t dead.”

He flicked his phone open, looking away from me. I dropped onto the floor, leaning back against the bed. Sam came to the foot of the bed and gripped my by the waist, pulling me onto the bed with him.

“It’s okay.” He whispered.

I snorted before leaning against him.

“Huh.” Dean scoffed. “I don’t believe it.”

“What happened?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a text message. It’s coordinates.”

                                                         ***

“Do you think Dad was texting us?” I whispered.

I was sitting next to Dean. I hadn’t raised my voice above a whisper since this morning. I was stressed and sad, and I missed Dad and I wanted things to go back to normal. Dean was still angry, upset with me because I had lost it, because we said Dad could be dead.

“He’s given us coordinates before.”

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.”

“Sam, it’s good news! It means he’s okay. Or alive at least.”

“Was there a number on the caller ID?”

“Nah, it said unknown.”

I sighed. “Well where do the coordinates point?”

“That’s the interesting point. Rockford, Illinois.”

“Okay, and that’s interesting how?”

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” Dean shifted the computer toward us. “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

Sam and I looked at each other, confused.

“Okay, I’m not following. What does this have to do with us?”

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” Dean flipped through the pages. “Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths-till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.”

I took another deep breath and sighed. “This is just another job. Dad just wants us to work a job.”

“Well maybe we’ll meet up with him. Maybe he’s there.” Dean offered.

“Maybe he’s not, Dean. I mean, he could just be sending us there. By ourselves, to hunt this thing.”

“You know what, Olive? Who the hell cares? If Dad wants us there, it’s good enough for me!”

I rolled my eyes, and Sam stepped in.

“This doesn’t strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?”

“Guys! Dad’s telling us to go somewhere. We are going.” He hissed. “End of fucking story.” He slammed the laptop shut and stormed into the bathroom.

Sam and I looked at each other again. I sighed and sunk into my seat.

“This is fucking bullshit, Sam.” I rubbed my face.

“It’s gonna be okay, bug.”

                                                           ***

“We’ll be back soon, okay?” Sam brushed my hair behind my ear.

“Keep the doors locked.” Dean ordered as he slammed his door.

I sighed. “Be careful. Please.”

Sam nodded. “Always.”

                                                           ***

I watched as Dean stormed out of the bar. I sighed and got out of the car.

“No Dad?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No Dad.”

“Dean, I’m sorry.” I shuddered out.

He sighed and his shoulders dropped. He shook his head.

“No, I’m sorry.” He held his arms open. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

I wrapped my arms around him and whimpered.

“I’m sorry, De, I’m just scared. I’m so fucking scared. It’s just that Dad’s never gone this long, a-and Sam’s right. It feels like something really big is starting. I’m so scared.” I let out a sob.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry I yelled.” He brushed a hand through my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

He squeezed me. “I love you too.”

I shuddered. “Aren’t you cold?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Let’s get in the car.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

                                                          ***

“Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy.” Dean scowled as Sam ducked into the car.

“I had to sell it, didn’t I? It’s method acting.” Sam shrugged.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Sam shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What did you find out from Gunderson?” I asked, shaking my head.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”

“What about at home?” Dean asked.

“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.”

I snorted. “Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or-”

“Something else did this to him.”

“Exactly.”

“What’d Gunderson tell you about the asylum?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “A lot.”

                                                          ***

I sighed as we stared up at the fence.

“Okay. I’m not gonna lie. This is a terrible idea.” I shook my head.

Dean shrugged. “Best we got.”

Sam shook his head and got on one knee. “Alright, bug. Up you go.”

                                                          ***

“So apparently the cops chased the kids here… into the south wig.” Sam pointed to the door labeled.

“South wing, huh? Wait a second. 1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.” Dean read from the journal.

“So whatever's going on, the south wing is the heart of it.” I sighed.

“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?”

Spelunking? What is this, a 90s sitcom with an angry dad?

I blinked as Sam looked around and tutted.

“Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could’ve been chained up for years.”

“Yeah, to keep people out.” I shrugged.

“Or to keep something in.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

We sighed as we looked at each other. Dean pushed me closer to Sam, keeping himself behind me. Sam opened the door and we followed him through.

                                                          ***

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel.” Dean teased.

“Dude, enough.” Sam scowled.

“I’m serious. You gotta be careful, alright? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.”

“I told you, it’s not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.” Sam hissed.

I giggled. “Sammy’s got bad vibes.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“You get any reading on that thing or not, Ol?” Sam asked, nodding to the EMF meter in my hand.

I shook my head. “Nah. Doesn’t mean nobody’s home though.”

“Spirits can’t appear during certain hours of the day.” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah. The freaks come out at night.” Dean snorted.

Dean grabbed my arm and I froze, fully attentive. He nodded toward Sam.

“Hey Sam. Who do you think is the hottest psychic? Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?”

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed Dean into me. Dean snorted a laugh and I squirmed away from him and to Sam’s side, clinging to his arm.

                                                          ***

Sam pushed a door open, and the rusted hinges screamed. I flinched, and Sam sighed as he led the way through. Dean was right behind me, and he let out a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Man. Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people. Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo’s Nest.” Dean made another reference I was too young to understand as he made crazy eyes at Sam.

Sam ignored him and Dean dropped his smile, now pouting.

“So whatcha guys think? Ghosts possessing people?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Or many it’s more like Amityville, or the Smurl haunting.”

I shivered. Amityville scared the hell out of me, and I was never sold on the Smurl haunting.

Dean nodded. “Spirits driving them crazy. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.”

Sam sighed. “Dean. When are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Dean looked around, confused.

I sighed. “He means that Dad’s not here.”

Dean snorted from the back of his nose. “Oh. I see. How ‘bout… never.”

“I’m being serious, man. He sent us here.”

“So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We’ll pick up the search later.”

I sighed. I could feel the tension in the air rising, and I knew what was about to happen. Dean would imply Sam leaving because of Dad, he would mention that he didn’t try as hard, Sam would get pissy and say he wanted answers and it wasn’t his fault for wanting to have a normal life. It would turn into a war, and Dean would be Dad’s loyal soldier while Sam would go rogue.

“It doesn’t matter what he wants.” Sam hissed again.

I sighed again. Here it went.

“See. That attitude right there? This is why I always get the extra cookie.”

“Dad could be in trouble. We should be looking for him! We deserve answers, Dean. I mean, this is our fucking family we’re talking about.”

“I understand that Sam, but he’s given us an order.”

Sam scoffed. “So what, we gotta always follow Dad’s orders?”

“Of course we do.”

Sam opened his mouth to rip something else out, but Dean turned around, ending the conversation.

I sighed a third time, feeling my nose and eyes burn.

“Sanford Ellicott…” Dean read off a sign. “You know what we gotta do. We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here.” He shoved the sign into Sam’s hand and pranced away.

I wrapped my arms around myself and sighed. Sam was angry, lip raised into a snarl and nose twitching.

“Let’s just go.” He scowled.

                                                          ***

“Let me do it.” I perked up.

Dean and Sam turned to me, confused. Ellicott’s son was a therapist nearby. We needed to get more information, and undercover as a patient was the best shot we had.

“Are you sure, baby girl?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed.

I nodded. “Yeah, I can do it. I-I’m just a kid. They can take me in with your consent because you’re basically my dad, but it might be a little more difficult with Sam.”

“Olive…” Sam trailed off, concerned.

I grinned. “I can do it, Sams. I promise.”

                                                          ***

“Olive Winchester?”

I looked up from the magazine. The door was open, and a man with glasses was standing in it with a clipboard.

“That’s me.” I stood.

“Come on in.” He stepped aside, letting me follow him into the room.

