#again I really don’t mean this to mean ‘you can never be mean to healthcare workers’ but please understand the context of insults here

[andhumanslovedstories]

I assume this ask I just got is about this post in which case I don’t know how to tell you that it’s one thing to think someone is a cunt and another to scream it at them as they work. Like you get that, right? You get that it’s very scary to have someone scream at you? That it instantly changed the feel of the room? People tend to escalate verbally before they escalate physically. When you call someone a cunt, firstly it’s fuckin distressing in and of itself, but it also signals that you are ramped up to a place where you are potentially considering physical violence.

Oh look crazy I found this soapbox just lying on the ground here, lemme just hop up real quick.

Healthcare workers get assaulted more than almost any other profession in America. Every nurse I know has been physically or verbally assaulted by a patient. I have multiple scars from injuries I’ve gotten a patient, I’ve been fondled and groped on shift, I’ve been called a stupid bitch the second I walk into a room, I’ve had patients ask for back rubs and then start masturbating, I’ve had patients angrily describe how women won’t fuck them while I’m holding their penis so they can safely pee, and I’ve continued to care for all these patients because that is the job. Fuck, I’m not even mad at these patients. Mostly I wish they just hadn’t done any of that to me. Some of these people were not in control of their behavior, and some of them were. My patient who broke a nurse’s nose last week was in no way responsible for his behavior in the condition he was in, and also that nurse’s nose was still broken by a violent screaming man who was trying very hard to hurt her. People often receive bad care at hospitals and are understandably furious about how they or their loved ones were treated, and also you shouldn’t threaten to come back to the hospital with guns and shoot anyone you see.

I mean cmon dude. We’re hanging these stupid posters because rampant workplace violence has been driving people out of healthcare like crazy. None of this means you have to like individual healthcare workers or healthcare workers as a whole, it doesn’t excuse bad behavior for healthcare staff, it doesn’t mean you can’t be angry about bad treatment or stand up for yourself or advocate for better care, but like. Please don’t throw a liter of piss at us. Your personal opinion about How Nurses Are doesn’t mean hospital workers deserve to be verbally, physically, and sexually assaulted at work.

It is somewhat distressing how many posters we have to keep plastering up around the hospital that say shit like “Punching a Nurse is a CRIME” “You Can’t Call CNAs a Cunt” “PLEASE Don’t SPIT on Us!!” “If You Throw A Bottle Full of Urine in Our Face, We Will Be Quite Upset”

[covid-safer-hotties]

To My Unmasked Friend in the Fifth Year of COVID - By: Anna Holmes - Published Aug 17, 2024

I’m going to be honest with you, because I love you, and you deserve nothing but honesty. I’m going to try really hard not to be angry while I do it, but it’s probably going to slip out every now and again. But I need you to hear me out, all right?

By now, we’ve talked about my reality. My personal struggle with long COVID, the isolation I live in, why I am so angry all the time.

But let’s talk about you. You just went to a big convention overseas. You got on a plane, got a little gussied up, talked shop with some insiders, geeked out over awards and merch, ate, drank, were merry, left with your social cup and your heart full.

You’re a good person. We wouldn’t be friends otherwise! You’d never dream of tripping a person with a red and white cane, using the r-word, excluding a disabled person from an event because of something they can’t help.

You might even acknowledge that the COVID response from governments and organizations has been ableist and inadequate.

But you didn’t wear a mask.

For whatever reason — you wanted to show off your makeup, it makes you itchy, you believed the messaging that COVID is endemic (what does that actually mean?), you just don’t think about it anymore — you made a choice that actively excludes people like me from participating not only in an event like a convention, but society at large. And yes, it is a choice. Every time you step out into the world without a mask on your face, you have made a decision that your very good reason, whatever it is, supersedes the right of disabled and at-risk people to exist safely in your orbit.

Well, hold on, you say. It’s not any one individual’s fault, it’s the inadequate public health messaging. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?

And I have. In the past, I have talked about how it is unconscionable that health authorities have thrown their hands up and rescinded guidance that would have saved hundreds of thousands of lives and prolonged a pandemic that, to hear them tell it, has been bested. It hasn’t. Worst of all, the financial motivation that we all know is driving this premature victory lap isn’t even being fulfilled. Long COVID and other post-COVID complications are costing the global economy one trillion a year. Meanwhile, article after article handwrings about nobody wanting to work anymore, about the sagging college application scene, about declines in military enlistment, and the strain on our healthcare systems.

All of this is very much the fault of our leaders, who have decided the political ramifications of “normalcy” are more important than the health and lives of the 400 million people living with long COVID across the globe, the immunocompromised folks who are increasingly being shut out of every conceivable public space, and the disabled community which has been screaming into the wind about our marginalization since before the virus even hit US soil.

But I want to be very clear. You are helping them do this.

The reality is that we have been living in this deeply flawed landscape of “personal choice”, and you’ve made yours. You’ve opted not to look into how densely clustered cases are. You’ve stopped listening to your friends who have informed themselves. You’ve given yourself permission to put COVID on the back burner. You’ve earned it, right? Four and a half years of trauma?

COVID doesn’t care if you’re tired of being scared or careful or considerate. COVID is not something you can personally overcome by being smart or virtuous or brave. It is a virus which only seeks to infect and replicate, and it is getting very good at those things. While you’ve looked away, my community has been scrambling to avoid variants that skirt immunity and don’t show up on rapid tests until day five-seven. The constant battle has changed since you were last in it. It’s not sufficient anymore to get your shots and test before a big event. You could well be asymptomatic and infectious, or have symptoms and convinced yourself it can’t be COVID because that second line hasn’t popped up.

You have come to the conclusion sometime between 2022 and now that you just have to decide what level of risk you’re comfortable with and live with it. The problem with that is scale. It’s you and everybody else doing that, and a lot of people have decided they are comfortable with a high level of risk. Despite what you’ve been told, you’re not just making that decision for yourself. You are making it for every person you come in contact with.

Think back to the early tense days of 2020. We were told to select a “bubble.” Those people would be our social lifelines, and through those, we could control our exposure.

My bubble is quite small. It includes my husband, my sister, and two friends I see relatively frequently.

My husband goes to work via the bus, and to the grocery store. Every person he comes in contact with there has the potential to infect him, and then he has the potential to pass it along to me. He mitigates this by wearing a well-fitted respirator at all times.

My sister goes to work at a busy public place. She masks when public facing and takes it off in the back office. She goes to restaurants, bars, concerts, hangs out with friends and her own partner unmasked. About 75% of her interactions have the heightened potential to infect her, which she might then bring into my house when she visits me.

My friends do not mask anywhere except my house when asked. They attend concerts, shows, cons, bars.

Obviously, I am in control of whether I wear a mask around these people. And as we approach one million new cases a day, I will be around everyone but my husband. But science is clear: reciprocal masking is more effective at infection control than a single person masking — especially when that single person is trying to protect themselves, not others.

This is settled science. We’ve known this since 2020. It says clearly that the choice you make is not personal- it has implications for everyone you come in contact with.

And being clear — if I could, I’d make everyone wear a mask for their own health. I don’t want people suffering with what I have. But you’ve been told this lie that you can take your risks for yourself, so you feel comfortable going out without a mask. You’ve been told this lie that it’s possible to completely recover from a COVID infection, so you assume that even if you do catch it, that’s what’ll happen to you, despite evidence showing that every body is indelibly changed by an infection, and that risk only grows with each subsequent infection.

And the greatest lie of all — that only the sick or elderly have anything to fear from COVID — has given you unfounded confidence in your own “good” genes or immune system or fitness. You can get long COVID even if you’re in peak form — in fact, may even be more likely to be hit hard.

So you have decided, individually and collectively, that only the sick or elderly should have to take precautions, and you freewheel through life, only to get surprised and dismayed when you bump into COVID in the wild. It’s back, people declare every summer or winter, as though it ever left.

But I want you to really think about the implications of your choice. Besides yourself. Because let’s be honest here, that’s who you’ve been thinking about, right? Your risk. Your comfort. Never mind your bubble, never mind the bubble of everyone you come into contact with, never mind the people like me who are literally hiding from people like you.

You’re not masking at the doctor’s office. You’re not masking at the airport. You’re not masking at the giant superspreader you just attended, and you’re not masking in the bars and restaurants where we know the virus flourishes. And then you’re bringing that exposure back to your family and friends. Back to the grocery store, where you run across people like my husband, shopping for someone who is unsafe to leave the house, or your elderly neighbors, or an immunocompromised employee.

You’re a good person, or you like to think of yourself that way. That’s why when you’re asked to mask, you dismiss it out of hand — because that changed behavior implies that you’ve been doing something wrong.

And my friend, I’m telling this because I love you: you have been. You might have been doing that on faulty information, but be honest with yourself and with me — you’ve heard me begging people to take this seriously. You’ve seen the information I’ve been sharing. You have had the opportunity to seek out the correct information all along, and you have chosen not to.

It isn’t too late to change your view of the risk you’re imposing on the people around you. It’s not too late to push public health to become more effective. It’s not too late to act in solidarity and be the inclusive person you think you are. It’s not too late to take care of yourself.

Ultimately, that’s what I have been screaming myself hoarse about. I don’t want you to end up with what I have. I don’t want you to inadvertently impose that on someone else. And yes, I’ve been angry, because you’ve been advertising your absolute lack of concern with group shots of your naked faces on social media. It doesn’t seem to bother you that I am stuck at home like it’s 2020, except for doctors’ appointments that I literally have to risk my life to go to. You’ve told yourself that it’s not your problem, because only the sick and elderly have to take precautions.

You know better. You can do better. For your community, yourself, and me, do better.

Please. I love you.

Anna

PS. If you’re feeling upset and embarrassed right now, the best thing you can do is take action. Get yourself good masks (the surgicals and cloth ones don’t cut it anymore), donate to mask blocs so others can access good masks, write to your representatives and the President, comment on upcoming CDC guidance, schedule yourself a booster, and talk to your loved ones about doing better, too. The only way we get out of this is with community care. So care.

[theresstillgrowinghere]

I don’t often find I have much to say during chronic illness awareness months anymore. I’m tired. My words feel tired. I don’t feel like I have anything new to add. Sometimes I worry though that that in part comes from my having been in various digital chronic illness spaces for almost a decade. Of course it feels tired to me. There are things that rattle around my brain that feel so obvious and commonplace (and that have been said much more eloquently by others before me) but may still be worth expressing, just judging by the ways people in my life haven’t been able to understand

So for gastroparesis awareness month this year, there are a few things I want to note from my experiences (tw for food/eating, weight without numbers, medical trauma)

1) My relationship with food is so scarred and multifaceted. It is messy and thorny, conflicting and complicated

(I am scared of food. I miss food. I hate food. I want to eat so badly. I never want to think about eating again. Tell me in detail about how it tasted. I love food. Please don’t ask me to join you for a meal. I don’t want to miss the communal aspects of eating. I feel so disconnected and other and separate just because I don’t eat. Sometimes I do try to eat and it makes me sick. Don’t comment on it, please; it’s not helpful to scold or encourage - I feel shame either way)

2) There is no cure. There is only management. I think people understand this in theory more than actuality, because when I say this I mean please, please stop expecting any management option to be The Thing. Please don’t expect something to offer substantial improvement, even if it is a life-saving dramatic change. As I have tried to explain to people in my life, those types of interventions are often complicated and risky and, in our broken healthcare system, very difficult to access until the situation truly is dire and life-threatening. Which can mean that the body takes significant damage before getting there. Sometimes by the time you access the intervention, that damage is irreversible and the goal is just to stop further decline. It’s not making me better; it’s keeping me from getting worse. For some reason that’s difficult for people to understand

(But sometimes people do find what for them is The Thing or are The Things, and that’s an important piece of the whole picture. The problem is the persistence of unrealistic expectations among people around us)

3) My relationship with healthcare is vital but fraught and heavy. I rely on it tremendously just to stay alive. It is also my only in-person access to the world and to people, which is a weird kind of mindfuck. But I am also deeply afraid of it after so many years of trauma. I am terrified of hospitals and medical professionals. I’m sorry for the way that fear makes me irrational, makes me assume, makes me protect myself. I know so many medical professionals are so caring and kind, but it is very, very hard to go into a medical setting trusting that that will be the case

4) There are some things I wish truly were obvious. Like don’t comment on someone’s weight, ever. Don’t say you wish you could “have a little of that” to change your appearance. Don’t try to convince me to “just try to eat a little.” Trust that I know my body best. Don’t offer me unsolicited advice or recommendations. Don’t say “when you get to be my age…” because I will point out that, based on the amount of damage to my body already, it is very possible I will never reach your age. But more to the point, I am not too young to be this sick. It happens

Anyway, these are my 3am-notes-app, camped-out-on-the-bathroom-floor thoughts. It is also important to note that they exist in the context of my gastroparesis being born of and coexisting with my other chronic illnesses, and they all become so deeply entangled

Wishing everyone well. Hoping your August is kind and gentle

To everyone with gastroparesis (and other digestive disorders, really), I’m sorry your tummy hurts, and no, you actually don’t need to be very brave about it. As I heard someone say recently in a different context but definitely applies here as well, “We weren’t born to be fighters. I don’t want to be brave. I want to be okay.” I just want all of us to be okay

[nerdyenby]

I get most of my news either online or from a newsletter I subscribe to, but I’m feeling pretty good right now about our democratic candidates so I sat down to watch Walz’s debut at the Philadelphia rally and here are the highlights (imo, of course)

“Before I was elected vice president or elected a United States senator, I was an elected attorney general, and, before that, an elected district attorney and, before that, I was a courtroom prosecutor. So in those roles, I took on perpetrators of all kinds: predators who abused women, fraudsters who scammed consumers, cheaters who broke the rules for their own gain. So hear me when I say: I know Donald Trump’s type.” -KH

KH talking about fighting for a future where every American can afford to own a home hit me so hard. Why is that such a fantasy? Why have I never even considered it possible?

