#and 'mental health' always comes up (I put it in quotes because the people who say phones cause mental illness are wrong)

[monstermoviedean]

hey do you think next time i'm stuck in another pearl-clutching hysteria fest about how cell phones are ruining The Children i should tell them cell phone bans are the technological equivalent of abstinence-only sex education

[beekeeperspicnic]

Advanced warning that this made me cry when I thought about it, and then I shared it with friends and it made them cry too, but I think it's ultimately a nice thought so I want to share it. Sorry if it gives you the sniffles.

I'm always cautious when it comes to parasocial relationships - with actors I don't actually want to know the ins and outs of their lives, they are strangers to me and that's how it should be.

But like a lot of Sherlock Holmes fans I've ended up becoming a Jeremy Brett fan to some extent, because first you love his performance, then you find out the sheer dedication he put into that role, and then you find out how he did so while coping with significant mental and physical health problems, and then you hear story after story which suggests he was a lovely man whose mind seemed to put barrier after barrier in the way of him getting to experience the full extent of the joy he put out into the world. And I think a lot of us identify with that.

There's a quote from "The Jeremy Brett - Linda Pritchard story" floating around on Tumblr where Pritchard describes how one thing which really bothered him at the end of his life was that he couldn't give any more performances for his fans. Apparently hearing that the Sherlock Holmes series was on video (something he hadn't considered because he didn't own a video player), and his fans could watch him over and over again, made him happy.

And of course, my first thought when I heard that is I think he'd be so happy to know we're still watching them and dissecting his every movement and expression.

But it also hit me because during Beekeeper's Picnic recording sessions, Jeremy Brett is mentioned so often. Ok we've got at least one actor who worked with him (and indeed reports unsurprisingly that he was "lovely"!) but also people my age who were kids or not born yet when that series aired - they're professional actors, for whom Jeremy Brett remains 'their' Holmes, their point of reference for the character.

I can't wait for all of you to get to hear our amazing Holmes actor James Quinn, but it wouldn't be feasible to get him in every recording, and so often our actors have to just read his lines and respond. Once, one of them said "I'll just imagine Jeremy Brett," and I love that so much. Somewhere baked into my little game, is an Imaginary Jeremy Brett, called forth by an actor needing a Holmes to bounce off.

Jeremy Brett's performance isn't locked in amber, a thing of the past. It's fresh for each new generation that sees it, and it inspires new performances and new art. He'd adore that, I'm sure.

And to get even more philosophical, I think that goes for all creative work - and anything else you do in life. No matter how big or small the action, you never know how big your ripples you leave behind are. It's worth remembering.

[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Buried Secrets Chapter 1: Demons of Deception

Buried Secrets Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

Word Count: 6.2k

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles and past drug use (it's Frankie), there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Badass OFC, there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, blood), a surprise appearance or two, brooding Frankie

Chapter Quote: “Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself.”

Mya’s POV

I had been in a lot of tight spots in the past, but nothing could compare to this. The most infuriating thing about it all, it wasn’t because of something I did. I was left to take the fall by someone that I thought loved me.

When I came to, I found myself suspended from the ceiling by my shackled hands. My toes barely touched the floor, just enough to help take some of the weight off my aching shoulders and wrist that stretched above my head. The room was empty and dark, only small hints of sunlight sneaking in through the thick tattered curtains.

Looking around, I saw no way out of this. There was nothing I could use to my advantage and my restraints seemed secure. They had done their due diligence in making sure I couldn’t escape. That was the downside to being taken hostage by people who were familiar with your unusual skill sets.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before the door creaked open, but it felt like hours. A very pissed off looking Miguel Collazo and one of his enforcers strode into the room, pausing several feet in front of me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach because I could sense he was beyond reason.

He gave me a menacing glare as he spoke with his thick Spanish accent, “I never thought I would find myself in this kind of situation with you, Mya. You are one of my best collectors, so I am torn on what to do with you.”

I was seething, “How about you unlock these cuffs and let me go. I had nothing to do with this, and you know it.”

He tutted, “I do not believe you. You and Damien have always been inseparable, so I know you know where he is. I want my artifacts and money back.”