“Thank you so much for seeing me last minute.” I sat down on the couch, looking around the room. “Dr. Ellicott. Ellicott… that name. Wasn’t there a… a Dr. Sanford Ellicott? Chief psychiatrist somewhere.”

He nodded. “My father was a chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum.” He tilted his head. “How did you know that?”

I shrugged. “My older brother is sorta a local history buff… Hey, wasn’t there… an incident or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?”

“We’re here on your dollar, Olive. We’re here to talk about you.”

“Actually, we’re here on my brother’s dollar.

“So. How’s things?”

“Ah…” I sighed. “Things are good, doc.”

“Good.” He nodded, crossing one leg over the other. “What have you been up to?”

I shrugged again. “Same old. On a road trip with my older brothers.”

“Was that fun?”

I cracked all my knuckles and blew air from my mouth. “Lots. Um… you know, we uh… we met a lot of interesting people.” I let my inner child out and blew a raspberry. “Yeah, no, I’m sorry. What was it exactly what happened in the south wing?”

“Look, if your brother is a local history buff, he knows all about the Roosevelt riot.”

“The riot… No, he never told me. I’m curious.”

“Olive. Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.”

“What subject?” I tilted my head.

“You. Now I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you about the Roosevelt riot if you tell me something about yourself. Like, uh, these brothers you’re road tripping with. How do you feel about them?”

I scratched at the back of my neck. “Uh… well, let’s see… I was like… less than a week old when my mother dropped me on a motel doorstep. Sam was… seven, and Dean was eleven.” I chewed my lip. “Dean didn’t ask for me… and neither did Sam. My dad least of all. Anyways,” I shrugged. “He’s been missing for a while, and maybe it’s my fault, but-”

“Your father’s missing?”

“I love Dean. He raised me. I mean like, technically so did Sam, but mostly Dean.” I sighed again, now upset. “Dean’s sad. He misses our Dad. I hate it when he’s upset.”

“Olive, would you say you have a high dependency on your brother?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Dean’s my entire life.”

“And would you say this dependency extends to Sam too?”

I took a breath. “No. I mean, don’t get me wrong! I love Sam to death, but it’s not the same with him as it is with Dean.”

“If I can speak bluntly…”

“Go ahead.”

“It sounds to me like you have a dangerous dependence on Dean.”

I blinked.

Yeah. Probably.

                                                          ***

“Baby!” Dean perked up as I walked out of the door. “You were in there forever. What did you talk about?”

I pulled him into a hug. “The hospital. You and Sam. My mom leaving me. Dad being gone… a lot.”

Dean only blinked, and Sam grinned. “And what’d you find out?”

“Oh, the south wing! It’s where they housed the real loonies. The psychos, criminally insane.” I huffed.

“Sounds cozy.” Dean dropped his chin onto my head.

“Yeah, and one night in ‘64, they lost their shit. Attacked staff. Attacked each other. So many fucking people died.”

“So the patients took over the asylum?”

I nodded. “Apparently.”

“How many deaths?”

“Uh, upwards of a few dozen. Some patients. Some staff. It was super gory. Most of the bodies were never even recovered, including Doc Elliot.”

Dean pulled back. “Never recovered? The hell’s that mean?”

“Cops scoured every single fucking inch of the place.” I shook my head. “Nothing. Guess the patients must’ve stuffed the bodies somewhere.”

“That’s grim.” Sam shivered.

“Yeah. So they transferred all the remaining patients and shut the hospital down.”

“So to sum it up, we’ve got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.” Dean huffed.

“And an assload of angry spirits.”

“Good times.” Sam tutted.

“Let’s check out the hospital tonight.” Dean squeezed me tightly before sighing.

We piled into the car.

                                                          ***

“Getting readings?” Sam asked as he shuffled through the doorway.

“Yeah, big time.”

“This place is orbing like crazy.” I mumbled as I swept the video camera around.

It would be easier for the boys to look down to see it than Dean and I stand on our toes to see it in Sam’s grasp.

“Probably multiple spirits out and about.”

I shivered. “And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”

“We gotta find ‘em and burn ‘em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit is the pissed of spirit of a psycho killer.” Dean grimaced.

Sam shook his head. “Let’s just keep moving.”

                                                          ***

Sam stayed with me as Dean split into the next room. He held his shotgun up and moved at the same pace I did as I swept the camera around the room.

“Anything?”

“Nah.” I mumbled before bringing it back around to do a second sweep.

This time I could see an old woman, white hair crazy, with one eye hanging out of her head. She was moving toward us, slowly and calmly. She wasn’t trying to hurt us. I tilted my head.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam shouted as he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. “Shotgun!”

“Sam, Ol, get down!”

Sam yanked me down as Dean shot, leaving the woman to burst into a cloud of dust.

“That was weird.” I pushed myself to my feet and brushed myself off.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Dean snorted as he held a hand out for Sam. “Since when don’t spirits put you on the defensive?”

“No De, I mean… it was that she didn’t attack us.”

“Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing.” Dean shook his head as he picked at Sam’s shotgun. “Clip got stuck.” He slammed his hand against it, a satisfied grin on his face. “Fixed it.”

“Olive is right. She didn’t hurt us. She didn’t even try.”

“So if she didn’t wanna hurt us, then what did she want?” Sam and I asked at the same time.

There was a scratching metallic noise and I jumped a foot in the air. Dean pushed me between him and Sam as he raised his shotgun. Sam flicked the flashlight and shined it into the room. There was a bed on its side, covered in ratty sheets. The top of a blonde head was peeking out from above it. I propped the video camera up against my cheekbone as Sam and Dean nodded to each other.

Sam reached out and tipped the bed onto all fours, and the head turned out to be a girl. She spun to face us, horror clear on her face as she gasped.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” Dean asked, shotgun down.

“Uh, Katherine.” She shook her head. “Kat.”

“I’m Olive.” I piped up, letting the camera go slack at my side. “This is Dean, that’s Sam.” I gestured.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, eyes wide.

“Um. My boyfriend, Gavin.”

The boys and I looked at each other, same expression copied onto our faces.

“Is he here?”

“Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just… you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…” 

“Alright. Kat?” Dean asked and she nodded. He put out a hand to help her stand. “Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and Olive will stay with you while we find your boyfriend.”

“No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

Dean scoffed. “It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous.”

She nodded. “That's why I gotta find him.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Sam shrugged and I snorted as Dean turned back to Kat.

Alright, I guess we’re gonna split up then. Kat stick with me, Olive, you’re with Sam.”

I nodded and hooked a finger onto one of Sam’s belt buckles. He patted my head with a smile.

“Let’s move.”

                                                          ***

“Sam.” I patted his arm and pointed to the unconscious boy on the floor.

Sam nodded and stepped in front of me before crouching to shake the boy. His eyes opened and he freaked out.

“Hey, it’s okay!”

“Gavin, we’re here to help.” I coaxed as I squatted next to Sam.

“Who the hell are you guys?” Gavin sat up.

“My name is Sam, that’s Olive.”

“We um, we found your girlfriend?”

“Kat?” Gavin moved to stand. “Is she alright?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she’s okay. Just worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I was running. I think I fell.” Gavin rubbed his forehead.

“Running from what?”

“There was… there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up.”

“Okay listen, did this girl… did she try and hurt you?”

“What? N-no, she uh…”

“She what?” I pressed.

“She… kissed me.”

Sam and I looked at each other, and I blinked. Sam held back an annoyed snort and eye roll combo. 

What the fuck?

“Uh… um… but… but she, she didn’t…” Sam trailed off, blinking as he looked at me, confused.

“She didn’t physically hurt you, did she?”

“Dude!” Gavin snorted. “She kissed me. I’m scarred for life!”