I am obsessed with the confidence, this is the energy I need. We have plenty of reasons to be afraid but goddamn did I need someone to stand up and calmly declare that we will be okay, and I am so fucking glad it’s a Black woman.

A history teacher as our next VP <3

Their motif of fighting for the future is so much more potent coming from a woman of color and a man who has dedicated so much of his life to youth and to supporting them and their futures. Like damn, maybe the kids really will be okay. Fighting poverty, securing free school lunches for kids, protecting bodily autonomy, and founding his schools first GSA as a straight white man? I don’t know much about Walz but what I’ve learned so far has earned him a lot of respect in my book.

Fuck, Harris talking about Walz’s background and reputation in his school has me tearing up.

“We will win.” Okay, yeah, I’m crying now. These two make me feel so safe, it’s not fair I’ve never felt this way before.

Friendly reminder that one of our main political candidates does not value disabled lives and will openly say as much. Trump wants us dead, don’t let him win.

“Tim and I have a message for Trump and others who want to turn back the clock on our fundamental freedoms: we’re not going back.” -KH

“After Roe was overturned [TW] was the first governor in the country to sign a new law that enshrined reproductive freedom as a fundamental right.” -KH

“Ultimately in this election, we each face a question: what kind of country do we want to live in? A county of freedom, compassion, and rule of law or a country of chaos, fear, and hate?” -KH

“We love our country, and I believe it is the highest form of patriotism to fight for the ideals of our country.” -KH

“Don’t ever underestimate teachers.” -TW (preach)

“It was my students, they encouraged me to run for office. They saw in me what I was hoping to instill in them: a commitment of common good, a belief that one person can make a difference.” -TW

“Now, Donald Trump sees the world a little differently than us. First of all, he doesn’t know the first thing about service. He doesn’t have time for it because he’s too busy serving himself. Again and again and again, Trump weakens our economy to strengthen his own hand. He mocks our laws, he sows chaos and division, and that’s to say nothing of his record as president.” -TW

“Some of us in here are old enough to remember — I see you down there, I see those old white guys — some of us are old enough to remember when it was republicans who were talking about freedom. It turns out now what they meant was the government should be free to invade your doctors office. In Minnesota, we respect our neighbors and their personal choices that they make. Even if we wouldn’t make the same choice for ourselves, there’s a golden rule: mind your own damn business. ” -TW

“When Vice President and I talk about freedom, we mean the freedom to make your own healthcare decisions and for our children to be free to go to school without worrying they’ll be shot dead in their classrooms.” -TW

“Vice President Harris’s idea: freedom is a ticket, for education to be that ticket to the middle class. Not crippling debt, air that’s clean, water that’s pure, communities that are safe.” -TW

TW: “Donald Trump isn’t fighting for you or your family-” random audience member: “You are!” Walz: *allows himself a breath of a laugh before continuing on just as strong as before*

“I gotta tell you, pointing out just an observation of mine that I made, I just have to say it. You know it, you feel it [the republican candidates] are creepy and, yes, just weird as hell.” -TW

“So we got 91 days. My god, that’s easy. Well sleep when we’re dead! Over those next 91 days and every day in the White House, I’ll have Vice President Harris’s back, every single day, and we’ll have yours.” -TW

This is the broadcast I watched

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

123 for 🧟:

---

Buck feels relieved. She didn’t travel all this way not to have a support system in him. 

“Hershey didn’t get the worst of the outbreaks,” Maddie says. “Roads closed from Harriburg, and… Well, it was stemmed.”

Buck remembers that, from the early days. Before the internet went out. He’d tried to reach out. Even to his parents. 

“But everyone went into lockdown mode,” Maddie says. “At first I thought that would exclude me, being in healthcare. I thought I was needed more than ever.”

“Weren’t you?” Buck asks. 

“Oh, I think probably.” Maddie admits. “But Doug came home one day with new guns and told me neither of us was leaving the house again. Not without his say so.”

“What the fuck?” 

“I think he was happy, honestly. Society had gone to hell, and he didn’t have to be careful anymore.” Her eyes tear up a little. “He could do whatever he wanted.”

Buck’s blood goes cold. He knew Doug didn’t treat her right. Didn’t treat her well at all. But what she’s implying? If he had known… Oh god. He would have never left her. 

“Maddie…”

“Don’t say sorry,” she says firmly. “I worked hard to make sure you didn’t know, okay? It’s why… It’s why we lost contact.”

Buck’s head hangs a little. “I would have helped you.”

“I know. That’s why. He would have killed you.”

Buck sighs. “So what happened?”

“He got sick,” Maddie says. “Went out on a supply run one afternoon, came back sick. Infected.”

“Shit.” Buck hisses.

“So I shot him.” Maddie says, very quietly. 

“My god, Maddie.” Buck exhales. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

“It was,” she agrees. “But I wasn’t going to die there. Become infected or wait for him to fully turn and… Eat me.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t,” Buck replies. “I’m so glad you survived.”

“Me too,” she says, inhaling a little. Like she’s convincing herself. 

“Can I ask what happened to Mom and Dad?” Buck asks. 

They’re obviously not close. Never were. He hasn’t worried for them, the same way he’s worried for Maddie. But it’s not like he wishes them harm. Though, harm has come for most people anyway. 

Maddie shakes her head a little.

“I don’t know entirely,” she admits. “By the time I left and was able to check on them, the house was abandoned. No trace of them. No remains.”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek. So it will always be a question, then. 

“Sorry,” Maddie says. 

Buck shakes his head. “No, that’s… I mean, everyone has people like that, right?”

She nods. “I’m glad you’re not one of them, now.”

Buck throat feels tight. “Same with you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Buck starts his shift on cams after Maddie is asleep. He’s on from eight until two in the morning, when Bobby will switch with him. 

It sounds painfully boring, but Buck doesn’t hate cam shifts. He did at first. The stillness was grating. Drove him crazy. He learned to entertain himself, over the past months. He can’t read, really. He could miss something. But he can listen to music or audiobook CDs. Not just CDs, either. Karen’s iPhone is still in good shape, and it had dozens of audiobooks, podcasts, and music downloaded onto it. She leaves it in the cams room with a charger for whoever is on shift. So there is a lot for Buck to do to occupy his mind. Even if some of the podcast episodes and audiobooks start to get repetitive on the second or third listen. 

Tonight, he’s listening to a nonfiction selection of Karen’s. Something academic and a bit smarter than Buck. But the only way he learns is by challenging himself, so he’s trying to focus. It’s nearing ten o’clock. Most everyone has gone to bed. It’s been a long, tiring day. Full of activity. 

All this to say, Buck is surprised when he sees someone pop up on the security camera. Not just someone. Eddie. He’s walking, purpose in his step, down the hallway connecting to the front foyer, right out the big glass entryway doors. Oh. Well, that’s stupid. The doors lock from the outside. Bobby locks them before he goes to bed. Buck will have to leave his post to let him back in, which is annoying. 

He’s about to do as much, making the short walk to bang on the glass and let Eddie know, when what he sees on the screen stops him short. Eddie walks to the side of the building, leans against a brick wall, and starts to cry. 

Oh.

Well, this is very awkward. 

And, hey, there’s nothing wrong with crying. Buck has cried twice today. One over the radio, once over his sister returning. No shame in it. It’s just that, Buck has all the off-cam good crying spots down. Including his private room. This poor guy doesn’t realize Buck can see him. 

He shouldn’t watch. Surely no zombies or other forms of villain will come in the next… Well, how long does it take to cry? Buck doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about this guy. Other than that he saved Maddie. Really, the polite thing to do would be to turn away and give him a minute. He’s going to. Definitely. 

Except, he finds he can’t look away. 

Something in his heart cracks, watching this guy. He’d seemed friendly and collected earlier. Steady. Not like someone hours away from weeping. Maybe that’s just a front. Maybe he wants to seem tough in front of his kid. Buck thinks he could understand that, despite not being a parent. 

The crying lasts less than ten minutes. Buck watches Eddie straighten himself up, rub his eyes, and turn back towards the entrance. Which is still locked. Shoot. Buck bounces to his feet, leaves the cam room, and jogs down the hallway towards the entrance. By the time he reaches the door, Eddie is trying the handle to no avail, a panicked expression on his face. 

Buck reaches forward and opens the door. 

“Sorry, man,” he says. “It locks from the inside. Safety.”

“No, right,” Eddie nods. “That makes sense. Thanks for letting me in.”

“Don’t mention it,” Buck shrugs. Really. He literally saved Maddie’s life. Buck opened the damn door. Not the same level of effort.

“How did you know I was here?” Eddie asks.

Buck’s cheeks go a little red. “Uh…”

[trollprincess]

Since my birthday is tomorrow, I figured I would make a short list of what I want just in case anybody is in a giving mood:

Money.

Any of the many, many, many minidollhouses on my Amazon wishlist.

For the Leverage team, and in particular Hardison, to hack into the system and wipe out our collective student debt. (And also all the medical debt while he’s at it.)

A free ticket to go back in time and watch Queen perform at Live Aid from the front row.

The ability to teleport.

A lifetime supply of red licorice laces and salted roasted pumpkin seeds.

For Pringles to start making those cinnamon sugar tortilla chips again.

To dump a truckload of elephant diarrhea on Ronald Reagan’s grave.

I said money, right?

To lose forty pounds in one night, preferably without delivering a child I didn’t even know I was pregnant with or losing at least one limb.

Five more seasons of “Sense8.”

That really fancy train ride from Paris to Istanbul that costs like 80k Euros.

The ghosts of the people in town who died of COVID to haunt the newspaper editor who added “Are you better off now than you were four years ago?” to his enormous Trump sign out front of his office.

One free month at the Library Hotel in NYC where I’m not allowed to do anything but read and write.

A literary agent.

A pitch-black Victorian house decorated with 90s movie witch vibes.

A Bluetooth connection between my brain and my phone so I can just download my goddamn story ideas instead of wasting time typing them out.

For all of my WIPs to edit and polish themselves.

A free maid service that doesn’t judge about the depression mess and makes me a tea before they go.

A wallet that always has the exact amount of money I need inside it whenever I open it up and can never be stolen or lost from me.

The ability to choose to watch a show I’ve been meaning to watch instead of watching the same old show for the eleventy millionth time.

For someone to come repair the patch of cross-stitching I fucked up so I don’t have to.

My own capybara.

Yup, definitely said money. I take PayPal, Venmo, CashApp, Zelle, carrier pigeon, singing telegram, personal delivery by Janelle Monae, and the quiet but satisfying feeling of all my creditors suddenly forgetting I exist.

Chocolate chip cookie dough without the chips in a jar that never empties.

To live long enough to finish all the books in my TBR pile.

For Professor to live just as long as I do, if not forever beyond that.

For Elon Musk to eat several thousand fried dicks.

For Donald Trump to end up broke and alone with every single one of his followers having finally realized the emperor has no clothes.

World peace, free education for all, universal healthcare, high-speed rail, the end of poverty and bigotry, kindness throughout the land, and for whatever embarrassing memory pops into your head at the worst of times to vanish from existence as though it never, ever happened.

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

I have no doubt that the NHS is in a dire state, but – much as with hearing that Netflix is totally going to go out of business this year for real this time honestly! – hearing, yet again, that this round of reforms is the one to actually finally do the trick can only serve to elicit a wry chuckle.

Don’t trust any of you cunts, honestly.

And I mean, like, they keep saying things like “Hey! The NHS is getting the most money ever! Why isn’t it doing better?” and man, if you go up to a car that crashed and burnt out and then put some really good fuel in it and expect it to go fast, well, I don’t know what to tell you.

As I may or may not have said before, the prospect of ‘reform’ from a bunch of people who are not especially involved in the sector* does little to bolster confidence. Hey! MP’s are coming to fix healthcare and education and social care! Step back and let the experts do their magic!

Oh. Oh wait. They’re not experts. Oh. Oh no.

They keep talking about the NHS as well as though it’s this monolithic thing. Which, I guess, it is in a lot of ways, but not in others. You can’t look at one Trust and say “That’s indicative of all Trusts and so what we do here we should do everywhere” because that’s liable to go horribly wrong. The NHS is fucking big, brah, and it’s different on a department-by-department basis – never mind nationally!