Collazo was a pudgy little man with a crooked nose and curly villain mustache that rivaled Dustin Hoffman in Hook. He had a perpetually smug expression that I really wanted to bitch slap off his face as he smirked up at me.

“I don’t know where he is. What would he have to gain from leaving me behind?”

He shrugged as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, “I do not know, to keep me off his trail? It does not make sense to me that he would not tell you his plan.”

I scoffed, “Well I haven’t done that now have I? I have no fucking idea where he is. He was gone when I got home…his phone has been disconnected. I have no way of reaching him.”

The door swung open with a little more force this time. Comandante Veracruz entered, moving to stand next to Collazo. I could see his scruffy angled jaw ticking as his dark eyes looked me over from head to toe. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I could only hope he would take pity on me and talk Collazo off the ledge.

Veracruz was head of security for Collazo. Damien and I had gotten to know him well since we worked closely on several heists in the past. He had made his affections for me obvious but would never have acted on them because of Damien. Now that Damien was long gone, I hoped I could use his affections to my advantage.

“What are you thinking?” He asked Collazo in his Spanish accent.

Collazo smiled, “Still undecided…I am going to let Diego work his magic and see what happens. If she knows, she will break.”

Veracruz shifted his gaze to me. He looked conflicted, but didn’t say anything further. Collazo looked to Diego, nodding in my direction as he rasped out, “Comenzar.” (Begin.)

Diego stalked forward, then backhanded me across the cheek. I let out a threatening chuckle as I shook it off. “This isn’t gonna change my answer. I don’t know anything. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”

Collazo laughed, “Good thing we have you chained up then… Continuar, Diego.” (Continue, Diego.)

Diego gave me an empty stare before punching me in the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. He went on like this for several minutes, punching and slapping. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I pushed through the pain. I refused to let them see how bad I was hurting, even as I felt my left eye swelling and blood running down the sides of my face. All the while Collazo continued to question me.

“Perhaps you could also fill me in on what happened at Lorea’s? Was Damien involved with that too? How much of my money does he actually have?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe he was. If he’s capable of this, then why not? But I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me.”

Collazo inched forward, causing Diego to momentarily pause his blows and face him as he awaited further instructions.

“Are you sure you do not have anything you wish to tell me, Mya?” Collazo asked.

Clearly, this was going nowhere. It didn’t matter what I said. He didn’t believe me. I spit out the blood that was pooling in my mouth toward his expensive looking white leather shoes, “Yeah, fuck you.”

He didn’t seem impressed, “Still not breaking…I’m shocked. You are stronger than I would have guessed. Hora de tu especialidad, Diego.” (Time for your specialty, Diego.)

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Diego reach for the knife at his belt. A sadistic smile curling on his lips as he nodded in affirmation to his boss. However, he had made a mistake, standing too closely to me with his back turned. I reacted before he even realized what was happening, kicking the knife from his hand and using the chain as leverage to lift myself so I could wrap my legs around his neck. The adrenaline pumping through my veins allowed me to push through the debilitating pain, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hold him. Every muscle and joint in my body was protesting, but I still managed to clamp down tightly around his throat as he clawed at my jean-clad legs. He fought it for a time but eventually passed out from lack of oxygen.

Veracruz stood in shock as he watched Diego fall to his knees. Collazo let out a boisterous laugh and clapped his hands in amusement, “It’s always an adventure with you, Mya.”

I loosened my hold on Diego, allowing him to drop the rest of the way to the ground. I gave Collazo the best sarcastic smile I could muster in my current state, “Yeah? Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself then.”

Collazo chuckled, “I am going to miss your feistiness.”

Veracruz finally interjected, “Perhaps she is telling the truth. It does not make sense that he would leave her if she knew something. Maybe he is planning to return for her?”

Collazo weighed Veracruz’s words, his eyes eventually narrowing in suspicion. “Then he will find that she is missing and that you wait in her place…Acaba con ella, Comandante.” (Finish her, Comandante.)

Fuck. How do I get out of this one?

Veracruz gave a curt nod, taking a deep breath as he drew his pistol and walked toward me. He made sure to stay far enough away that he was out of my reach, but I could still see the nervous sweat forming on his brow and conflict burning in his eyes as he aimed at my face. He held the weapon there, his nostrils flaring and jaw flexing as he clearly struggled with his instructions. I held his gaze, my eyes silently pleading with him in hopes it might sway him to help me in some way. If he didn’t, I was fucked.