Sam and I looked at each other again, blinking furiously.

What the… fucking hell?

“Well, trust me… it… it could’ve been a lot worse.” 

“Now do you remember anything else?” Sam asked, blinking.

“She actually, uh, she tried to whisper something in my ear.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. I ran like hell.”

Sam and I looked at each other again and sighed.

This is fucking pointless.

“Let’s get back to Dean and get them the hell out of here.” I mumbled.

                                                          ***

There was a shrill scream that rang off the metal of the building. Gavin jumped and Sam flinched. My chest clenched and I gasped.

“Dean!”

I burst into a full out sprint, boots pounding on the floor.

“Dean!”

“She’s inside with one of them.” Dean grabbed me by the shoulder the second I reached him, pointing to the rusted door.

“Help me!” She shrieked, and Sam and Gavin got to us, panting.

“Kat!” Gavin began to panic, and Sam’s fists clenched as he shut his eyes.

“Get me out of here!”

“Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down.” Sam huffed.

Dean blinked as he turned to Sam. “She’s gotta what?”

“I have to what?” Kat echoed.

Sam sighed. “These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate. You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it.”

“You face it!” She spat back.

“No!” Sam hissed. “It’s the only way to get out of there.”

“No!” Kat fought.

“Kat, just look at it! Come on, you can do it.” I leaned against the door.

There was silence and Gavin called out to her. Dean sighed and ducked his head.

“Man, I hope you’re right about this.”

Sam huffed again. “Yeah, me too.”

I reached for Dean’s hand as we waited, silent and tense. He looked down at me and swallowed, pulling me closer to his side. Sam’s breath was the only thing I could hear. Dean squeezed my hand as the lock unclicked. I tried to steady my own breathing as the door slid open. Kat stood in the doorway, pale and drained.

“Oh, Kat.” Gavin grabbed her and she fell into him.

Sam dashed into the room, shining the light around. He made a grabby hand at me and I put the camera into the palm of his hand. He flicked it up and looked around.

“Anything?” I asked as he emerged.

He only shook his head.

“One thirty-seven.” Kat spoke.

Dean and Sam and I looked at each other, each blinking in confusion.

“Sorry?” Dean asked.

“It whispered in my ear. One thirty-seven.”

“Room number.” The three Winchester brains clicked as I ducked to squat, pulling Dean down with me, Sam following on his own.

“So if these spirits aren’t trying to hurt anyone-”

“Then what’re they trying to do?” I finished his question.

“Maybe that’s what they’ve been trying to tell us…” Sam shrugged.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Alright.” Sam huffed as the three of us popped back onto our feet.

Dean turned to the teenagers with a grin on his face. “So, now, are you guys ready to get the hell out of here?”

Kat snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded to Sam. “Get them, Olive can stay with them while I find 137.”

“No.” I reached for him again, latching onto his wrist.

“What?”

“I’m going with you. Sam can get them out on his own, but we shouldn’t leave one person alone in here.” I shook my head.

“Olive-”

“Dean, she’s right.” Sam sighed. “It’s dangerous.”

Dean blinked. “Fine. Keep the shotgun.” He pulled it off his back and held it out to Sam.

Sam took it and slung it over his back. “Be careful.”

“Always.” Dean grumbled back.

                                                          ***

“Found it!” I called to Dean as I stood in front of the door.

“Here, help me move this.” He pocketed his own flashlight and gestured to the fallen furniture in blocking the doorway.

I gripped my flashlight between my teeth as I anchored my feet on the ground and pushed against the wooden mess. Dean followed, his weight doing the job. I stumbled as the support of the cabinet gave way and he helped me stay steady by grabbing the back of my neck. I cleared my throat as Dean pushed the door open.

The room was a disaster. The walls were stained with what was most definitely blood and other bodily fluids, filing cabinets tipped over and papers strewn about. Dean pushed me behind him.

“You got the camera?”

I patted my sides and huffed. “No. We left it with Sam.”

He huffed. “Alright. Just stay close.”

I nodded. This room had bad vibes.

                                                          ***

I huffed from my spot on the floor. I was leaning against the wall, and I was absolutely leaning against blood, but I didn’t care.

“De, we’ve looked through every single paper here. Whatever we’re looking for, it’s not here. The spirits are wrong.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ol, it has to be here.”

I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed.

“Fine. Then there’s a secret door or drawer or something. It’s not in this mess, not in plain sight.”

Dean blew a raspberry. “Fine. Fine, let’s try to pull the room apart then.”

I groaned as I got to my feet. “I wish Dad was here.”

He sighed. “Yeah Ollie, I know. I wish he was here too.”

I turned to face the wall and splayed my fingers out, running them across the wall as I started to circle the room.

“Here!” Dean piped up.

I blinked. “How did you find it so fast?”

He chuckled. “It was right in front of me.” He pried the floorboard up and tossed it aside.

I joined him, delighted to see a satchel that looked full.

“This is why I get paid the big bucks.” He pulled the satchel up with a grunt.

I pranced to the desk in the middle of the room and sat down. Dean pulled up a chair and laid the papers from the satchel on the table. I snatched the top half of the pile and pulled it into my lap.

“Holy shit.” I grimaced as Dean sat and took his pile.

Notes upon notes upon notes, medical instruments and procedures hand-drawn, it was insanity on paper.

“Hey Ol.” Dean mumbled.

I looked up from the papers, seeing that his expression matched how I felt.

Pure concern. Whatever had happened to Ellicott to make him do this must’ve been awful, and what he did to the patients must’ve been even worse.

Dean broke into a smile and I blinked, confused. Why was he smiling?

“Looks like all work and no play makes-”

“Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy.” I chimed in, finishing the saying with him as he chuckled and I giggled.

There was a thud and our heads snapped up.

“Sam.”

                                                          ***

We got shot at the second we rounded the corner. Kat had the shotgun, and thankfully, Dean reacted quicker than I did, pulling me down around the corner with him.

“Damn it, damn it! Don’t shoot! It’s us!” Dean shouted.

“Sorry!” Kat squeaked. Sorry.”

“Son of a-”

“What the hell are you still doing here? Where’s Sam?” I asked as I ran around the corner, seeing Gavin and Kat huddled together against the wall.

“He went to the basement. You called him.” Gavin spoke.

Dean and I looked at each other.

“I didn’t call anyone.”

“Not you. Dean.” Kat nodded to him.

Dean and I looked at each other again, increasingly confused and frustrated.

“His cell phone rang. He said it was you.” Kat shrugged.

“Fucking hell.” I hissed.

“Basement, huh?” The wheels in Dean’s head began to turn.

I sighed and looked around, picking up the first pipe I saw. I twisted it in my hands. It would be better than nothing.

“Alright. Watch yourselves, and watch out for us.”

“Be careful!” Kat called as Dean reached for my hand and led the way.

                                                          ***

“Sammy? Sam, you down here?” Dean called.

“Sams? Sammy!” I followed behind him, holding onto his jacket like a little kid.

The basement was creepy. There were desks and chairs thrown around, like Ellicott’s office but worse. I felt a step behind me and jumped as I turned, Dean immediately jumping in front of me with the shotgun up. Upon seeing that it was Sam, I sighed.

“Man, answer me when I’m calling you!” Dean barked, reminding me very quickly of Dad. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Sam’s gaze seemed dead and it sent chills down my spine.

“You know it wasn’t me who called you, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here.”

“Probably Ellicott. That’s what the spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven’t seen him, have you, Sams?” I asked, still behind Dean, inching closer slowly.

“No.” Sam’s cold eyes went from Dean to me. “How do you know it was him?”

I flinched. How do you know and not why do you think. That was bad. It gave me a bad feeling at the base of my spine and in the pit of my stomach.