I am not expecting a delicate or deft touch. I am expecting a bunch of idiots coming in, dicks swinging. And the private sector, obviously. And things to get worse.

Although, as a capper, it does amuse to have Keir talking about ‘prevention’ over curing sickness while he continues to prop up austerity and promise hard times ahead. Hey Keir! Know what causes sickness? Fucking poverty, you gimp! Free school meals? RING A BELL?!

YOU’D THINK A HUGE DOWNTURN IN THE STATE OF THE NATION’S HEALTH MIGHT INDICATE SOME BROADER CAUSES AND ISSUES THAT GO BEYOND THE NHS?! MIGHTN’T IT?!

MAYBE LOOK INTO THAT!

*And no, having private interest (or friends with private interest) in the sector does not count, funnily enough.

[dtmsrpfcringe]

You really are a dumb fuck, aren't you? You repeated exactly what I said, then told me I was wrong for saying what you parroted back to me. Living in your brain must be fucking insufferable.

Your own words were that they did not know each other ten years ago. Incorrect.

They have both said that they have known each other socially (i.e., friends) since 2001. They did not become close until they were in Good Omens. Yes, that is what I said. That's what you agreed to after I corrected your initial false statement. My god, little wonder you think this blog is a good idea when these are your thought processes.

Nothing else you said makes the slightest bit of sense. I can't even decipher the point of that word salad, and I am a teacher. Why would Michael use the names of the characters when he is talking about the show that the characters are in? What? You are reaching so hard that it is comical.

You are a class act making jokes about a congenital defect that kills newborn infants. Is that the kind of thing the mother of a newborn infant who claims to be a nurse would do? We have established that you are lying about both of those things. You are just an awful person. When it comes down to the real point of this blog, you don't care about the greater good of the fandom. You only want attention. You are shouting about a tiny corner of Tumblr that draws no attention to itself. You bring attention to it. You make it loud. Even when it disappears, you keep bringing it back. What's the real point here? You want attention for yourself. You want to be the hero in a war that doesn't exist.

Maybe you don't ship the hairband. Maybe you just have bad taste in music? I don't care. Either way, you have no place calling out anyone when you support those losers. They are the epitome of the scum of society. Actual misogynists. One of them even murdered someone while driving drunk. That is just the tip of the iceberg. But someone no one knows said something mean about Georgia Tennant on Tumblr? Someone suggests that two men who keep talking about having sex and being in love might be in love. Better clutch your pearls over that! Pathetic.

bae that isn’t what you said. You said they’ve been friends for almost 25 years. Do you write things and just fucking forget them? Or can you just not stop lying?

I can’t imagine being a teacher and just constantly being so goddamn wrong, I bet your students can’t stand you.

also saying you don’t have a brain isn’t making fun of a congenital defect babe. I’m neither lying about being a mom or healthcare professional. Most people I talk to pretty regularly here have seen my baby, and it would be pretty hard work to have an entire baby to…fake being a mom??? I’m not going to put my baby’s face on here to prove to someone like you that she’s real, and frankly I think it’s a little strange you wanna see that bad babe. Like? Your obsession with an internet stranger’s newborn (i guess infant now omfg) is kinda creepy.

As for my health certification, you don’t know shit actually. I busted my ass in high school to be licensed because of the people who helped me as a kid. Also I’m not a nurse😉 you are right about that. There’s more to healthcare than your RN and MDs lol. You seem like you’d yell at underpaid healthcare workers in the worst way possible.

you obviously did understand, but didn’t want to lick your wounds and slink into the corner.

btw this group absolutely does draw attention to yourself. I found these people by looking for cute Georgia and Anna stuff and finding hate and misogyny spread about them. As for Motley Crue, I hardly listen to them anymore, if literally ever. I haven’t posted anything about them in over a year and that is why I removed 2000 of my followers on instagram and made it private to have a personal acc. I just never bothered changing the username lol. So try again I guess.

Anyways here’s my daily reminder to you that David and Michael would be disgusted with you. Hope you have the day you deserve!

Keep sending these I think we’re falling in love boo🚨🔵🚨🔵

[world-of-wales]

It’s always events like these that can show both the best and worst of humanity, with lots of support coming in for the King, Catherine and the family… but conversely, the amount of vile comments under most news sites really make me sick. Interestingly, I don’t even care all that much about what Harry and Meghan’s cult have to say, because you just know already that they will make up the worst fake situations and run with it like it’s the truth. I’ve seen the most disgusting things from them. But again, it’s to be expected, and they just mindlessly hate everything about the royal family.

No, the worst for me is realising how entitled many Brits come across when they discuss the NHS, private healthcare and whether wealthy people are “entitled” to receive better healthcare, and that the royal family should be made to use the NHS exclusively (including waitlisting etc) as most people. I have tried to read all the tweets and comments where people actually share their stories of understaffed hospitals, long waiting lists leading to potentially avoidable deaths etc, and I truly have sympathy with them. But do they not realise how high the standard of care they receive is, especially for “free” (through tax) healthcare??? Look, I live in South Africa. Our private healthcare is really good (many expats say on par with Europe), but only around 20% of the population can afford it. The public health system on the other hand.. it’s the same quality doctors, but hospitals are SEVERELY understaffed, often overcrowded, lacking in resources, so that the care you often receive is really sub-par. When people complain about months-long wait lists for operations or procedures, again, I have sympathy, but also, for SA public healthcare, this means someone going to A&E waits literal hours for any sort of care at times. I live in a small town, and the closest hospital is a public one. There was an accident where a man accidentally severed his hand using a chainsaw, so they opted to taking him to the public hospital 30 mins away vs the private one 2hrs away, to get help quicker. He ended up in the waiting room, holding his severed hand, for over three hours and had not been helped AT ALL, when they decided to drive the further 1hr30 to the private hospital. Many people would jump at the chance for our public healthcare to be even in the vicinity as good as the NHS. And also, those who don’t have medical aid over here never begrudge those who have access to private healthcare. It’s more of a situation where if someone has access to that, rather use that than take up more resources that the public healthcare doesn’t have, even if there are benefits to using those systems for simpler situations (like regular checkups, prescription medication being really cheap or even free, but then there’s less for people who really need it). They seem to be completely lacking in empathy and ironically, completely unaware of their own privilege.

No I completely agree, a lot of things that you said are completely true for Indian Healthcare system too. Buy yk what these people do not realise that doctors and nurses themselves often encourage people who can afford private care to get private care to make sure those who only rely on public health services can get them as quick as possible especially if there's an emergency. My own dad has had had chats like this with his patients. We were just talking about it yesterday while on call because this exact thing came up when I was like why don't people understand how medical Healthcare works. It pisses me off so much, especially when some of the stuff people say isn't even accurate at all. The NHS though a fabulous institution, is deeply deeply flawed not because there's an issue with it per say but because of the utter mismagement by the the govt and nobody else's fault. The Tories in the past 13 years has run it to the ground, massively underfunded etc etc but even then it is a whole lot better than most countries around the globe like you said.

I'm not blaming the public because it isn't their fault at all that they are having to wait for even simple checkups let alone complex procedures which they need. It's not their fault that they've been dealt a shitty hand from the govt who'll rather do everything else than actually help those who they are supposed to represent. I completely and 100 percent empathize with them but blaming the problems the govt has created on somebody else who's having a health crisis no matter who they are isn't okay imo.

What all you said about SA is completely parallel to what happens in India word to word. It's horrific stories all around. My own dad has always said that even he wasn't himself aware of the dire situation that exists virtually everywhere else. Not saying that there aren't issues when it comes to the nhs for ordinary people, but that the standard of care people get through them might be flawed at times but is still a millions miles ahead of most places on Earth. He does say that he wasn't aware of the privilege he had as a kid or even as an adult until he actually started working outside of it. As a kid it was so easy for him to get a doctor if he was sick etc but working in his field all these years in places all across and even today in India makes him realise of how easy he and his family & those around them had compared to all this bs. One of his earliest patients when we moved to India was a kid of 10 or 11, it was supposed to be a normal operation right? Could be done in any of the places in their local community health centres but couldn't happen. Why? Because the govt sure has made the building but not put the actual staff and machinery in there. So they travelled from their village in central maharashtra to Bombay to get their child a fucking hernia removal which takes just an hour at most. And they didnt get it in the govt hospital even then because of several problems but through the ngo & hospital my dad works with. With this you can easily imagine the state of it all.

And I'm glad that I have seen people a lot of them medical professionals in the past 2 days who have been like it's good that they are going private not because they are rich and they should but because that will make sure no extra stress is put on an already crippled nhs. Now as for the issue of private Healthcare, I have always been against privatizing something as basic a human right as Healthcare for all and believe that it should be accessible to everyone regardless of where they come from or who they are. But also the reality i that we live in a world based on capitalism, so there is no way around the fact that as long as the prevailing economic structure exists, these disparities will also exist because they are a direct result of that. So blaming it on somebody who's already staying way from the public system to ensure she doesn't burden it doesn't seem to be great even if you think about it logically or emotionally. When it is the Govt who has been hell bent on making sure the nhs turns into the across the pond version of the disaster that the American health care system is.

Then they are also being like 14 days? Oh extra precautions cause of who she is. UMMM NO! Any doctor will tell you that's basically the normal time to have an hospital stay after a large incision there to make sure there's no further emergency situation and to avoid any infection or even ur stitches coming out. Abdominal surgery is no cakewalk and comes with significant risks so yah you do need to be extra extra cautious. Those assumptions honestly make me so fucking angry because if you don't know shit about medicine then kindly do us all a favour and stfu.

And I never ever ever will understand how any decent person can wish bad health, death etc on anybody else, someone whos done nothing to you. Like how does your own conscience allow that? You don't like someone? great you are entitled to your own opinion. But wishing harm to somebody just because of that is so so disgusting to me especially when that person has done nothing to you or anyone else ever except get married into a family you don't like. Even when PP and QEII passed away the vitriol and the I'm glad they are dead jokes were just out of my comprehension. And I do think it has a lot to do with the fact that over time the idea of anonymity on the internet has made us as a society this way, like who's gonna check you when you talk like this about someone online. And also imo, it's also become a thing where it makes you 'cool' to challenge everything you see around you online; not necessarily because you might also believe in it too but because it makes you different than all the other mere mortals around.

I had so much more to say but I realise how long it already is so 🙃 I'm sorry for the length of it, I just couldn't stop myself.

[cranquis]

This might not be the right place to ask but I always appreciate your insight on this hellsite. I recently finished undergrad and have started doing research to hopefully gain some industry knowledge and eventually go to med school. I have worked in emergency medicine for many years and it has really inspired me to pursue medical school with being an EM physician as a tangible end goal. My problem is that now that I am doing research it feels like the ball is going to drop at any moment. Like in clinic I get anxious that my subject will code while we are talking or seeing the paramedics transporting patients raises my heart rate. I feel fine and calm most of the time but I just have this nagging fear that something terrible is going to happen to my subjects or the people around me. And I know that I have clinic RNs and my MD nearby and I know where the crash cart is but it is still stressing me out. I don’t know how to rationalize it as I have never had any real anxiety or fear surrounding my time in the ED.

I guess the root of this question is that you probably saw a lot of intense things during rotations/clerkships/residency that were in high stress environments like the ED, how do you manage that working in an urgent care where things are less life and death most of the time - obviously there are still critically sick/injured people who show up there instead of the ED and the ED is getting the 2a medication refill requests, but I think you know what I mean.

Sorry if this is rambly, I just haven’t been able to see my ED people in a while and I can’t really talk about this sort of thing with many people outside of them. Once again I appreciate the insight that you bring to these sort of unique to healthcare situations, it has made dealing with patients and a failing system more bearable over the years.

Hello my aspiring colleague! I think I understand and empathize with where you're coming from.

The more you learn about what can go WRONG with a human body, the more you expect it to go WRONG. Like, any moment now. And when you're surrounded by the sickest of the sick, that starts to seem the norm. You expect This Guy, being transported for subacute cough, to crump... because you've seen other Guys with subacute cough crump.

[Crump: verb; to suddenly decompensate clinically, usually right after you told the attending that the patient looks stable.]

In a similar fashion, when I did my pediatrics rotations in med school and residency, I felt like Mrs Cranquis and I should never ever have children, because "look at all these tragically sick unfortunate children! Look at how suddenly these healthy kids can have an accident or develop symptoms from a hidden congenital condition!" It took a few years to put it into statistical perspective and realize that the odds of having a healthy child are actually better than 50:50.

But regarding your increasing worries that someone will crump in your presence - thankfully, the more you learn about what can GO wrong, and the more times you SEE things go wrong, the more you are also learning about what YOU can do to FIGHT wrong. This helps you fine-tune your anxiety into a Spider-sense -- an ability to be aware that your patient might crump even before they crump, which gives you the time to mentally (and clinically) prep for the worst and take steps to prevent it, to marshal your resources and colleagues and even make a "crump preparedness plan".

In fact, with a few years of experience, you learn to be grateful for that sudden ball of stress in your gut, as your subconscious points out the subtle clues that This Guy needs your full attention.

So I hope this helps give you the oomph to keep on going, friend!