“What are you waiting for, Comandante? Finish her,” Collazo ordered again.

I sighed. I didn’t want to do this, but it was the only card I had left to play if Veracruz wasn’t going to help me. I knew it would stop Collazo in his tracks, but I hated myself for it before the words even left my mouth. The Comandante’s finger slowly moved to the trigger, but he was still hesitating.

I flinched away from the barrel of the gun. “WAIT! Wait…” I finally called out.

Collazo sneered as he twisted his stupid mustache with his fingertips, “Better make it good, Mya. This is your last chance.”

I could feel the fight leaving my body as I finally shared the news that I hoped would save my life - at least until I could come up with another way out. “I know the location of Paititi.”

Veracruz lowered his weapon, then turned to give Collazo a questioning look. Collazo’s brows pinched together in doubt, “You lie.”

I shook my head, “I would never…not about this.”

He scoffed, “How do I know you are not just saying this so I do not kill you?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “Well, that’s exactly why I’m saying it…but it doesn't make it any less true. I’ve seen the Vatican documents. I know where to look.”

Collazo smiled contemptuously, “That’s impossible. They are inaccessible...How?”

This was the tricky part that was probably going to get me shot, “I-I can’t tell you how…but just know, if you shoot me, the knowledge dies with me. No one else knows about this, not even Damien.”

Veracruz smirked in my direction, “Well…it seems the secrets run deep between both of you then.”

I let out a sardonic laugh, “Damien never believed in Paititi…he said it was a wasted effort…a myth. I kept a lot from him...”

Collazo came closer but made sure to keep Veracruz positioned between us. “What are you proposing, Mya? How can I trust you after this?”

“Let me prove my loyalty. Let me lead an expedition to find the lost city for you. All I ask is that you let me do it the right way, the legal way. I just need funding…”

He didn’t seem convinced, but I was still breathing, so it wasn’t a no. I changed tactics, now playing the role of a hurt and scorned lover, “I swear, I had no knowledge of what Damien was doing. IF he comes back for me, I’ll kill him myself. He betrayed me too. I’m here because of what he did. I can’t forgive him for that.”

Collazo sighed, “If you want to do this the legal way, you know you cannot have any known ties to me…”

I had him. Death would not be taking me today, but I had to think quickly so I could talk myself out of this mess.

“I’ll figure out the logistics…Maybe I set up a donation fund through the gallery…you can donate anonymously to fund the project. I’ll give you access to whatever I find first before I report the discovery.”

This was far from how I wanted to do things, especially since I was hellbent on getting out of my life of crime, but I saw no other way forward at the moment.

Veracruz turned to Collazo, “If you’re willing to chance it, I can keep an eye on her…”

Collazo met my gaze, “Fine. One wrong move though…and you are done. You understand?”

I nodded, “Yes, I understand.”

My eyes shifted to Veracruz, who visibly relaxed, realizing the threat had passed. Collazo turned to leave and tossed him the key, “Cuida sus heridas.” (Take care of her wounds.)

He watched Collazo exit and close the door before he turned to me, leaning in close to my ear as he worked to unlock the cuffs, “I really thought I was about to have to shoot up the place to get you out of here. That was clever…how long can you keep this ruse going?”

The cuffs loosened, I groaned at the ache in my joints as I lowered my arms and leaned into him for support, “It’s not a ruse…I was telling the truth…”

My words trailed off as I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I shook my head, my breath now shaky as the pain began to overtake me, “Fuck n-no. I-I think he cracked some ribs.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I should have done something more…”

I winced as we began to walk, “No, I get it. It probably just would have gotten us both killed. You did what you could in the moment.”

Veracruz did have a soft spot for me, but I wasn’t a fool. He would never sacrifice himself for me. He wasn’t that selfless. He would only help so long as it didn’t put him in the crosshairs. He was an unreliable ally in the best of circumstances, and I knew that. At least he cared enough to see that I was taken care of while I recovered.