“Cause we found his log book. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients. Awful shit. Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin.” Dean scoffed, unaware of the tension.

Sam kept his eyes on me. Something was wrong with him. “But it was the patients who rioted.”

“Yeah.” Dean snorted, and Sam’s eyes went back to him, face blank. “They were rioting against Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy.” Dean rolled his eyes. “He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So we were thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal?” Dean proposed, and Sam said nothing, still staring.

I huddled closer to Dean, clenching his jacket so hard my knuckles began to hurt. “Guys, let’s just go. We have to find his body and burn it.”

“How?” Sam quirked an eyebrow. “The police never found his body.”

Dean shook his head, shooting me a look over his shoulder. I looked up at him, terrified. Sam was not Sam right now, and I was hoping Dean would catch onto that.

“The log book said he… had some sort of-” He cut himself off to look back at me, confused. I shook my head and Sam cleared his throat. I jumped, feeling my skin crawl. This was hopeless. I pushed my face into Dean’s back and whined. His hand came back to my arm and I sighed. He had gotten the message.

“Uh… he had a secret procedure room down here where he’d work on his patients. So, if I was a patient, I’d drag his ass down here, do a little work myself.”

“I don’t know, Dean. It sounds kind of…” Sam trailed off, looking over Dean’s shoulder at me.

I squirmed, uneasy. “Crazy?” I proposed, and Sam’s eye twitched as he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Dean grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out from behind him, to his side.

“I told you. I looked everywhere. I didn’t find a hidden room.”

My blood froze again. He hadn’t mentioned looking at all.

Dean chuckled. “Well yeah, that’s why they call it hidden.” He pulled me to follow him around, and I could feel Sam on my tail.

I closed my eyes, hoping it would stop. Ellicott must’ve done something to him. He was freaking me out.

“You hear that?” Dean asked, tilting his head to the ground. “There’s a door here.”

He dropped my hand to crouch, and Sam’s hand slammed over my mouth as the shotgun pressed into the base of my neck and I was dragged backward, away from Dean. I squealed, horrified and shaking.

“Dean.” Sam spoke, and Dean stood, eyes wide. He took a step forward, and Sam dug the gun into my skin. I whimpered, trembling like a chihuahua.

“Step away from the door.”

“Sam, put the gun down.” Dean tried to reason, putting his hand up.

“Is that an order?” Sam tilted his head.

Dean shook his head. “No. More of a friendly request. Let her go.” Dean squared his shoulders. “That was an order.”

Sam snorted. “Well I’m getting pretty sick of taking your orders.”

I bit down into Sam’s hand and the gun pressed harder, but I got my mouth free.

“De, I was right! Ellicott did something to him!”

“Oh, for once in your life, Olive, just shut your mouth.” Sam covered my mouth again.

“What are you gonna do, Sam? Shoot your little fucking sister? Gun’s filled with rock salt. It won’t kill her. Won’t kill me either.”

Sam huffed, and the gun left me. I sighed, but then he aimed at Dean and shot.

“No, but it will hurt like hell.”

I screamed as Sam put the gun down and dragged me across the room, tossing me into the corner. There were ropes right by, and I knew he had planned this. Dean had been blasted backward, through the door. He was strewn on the floor.

“Dean! Dean! Dean! Sammy, stop it! Sam, please! Dean!” I tried to kick Sam away, screaming and crying.

“Shut up, Olive! I’m tired of hearing you!” Sam hissed into my face as he tied my wrists together, then my ankles. “You ruin everything.”

“Sam, don’t do this.” I whined. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But I want to.” Sam spat on me and I let out a whimper.

“Olive!” Dean’s voice was a howl, and then it turned into a bark. “Sam!”

Sam was now standing over him, a grim smile on his face. Dean was trying to back away so he could get to his feet, but it was clear that he was in pain and struggling.

“We gotta burn Ellicott’s bones and then all of this will be over, and you’ll be back to normal.” Dean panted.

I struggled against the ropes. He had made the mistake of tying my wrists in front of me and tying the rope on my boots and not above. Sam hissed at Dean.

“I am normal! I’m just telling the truth for the first time!”

His attention was fully on Dean. I slowly grabbed at the laces of my boots, undoing the knot.

“I mean, why are we even here? Cause you’re following Dad’s orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question?”

I pulled down the zipper as he raised his voice. I tugged one boot off, grunting as the rope dug at my skin as it passed. One boot was off.

“Are you that desperate for his approval?” Sam laughed.

“This isn’t you talking, Sam.” Dean shook his head.

“That’s the difference between you and me! I have a mind of my own! I’m not pathetic, like you!”

The other boot slid off, leaving me in socks, wrists tied but functional.

“So what are you gonna do? Huh? Are you gonna kill me?” Dean challenged, seeing that I was halfway there.

“You know what? I am so sick of you telling me what to do!” Sam shouted, and I took the chance to get to my feet and tiptoe toward him. “We’re no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago!”

“Well then here!” Dean screamed louder than Sam had, giving me enough time to drag a chair behind Sam and step onto it. “Let me make it easier for you!” Dean held his Smith & Wesson out to him. “Come on! Take it! Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.” He growled, and I took a deep breath as Sam hesitated. “Take it!” Dean spat.

Sam snatched it and pointed it at Dean’s face. I caught Dean’s eye and there was a twinkle of a smile before his attention reverted back to Sam. “You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Dean taunted him. “Do it!”

Sam pulled, and the gun clicked. I felt my eyes burn with tears, and I wasn’t sure if they were from fear or relief. He pulled the trigger again, but it would be of no use. The chamber was empty. Sam was confused. Dean nodded at me and I took the chance to leap onto Sam, hooking my tied wrists over his neck. He stumbled backward, trying to get me off as Dean struggled to get to his feet.

“Man, I’m not gonna give you a loaded pistol!” Dean shouted.

“Get Ellicott, I can handle him!” I squeaked as Sam grabbed my arms and tried to pull them off.

“Sorry, Sams.” I whispered as I tugged my arms back, elbows to my sides.

My wrists hit Sam in the throat and he gagged, thrashing about and trying to get free of me. I dug my heel into his side, and he hissed, falling to the ground. I shook loose and looked up to see that Dean had disappeared behind a pair of curtains.

The heel of Sam’s hand came up to my nose and I groaned, stumbling backwards.

“Sam, listen to me!” I howled, spitting the blood that traveled to my mouth.

“Why can’t you ever stay out of it, Olive?” He screamed at me. “Sometimes I wish you had never shown up!”

I sighed as he pinned me down, hands at my neck. He was gonna choke me out, and I would either pass out or die. I was scared of both. I tried to squirm away, but it was no use. I prayed another apology before bringing my knee up to his crotch. His arms lost their tension, and I looped my wrists around his neck, bringing his head down and slamming my forehead into his nose. His eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp. I huffed as I pushed him off of me and looked for his pulse. It was there. I sighed, dropping onto the floor.

“Olive!” Dean shouted and I struggled to get back up, panting.

Ellicott had Dean in the corner, hands on his face.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m going to help you. I’m going to make you all better.” Ellicott cooed, and Dean stopped struggling, staring into the doctor’s eyes.

I took a deep breath, gagging at the smell of a dead body, but also being washed in a sense of relief at the smell of salt and kerosene. I rummaged through my pockets to find a lighter. I heard Dean’s laugh as my fingers curled around the lighter. I looked up to see him coming at me, a horrifying grin on his face. I flicked the lighter open and threw it onto the body. Ellicott’s ghost began to crumble as the body burned, and Dean stopped right in front of me. His smile dropped and his eyes went wide at the fear on my face. He started to cry and he fell to his knees.