[choicesficwriterscreations]

June MC of the Month: Dr. Casey MacTavish Carrick

Please welcome our fifth MC of the month! Each month, we will highlight one MC or OC that is currently on our Meet My MC / OC List. The MC / OC is selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

This month's MC of the month is...

@jerzwriter's Casey MacTavish Carrick.

Learn more about Casey and her creator, Elsa, below.

In your words, tell us what you like most about your MC. 

There are many things I love about Casey. First and foremost, she’s genuine.  What you see is what you get; she has no time for games or being fake.  She wears her heart on her sleeve, and even though that has burned her in the past, she refuses to allow it to change the person is.  She’s passionate about her beliefs and does not back down.  She is very serious when she needs to be - at work, when dealing with a crisis, or engaged in activism - but in her personal life, she’s playful, quirky, and not afraid to make an idiot out of herself (or others) to have some fun.  She really tries to live every day to its fullest, even when it’s difficult to do so.  

Do you feel your MC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

In some ways, yes; in others, no. We’re both passionate about our beliefs and fight for them. We were both activists from a young age, and that's an important part of our lives. We try not to take life too seriously and to enjoy the journey more than the destination. And the people we love mean more to us than anything else. most. 

However, Casey has her shit together to a level I have never been able to achieve. lol She’s a doctor, and I barely passed my science classes. And her husband is FAR superior to any of my exes (if I had what she does, I'd make sure they never became exes). lol What can I say? Fictional men written by women are just better. 

What is most important to your MC? What is their motivation in life?

People matter the most to her. It was her motivation for going into medicine and what has driven her activism.  She can’t witness problems and gross inequity and not attempt to do something to solve them. She believes if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. 

She almost lost her mother as a young child, and she almost lost her own life as a resident, and again in her 30s, so she values every day and lives with the understanding that we all have expiration dates.  There is no day but today - and she uses that to push herself. 

Her career is very important to her, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the people she loves.  She is fiercely loyal, and when she loves someone, she loves them for life.  Tobias and their girls are her world, and they have plenty of family - real and found - surrounding them.  

Casey wants to leave the world better than it was when she entered it.  She has worked tirelessly for equity for all. As a proud bisexual woman, she has fought for women's and LGBTQ rights. Growing up in a diverse community, in a city that has residents living in both extreme poverty and excessive wealth, she loathes inequality. As such, racial and social justice issues, as well as equal access to healthcare are important issues to her. She is appalled that people die in one of the wealthiest nations in the world simply because they don’t have insurance.  That becomes her biggest mission. 

What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes? 

Pretentiousness. She’s not a fan of affluence, and she's automatically suspicious of people who have too much. That’s a struggle for her and Tobias initially because he is extremely wealthy. It took a lot of work, and some changes and compromises, for them to rectify that.

Intolerance. People who feel the need to control how others live their lives incense her. She has no use for people who espouse racist, misogynistic, and homophobic views.

Hypocrisy and phoniness.  She’s a genuine soul, and she expects the same in return.  She can usually sense when someone is inauthentic, and she will do her best to keep such people out of her inner circle.  

If your MC could change one thing - anything - what would it be? 

She would change the world.  She would rid it of many -isms. More than anything, she’d like to see a world where people are truly judged by the content of their character, not by their race, gender, sexual orientation, or socioeconomic standing.  She knows the world is an unfair place, and it’s distressing to know how it is almost impossible to change it, but it doesn’t mean she won’t try.  But, if she were given a magic wand, she knows exactly what she’d do with it. 

What is your MC’s favorite quote or song?

“Love is a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect, and trust.” - Bell Hooks - This is her guiding principle.  Love is not a noun, it’s a verb, and when we love people or things, we need to give them our full commitment and dedication.  One cannot be lazy about love. To whom much is given, much will be required (Luke 12:48) Although she was raised in the Catholic faith, Casey really had no use for organized religion and considered herself agnostic by the time she met Tobias.  Three things made her begin to believe in something greater: her near death after the chemical attack, the love she shares with Tobias, and the birth of their first child, Samantha.  She NEVER becomes a bible thumper, nor does she believe there is one "true" religion. She considers herself more spiritual than religious, but this bible quote resonates with her.  Especially after she and Tobias were sure they would share a future together.  Given his level of wealth, she insisted this would be how they would live and raise their daughters. She has a zillion favorite songs, but the four songs that she and Tobias selected for their wedding will forever hold a special place in her heart.  They are All of Me by John Legend, Spend My Life With You by Eric Benet, Every Time I Close My Eyes by Babyface, and You Make Me Feel Brand New by The Stylistics.  Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC: (It can be why you created them, how they’ve inspired you, or you could write a little blurb as if it is coming from your MC - an acceptance speech. :) ) 

Casey’s sunny demeanor leads most who don’t know her well to believe she has had a charmed life.  But that's not true. Casey made a decision to have a bright outlook - whenever possible - because of the struggles she faced.  Nearly losing her mother at a young age, seeing her family struggle under the mountain of medical debt, and coming to terms with her sexuality were all defining moments of her younger years…. And each one played a part in the anxiety that remains an issue for her throughout her life.  These struggles all left scars but also helped her become the woman she is today. 

Her unlikely romance with Tobias Carrick faced challenges at first, but once they realized that they both accepted that they had found “the one,” they were all in for life. They’re alike in many ways… outgoing, flirtatious, full of life, and, yeah, horny. Lol, But their differences complimented each other.  Tobias is so self-assured, and he helps Casey build her confidence.  Casey’s authenticity helps Tobias get in touch with his authentic self, and together, they live their very best lives.

To learn more about Case, please see her character bio and Casey & Tobias's masterlist.

[tauforged]

like the thing that i think a lot of ppl gloss over is that a large majority of the talon aligned heroes have little to no interest in the actual ‘goals’ of the organization (to the point where we still don’t entirely know what talon wants or why they exist, lmfao) so much as it just being a means to an end. like we can all conceptualize that sombra is pretty much just there because it gives her access to more resources she can use towards her own goals, moira is there for research opportunities and funding that she’d never get elsewhere due to the nature of her work, i can only imagine that ramattra’s alliance with talon (and thus null sector’s as a whole) is purely situational because it provides advantages he considers useful, reaper is pretty much just there because they’re against overwatch therefore he can use it as an avenue for his revenge, even doomfist doesn’t really seem to hold as much stock in talon as an organization as he does use his position as a tool to achieve his goals, if it stopped being useful he would likely just walk away.

in opposition to the overwatch aligned heroes who all seem to be coming together solely for the sake of this like, ideal of Overwatch as a concept being this paradigm of good and justice and doing what’s right, and rallying behind their faith in the organization and what it symbolizes… i genuinely don’t think any of the talon operatives really care all that much about talon at all. it’s just a job. like, sure, we’re doing cartoon supervillain shit, but the pay is decent and we’ve got benefits and i can continue to do my own thing on the side, no questions asked. it’s honestly a pretty sweet deal.

all of that to say i really don’t see why people seem so averse to the idea of sigma having that same mindset. like yeah, he’s not exactly thrilled to be using his research and abilities to assist in acts of violent terrorism, but does he have many other options? he says it himself in that interaction with baptiste, talon gives him everything he needs - funding, resources, something to fall back on after being in total isolation for decades and coming out with absolutely nothing. it’s a guaranteed safety net — so long as he’s with talon, there’s absolutely no chance of anyone dragging him off or locking him up again, and so long as he contributes when he’s needed, he’s free to pursue his research to his heart’s content. does he regret it? sure, sometimes. i think they all do. i doubt there’s a single talon-aligned hero who genuinely believes what they’re doing is genuinely morally correct and sound. but ultimately in his mind he didn’t have many options left, so he had to settle for something he knew would at least guarantee his safety and continued freedom. it doesn’t really mean he’s being manipulated or held against his will any moreso than most of the other talon heroes, imho. he’s not proud of it, but hey, it pays the bills.

i feel like he regards it with a similar level of resentment/annoyance as i felt towards my horrible soul sucking corporate retail job of several years - like don’t get me wrong, the company i worked for absolutely sucked and i HATED how they operated, policy was bullshit and so much of it was unnecessary and needlessly counterproductive. but i also really connected with my coworkers in the same situation AND i got to get paid to do stuff i already would have been doing on my own anyway, and ultimately the experience i got and connections i made were really helpful in pursuing what i actually wanted to be doing with my life. it’s like if your shitty day job required you to kill people but they also like, got you hooked up with a place to live and a healthcare provider and all that shit and paid for all of your living expenses no questions asked AND gave you a decent budget to screw around with so long as every now and then you showed them what you were making and maybe used it to kill people more efficiently sometimes. i wouldn’t exactly feel any amount of loyalty to the company paying me but i wouldn’t exactly be in a hurry to quit either

[talkethtothehandeth]

Why is everything medical so expensive (aside from the fact they want us dead) like $1.5k to get my lungs tested, $880 for fucking blood work and my endo surgery??? My endo surgery to remove pieces of uterine tissue throughout my abdomen and off of my organs??

People say I’m lucky for being on Medicaid and receiving the bare minimum of SSI aid (I couldn’t live on it at all, I cannot save because of bills) and I am so privileged to even have these services. I am SO thankful that I can get help for free, but I am not receiving adequate care; my body is trying to, quite literally, kill me again.

I am so fucking blessed to have no medical expenses, it is something I will forever be grateful for because I’m probably never going to get off of it. I’ve been on Medicaid since I was 3 when they declared me “legally” disabled (yes, really).

Also the government is so horrible with disabled people. The only reason I have this is because my mom fought for me as a kid so hard just so I could be okay. I appreciate her always and I can’t express it enough, the level of gratitude I have for this.

I would die without having Medicaid, but I cannot get certain aids, I cannot have access to doctors unless they approve it, I cannot have any medication they don’t approve, any braces medicaid pays for fall apart and lose their stability because it stretches too much. I cannot go to doctors outside of my main hospital without a referral and approval. I cannot afford to be sick, that is the biggest problem.

Free healthcare seems like a dream, but it is not. Yes you get coverage, in exchange for only being able to have $2k at any time for any reason, not being able to marry your partner, you cannot choose a doctor on your own or where you need to get treated, you don’t have access to eye or ear care, you cannot get into a dentist because there are such few places that accept it and it is full because everyone is fucking poor which means the waiting lists are so long that by the time you’re able to see a doctor, they send you to a new one since your symptoms got worse and out of their field. There is a reason I’m on Medicaid, and it’s not because I have thousands of dollars in my bank account.

Although it is absolutely a privilege, without financial aid I would die. And I fucking hate that this is a reality for so many people. It makes my blood boil knowing we have enough resources to take better care of people, but the government literally refuses to do anything unless they think you’re bad enough. And when you are bad enough to their standards, it’s a whole other type of price to pay.

Tl;dr: people deserve low cost or free healthcare and it is incomprehensible to me how the American health system can just charge you whatever they want for whatever reason when all you want to do is live

[vanoincidence]

Power Creep || Van, Wynne & Emilio

TIMING: current. LOCATION: deersprings. PARTIES: @ohwynne @mortemoppetere & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: wynne and van are on a walk to the store when they get interrupted. luckily, emilio shows up. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Van kicked at a loose rock, watching as it skipped over the edge of the sidewalk and into the road. “I miss winter.” She hated slipping on ice and not being able to ride her board, but hated allergy season even more. She looked over at Wynne with a frown, pulling her hat down over her ears. It was a little too small for her, and every time she talked, the fabric wiggled upwards. “We should have a beach day once it’s warmer though… even if we don’t go swimming.” She kicked another rock, squinting into the darkness as it hit the tire of a car. 

“Maybe we can collect seashells.” Van wanted things to be normal so desperately. It was easier to pretend they were if she didn’t think about the magic coursing through her, or the fact that Regan was leaving. Though, she guessed one of those things was normal. People always managed to leave, especially in this town. “Do you really think Dr. Kavanagh is going to stay there? In Ireland, I mean…” Would she be back, or would she love Ireland so much that she stayed put? “I heard they have free healthcare. I think. But she’s a doctor… doesn’t she already have health care?” 

—- 

“I don’t,”  Wynne said, and though the idea of disagreeing with someone didn’t sit well with them, it was the truth. They did prefer summer over winter, thought spring the best season of all. Especially when the days got warmer. Winter made the clouds in their mind seem heavier. “I would really like that, to swim as well. And maybe we can do something fun with the shells we collect. Do you think we could take a surfing class? Or … well do you already know how to do that?” Their eyes followed the rock too and they smiled at the small collision. “If you want, we can also celebrate the spring equinox together. That’s what we used to do at home too, but I do it my own way now. It’s later this month.”

It was nice to walk though. Even if the skin was so cold that it was harsh against their cheeks. Besides, the two of them had a goal — to get a snack! Wynne was glad to have Van’s expertise when it came to treats. They looked sideways at her as she mentioned Dr Kavanagh. “I don’t know.” They looked ahead again, at the way the streetlights were reflected in the icy streets. “Maybe. I hope not, but maybe that’s selfish.” But if Regan’s family was really like their own, they hoped she’d be back. “I don’t know a lot about healthcare, Irish or otherwise.” They were pretty sure they got it through their current job, though. At home, they’d not gone to hospitals. They now understood people had died when maybe they hadn’t had to. “She is a good doctor to have in town.”