I knew I would have to watch out for myself as I plotted and planned because there were demons of deception around every corner. I could put my trust in no one, not even the one person I thought was safe. I was quickly learning they would all betray me in the end, which is why I wanted out of this life. I wanted to walk the straight and narrow again. The money was not worth death. It was getting too dangerous to continue living this way.

Six Months Later…

Frankie’s POV

I awoke with a groan, squinting toward the window to find the sun was just beginning to rise. The reason for my sudden waking, my cell phone incessantly pinging from incoming text messages on the nightstand. I didn’t even need to look to know that it was Pope. I huffed, reaching for the device to see what the hell he wanted this early in the morning.

Pope: We still on for the range today? I know we had a late night, but I’m still going.

Pope: Will and Benny are out. Apparently, Benny is feeling last night’s fight. He 100% got his ass kicked.

Pope: Which means Will is being his bitch today.

Pope: So, that leaves us. You better not stand me up, pendejo.

I rolled my eyes. Why can’t he just put all of that in one fucking message? He texts like a teenage girl.

Frankie: Chill the fuck out, pendejo. I’ll be there.

Pope: 9AM. Don’t be late.

Frankie: 🖕

Pope: 🖕🖕

I dropped the phone beside me on the bed and sighed. Without Benny and Will there, I knew Pope would start badgering me about going back for Lorea’s money. He was becoming almost obsessive over the idea. Not that I could blame him, having a little extra cash on hand would be a huge help right now. Supporting two households wasn’t easy, even if the new private security business was doing well.

I palmed at my sleepy face, trying to wake up. My eyes finally blinked open and surveyed my near empty bedroom. The bareness of the place was a constant reminder of how I had fucked everything up and ended up alone. Starting over was never fun, but this was torture knowing that my now ex-fiancé, Maria, had given me every chance and I squandered them. Now she was moving on, my young daughter now spending time with a new man in their life and calling him Papi while I fought for unsupervised visitation.

I had no one to blame but myself. I was the one who fell off the wagon and started a slow coke spiral after we got back from South America. What we had gone through, losing Tom, it was too much and we did it for nothing. We left with nothing to show for it but the body of our Captain. We got messy. I got messy. And it broke me. I should have put my foot down about how much weight that bird could carry. If I had, we might be living completely different lives right now. Tom might still be here.

I puffed air out of my cheeks before slinging the blanket off so I could go make some coffee. After padding down the short hallway of my very modest two-bedroom fixer-upper, I loaded up the coffee machine. I stood, leaning against the counter, scanning the space while the sputtering drips began to fall into the pot. I really needed to do something to make the place look less like military barracks and more like a home. Especially if I was eventually going to have my kid here. The mere thought of all the work that needed to be done made my chest feel tight. I had to shake my head to push the never-ending checklist out of my mind and focus on something else before it put me in an even worse mood.

Once my coffee was ready, I decided to sit out on the front porch swing to enjoy the calm of the morning. After getting comfortable, I let my mind run through several things that needed to be taken care of at the office. I was thinking through some budget requests while watching two squirrels chase each other around the base of an old Oak tree when movement on the street caught my attention. A blacked-out SUV crept down the road, eventually speeding up and disappearing around the corner. It put me on edge. It was too nice of a vehicle to be driving through this neighborhood.

I was probably just being paranoid, but the fear of one of Lorea’s business partner’s finding out who stole some of their money and then torched the rest was a very real concern - for me at least. The rest of the guys seemed to think we were in the clear. I wasn’t completely convinced, and it constantly had me on alert.

I sat for a while, my eyes scanning the quaint neighborhood I had chosen to settle down in, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Finding nothing, I eventually scoffed at myself, thinking that perhaps I was being ridiculous about this whole thing as I stood to go get ready to meet Pope.

A short time later, I found myself pulling into the gun range parking lot. This had become sort of a weekend routine for us. It served as an escape, allowing me to have a taste of the military life that I was so accustomed to before retiring. It was the only time I found that my mind was completely empty. There was something freeing about it, helping me to relax - most days. Today, however, was another story. I could tell from the look on Pope’s face as soon as he stepped out of his vehicle that he was cooking up some kind of plan.

He smiled as I approached, clapping me on the back in greeting, “Hey, hermano. You get enough sleep?”