“Olive, I’m so sorry.” He panted.

I fell to my knees in front of him and looped my arms around his neck as he grabbed at me, sobbing.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook. “I don’t want you to be scared of me, I’m so sorry.”

I giggled. “I’m not scared of you. Now let’s go. We have to haul Sam out of here somehow, and he’s massive.”

He pulled back and brushed my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead before getting to his feet and holding his hands out to help me. There was a groan and I looked over to see Sam sitting up, wriggling his nose.

Dean and I looked at each other.

“You’re not gonna try and kill us, are you?”

“No.” Sam cupped his nose.

“Good. Cause that would be awkward.” I huffed as I shuffled over to him.

                                                        ***

I took a deep breath of fresh air and sighed, leaning into Dean’s side as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Thanks, guys.” Kat sighed as we stood outside of the asylum.

“Yeah, thanks.” Gavin added.

“No more haunted asylums, okay?” Dean emphasized, and we watched as they walked toward their car.

“Hey, Dean? Ol?”

Dean and I turned to Sam, eyebrows raised.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I said awful things back there.”

Dean and I looked at each other.

“You remember all that?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “It’s like I couldn’t control it. But I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

“You didn’t, huh?” Dean eyed him.

“No, of course not!” Sam’s face became panicked, and inched away from Dean and to him, throwing my arms around his middle. He hugged back with a sigh. “Do we need to talk about this?”

Dean shook his head as he opened the car door. “No. I’m not really in the caring and sharing kind of mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” He got into the car and Sam sighed.

I pulled away and gave him a sympathetic smile. “He’ll come around. Ellicott just hit some sensitive spots, that’s all.”

“Olive.” Sam frowned. “I love hearing you talk. Y-y-you’re like… this little genius. You’re so smart and creative and funny, and you’ve never ruined anything in your life.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

I smiled. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean any of it. And Dean knows too. He’s just…” I leaned in and whispered. “Insecure.” I cleared my throat. “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Sam chuckled. “I love you, Ol.”

I grinned. “I love you too, Sam.”

                                                        ***

I yawned as I pulled my hoodie on. Dean was asleep in bed, and Sam had just gotten into the shower. I was about to crawl in next to Dean, and I was so tired I was sure that I’d snore louder than him.

His phone rang and I groaned.

“De?”

He didn’t move. I let out a whine and grabbed the phone. It wasn’t a familiar number, but we knew a lot of people.

“Hello?” I put it to my ear.

“Olive? Where’s your brother?”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “Dad?”

Previous Ep: Home (1.09)

Next Ep: Scarecrow (1.11)

[chick-with-flicks]

My name is Holly Whiting and this, is Grave Encounters.

Grave Encounters is a found footage horror film made in 2011, which was given a five star rating by The New York Press, they also labelled it “Paranormal Activity on steroids”… which doesn’t do the movie any justice because lets be honest, Paranormal Activity is pretty crap and comparing any film to it is cruel.

 While writing about the character Houston Gray, I noticed that some of the names in the movie weren’t changed from that of the actor and I felt that was a little lazy but overall, it was a good film.

The footage film starts like a regular ghost hunting show you’ll find on the channels that nobody watches, while in parts that the audience are supposed to see, the crew act very serious about the ghost hunting but we soon realise that they don’t actually believe any of it, even paying off the building’s gardener to say that he saw ghosts on the residence. The crew are shown about the building by the building owner and the caretaker before being locked in the building for an 8 hour lock in for recording. Before the time hits 12AM the crew does a sweep of the building for recording footage and nothing happens, the building is so uneventful that later on Lance states that “this place is as haunted as a sock draw”… not the best description I’ve ever heard but it gets the point across. The first paranormal event doesn’t occur until after 2AM where one of the windows opens by itself on the top floor, not that anyone sees it. Slowly things start to happen to the crew, all of them understandably getting freaked out. Eventually after getting too scared, camera man T.C Gibson (Merwin Mondesir) attempts to break the front door down to get out, only to find that the building seems to have completely changed. This moment in the film put me on the edge of my seat, this building was said to be built like a prison and now it’s keeping the crew as its new prisoners. It’s at this point where the crew realise that it should have gotten light outside already… but it hasn’t, the outside world is like a completely disconnected place. Nothing truly worth spoiling happens until our cast has been trapped for around 23 hours when they encounter their first demon, it’s a patient, her face shifts… and its actually pretty terrifying.

It was around this point in the movie where I nearly had a heart attack because I thought I could hear my dad asleep and snoring in his room, but it was still light outside and thought some trippy time stuff had happened, but thankfully it was the trick of my headphones and it was just mum trying to figure out how to use the pressure washer to clean the car.

Now, less of me being dumb and back to the movie. After being scared again, the crew (who have clearly never seen a horror movie before) run into a bathroom where they were told an ex patient killed herself in one of the bathtubs whichhhh is now filled with blood, from which a demon in the bath pulls T.C into it, Sasha and Lance tip the tub over to find both T.C and the demon to be gone without a trace.

Fast forwarding to the end of the movie so I don’t spoil the best parts, Lance, on the floor with his eyes bleeding does his outro to his show (like the dick he is), and the camera cuts. Amazing.

The first Character we meet in this film is Jerry Heartfield (played by Ben Wilkinson), the owner of the production company that the footage that the movie was made with was sent to. His company, according to Jerry, specialises in reality TV and Grave Encounters was supposed to be a ghost hunting show, they already had five episodes, episode six was supposed to be the footage in the film. Jerry is essential to the set up for the film, assuring the audience that this is “not a movie” and explaining how the film was only edited for time purposes. Unfortunately, this is all we see of Jerry but either way he was good for the set up of the movie and that’s all he was really needed for.

Lance Preston (Sean Rogerson) is the main character of the film, he’s the producer of the show and the main presenter of it. Lance is pretty chilled out for the duration of the film and pulls the douchebag move of recording the events of the whole ordeal, even after he’s had demons operate on him and he’s bleeding from the eyes (seriously dude?). His best scene in the movie is at the very end when he has gone insane and smashes a rat with a pole then starts eating it and yelling “fuck you”. Sean Rogerson deserved a medal for that part of the performance.

Our Third character is Sasha Parker (played by Ashleigh Gryzko), an occult specialist and co-presenter to Lance. First time watching this movie I hated her and honestly thought she deserved how she was getting it worse from the demons in comparison to anyone else but watching the movie thoroughly and taking notes for this review I realised she is clearly the only person in this film who has ever watched a horror movie. She mentions that splitting up is a bad idea and yells at lance to stop recording. Honestly, girl got brains. My favourite thing about her character is her dumb pout she does to the camera while Lance is talking. Most of the events in the movie seem to happen to her. The first thing to happen to her is tame, her hair is lifted by a spirit, they run and understandably she panics (though hearing that fast breathing nearly the whole film drives me nuts). Later on, in the film, Sasha wakes up with the word “HELLO” cut into her back (I mean they wanted ghost contact, didn’t they? Why are you complaining). Later on, in the movie she, and the people left with her wake up with hospital bands on and she freaks out, again! Even further on she gets grabbed by a ghost hand through a door. Toward the end of the film she starts coughing up blood which is kind of wasted when it comes to how she dies? She just disappears with some fog and its really anti-climactic considering how much she suffered in the film.

Fourth character in the film is Houston Gray (played by Makenzie Gray), is a ‘psychic’ that Lance invites on the show to try contact the ghosts. I use the term ‘psychic’ loosely because very quickly after he first appears we learn that its just an act, which amusingly through the movie, Lance cant decide when he should keep the act up or not, often telling him to “stay in character” or to knock it off. Clearly reading the room is second on the list of things he can’t do (because the character himself really can’t act). As a character Houston isn’t that important. You could take him out of the movie and not a lot of the atmosphere would change. He’s just kinda there until he gets separated from the group, then gets choked and yeeted down the hall by a ghost and then he’s gone for the rest of the film. I feel cruel saying it, but I was glad when he died because the character’s bad acting and psychic act as a whole really annoyed me.