—- 

“Surfing?” She shook her head, “no, I’ve never tried that… but I’m sure we could find somewhere around here to do it.” Van was sure that somewhere in Wicked’s Rest, somebody was offering surfing lessons in the summer– she just hadn’t ever looked. “We could try snowboarding, too, if you wanted.” She’d only been a few times, mostly on school class trips, but she always became overwhelmed with the ski lifts and opted to stay closer to the bunny slopes. She wondered silently if things would be different now. “Oh, that’s what–” your cult did – it contains itself before it slips, and Van nods instead, “I think I saw a documentary about that the other day! I think um, that’s what it was.” Nice save, idiot. “It’s too bad I wasn’t born on the equinox… I think that would’ve been cool.” 

“What’s selfish about it?” A part of Van felt relieved that she was leaving, but only because it meant she wouldn’t be thrown out onto the street. Then again, she guessed she could go back to her house, even if she didn’t necessarily want to anymore. Dr. Kavanagh’s apartment was sterile in a way that felt right– it was void of any memories, good, bad– any of it. Though, Thea brought in… different feelings– seeing her every day. She cleared her throat and tightened her arms around her, kicking another rock. They weren’t too far from the corner store now and her stomach grumbled at the promise of hot funyuns. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be like, a doctor. Only talk about it.” Dead people needed doctors too, she knew. They needed to be respected, and it really seemed like Dr. Kavanagh did that. “But I hope she likes Ireland, but comes back…” For her sake, for Jade’s– it seemed like Wynne cared about her too with the way that they had shown up at Regan’s apartment, expecting her. “Have you ever been to Ireland? I’ve never been to anywhere abroad except for Toronto, but we like, drove there, and it was super quick.” 

—

“Yes, right? Because there’s beach. We sometimes did some watersports at home, but that was a lake. Mostly a lot of swimming.” Wynne missed the lake, the way the fog formed in the mornings. The squeals that erupted when you dove in in the summer. “Snowboarding? That sounds … cool, but also a bit scary. I’d like to go on the mountains, though. I’d love to do that. Is it still cold enough for this? I bet, right?” They nodded. “It would have been. But your birthday is also special!”

They were quiet for a moment, processing that question as well as why they thought that selfish. Wynne shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just be happy for her that she’s going to her family. And not be thinking about my own feelings or something. That feels selfish.” It had always been branded selfish to take their own emotions into consideration. They had been more than just a person, at home — they had been sanctified, a future savior, a beacon of hope. Prioritizing that was key. But maybe not wanting Dr Kavanagh to leave just meant they cared about her. “I have been to her office. She has a lot of skeletons there. I never saw the corpses, though. I don’t want to.” They grimaced, kicked the same stone after it had rolled their way. “I hope she does too.” They shook their head. “No. I’ve only been here, in Maine. And New Hampshire, a little. I have never been in another country. The world is so big, am I right? How was Toronto?” 

—

Van silently tried to imagine the life that Wynne had before finding themself in Wicked’s Rest. She’d heard enough to picture it in bits and pieces, but it wasn’t entirely clear. She tried to imagine people who looked like Wynne– siblings, maybe, or cousins, who dove beneath the water to grab at rocks beneath the lake’s surface. “It’s definitely still cold enough for it.” Van offered a smile, brushing past the memories she was re-creating in Wynne’s stead. “I want to, for sure… we should definitely do it.” She was a little nervous at the prospect of falling flat on her face, but she was great at skateboarding! The mechanics were there! “The 21… I’ll remember that, I think.” She nodded, committing the date to memory. It was clear that it was important to them, because this hadn’t been the first time they’d mentioned something about an equinox. 

“I think it’s okay to be…” Van gestured vaguely, “upset..?” She thought for a moment before shaking her head, “maybe that’s not the right word, but..” Van shrugged, mimicking the way that Wynne kicked a rock, sending her own flying to the side, off into somebody’s yard. “I don’t think it’s selfish to feel things. You can be selfish, but I don’t think feeling things has anything to do with it.” She offered Wynne a small smile before shrugging, pulling the sleeves of her coat down so that she was cupping them against her palm. “It was okay. It was for a convention.” She couldn’t remember too much about it. Her anxiety had spiraled tenfold, and now that she looked back at it, she was sure that the melted convention tables had been her fault. 

As they continued to walk, Van saw movement out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, the cemetery is over there… I wonder if Nora is home.” It felt weird, calling the cemetery Nora’s home, but it felt right, too. “Should we go check?” She offered Wynne a smile, before it faltered. “Wait, this isn’t hers, never–” The sound of something scraping against the floor, a body being dragged through mud– there was dirt, too. The sound of gagging. Van’s eyes widened as she grabbed onto Wynne’s arm, dragging them backwards from the fence where the creature stood, taller than either of them. “What is that?” Van asked, breathless, skin now itchy by merely looking at it. As if in some kind of response, the creature dropped the individual by the leg it held onto and leapt over the fence, now standing a foot or so away from either herself or Wynne. “Wynne–” 

—

“Let’s do it! I love trying new things,” Wynne said, glad that there was another possible prospect to look forward to. They had learned that it were those kinds of things they needed to continue to feel like life was valuable, to keep them from sinking into the dark and depressed mood they were always teetering on the edge of. “Especially with friends. And if all goes wrong we’ll at least laugh about it, right?” They smiled at Van. “Sweet. I will let you know where to be when it’s time! I think on the beach near where I live now.”

They were silent as Van spoke, focusing on the pavement. She didn’t think it was selfish to feel things — and it sounded right coming from her mouth, even if the concept in and of itself was wrong. It was selfish to be overrun by emotions, to feel so deeply that it might upset others. Wynne wished there was another stone to kick. “Oh,” they said, as if Van was saying something completely new. In a way, she was. “I think I find it hard to be upset. I was taught it was bad and selfish. But I think you’re right. I wouldn’t think it selfish if you were sad.” And Wynne was no longer someone special or chosen, so why shouldn’t those standards apply to them? They were here now, in this world. “What did you convene about?” They weren’t sure if that was what people did at conventions, but it sounded right. 

They looked at the cemetery, nodding at the suggestion. They hadn’t really been at Nora’s cemetery home a lot, as they’d always met in public or wherever Emilio was living at that time. Wynne was ready to go in, though. Seeing Nora would be nice — but she didn’t live there, Van realized. And there was something else. Their eyes were wide, pushing deep into the darkness to try and see what it was the pair of them were hearing. They too felt an itch running down their skin. “I don’t know.” Wynne took a step backward, felt themself holding onto Van’s hand where she’d grabbed their arm and took them further back with them. It looked monstrous. Their free hand reached inside their jumper, pulling out the necklace Emilio had given them. It seemed to cause some kind of response, the silver cross and Wynne held it out as they kept stumbling back, a moan escaping from their throat. Something fearful, something pathetic, something that wasn’t equipped at all to handle the winged beast closing in on them with a fist full of dirt.

—

If she and Wynne lived anywhere else, they could have continued their conversation. Van would have convinced them that they deserved to feel anger, if they wanted to— that it was alright to exist for themselves now that they were out of their cult. Though, she still wasn’t sure that was the appropriate word to use. Probably not. It didn’t matter that much, though, because the beastly figure that stood in front of them now took over practicality on Van’s behalf. 

It advanced on them, and Van noticed out of the corner of her eye that Wynne was digging into their sweater, pulling something out— the hand that was closed around theirs tightened, and she half expected something to happen at the reveal of whatever Wynne had closed in their hand, but nothing did. There was no magical light that poured from the necklace, but it did, however, deter the monster for a moment. That moment was all Van needed for her magic to push forward. The ground at the monster’s feet began to melt, cement running grey around the creature’s feet. It caused it to slip, almost too comically, and Van was stumbling backwards, pulling Wynne with her. 

“I did that, and we have to go— what is that!” She was shrieking now, admittance for what she’d done ringing through the air. She thought about all of the times she had denied such a thing, and how it felt almost freeing to finally say that yes, she had been on the other end of the magic that temporarily rendered the beast unable to advance on them. “Wynne, what do we do!” The melted asphalt wasn’t enough to keep it at bay for long, and it was trudging towards them, steps too careful for something entirely beast like— this had smarts to it, Van realized. The dirt that it held in its hand spilled from the corners of its large hands, and Van shrunk away as it got closer. Panic rose in her chest and Van outstretched a hand, willing something to happen, but nothing did. 

Wynne knew that strange things existed. There were demons and vampires, fae and mares. There was such a thing as magic as well, but they didn’t fully understand it — but when the ground started melting they figured that might be it. The thing slipped, ugly and made clumsy and they stared with wide eyes. Disbelief still washed over them, an emotion so familiar to them that they might as well no longer register it. The world was full of strange things, but they weren’t used to it yet.

And then Van was shouting that she’d done that and Wynne wanted to ask her what she was going on about, but in stead ran after her. They too were letting out a shriek, “I don’t know! It — maybe — vampire!” It had responded to their cross, hadn’t it? Did Van know about vampires? She had made the ground melt, so maybe she did. They continued to move backwards, fear continuing to strike in their heart and striking twice as heard when their bodies hit what seemed to be a car. “I don’t know! Do that thing again!” Whatever it had been, it had seemed to slow the creature down.

But nothing was happening and the creature was upon them now, taking hold of Van and ripping her from Wynne’s grip. It stuffed a hand of dirt in her mouth and they didn’t even know what to do for a moment, so stunned by this action. “Stop that!” They kicked at the creature, which seemed very intent on finishing his task of making Van eat dirt. 

“A VAMPIRE?! Wynne, that looks nothing like Edward Cullen!” She wasn’t exactly upset by the lack of Edward Cullen-ness, especially because to her, he was the least attractive in the family. If the vampire looked like Alice, on the other hand… Van’s thoughts jumped from one medium to the next, trying to dilute the idea of vampires into one single image. If both magic and bugbears existed, then who was to say something like vampires didn’t?

While she really wanted to have a breakdown about it, she knew that now was not the time. “I can’t just do it, it just happens!” She was panicked enough, but that brought on another fear– that the ground might come up to swallow both herself and Wynne. 

As hard as she tried to concentrate– to follow Wynne’s instructions, she was interrupted by the beast ripping her forward. Had her shoulder just popped out of place? The pain was blinding. She let out a scream, but it was soon muted by the way dirt poured into her mouth. She choked on it, kicking against the creature. Her fingers dug into the arm, but it was no use– he was far too strong for her. The dirt in her mouth was rancid, and she couldn’t breathe. She was going to die here, all because her stupid magic only worked when it wanted to. 

—

There was always something to do in a graveyard. Emilio longed for a busy mind these days, needed the constant distraction that came with pumping adrenaline and hands covered in dust. He was no good on his own, with his thoughts and his feelings, and he couldn’t expect to always be surrounded when the people he cared for had worlds all their own inside their heads. So he fell back on old habits. He stalked graveyards with stakes and blades gripped in his hands so tightly his knuckles hurt, he made himself useful. There was relief to be found in destruction, in the sound of commotion that he knew he could resolve.

There was less relief when the voices causing that commotion were familiar ones.

He recognized Wynne’s voice first, of course. It was the one he heard more often, the one he’d had many a late night conversation with in the hallway of their old apartment building or the quiet living room of Teddy’s house. It took him a second to pinpoint that other voice. Not Nora, not Ariadne. Someone else. He was almost on top of them before it hit him, though given the way he spotted the ground half-melted, he wasn’t sure the revelation meant much. Van was the only person he knew with a habit of melting the ground they stood on as a mechanism of defense.

And defense was a necessary thing here. He spotted the vampire instantly, recognized it as a blutsauger with a quiet string of curses. He didn’t have any garlic on him, and he felt stupid for that. These things were rarer than most other types of vampires — it wasn’t the kind of thing you went out expecting to find. But of course, Wynne and Van had found one anyway. And of course, it was doing its goddamn damndest to turn Van with dirt going for her mouth. “Hey!” He called out, unsure if he was trying to get the kids’ attention or the vampire’s or both. “Get over to me. Okay? Get over here.”

—

Van didn’t know about vampires and Wynne wasn’t sure who Edward Cullen was and it was all a little bit too much to comprehend and explain, so they just tried to focus their energy on what needed doing. The whole vampire and supernatural things exist conversation could come after they’d survived this. Besides, they had questions about what Van had just created! They hoped one day they’d have to stop learning about things that made their head hurt.

For now, they continued to kick at the creature, their anger and fear both growing louder with the sound of Van’s voice. Wynne watched with horror how the dirt got stuck in Van’s throat and they dug for their knife, the one that Emilio had gifted them but that they hadn’t had to use yet, that just sat in their pocket in case of. The knife they hoped to never have to use.