I gave him a tight smile, “Could have gotten a little more if you weren’t texting me at the asscrack of dawn.”

Pope grimaced, “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Of course not... What did you book for us today?”

He turned to grab his duffel out of the backseat, “I got us two one-hundred-yard lanes. They only had one three-hundred open.”

I shook my head, “Figures. Alright, let’s go.”

The range was busy, for which I was thankful. It made it harder for Pope to get a word in. There was an eventual lull in the shooting, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He leaned in closer, pulling one side of his earmuffs away as we worked to reload. I did the same so I could hear what he had to say.

“I think I can get us into Columbia, off the radar. I’ve got a contact…”

I held up my hand, “Stop. I don’t wanna hear it.”

I could see the frustration on his face as his jaw tensed, “Come on Fish, this could work. I’ll cover the cost again…get the documents…everything. No one knows where that money is except for us. We shouldn’t run into any problems. There wouldn’t be any contact with the cartel. It’s a quick in and out.”

After inserting a fresh magazine into the rifle and replacing my earmuff, my lips set into a tight line. I gave him a tense look before stepping to the firing line to discharge at the target. My non-answer seemed to end the conversation, for now.

I took the time to get lost in the target, giving it all my focus as I peppered it with bullet holes in and around the center. My mind was finally quiet, and I reveled in it, wishing it would stay that way for the rest of the day. I knew that was wishful thinking though. It never did.

Once that magazine was empty, I returned to the table that separated my lane from Pope’s so I could reload. He joined me, staring off in the distance, seemingly distracted by something before finally turning his attention to me and removing his right muff. I did the same as I gave him a warning with my eyes.

“How’s it going with Maria? Any headway?”

I shook my head, “Nope. If she has it her way, I’ll get zero visitation. She’s done with me…won’t listen to anything I have to say. She doesn’t believe I’ve cleaned up my act.”

Pope sighed as he gave me a sympathetic look, “Sorry, hermano. I hoped she would come around. Don’t let it get you down though. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need…”

I nodded, “Yeah, I appreciate it. I might need you guys as character witnesses if it gets to that point.”

He gave me a soft reassuring smile, “Consider it done.”

His eyes drifted again as a larger caliber rifle began to sound off from the far lane. He seemed intrigued as I raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He glanced over at me, jerking his chin upward indicating I should have a look. It didn’t take me long to figure out what had his attention, or who rather. There was a woman in the farthest three-hundred-yard lane, lying on her stomach, shooting the high caliber rifle that had ended our conversation. She was wearing army green fatigues that definitely did not fit like military issue pants as they hugged her curvy hips and ass just right. She was also wearing a black ribbed tank top, black military style boots, and a black SWAT hat pulled down low over her aviators. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. I could see why she had his attention. Aside from her attractive form, this wasn’t a sight we saw here very often.

As she stood, she turned toward us. Her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses with her lips set into a tight line, giving nothing away. I glanced at Pope, who seemed smitten already. I rolled my eyes at him as I stepped back up to the firing line. Hot women were always his weakness. He would disagree, but we all knew it.

When I returned to the table, it was clear Pope was still distracted as he continued to glance her way. His eyes finally met mine. “You been out with anyone since you and Maria split?” he asked.

I gave him an admonishing look as I shook my head. I didn’t feel like that was the best idea right now. I had too much going on.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “Not saying you need to step into anything serious, but you do need to lighten up. A one-nighter might do you some good and help with that.”

I glared at him, “I’m not doing that. It always turns into trouble.”

He snorted, “Well…maybe you should be worse at it, so they don’t come back for more.”

I could feel my cheeks warming from his words as I flashed my middle finger at him, “Fuck off.”

He jerked his chin toward the last lane as the woman got into position again, hitting the three-hundred-yard target dead center when she finally shot off a round.

“You should go ask her out.”

I scoffed, “No. I’m not…”

Pope jutted his hip out, putting his weight on one foot, “Come on… Maria’s moving on. It’s time you did too.”

I could feel my jaw flexing at the mention of that, “No. Just let it go.”

Pope chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t blame you. That looks like too much woman for you to handle anyway. She’d probably kick your ass…I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

I shook my head, giving him an exasperated look, “What the hell does that even mean?”