Now it’s time for my favourite character, Matt White (played by Juan Riedinger, whom I discovered in this movie, is incredibly talented at playing an asylum patient). Matt is the crew’s Equipment Technician (you are the tech guy. You are the motherf**king tech guy) who handles the ghost finding technology such as cameras, voice recorders and Geiger counter. One of the first scenes that focus on Matt is where he’s setting up cameras in the asylum’s ‘hotspots’, his face is right up in the camera, later on after his transition to a patient he does the same thing before jumping down an elevator shaft and dying. Incredible cinematography in my opinion. Matt’s the first person to go missing in the movie but thankfully not the first to die. His character is used to foreshadow the fate of the characters with lines such as “ we can all leave as soon as we’re all better” and “he’ll help you too” (easy there Pennywise, I’m not floating yet!). The movie really feels scarier once the other characters are having to look after him like a helpless child and honestly, I love the character.

Finally, we have Doctor Arthur Friedkin (played by Arthur Corber), one of the doctors at Collinwood Psychiatric Hospital. Doctor Friedkin was infamous for the poor conditions his patients lived in and his experimental surgeries and lobotomies to try to treat his patients. He’s not alive in the film as he was stabbed to death by 6 of his patients that broke out of their rooms. Despite this he is still in the movie at the very end as one of the ghosts (an incredible scene might I add). In this film there are hints that he may be linked to occult or satanic rituals, but I’ve heard that that’s followed on in the second movie which I haven’t actually watched yet.

Overall I’ve got to say, I love this movie, some points are cliche, I’ll admit that but as far as fount footage, psychological horrors go, it’s a really good film and I completely recommend it. It’s not the scariest or most creative movie ever and the pacing at the end is a bit rushed, but I have it on DVD so it must be worth it. I even brought it to a friend’s place to watch with her and her dog and we’re both really excited to see the second film!

See Ya Later! ^-^

[tlbodine]

Ableism, Mental Illness, and the Horror Genre

Horror has a problematic history with the mentally ill, and I think there’s a lot to unpack there in terms of ableism and deconstructing harmful tropes. 

* For purposes of this discussion, I’ll be using some potentially-triggering terms like “insane” and “crazy” and “lunatic” and “psycho” and I kindly ask that you don’t take that as any sort of endorsement or reflection of my values -- just as a bundle of terms familiar in the genre. Tread forward carefully. 

Loosely speaking, I think mental illness has three flavors in the horror genre: 

Stories where people with schizophrenia/DID/whatever are the villains 

Stories set in or using mental hospitals/asylums as scary plot devices

Stories about people going insane/losing their grip on reality (or thinking they’re going insane because of the supernatural shenanigans happening in the story) 

I don’t think that these three tropes are necessarily closely related, and I don’t think that any of them are inherently ableist if dealt with under certain circumstances -- but let’s go back to the beginning and try to break it down a bit.

What is Ableism? Why is it Harmful? 

Before we get started, let’s talk about why we should care about this at all. So what actually is ableism? 

Ableism --  The practices and dominant attitudes in society that devalue and limit the potential of persons with disabilities. A set of practices and beliefs that assign inferior value (worth) to people who have developmental, emotional, physical or psychiatric disabilities.

(Source: http://www.stopableism.org/p/what-is-ableism.html) 

Ableism against the mentally ill stigmatizes people who have mental illnesses. It dehumanizes and “others” them. In horror media in particular, it promotes the concept that “crazy people” are dangerous, which can lead to acts of violence against them or an overall lack of compassion. 

I’m a firm believer that there are no bad tropes, and that people are always free to write the stories that speak to them - but I’m also a firm believer that you need to take responsibility for your creations and be aware of the effects your words may have on the world. So we’ll look at how mental illness is portrayed in horror media, why it can be problematic, and some ways to subvert it. 

Mental Illness, as a Concept, is Relatively New (and a lot newer than the horror genre)  

The concept of ableism is even newer. Many, many tropes are rooted in times when social concepts were different. Human behavior hasn’t changed much, but the way we talk about that behavior has -- and stories have a way of sticking around after the cultures that created them are gone. So we have a whole stack of tropes and narratives and ideas that are tied to older ways of thinking. 

So for example: At various points in history and across various cultures, mental illness as we know it today may have been viewed as demonic possession, fae magic, witchcraft, etc. In other words - a lot of the tropes we already associate with horror may in part have been used as an explanation for mental illness symptoms (and the mentally ill may have endured terrible punishments for it throughout history as well). 

Then, as more modern medicine started to be practiced, and psychology began to be developed, the concept of mental illness started to develop...and sometimes that, too, was horrifying. 

Here are some supplemental reading links on the topic you might find interesting: 

http://nobaproject.com/modules/history-of-mental-illness

https://www.healthyplace.com/other-info/mental-illness-overview/the-history-of-mental-illness

http://www.inquiriesjournal.com/articles/1673/the-history-of-mental-illness-from-skull-drills-to-happy-pills

Even in modern times, we still don’t fully understand how the brain works and what causes mental illness and the accompanying behaviors -- and the unknown continues to be scary. All of our fears live inside unanswered questions. And that is why these narratives continue to hold sway. 

Why Insanity is Frightening 

Let’s go back to my earlier assertion that there are three flavors of mental illness in horror, because I think at their core that each version preys upon entirely different types of fears: 

#1 The Psycho Killer Trope: 

As seen in: Psycho, Halloween, The Silence of the Lambs

Falls under the TVTrope “Insane Equals Violent” https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/InsaneEqualsViolent 

Many urban legends also deal with “escaped lunatic” or “dangerous madman” character tropes. The gist of it is that a mentally unstable person is violent, commits atrocious acts, does not feel remorse (or much of anything else), and may somehow possess superhuman strength. 

This scenario is frightening because: 

A crazy person has no motive and cannot be reasoned with 

Crazy people behave erratically and unpredictably 

An insane mind is harder to understand, effectively dehumanizing the villain 

People with hallucinations or delusions can experience a twisted view of reality, leading to abnormal behavior (and cool cinematic effects)

Essentially, if you want to turn a human into a monster, making them “crazy” is an easy (lazy) way to do it. 

Now, here’s the thing. Sometimes, the mentally ill really are dangerous, such as people who attack their families while experiencing delusions. And if you consider sociopaths to be mentally ill, then a good number of serial killers and other violent people count as mentally ill: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/wicked-deeds/201409/the-sociopath-serial-killer-connection

All the same, there are many ways that this trope can become ableist and damaging: 

The overwhelming majority of mentally ill people are non-violent and are actually much more likely to be victims of violence themselves in real life. There are a lot of reasons for that. For one, many severely mentally ill people end up homeless (or homelessness exacerbates existing mental illness), and the homeless are a common target of violence. For another, people’s fear of insanity can lead to them perpetuating violence against the mentally ill. Nasty cycle, right? 

The other big problem with this trope is that it’s not portrayed realistically 99% of the time. Real-world psychopaths are generally not known for their cackling insanity and childish violence. Schizophrenics and people with DID/multiple personalities are statistically very rarely violent, and their violent tendencies are really overblown in media. And that is probably the biggest thing: If the only time we ever see a schizophrenic character in a story is when they’re a crazy killer, then we the audience are going to start thinking that all schizophrenic people are crazy killers. Because most people don’t know anyone with schizophrenia, and they’re not used to ever seeing positive or compassionate portrayals of those people in media. 