They kicked the creature again, screamed at it to, “Let her GO,” and then tried to hit it with the knife. It wasn’t wood and the skin barely broke, the knife sliding down and leaving a cut that seemed to barely bother the thing. They roared, trying to take Van’s hand to pull her away but Wynne wasn’t strong like that. They didn’t know what to do and they hoped that someone else was here, that —

And that’s when fate seemed to be on their side for once, Emilio’s protective voice calling out and ringing through their body with a feeling of recognition. “I don’t know how!” Their voice was shrill as they called back. How could they just run towards the slayer if their friend was in such trouble? If she might die? The fear struck through their heart and they looked at Emilio. “Van — I can’t — we need to stop it, I don’t know what it’s doing but it needs to stop.” Wynne pushed with their hands at the vampiric monster again, their knife cutting into some of its skin but it was futile in the grand scheme of things. “Van, Van, can you — pull free? We need to run.”

—

There was another voice– although grating, Van felt a wave of relief. She’d recalled the last time she’d gotten into trouble with Emilio, how he’d taken care of it pretty swiftly. Would this be like the last time, or would she die here? Her mouth was full of dirt and she was coughing it up as the monster was shoving it in. She could see Wynne out of the corner of her eye kicking at the creature, but it didn’t seem to care all that much. She tried to, too, but she was growing tired– exhaustion set into her bones the more dirt that filled her mouth. 

Van spluttered, nails digging into the wrist of the creature as she tried desperately to break the hold it had on her. Tears streamed down her face, both from the suffocation and the fear. She was starting to lose feeling in her toes, she thought– was that what that was? Suddenly, one moment she was being held upright, and the next she was being half-tossed, half-thrown to the side. The ground beneath the monster began to disintegrate, liquid asphalt pouring over the creature’s feet. At least her magic was working now. Was she about to die? Was that what this was? 

She hit the ground hard, stars scattering across her vision as she coughed up the dirt, hooking a finger into her mouth to scoop it out. Tears made her face sticky and wet, and she could only imagine what she might have looked like to those around her. But that didn’t matter– not right now. When she looked back towards the beast, it was stuck in the goo she’d created. The divet into the earth looked like a large pothole, and then suddenly– a giant hand, grotesque and feathery grabbed onto the creature’s shoulder, pulling it down beneath the level at which Van could see it. 

—

There wasn’t time for this. The blutsauger had a hold of Van, was already stuffing dirt into her mouth, and it wouldn’t be long before it killed her. Maybe Emilio couldn’t keep it down permanently, but he had to do something, had to find some way to at least save the kid’s life. He yanked his holy water from his pocket, pushing himself as best he could to cross the distance between himself and the kids quickly in spite of the pain in his bad leg, but he could already tell it wasn’t going to be enough. Van was sputtering and coughing and running out of time, and Emilio could push himself as hard as he wanted to but he couldn’t force his useless leg to work. He couldn’t close the distance quickly enough, couldn’t stop what was about to happen. He’d walk away from this with another dead kid on his conscience — or two, if he was too slow to save Wynne, too. The thought was enough to push him a little more, make him move faster but still too slow. He was going to be too late, he was going to fail here the same way he had a thousand times before, he was going to —

The Earth opened up beneath the blutsauger’s wretched feet, close enough that Emilio stumbled back to avoid the gaping canyon that had appeared in the world. It looked like what Van had done back the last time he’d run into her, but… different. Bigger, more intense. Something came out of the hole — a hand? None of it made a whole lot of sense, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because Emilio was close enough now to dart around that hole, to close the distance between himself and the kids.

He came in as quickly as he could, still clutching that holy water. It had seemed small in comparison to the blutsauger, but it seemed utterly miniscule when held up against the size of the hole that had opened in the ground. Emilio held it anyway, unscrewed the cap with his teeth as he crouched next to Van, between her and the crevice that had swallowed the blutsauger. “You okay? You — Can you breathe? Wynne.” He gestured wildly at them, ushering for them to get behind him, to let him put himself between them and the hole, too. “Here.” He pulled the cross from around his throat, shoving it towards Van. Wynne had the one he’d given them, still; it would be better if Van weren’t entirely unarmed. Although… looking to the hole, Emilio had a feeling Van never quite had that problem.

—

Wynne was moved by pure instinct only, driven by the fear of losing Van, of this ugly creature killing her on a random evening. They had just been on their way to get some snacks — surely that couldn’t be how death went? Death came for old people or happened in grotesque ways, like a sacrifice on an altar or a vampire’s head being torn off. It didn’t just happen like this, did it? Sure, there were stories of things just happening like this, but Van couldn’t just die, right here, on a random evening when they had been going to get some candy. And so they were trying whatever they could, attempting to pull and hit and kick and shriek – but none of it gave.

And then the ground started to move, something strange happening and Wynne jumped back a beat after Van was tossed away. They watched her cough up the dirt and started to pull at the bandana tied around their neck. Their intention to hand it over for Van to wipe the dirt off of was discarded when they looked at what was happening. The ground was transforming, sinking, becoming some kind of hole — and then there was a hand, a tug and it was gone. The feathery hand and the vampiric thing itself. They stared, tasted the salt of tears leaking into their mouth and let out a whimper.

Soon enough they rushed over, pulling off their bandana fully and holding it out to to Van. Their eyes danced viciously from the hole to Emilio to Van, not sure what to focus on. “Is it — is it gone?” They were crouching, hand placed on the ground and an exhale passing from their lips. “Van —” They didn’t know what to say. Should they address it, how afraid they had been? How she’d almost died? No, probably not – it would probably not be sensible, even if it was the thought circling their mind viciously. “Are you okay? What can we do?”

—

Between colliding with asphalt and the dirt in her throat, Van was gasping for air. Chest heaving, she held onto her shirt, pulling it slightly as if it’d allow her more room to breathe. She wasn’t dead, and neither was Wynne. Emilio was still talking, and now Wynne was talking to her, too. She blinked rapidly, tears blurring her vision making it hard to take in her surroundings. Something dropped into her lap and her hand splayed wildly around until she felt the weight of the cross. She held onto it as if some sort of lifeline, reaching up to rub away the dirt on her face.

“I think I’m okay,” Van managed to choke out, wheezing slightly as she tilted her head back, blinking away the now dirty smeared tears. Her mind raced from Diana in the parking lot to recently with Regan’s apartment, and now–? Once her vision became slightly more clear, she found the space where the creature had been, where the ground had swallowed it whole. It was left with an indent just as it had been when Diana disappeared, and as when the man in the ice cream shop had. She felt less guilt, less fear about this one, though. 

“I did that,” Van whispered, confirming what she was sure both her companions were trying to figure out. “I did that.” She had saved her own life, and possibly Wynne’s by proxy, but it’d been too close– what if the creature had dragged either herself or Wynne with it? What if Emilio had been trying to fight it off? “I’m sorry– I–” She choked on the remaining dirt in her throat and shook her head. “It was going to kill me, and maybe you, Wynne, I couldn’t– I had to do it, I had to kill it.” Even if she hadn’t exactly instructed her magic to do such a thing, the fear had pulled up over her like a second skin, leading the way to the creature’s destruction. She wasn’t sure what had come up to take down the vampiric beast, but she was grateful for it. How many more times would she feed her demons (literally)? “I don’t know how it– I– I was scared, and then– this happens when I’m really scared.” She looked at Emilio, “I didn’t want to hurt Wynne, I swear.” Because Emilio hurt things that hurt other people, right? Van had hurt people, plenty of them. Would Emilio retaliate? She stared at him, eyes glossed over with fear and regret. 

—

It all happened pretty quickly. There was a threat, there was a hole, there was a hand, there was nothing. Emilio’s adrenaline was pumping, but there was nowhere for it to go now. Nothing to fight off, nowhere to put the energy buzzing beneath his skin. The paranoia that had taken up a permanent residence in the back of his mind worked overtime as a result, insisting that something else was going to happen, that he’d missed something. Was that tingle on the back of his neck anxiety, or his senses warning him of another approaching undead? He whirled around, glancing off to the side with wild eyes. But the only chaos here was inside his head now; everything else was still.

“It’s gone,” he said, half in answer to Wynne’s question and half in an attempt to reassure himself of as much. There was nothing left to fight. He repeated it to himself a time or two, tried to calm the wild beating of his heart. It was gone. Van was alive and coughing, working on getting that dirt out of her lungs. Wynne was at her side, offering her their handkerchief and making sure she was okay. Emilio was scanning the perimeter like a damn crazy person, half-convinced something else was going to pop out of the woodwork and drag Wynne away next, or Van, or him. Was that something he needed to worry about? It must have been Van who’d caused the hand to appear, just like it had been Van who’d melted the asphalt during the goo shit, but how much control did she have over it? He’d wager that the answer was not much. 

Van’s voice managed to force its way through the haze of paranoia in his head only after she’d admitted to the ordeal, and he tuned in about halfway through. She was apologizing, she was scared. Of him, maybe? Guilt churned alongside the adrenaline in his gut. He felt a little nauseous. “Hey, it’s okay.” It didn’t come out quite as comforting as he’d meant for it to. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t paternal. It was hoarse and uncertain instead, like a man out of practice with kindness. He grimaced at the sound of his own voice, shaking his head. “Look, you — You did what you had to. That thing was going to kill you. Then Wynne, then more people. You did good, kid. Okay? You did good.”

—

They wiped at their eyes, where tears of their own had fallen in the blind panic that was slowly ebbing from their body. Wynne didn’t know how to cope with these surges of emotions, but it didn’t much matter — there was no time to stress about emotional incapacity when there was something to take care of. And that, at the very least, was someone they had learned at home. Besides, Emilio was there now, and with Emilio they felt safe. Even if the earth had opened up and strange claw had snatched their assailant away, even if Van was still shaking.

And Van was apologizing for killing the thing and they wondered what it said about them that they were taken aback by it. Maybe it was because they hadn’t known a lot of people who apologized for their murders and sacrifices. Blood stuck to all the hands of the protherians, even Wynne. In this case it wasn’t even a matter of sacrifice, this had been self defense. This had been one of the monsters that should be killed, like the vampires in the barn or the demon their people had worshiped. They looked at Van with wide eyes, “It’s okay,” they said. “You did what you had to do. I’m glad you did. Okay? I — but … I don’t know what it was you did. But I’m glad.” If the world was filled with death – which it quite clearly was – Wynne wanted it to be monsters like the one who’d been swallowed whole to die, and not the people like Van. 

Emilio was also saying that Van had done good and they were glad for it. They remembered the vampire falling on their stake and turning into dust. Emilio turning more of them into nothingness, because maybe that was what best. They remembered Padrig, guts spilling. Jac, neck slit. The creature that had just died didn’t tug at their gut the way those last two did. Wynne nodded. “Do you want to go back home?” 

—

You did good. 

Van choked on the apologies as they swarmed her mind. She would need to explain this in further detail to Wynne, would need to figure out how to make them understand that she wasn’t dangerous in the same way that the creature had been. In a different way, sure, but different. Van didn’t want to hurt anyone, much less Wynne. Van blinked back the tears, both from the fear and agony of not having been able to breathe. She reached up to wipe away the few strays that managed to fight their way through with the back of her hand. 

She grabbed onto Wynne’s hand, holding it tightly as if willing them to be an anchor of some kind. If Van could feel something real in this moment, it would make it easier. She could feel Emilio’s gaze on her, too, and so she pushed herself up, exhaustion evident in her movements as she struggled to get to her feet. Her hands and knees were scraped and she could feel the sting with her movements, but that wasn’t important right now. 

Home was an option, but Van didn’t want to be alone. Regan’s apartment, though put back together after what had happened that night, felt a little… wrong. 

“Can I come over?” Van asked, stare blank as she looked down at the asphalt from where the creature had disappeared. “Is that okay?” She tightened her grip on Wynne’s hand, looking between them and Emilio. “I don’t–” She thought it was obvious, but she forced herself to say it, to bend at will to the idea that maybe they didn’t want her to be alone, either. “I don’t think I want to be alone.” 

—

There were tears, though none were from Emilio. He wondered, somewhat absently, if Van had done this before. Not the melting — that was familiar enough that he knew it had happened before — or even the hole that opened up and the hand that thrust its way out of it. Instead, he wondered about the creature he presumed to be dead now, wondered if Van had killed anything before it. How much of the fear on her face or the tears in her eyes were for the suffocation she’d nearly suffered, and how much were for the sensation of taking a ‘life,’ however ugly it had been? He tried to remember the first time he’d killed something, tried to remember what it felt like. But it was hard. It was hard to remember his hands before they were bloodied. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe that was the way things were supposed to be.

Wynne assured Van that she’d done what she’d had to, and it was strange that Emilio had thought that went without saying. He rarely considered things like this to be something a person needed comfort for. No one had comforted him, had they? His mother had praised him if he’d killed something exceptionally well but, beyond that, it had only ever been expected. Van killed the blutsauger, and of course she had to. But Wynne said it like the reassurance was necessary, so Emilio nodded as if he believed it, too. It was hard, teaching an old dog new tricks. None of them ever felt natural.