He gave me a mischievous smile as he shrugged, then turned toward the firing line to begin shooting again.

Fucker. I was half tempted to talk to her just to prove a point.

I suddenly felt like eyes were on me as I glanced back over at the woman. I couldn’t tell because of her glasses, but it appeared that she was looking directly at me with a small smirk on her full lips. One eyebrow raised slightly as she picked up another clip, returning to the rifle to reload it. Now I was intrigued.

By the time Pope and I finished off our last magazine, she was gone. As we walked to the parking lot, Pope was quietly berating himself for letting the opportunity pass before he asked if I thought she might be back again. I shrugged, somewhat amused over his new infatuation because I knew he would be distracted by someone else as soon as he stepped foot into the bar later this evening.

After our goodbyes, I made my way to the local auto parts store to pick up a couple of specialty tools that I needed for a restoration I was currently working on in my spare time. I had inherited my dad’s dark red 1970 Chevelle SS 454 when he passed away several years ago. We always said we would work together to fix it up, but it never happened. Instead, it sat idle in his garage for years. It did the same after I took over ownership of it, not having the time or the energy for it. Now that I was alone, I found myself with plenty of opportunities and the need to keep myself occupied. It was another one of those things that helped keep my mind distracted when I needed it most. I was actually thankful for it even though it was turning into an expensive project.

With the new tools in tow, I returned home. After making myself a quick sandwich and scarfing it down, I sequestered myself away in the dilapidated shack beside the house that was meant to serve as a garage. It quickly became my refuge, and I had zero complaints about it - even if it did have a leaky roof and shitty lighting. It got the job done and that was all that mattered.

I spent all afternoon working, attempting to keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of the large bags full of money hidden in the Andes mountains of Chile. After the cluster fuck we got into last time we were in South America, I was having a hard time reconciling the idea of going back. Pope was right, we had no reason to interact with the cartels this time. We could easily sneak in and collect the cash without anyone knowing, assuming it was still where we left it.

What we should do about the money was a constant internal battle for me. I didn’t know if I should accept Pope’s reasoning over mine. However, the fear of losing another team member acted as a grey cloud that hung over my head and kept me from going back. I couldn’t go through that again. It affected every decision I had made since we got back. I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. The risk was too high without guarantee of a reward.

While I respected Pope’s attempts, I still had to consider outside forces that we had no control over. He had all of the trust in the world for his ‘contacts,’ but I didn’t. It would only take one of them to tip off the cartel if they got wind of what we were doing. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I had spent hours going through every angle, all the possible problems we could run into. All of his plans seemed too dangerous, leaving too many unknowns. He just needed to accept that as my final decision and stop trying to rope us into another one of his crazy plans.

That was my final thought on it - for today anyway.

Mya’s POV

I had been planning the expedition for six months, meticulously researching every detail. That’s how I ended up at the local gun range for the last three Saturdays, doing a little recon on the owner of the security firm I was looking to hire. Collazo offered to provide security, but I needed this to be as far removed from him as possible to protect the reputation of my Gallery and the Archaeology Preservation Foundation that I had set up to fund the dig. Veracruz would still be on site to keep an eye on things, but all other aspects of the project were up to me and that included keeping my team safe.

Delta 5 Security Solutions had been recommended to me by a number of high-profile locals. It was owned by a military veteran named Francisco Morales, who worked to keep other veterans employed. Because of this, Delta 5 Security Solutions seemed much more equipped to handle the dangers of the Peruvian jungle than other firms. Word on the street was that they even offered specialized air transport services, on occasion. I needed a couple of pilots, so they seemed to check all the boxes. It would save me from having to set up multiple contracts at least.

The more time I spent watching Francisco, the more I questioned if he was the right choice. He definitely didn’t have the brightest of personalities, often seeming frustrated and stressed when he arrived at the range - like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I could, however, see his focus and determination as he fired at the targets. He was a good shot and exuded authority and control with his weapon. Sure, he came across as a little disheveled and scruffy, but there was something under the surface that intrigued me just enough to see where things went.