#2 The Haunted Asylum Trope: 

As seen in: The Ward, Session 9, American Horror Story: Asylum, and more video games than I can possibly count

Falls under the TVTrope: Bedlam House https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BedlamHouse

There are two flavors to the haunted asylum trope, and they can overlap or happen distinctly. The first is where the action takes place in a now-abandoned building that was once a mental institution and is now haunted as shit. The second is where a person is committed to a mental institution that may or may not be haunted and endures all manner of terrifying things up to and including: abusive staff, ghosts, violent patients, and torturous “treatments.” 

There are more examples of this trope than I can possibly list out, and its roots dig back real deep into our not-so-distant past. Stories like Poe’s short story “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether” is an early treatment of the premise (compare and contrast with the film Stonehearst Asylum, which is basically a re-telling); Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, while not precisely horror, is a trope codifier for a lot of things that show up in these stories. 

There’s a lot to fear in this setting: 

“Treatments” that were dangerous and brutal, like lobotomies and electro-shocks, being essentially forms of torture 

The idea of being locked up against your will (a justified fear in certain points of history, when locking up your inconvenient relatives was a viable option)

Being locked up somewhere occupied by those same murderous-madmen from the previous trope 

Ghosts and vengeful spirits who are really pissed about all of the above 

In some ways, the haunted asylum trope is actually anti-ableist, or at least inverts the ableism of the psycho-killer trope, in that the “madmen” are often sympathetic characters rather than the villains. However, it then creates its own set of problems. 

One of the worst issues with the “haunted asylum” trope is it is anachronistic. Modern mental health care isn’t perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than it was 100 years ago -- but people don’t have a lot of cultural touchstones for what a modern inpatient care facility looks like. Painting psychiatrists and other mental healthcare staff as sadistic torture-lovers isn’t exactly doing the profession any favors. 

If the public associates getting mental health care with the kind of things they see in media...well, they won’t be very supportive of that care, right? And that’s a big problem. 

And, of course, if your haunted asylum is also home to crazy psycho-killers, you have a two-for-one ableism problem. 

#3 The Am-I-Losing-My-Mind Trope: 

As seen in: The Shining, 1408, The Babadook

Falls under the TV Trope Through the Eyes of Madness: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ThroughTheEyesOfMadness

The diverse sub-genre of “psychological horror” quite frequently utilizes some form or another of this concept -- “Are these things actually happening, or am I losing my mind?” I’m the first to admit that I’m a sucker for this trope. It’s probably my favorite thing about the horror genre. But that doesn’t mean it’s wholly unproblematic. 

There are a few sub-types of this trope: 

Gaslighting, where someone purposely manipulates a character to make them feel like they can’t trust their own perceptions of reality 

The “I think I’m going crazy but wait actually it’s a supernatural event” trope 

The “something happened and it made me go crazy (and possibly violent)” trope

Of these, the third one has the greatest risk of becoming ableist. It’s sometimes used to give a backstory to the psycho-killers in #1, and it has some troubling implications. For one, the idea that trauma can make you go crazy is...overly simplistic at best. We don’t fully understand mental illnesses, but we do know that they are often linked to genetics, brain injury, neurological disorders, childhood experiences, etc. etc. etc. In other words, it’s pretty fucking insensitive and reductionist to suggest that a single traumatic event can “drive someone crazy.” 

The other issue is that, in these cases, being crazy (or being viewed as crazy) is the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to somebody, right? Like how often do we see the harmful trope of someone experiencing something, then being locked away in one of those mental institutions from #2, and then their life is effectively over? That has to feel pretty awful for the people who do suffer from mental illnesses in the real world. 

So, Okay, How Do We Fix It? 

All right. If you’re still with me after this long exploration, you’re probably wondering: OK, TL, I get it, but what am I -- a horror writer -- supposed to do about this? How do I tell scary stories without falling back on harmful tropes? 

Gee, I’m so glad you asked! 

Not every story is the same, and there is no single “do this and never be accused of ableism” formula, but there are some tips I think can make a lot of difference: 

Ask yourself: Why am I writing this story? What is it about the premise that intrigues and frightens you? Drill down to the core of your motives and mine the untapped potential of fresh ideas rather than regurgitating more well-worn tropes. If you want to write a story about being locked in a place with violent people, can I set it somewhere other than an asylum? If I want to write a story about a murderer, can I make him frightening without him being insane? 

Do your research and portray things realistically. Research here means original, real-life cases and events. If you want to write about a mental hospital, look at real mental hospitals and draw your inspiration from them rather than drawing from the stock tropes in other stories. If you have a psychiatrist character, learn about real psychiatric treatments in the time period you’re writing about. If you have a schizophrenic character, research the actual symptoms and behaviors associated with schizophrenia. 

Question what your thematic choices are actually saying. Consider the implications of a plot point or character, and decide whether you’re comfortable with them. Be self-aware about what you choose to include. 

Practice good representation. A lot of the harm from ableist narratives comes from the mentally ill character being the only representation of that illness - not just in their story, but in every story. Consider including sympathetic, non-villainous characters with (realistically portrayed) mental illnesses. If you have several such characters, it’s not so bad if one of them is indeed a villain. 

Get a sensitivity reader. Find somebody who is familiar with what you’re writing about, and get them to read it and tell you if you’re being an asshole. Ideally, get more than one. Someone who has first-hand experience with the topics you’re writing about can tell you whether or not you’ve missed the mark (within reason). 

Invert and avoid stereotypes: This goes hand-in-hand with doing your research. Study the tropes that are common in the type of story you’re telling, and think of ways to challenge or invert the most common stereotypes. Not only will you avoid falling in the same traps, you’ll also give your story a fresh and refreshing twist that the reader will enjoy. 

I hope this was helpful. If you have more thoughts, feel free to add them below! 

Enjoy what I’m doing here? Show your support by buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/A57355UN

[elle-stevens]

The Break Up Blog - Day Thirty Nine

This is getting harder and harder to do every day. 

Don’t get me wrong, keeping a blog about my feeling since breaking up with X has been helpful and even cathartic to an extent. But dredging up every moment in my memory and every feeling that comes with it is exhausting. 

I slept alright save for the hours when I kept waking up and stressing about class. Every Friday, the students now have to write a diary entry in the books that C designed. Simple in theory, right? Except the elementary students at our school seem to genuinely have zero English skills. Or they have the requisite skills, but get completely flustered when they actually have to use it, kinda like me and my ambiguous relationship with Mandarin. 

So I changed the topics for grades 3 and 4 and thought that simplifying their task would help by writing vocabulary on the board. It kinda worked with grade 3 and all the students in my class managed to write a few sentences each. 

But grade 4? 

For 40 minutes, I sincerely thought that I was in a zoo and all the wild animals had gotten loose. One of my autistic students had a very OCD day and wouldn’t stop shouting out ‘The bus isn’t here!’ in Korean, too many of my boys were queuing up in front of the classroom computer to use the online dictionary. And of course, SB had a dumb fight with with another student, E, and legit walked out of my class and slammed the door on top of it. 

I’d love to say that the latter pissed me off simply because SB was in the middle of it. But he’s actually been relatively well-behaved in class in the last two weeks, almost like he’s had a lobotomy. And honestly, by the time he pulled that crap on me, I was too exhausted and dumb-founded to take offence. Now that I’m thinking on it now, I definitely need to tell SH about what happened in class. I hate to bother her about it because she already has to deal with this nonsense as their homeroom teacher, but I’ve just had it with the total disregard for my authority in class. 