He glanced to Wynne at Van’s question, though he wasn’t sure if it was for them or himself. Wynne’s house was their own; Teddy had made sure of it. But Emilio nodded, anyway. “You can both come to Teddy’s,” he offered, because he thought Wynne might feel safe there and he thought he might feel better if he could keep an eye on them, on both of them. “You can have… Uh, how old are you again?” Wasn’t the drinking age different in America? In the twenties instead of eighteen. Emilio had been far younger when he’d had his first drink, though, and he’d never cared much for laws, anyway. So he shrugged. “Eh, doesn’t matter. You can have a drink. Helps calm you down. Or… There’s probably food. Uh, whatever you want. Yeah? You can do whatever you want.”

—

Van’s hand was in theirs and Wynne held on tight on her too, her thumb running small circles over the back of her hand. They weren’t sure what to say just yet, but maybe that was okay. There could be conversation about what exactly it was that Van had done and what it meant later, just like they could converse later about the existence of vampires. (And demons, maybe those too, if they were ripping off bandaids anyway.)

For now, though, there was a hand to hold and tears to let dry. As Van quietly asked if she could come over, they were ready to offer their home. Going to Teddy’s (and Emilio’s – even if he didn’t quite see it that way yet) home seemed like a good idea, though. More space, there, and the slayer could remain to linger in their periphery and make sure no other vampires somehow ended up on their trail and attacking them. They wanted to ask if there was a chance that there was more, as there always had been in their previous encounters with vampires. One look at Van made Wynne think twice about bringing up that potential reality, though.

“Sounds good,” they said, nodding. They squeezed Van’s hand. “Are you … did you drive?” They looked up at Emilio, who seemed to be suggesting a favored solution. Liquor. They wouldn’t mind some at this point. “There’s a bunch of stuff there. We’ll just go there and get you cleaned up and relax, okay? Teddy also always has treats. No need for the shop.” They looked at Van, catching her eyes. “We’ll be okay there.”

—

She wasn’t sure why, but she half expected Emilio to tell her no. She felt a little guilty for that– thinking so badly of him when all he was trying to do was help. Van leaned into Wynne as they ventured away from the scene of the crime. At Emilio’s question, her brows furrowed. It occurred to her that Emilio hadn’t even said happy birthday to her. Actually, that seemed normal. “I just turned twenty-one, and I like pink drinks.” Her voice shook slightly as she explained herself. It didn’t really matter what she liked or not, she didn’t think. 

Van attempted a smile, but she could still feel the dirt on her teeth. “Do you think Teddy has an extra toothbrush?” Would they be upset with her for what happened? Especially after getting her the ring that was supposed to help? She wasn’t sure. She bit the inside of her cheek as she stared off into the distance, She had to believe both Wynne and Emilio that it would be alright– that the beast she’d sent off to… wherever, wouldn’t come back to finish the job. 

—

“Oh. Happy birthday.” It was flat, and a little uncertain, but it was genuine, too. Emilio was sure Teddy had the ingredients to make pink drinks (were those just drinks that were pink?) back home, though he had no idea how to go about making one. He’d figure it out, he guessed. Fuck only knew the kid could probably use one, after everything.

He turned to Wynne, shaking his head a little. He hadn’t driven — and if he had, he’d have been on his bike, which he wasn’t sure would comfortably carry three people — but they should be fine to walk. And… stop by a store on the way home to buy a toothbrush. “I’ll get you one. Call it a late birthday gift or something. And Wynne’s right, okay? You’ll be all right.”

Emilio would make sure of it.

[acti-veg]

hi,

i was wondering if you think severely mentally ill people should have euthanasia as an option

i know this might be a difficult question to answer so please don’t feel you have to but i value your opinion

bc i believe the level of mental health support needed by some people does not exist, and they may suffer immensely their whole lives

i know you have to consider various factors including the effect on family etc but say someone has an incurable mental illness, wants to die and has no loved ones - and may actually cause more harm alive than dead - should they be allowed to die?

say the decision is not impulsive but they’ve suffered with their mental health for many years and tried lots of forms of treatment which hasn’t helped?

i feel all of the above apply to me apart from i do have family who wouldn’t want me to do it but at the same time staying alive for decades when you’re suffering pretty much constantly seems like a big ask :(

I'm going to try to answer this as a general ethical question. Whether I believe assisted dying should be an option for those who have been through the proper processes and can receive the relevant care, and whether I believe you specifically should be 'allowed to die' are totally different questions. I am not comfortable even commenting on the latter one given that I am not a professional and have very little information to go on, as I'm sure you can understand.

I believe in the right to self-determination for everyone, so long as they have the capacity to make their own decisions. That should include both how we live our lives, and the manner and timing of our deaths.

The practicalities and various lines that must be drawn are complex, but organisations like DIGNITAS already provide a good model. They require that participants be of sound mind, but what they mean by that is really just that the person is capable of making their own decision about their own condition. Their statement on the matter includes the following:

"Contrary to a widely-held opinion, people suffering from mental health problems normally have sufficient capacity of discernment to decide whether they would like to continue living or end their life. Therefore, and as a general rule, they are entitled to ask for an accompanied suicide and receive assistance just as much as people suffering from physical health problems, in order to avoid the high risk of failure. The same applies to healthy people who wish to end their life because they feel that it has become too arduous for them due to old age. There are no rational reasons to patronise these people through paternalism."

Of course, this is all has to be determined by a process of conversations and assessments by professionals. I would say though, that nobody should be dying because they can't access proper mental or physical health care; an organisation like DIGNITAS can only really provide it's intended function in a society where healthcare is accessible. Otherwise, you essentially just have 'your options are deal with it or die,' and we can't let those be the only choices available to people.

It's a difficult thing to think about and there will never be any ideal 'solution', but we have to stop assuming that someone wanting to end their life necessarily means that they are in some way deranged or cannot be trusted to think for themselves. People must be allowed to make their own decisions about their own healthcare, which should include both passive and active euthanasia.

Again though, I want to emphasise that this is a scenario where someone has access to proper mental health care, have been through the relevant assessments, the legal processes, made arrangements for what happens after death, disclosed all of this to the relevant parties and is being properly assisted. That won't be the case for someone thinking about this in isolation, who do not have access to a service like DIGNITAS. In short, assisted dying and suicide in the way we usually think of it are not the same thing.

For what it's worth, I'm always here if you want to talk to someone. Even if you just need someone outside the situation to vent to, then my inbox is always open. Take care of yourself, anon.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

I Took the One Less Traveled By - a Malevolent Fic

FINAL FIC OF SURROGATE: THE DIRECTOR'S CUT, SEASON ONE

Faroe is given a choice.

A choice six years in the making.

She could never have predicted the result.

AO3

----------

Her birthday.

He’d forgotten the date, gotten lost in their travels and searching.

Six years.

His daughter. His Faroe. If they hadn't pleased this monster , she would die. “No,” Hastur whispered. “No! Please! ”

The audience cheered. “Aaaand coming to you live, from Carcosa!” Kayne cried, holding up the cake in one hand. In his other, he had a weird mic, long and thin, almost like a wand. “The season finale to the greatest show of this generation!” And he tilted the mic away. The audience cheering stopped with the sound of a record scratch. “Been thinking of calling it Lester Yellow, you know, almost like it’s some kind of seasonal Home Depot color, what do you think?”

“Leave her alone,” Hastur breathed, so terrified he could not move. "I beg you. I'll do anything!"

"What?" whispered Faroe in a daze.

"No!" shouted Arthur. "Don't touch her!"

“No?” said Kayne. “Naw, you’re right, that name doesn’t really make sense. Oh, well.” Record-scratch, audience cheering. “And here we are! The overall ratings are in, kids! How do you think you did? Well, I can tell you: you did fantastic. The drama! The tears!” His voice dropped sixteen octaves. “The character arcs like blades, hooking deep in the gut! Oh, and of course, filicide. Fucking delicious."

Hastur made a noise as if he'd been gutted as Kayne spoke.

How dare you, John groaned.

“And I brought cake for the occasion!” Kayne said, holding it up again, and eyed them. “But you know what? No, no, cut. Cut! Edit. This little clusterfuck will not work.” And he snapped his fingers.

They were abruptly torn away from each other.

Everyone shouted. Nibbles bleated. Hastur and Arthur found themselves on opposite sides of the throne room, just within the blazing light—and behind some kind of barrier. Whatever it was, neither could get past it; whatever it was, neither could be heard.

They banged, shouted, kicked. Hastur, then John, tried spells.

To no avail.

Faroe scrambled backward until she slammed into the throne, gasping. Nibbles had been placed behind her, on the seat, unbound, but similarly cordoned off.

Kayne loomed , leaning over her, blocking the spotlight so he was silhouetted except for the freakish whiteness of his teeth.

Faroe stared up at him, gasping loudly, fear upon fear after horror upon horror making her shake, making her feel so weak. She’d grown up around bigger beings, long been used to such large things as her father—but this human-sized man, right now, felt bigger than them all. “Kayne!” she cried.

“That’s my name, feel free to wear it out and I’ll make up another one!” he said, and laughed.

It was horrible, that laugh. Worse than in her head. This close, shocking, knife-like, it pierced, and she screamed, covering her ears with both hands.

He crouched suddenly, holding the mic out to her so her gasps echoed back at her from around the room. “Hey, now, don’t be sad! You won! What do you have to say?”

Faroe cringed. “Go away!”

“Mmm, nope, nope, I mean, my script has a lot of space for improv, but that’s definitely not on the docket.”

“What do you want?” she cried.

He laughed. “What does anybody want?” he proclaimed. “Affordable coffee! Universal healthcare! Vengeance! A damn good show!” He tilted his mic away like a cue, and the audience tittered.

Faroe's tears were hot on her cheeks. “I thought you were my friend!”

All the sound stopped. Not even a record-screech this time, just sudden, strange silence. Hastur and Arthur were frozen, unmoving. Over her head, so was Nibbles, still in place like a photograph.

Kayne’s look was pitying, and cold, humiliating, as if she'd just been stupid . “Did. I act. Like a friend?”

She stared.

He leaned in, crawling forward, crouching over her on all fours like some predatory beast, and his spine did not curve right. “Did. I act. Like a friend?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Trust what people do. Not what they say.” He patted her cheek and stood again, human again, and all the sound resumed. “And now, it’s time for the final game of the season!” The audience cheered wildly. He looked at her. “It’s your cue,” he mouthed.

Cue? Cue for what? She had no idea what was going on, what these crowd sounds were, what the hell he was holding in his hand. Just how many times did she have to go into a horrible situation like this and not know what was going on?

She wiped her face, furious. This wasn’t funny.

“Oh, I disagree,” said Kayne.

In their invisible barriers, her fathers (fathers!) both railed, physically battering themselves, trying to get to her.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to draw the sword from the stone like Arthur had and…

Kayne tsked . “I think she's a little stunned, folks, let's all have some patience, yeah?" The crow laughed and hooted. "Faroe, Faroe, Faroe... don't make me wait! This has been six years in the making, baby doll. You are a success. Your presence (and your opinion and your happiness and your love ) forced these idiots to work together and be interesting enough that you don’t get canceled tonight! Isn’t that lovely?”

“Canceled?” she whispered, and memories stuttered into place. Similar words, something about a mini… mini show? Something, from that night, years ago— 

“Hey, that’s pretty good,” said Kayne. “Good memory you got, there. Bet you made some new ones tonight, eh? You two, reaching toward each other like some famous ceiling painting! You, fucked in the head and sure he was going to kill you, but reaching anyway! Him, uncaring if he fucking died as long as you didn’t—and just making it in the nick of time, because you were about to pass out, and then he wouldn’t have gotten to you quickly enough if you hadn’t reached back. Wow. I mean, wow. I couldn't have planned it that dramatically.”

The audience began chanting her name.

She'd never hated her name before. She hated how it sounded now, ugly, violent, like a club in each hand, coming down. She shook and looked at her fathers again.

Arthur was sobbing, on his knees; he’d beaten his hands bloody, trying to get out. Smears hung in the air, on nothing, showing where he’d tried hardest.

Hastur had practically torn out the floor; it was like a meteor had landed on him, divoting, but he could not break through. Whatever Kayne had done clearly locked him in from above and below, too.

They couldn’t help her... but maybe she could help them. Slowly, Faroe looked up. “If I play, will you let them go?”

The audience cheered.

His grin was brilliant and shiny and white, and there were definitely too many teeth. “Brave little thing. Yes.”

Such a simple answer had to be a trap—but she couldn’t risk it. “Fine. What are we playing, Kayne, worst secret friend in the world?”

That title cracked him up, and she clutched her ears again as glass shattered somewhere in response to his levity.

Gasping, she yelled. “Well? Are you just going to… fuck around? ”

Well, maybe that wasn’t the way to go, because he laughed even harder, slapping his knee, and paced like a tiger. as if this was just so great that he couldn't hold still.

Faroe looked at her fathers.

No, she thought. She would not be crushed by this. She braced herself, reached behind her, and used Hastur’s throne to stand. (Like Arthur had, pulling himself up by a sword he made himself, like Hastur had, even after he'd had to do the worst thing, like—)

“Ooh,” said Kayne, low, his eyes lidded. “I liked that. You really are worth all that effort, maybe. Maybe. Still a kid. Well, anyway. Are you ready to learn what you’ve won ?"