Like most Saturdays, Francisco wasn’t alone for his latest outing. He was accompanied by one of his employees, Santiago Garcia. Santiago seemed a lot more easy going and appeared to enjoy pushing Francisco’s buttons based on the serious side eye that was being thrown his way. From the intel I had gathered, these two, along with the Miller brothers, all served in the same military unit and seemed to be close friends in addition to running the security firm together. I had been watching all of them over the last several weeks to get a feel for their dynamic. I could see that they were loyal to each other and worked well together. It was almost for those reasons alone that I felt they would be a good fit. At least they understood loyalty and it left me wondering how loyal they could be to me if things took a turn.

However, I knew this all hinged on Francisco accepting the job. I had been warned that he wasn’t big on risks and wasn’t afraid to turn jobs down for that reason. He really was an enigma that I couldn’t figure out. Aside from his gruff demeanor, he seemed quiet and introspective - a reluctant leader, but the guy in charge, nonetheless. He also seemed to be having some life struggles but appeared to be on the upswing from those. I was concerned that it could serve as a distraction for him, but I still found myself wanting him and his team. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. My gut told me there was more to him than meets the eye and I wanted the opportunity to peel back those layers so I could find out who he really was as a person.

As I positioned myself on the ground to shoot the high caliber rifle that I had rented from the range, I could feel eyes on me. It probably wasn't the best choice since I hadn’t intended to draw attention to myself. There weren't a lot of women at the range, let alone any shooting a weapon like this at three-hundred yards. After hitting the target with multiple rounds, I stood, adjusting my aviators as I glanced toward the two men I was here to watch, realizing that I definitely had Santiago’s attention. Francisco gave me a brief glance before stepping up to shoot his own rifle. I had to give it to him; he didn’t allow for distractions. Santiago on the other hand, seemed to have at least one weakness. Women. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes over that realization as I packed up to leave.

After running home to shower and change into more professional attire, I headed toward my antiquities gallery to open for the day. Soon after opening, a well-dressed gentleman with dark hair and a beard entered, immediately asking to speak with the owner. The first thing I noticed were his kind eyes and submissive nature. He definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. Once I introduced myself, he got down to business with a polite smile.

“I apologize for showing up without an appointment, but I got a lead on this painting and wanted to follow up on it right away. I’m looking to purchase and pay cash if you have it…or can point me in the right direction.”

I returned his polite smile with one of my own, “If you can provide me with the details, I’d be happy to check our inventory for you.”

He pulled out his phone, tapping away to pull up a picture, “It's the Cazador (The Hunter), by Luis Magin…a 20th century Maya oil painting.”

I could feel my blood run cold as my body tensed. This was a missing painting listed in the National Stolen Art File. I was taken aback that this man would be asking for stolen artwork. He didn’t seem the type.

I laughed nervously, “Sir, I’m sorry…but we don’t sell stolen art. I’m not sure why you were sent here…”

He reached to pull a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, revealing Damien’s name scribbled on it. I could feel my breathing pick up as I fought to stay calm. Something felt wrong about this.

“I was told you could put me in contact with Damien Ravenwood…”

He seemed a little pushier now, like that name was supposed to magically solve the problem.

I shook my head, “I no longer associate with Damien Ravenwood…for obvious reasons. I don’t allow black market antiquities in my gallery.”

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, “My apologies. It must be a misunderstanding…”

His words trailed off as he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a business card, handing it over as he continued, “If he happens to show up…for any reason at all, please give me a call. I’d love to lock him down for a few minutes of his time.”

I glanced at the name on the card, Vincent Delacroix. It was obviously fake - a mashup of two famous painter’s names. There was nothing else on the card but a phone number. I gave him a tight-lipped smile as I waved the card in the air, “Yeah, sure, Mr. Delacroix. I’ll be sure to send him your way.”

There was something seriously off with this guy. I wasn’t sure if he was a black-market buyer or working undercover. Either way, I did not want to be in the middle of it. ‘Mr. Delacroix’ nodded and smiled before moving toward the exit. He paused halfway to the door, turning back in my direction, “I’m assuming you no longer have contact with Miguel Collazo either then? Or Persephone, by chance?

I could feel my jaw clench at the mention of Collazo and my black-market alias. I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had any dealings with those individuals.”

He gave me a charming smile in return, “Yeah, I thought that might be the case. Never hurts to ask...Thank you for your time, Miss Carnahan.”