I was forced to sit in the grade 6 homeroom and wait for them even though I knew they wouldn’t make it for class while having their school event during the day. I don’t get why the homeroom teachers force the foreign teachers to hang about like chumps during school events in the unlikelihood that the event will finish early and we’ll be able to pick up the slack with the dregs of the class period? It’s starting to feel like I went back to university two years ago and got a teaching certificate for nothing. I’m just an over-glorified babysitter at this point in my life and it sucks. 

N came to find me while I kept the grade 6 classroom warm (or chilled in this case because the afternoon was hot af). She wanted to have her ‘official’ conversation with me about renewing my contract at the school. I did change things up a bit when N mentioned tried to persuade me to consider applying for a teaching position in the high school department of our school. I initially wanted to do that months ago, but ML was pretty adamant that I was unable to change the terms of my contract since my school only hires high school teachers in the second semester and my contract ends in February next year. Never mind the fact that I initially interviewed for a high school position at my school before coming to my city, but got recruited into the elementary department at the last second when one of the teachers broke his contract in the middle of the school year. But who really cares about minor details like that? 

I told N I’d keep an open mind about it if she could swing things for me to work teach high school instead. I stopped considering it before when I thought that ML would stay in the managerial position for another year. But C told me that ML’s going back to Korea next year, so working under a new manager might actually be better. H might get pissed off at me for switching departments though; she’d probably take it as a personal affront to her management style. It is in part because of that, but honestly, I’m just done in general with this school. It’s too much bullshit layered with bullshit at every turn. 

After my meeting with N, I went back to my office, only for H to talk to me about a punishment I gave my fifth graders two days when they wouldn’t shut up in class. Instead of disciplining the students in my own way, H suggested that I turn the classroom in a democracy and let the students decide on their own punishments and rewards in the near future. It’s a great idea in theory, but now that I think about it, it’s basically an FU to the teacher. As it turns out, I’m pretty much irrelevant in my own classroom. 

And people actually wonder why teachers want to leave this school...

I saw N and ML talking out of the corner of my eye while H talked to me. I guess N gave ML the ‘good news’ about me wanting to leave. I could care less at this point. H’s eyes looked strangely red-rimmed during our talk, like she was seconds away from crying. I wonder if she heard about my news already? Who knows and honestly, who cares at this point? 

I’m over it. 

Still, I sat with CI at lunch and we had a good talk about our different classroom woes. He’s become a really good work buddy, I’m glad that C picked him out from a sea of what was probably a lot of crap teachers. Even talking to N about some of my minor grievances helped too. I even found time during the day to perform surgery on a clay doll one of my third grade girls made that had its leg and sword hilt (I don’t know what kids are into these days, lol) ripped off by her classmate. I went home to get my glue gun because the departmental ones are suddenly missing and I sutured the old sport’s injuries. Then I left said doll in the third grade homeroom, I hope my little chica finds it there. 

All of this dumb shit that happened - It’s ok really when I think about it. Now I know that I’m done with being treated this way. Good luck to my school principal with finding teachers that are half as competent and caring as C, me and even CI, even though he’s staying another year. 

After all the fuckery at work and the number that X pulled on me, I’m done with people taking me for a James Blunt in my professional and personal capacities.

‘James Blunt’ in this case is British rhyming slang. Do yourself a favour and look it up, it’ll give you a good laugh. 

I may look like a ‘James Blunt’, I may even act like a ‘James Blunt’ when I’m taking the piss. But don’t get it twisted: I am not a fucking James Blunt by any stretch of the imagination.  You can’t fuck with me and expect me to treat you the same way ever again. 

It only needs to happen once. And after that, I’m done with you. I may smile at you and even help you with things from time to time. But I will never open myself up to you again. 

That’s what happened to X in the end and I can see how it will happen with some of my current colleagues as the months progress. I thought it was kind of C watching C and H’s friendship turn to shit in real time when H became our manager. But I get how it happened: when you get a little of anything good, it makes you selfish and you end up turning on the people around you. 

I did that when I dated X. She became the centre of my universe and I lost track of everything and everyone. I even had a huge fight with P and G because of X when I used too much bandwidth from the family router to video call X every day for a year. 

That was a really bad fight and the way my siblings looked at me while it happened still haunts me. It’s like they saw me, but an uglier version, and they didn’t like it one bit. 

I shudder when I think of that memory, especially when it was all for nothing with X. I nearly lost my relationship with my brother and sister over X. And what the fuck was even the point of it all? 

I don’t ever want to be that way again the next time I fall in love. I want to go into the whole affair with my eyes completely open. 

There were some positives at work. Besides having some good heart-to-hearts, my colleagues really liked the coconut tarts I baked for them. Even if they were just blowing smoke up my ass, it felt good to hear the compliments and know that I’m not sucking at this too. 

I’m feeling really tired today, so I hope I have enough energy to exercise in a little while. I ordered dinner from a chicken restaurant below my apartment complex, I’ll cook something tomorrow. Since R wants me to charge me an arm and a leg for a physiotherapy consultation, I made an appointment at a local clinic tomorrow instead so a doctor can look at my right arm that keeps twinging whenever I move it. I hope someone speaks English there, I’m tired of floundering about like a beached whale with zero Chinese speaking skills. 

My sinuses are still pestering me, but not as bad as before. I still have to check through my student diaries this weekend and mark and correct them. That’s a problem that can wait till tomorrow after I’ve had a good night’s sleep. D’s birthday gift finally arrived, I also have to figure out when I can drop it off at her apartment. 

I just want to rest this weekend and not think about anything. After Sunday, I’ll be done with my current workout programme; I might switch to something simpler like swimming after this. 

I’m just done. 

My body and brain need a proper rest. 

I might stop writing these blog entries after Sunday is over, I’ll see how I feel. Right now, I don’t want to think and just drift off deeper into myself.

[the-heaminator]

👀

ATP this au is very half baked but bear with me here. Half baked in the sense that I've never done anything for it but it haunts my thoughts.

Ie the lobotomy au because nation biology is a bitch like that.

A few other thoughts that I am not coherent enough to plot out.

first off so lobotomies were particularly popular in the 40s and 50s, a time where logically Arthur would not be very stable, and like a lot of lobotomies were performed for no reason other than to make the patient more docile and less "difficult" and to an extent it does work, a lobotomy being the removal of part, or sometimes the whole of the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that is (to date) known to do many things, it plays a central role in cognitive control functions, and dopamine in the PFC modulates cognitive control, thereby influencing attention, impulse inhibition, prospective memory, and cognitive flexibility.

Which means that removing it makes him more docile and calmer, and supposedly gets rid if his problem of seeing things, at the rather steep cost of partial memory loss, change in personality (often very severe) loss of impulse control and high distractability.

Like this could be seen as an improvement for a short period of time, no longer is he ranting raving and talking to things that aren't there, but then he starts becoming apathetic and his usual difficulty to accept change just isn't there, as well as personality changes that could range from him becoming too trusting, almost childlike in certain aspects, to manic and quite mad, sometimes forgetting he had eaten and would keep eating more regardless.

This becomes a problem very soon because I mean just look at the above paragraphs and tell me this isn't worrying, he gets reset, and his brain heals somehow, which raises the questions of will everything go back to normal or will some of the side effects persist, like will his memory still be a bit shit for a couple decades afterwards, it could he used to explain a lot of the shit he got up to in the 60s and 70s, lack of impulse control and all that, and just hnghgg

Also how would this effect the people around him in long and shirt term.

Theres also the fact that this is what would happen if it went correctly, they used a fucking ice pick half of the time, it could easily fuck up and kill, but for the purposes of this it could hit somewhere where it most definitely shouldn't, the hypothalami or pituitary glands for example. Like I want a nation physical subject, or a cadaver I'm not choosy. But they're fictional so what do I do.