“Yes,” she said, as if pronouncing her own doom.

He raised both hands, legs apart, as if posing for some kind of explosion. “A second season!”

And the crowd roared, louder than at the games, somehow more human than at the games, wild with anticipation.

"What?" Faroe called over it. “A second season? What does that mean?”

“Six more years, baby-doll. I don’t kill all of you for six more years.”

She stared. “ Kill? ”

“Your dad’ll explain the fine print later,” Kayne said, waving his hand, and abruptly shoved a plate with a slice of cake into her chest. “Take it.” He smiled. And it was a warning.

Her hands trembling, she did.

The cake was weird. The frosting was shades of brown, like rotten fruit, and it smelled like a peach left long on the ground, putrescent. Bile filled her mouth. She did not eat.

“So!” he said. "Let's see where we are, shall we? Not a forced family anymore, and while I have personal preferences on that account, I hear you.” He shouted at the ceiling. “I hear you! Conflict resolution! Declarations of love! Old plot lines revived! Punishment! I hear you, cheese and crackers!”

The audience laughed. Some asshole bellowed, That's what I said!

Faroe swallowed again. She was so tired; her body was done, fight-or-flight  reserves already tapped, but Arthur had stood, and so would she. “Will you get to the point?” she said as imperiously as she could.

“I like the schtick, doll, but don’t push it,” he said. “You get to choose.”

The audience went oooooh.

“Choose?” Choose what? She wracked her brain. She’d missed something.  

He watched her twist, his smile eager, hungry, cruel . He was waiting for her to ask.  

She’d agreed to play—and whatever else Kayne was, his warnings and specific promises had always been true. She clenched her healed hand, memories of flesh melting too close to the surface. “Choose what?”

He winked at the ceiling and said, “Hastur. Arthur.”

The audience murmured, uneasy. She waited. He didn’t add to the sentence. “What?”

“Two choices, babe. You get one vote. You can’t abstain. No ties. You have to choose. Hastur. Arthur."

Choose what? Choose what?

She couldn’t do this. How could she do this? What did he mean? What was he asking? “I request more information.”

“No.” He angled the mic away from himself, and the crowd said ooooh .

She stomped her foot. “That’s not fair! I don’t know what I’m choosing!”

“Sure you do. Hastur. Arthur.” He laughed, arms out, and spun on one foot. “Choose!”

Choose?

It had to be death. He’d already talked about killing.

All the spells he’d taught her were cruel in some way. And Arthur didn’t even want to talk about what Kayne had done. And her father… 

Her father was afraid.

She had to choose who was going to die tonight. Faroe put her hand over her mouth, trying not to sob. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not to anyone.

“No one ever is, baby doll,” said Kayne in a mockery of gentleness. “You’re out of time. Choose, or I will, and oh… you will not like that penalty. You should ask your dad how it goes when my words are ignored. ”

Get him a body bag! Yeah! some guy in the crowd shouted, and they all just laughed.

She swayed. For one moment, just one, it almost drowned her. This choice. This weight. 

“Five,” said Kayne.

Arthur had stood.

“Four,” said Kayne.

Her father had done the hardest thing for her tonight and wept tears of gold. 

“Three,” said Kayne, holding up three fingers.

“I’ve decided,” she said, because she had.

Divorcing herself from the emotional angle. Stepping back from them being hers. From what she’d learned tonight. From the brand new beautiful things that helped to heal the horrors she’d seen.

She had to view this as an adult. She had to view this as a queen . The least harm to the most people. The most good to those in need. If someone was going to die, it had to be Arthur—because her father could bring him back. If Hastur died, Arthur would love her and be there—but he couldn’t bring Hastur back, and Carcosa would be in trouble.

She couldn’t think through it more than this. Felt like her brain stuttered and fell, face-first in the mud. She could not emotionally engage.

A drum roll began, low and menacing.

She spoke, and to make them proud, she tried to speak like the queen she was meant to be. “I choose Arthur to die,” she whispered instead, and then burst into tears.

#

Nothing happened. There was eerie silence; even Kayne was quiet, as though waiting for her to get it together again.

She couldn’t shut it off right away.  Hitching, choking, she finally dared look up.

Arthur was alive. Staring at her, clearly shouting her name. John kept trying magic, splashing gold along the invisible barrier, to no effect.

Did that mean…

She spun, terrified.

Hastur was alive, still trying to power his way through, his gold robe ichor-stained, his ragged half still fluttering as he tried with all his power to reach her.

Faroe was so confused she didn’t know what to do.

“Aaaaand we’re back!” said Kayne, and the audience cheered. “Excellent choice, baby doll! Real smart! I mean, I’d prepped for both options (and that’ll be fun when the other plays out) but honestly? I was hoping you’d choose him. Too much l-u-v and outright sappiness otherwise. Boring!”

“Wh-what?” she said.

Kayne snapped his fingers.

The barriers disappeared. 

“Faroe!” came from both sides, and suddenly, she had them back. 

Her fathers, both of them—and she and Arthur were both in Hastur’s arms, off the ground and half-hidden. She had them. They lived. They lived. 

"My daughter," Hastur cried, his voice broken.

"Faroe!" Arthur cried.

Faroe! John cried, and both Arthur’s hands took hers, squeezing them, comforting.

What had she chosen? What had she done? “I’m sorry,” she gasped, clinging. “I don’t know what... I don't know what I did!”

“Well it’s been a good night, folks, with our breakout star (pretty good show from a kid whose first scene in this show was grkk, you know, dead) , but it’s time to wrap up.” The audience cheered wildly.

“Go fuck yourself!” snarled Arthur.

“No,” Kayne said. “She picked you, loverboy.”

 What? breathed John.

“Couple of notes! Don’t make me repeat them, now.” Kayne counted on his fingers. “One! Arthur’s off the no-kill list. We all know you’re not going to do it, anyway, so that limitation is pointless.”

What the fuck? John demanded.

“Quiet!” Hastur snarled, focused, rapt.

“Someone learned his lesson,” Kayne said in a sing-song voice, and counted his second finger. “Two: new stars! Can’t kill them. Can’t send them away. You’re smart. You get the idea.”

Hastur got the idea. “Yes.”

“Good!” And everything froze.

#

Hastur stood alone, facing the being he’d tried to find a way around for six years, who now scared him more than anything he had ever known.

There was nothing here in this place. A vague blue-gray light, and nothing else. Eternity in emptiness. Hastur made a low, strained noise.

“And three… I don’t like you,” Kayne said, and it echoed, the words sound over and over again from all directions.

Hastur trembled. “I know.”

“I don’t like you… less than I did, though? The utter misery works for me. Crunchy heart, all in pieces . But still. I don’t like you. So here’s what I’m thinking, Golden Boy.” Kayne approached, and as he did, his guise melted away, and what he was came out to play.

Hastur fell back, crying out, huddled in terror.

Shadow bled from the thing “Kayne” had hid, madness threatening even Hastur's mind, and the next words burned themselves into him like brands. “She gets six more years. It’ll be played out at that point; I’ll probably move on. But you? You.”

Hastur panted, not daring to run, not daring to anger him more.

“I'm thinking I might just kill you, anyway.”

Hastur felt like his hearts stopped. He stared.

“Am I being greedy? Having my cake and eating it, too? Yeah, sure, but I mean, easy win, right? Everyone is gonna love season two. But you? You’re the one who did the shit. You did it all, didn’t you? Why, it was all… your… fault.” And his voice dropped low to a pleased and terrible rumble, eager, expectant, hungry.

Hastur’s whisper was nothing. “Yes.”

The darkness writhed, relishing. “You have to pay, don’t you? You know you do. You should hear their cries… they want you to suffer, bucko. They want you to hurt. That’s only fair, isn’t it?”

It was. He hadn’t suffered enough. Not for what he’d done, what he’d wrought. He could see that. He deserved… more. "Yes," he whispered, head bowed, because it was right. 

So would end the King in Yellow, Lord of Carcosa, fool.

But six years—that wasn’t enough time. If he were dead, who would protect them? They wouldn’t be safe. They would be prey. He couldn’t make them safe in six years. No one could. Hastur made one soft, helpless sound. "Wait..."

“That was lovely! Heartbroken is a damn good look on you, bubby.”

”I need more time,” he whispered, ready to bargain whatever misery this being wanted.

”No,” said the Faceless One. Then he flicked Hastur's mask. Hastur cried out. It reverberated, that pain, shocked him, briefly blinded, flashed through him like lightning, and he found himself flat-out on the ground, whimpering helplessly. He reached up and found a chip in the mask that was his face, an eerie, sharp jag along the top right edge.

“You can’t bribe me, no matter how pretty that was," Kayne said, withdrawing, shrinking back into his guise with every step. "Six years. Good luck making it aaaaall work out.”

And time started up again.

#

Hastur was where he’d been, protectively holding his family ( his family ), unable to breathe. 

His grip tightened. Fragile. They were all so fragile. His face hurt so much, throbbing with his hearts.

“Guest star number one!” Kayne bellowed as if there’d been no interruption.

Trumpets played.

“What the fuck?” came a new voice, a male voice, a heavily accented Bostonian voice, and a man came stumbling into the spotlight as though thrown.

Arthur twisted toward him.

Arthur? said John. Arthur, it… it can't be.

“Parker?” said Arthur, his voice going high and fragile.

“What?” Parker challenged, clambering to his feet. His clothes were a mishmash of Dreamlands commoner fare, as if he’d stolen it all off various washing lines, and they were sweat-stained and torn. His hair, long enough to tie back, was greasy and in his eyes; his boots were worn, and his beard was half grown in. “ Arthur?”  

Arthur gawked. Tears began rolling down his face. "Parker? Put... put me..."

Hastur let him down.

Arthur staggered toward that voice, and his breath hitched once. "Parker? Y... you're alive?"

" You're alive?" said Parker. "Fucking... you... son of a bitch, you're here?"

The drum rolled. “And guest star number two!” said Kayne. 

Watch out! a new voice snarled.

But not new. Not at all.

“I got this,” soothed Parker, but it didn’t matter at all.

Arthur stopped as though he’d been gut punched. “Yellow?” he choked.

MURDERER! the voice cried.

“Easy, Sunny,” said Parker.

No! Parker, get away from him! He’s fucking dangerous! Yellow snarled. He'll hurt you! He... he'll... get away from us!

Arthur staggered back as if punched. He shook now from head to toe, his breath going shuddery and shallow, his voice a soft whimper. 

The drum roll abruptly resumed, and the orchestra began building, louder and louder, adding percussion, strings, brass—“And of course, what’s a new season without a new villain?” Kayne cried, and his eagerness made the room tremble. “Guest star number three, straight from the wilds of the sweetest digs in the Dreamlands! Covered in the sins of his youth, filled with power from the nastiest rituals you’ve ever seen, scion of the Order of the Falling Star, and one of my favorite puppets… Wallace (ace… ace…) Larsooooooooon!”

The music exploded into chaos, a gargantuan blare of discordant noise, and the audience joined it, booing, shrieking, hissing and howling.

"What? What is... where am I?" came a syrupy drawl, smooth and unafraid, and Larson staggered into the light, dressed in colorful finery good enough for Court, with dragon-hide boots, with jewels sewn into the seam of his cloak, rubbing his eyes as though briefly blinded.

Arthur went completely stiff, as rigid as if he'd been electrocuted. It seemed he no longer breathed.

Hastur, John warned.

“What’s happening?" said Larson mildly, unafraid, confident. “I do declare… my, my. What is this place?”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand action!" Kayne bellowed—and disappeared, along with the spotlights, the crowd, the ambient noise, leaving them all alone in Hastur’s throne room.

The silence was deafening. Then, it was broken.

“You!” Larson snarled... at Parker. “Thief! How in the hell did you get loose again?”

“Oh, fuck this guy,” said Parker. “He ain’t getting you back. You hear me? Try it, asshole!”

Parker, I’m scared, said Yellow quietly.

And Larson spotted Hastur, and fell at once to his knees, arms raised. “Oh… oh! Nilgh'ri l' vulgtmah Uh'eog ph'nglui Turor! Llll ahornah, h' ahuh'eog nilgh'ri! ” he proclaimed in R'lyehian, pronouncing what had to be worship.

Hastur! John cried.

Without a sound, Arthur lunged at Larson with every intent to tear him to shreds.

-----------

Notes:

Wow. What can we even say?

We wrote this crazy series as a love-letter to Malevolent. We're playing in the sandbox, raising castles (and razing them, too), and honestly never expected that anyone else would enjoy the mess we made like you wonderful readers have.

Thank you all for your comments, your encouragements, your reactions. They've meant more than you know - and ensured that we would actually WRITE this thing instead of just going, "Wouldn't it be amazing if..."

As for this forced FOUND family, their story isn't done. We're already working on season two—though we might need to catch our breath before we post it. :)

Thank you for trusting us. <3 Hopefully, you enjoy the ride to the end the way we are.

And thanks again to Harlan, who is awesome, and made these dolls for us to play with in the first place.

See you in season two. Love, Trin, @sepiabandensis, and @sparklyandheroic