He hesitated briefly, still smiling as he turned to leave. Once he finally exited the building, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

I was startled from my thoughts when my archivist, Emily, appeared at my side. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea…if he shows back up, come get me. No one else talks to him. Understood?”

She nodded in agreement.

The day was certainly taking a turn that I hadn’t expected. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was, it felt like something else had just been added to the list.

Chapter 2: The Divine Source

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to shoot me a DM or leave a comment.

A/N: SURPRISE! I know I said I wouldn’t start posting until Closed Position was complete, but it’s taking me for fucking ever to finish that one and I think I’ve made you wait long enough. Since I’ve got a decent start with this lovey adventure, I’ll go ahead and start posting. 😘

Now that we’ve gotten the first chapter out of the way, what are your thoughts? How are we feeling about Mya and Frankie? We definitely started with a bang (no pun intended).

I know I teased that Veracruz would be making an appearance. It turns out…he may have a slightly bigger role than I originally planned. We need a little extra tension with Frankie and I think Veracruz will serve as an excellent plot device for that. How do we feel about him so far? 🤭

We had another special appearance too. Anyone want to take a guess on who Mya’s surprise visitor is?

In the next chapter: Mya will drop in to visit the boys, Frankie has a decision to make, Mya accidentally gets a little nerdy on Frankie, and Frankie and Veracruz cross paths. Please do share your predictions. 😏

Tag group 1:

@2birdsofafeather @72scsuze @76bookworm76 @a-beautiful-but-sassy-world @almostfoxglove

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @annalovesflorida @anniet852 @ashleyfilm @ashlovesdrpepper

@auteurdelabre @avastrasposts @biggetywitch @bitchwitch1981 @bluestar22x

@bunniboo0015 @burntheedges @captainredspade @chaoticfestninja @cheekychaos28

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@ladyofmidlo72 @lizzie-cakes @madnessofadaydreamer @maggiemoo1892

[archivequinn]

MADNESS (Eddie Munson x American Horror Story: Asylum)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

Summary: Three years after his disappearance, Eddie Munson is arrested for the murders of Chrissy Cunningham, Fred Benson, Patrick McKinney and others, but the truth is very different. Unable to convince anyone that Vecna exists and that he is innocent, he is locked up in an asylum. But the only way out is to prove to his psychiatrist that he is not insane. If he fails to convince the psychiatrist, he will be executed as a murderer. He must hurry to do so, because Vecna has returned to finish the bloody unfinished business and take revenge.

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Mentions of execution, Execution, Death, Mental Health Issues, Asylum, Mental Hospital, Horror, Psychological Horror, Survival Horror, Thriller, Claustrophobia, Prison, Doctor/Patient, Serial Killers, Hospitals, Pain, Depression, Violence, Blood and Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, death of a family member, Nudity, Smut, Sex, Slow Burn, Experiments, TraumaPost-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Disorders, Smoking.

Before you read:)

This fan fiction is inspired by American Horror Story: Asylum. It contains a lot of horror and thriller content. Since the story takes place in a mental hospital, there may be various triggers. Please check the tags first as there is a lot of violence, sexuality and depression contents. This story is for adults, so close the page if you are a minor.

Please let me know if there are any tags I forgot to add. ao3 link

Violet was waiting for Eddie in the common room. When the door opened, Brendon walked in first then Eddie came in. Eddie looked around with curious eyes and smiled when he saw Violet. She gave him an almost similarly warm smile as Eddie approached the table and sat down across from her. Violet looked around carefully to make sure no one was looking at them, then put her hands in her pockets and smiled. “I brought something for you.”

Eddie's eyes lit up. “Did you bring my walkman?” he asked, excitedly.

Violet gave him a slightly bitter smile. “No, but I think you'll like it anyway.”

She took a small chocolate bar out of her pocket, put it between her hands and handed it to Eddie. Eddie's eyes were brighter than ever. He looked around and surreptitiously took the chocolate from Violet's hand.

“Oh, my God! Violet... I don't know what to say. Thank you so much.”

He put it in his mouth and ate the whole chocolate bar in one bite. “It was the best thing I've eaten in days. In fact, it was the only thing I've eaten that looked like food for days. You'll go to heaven for this.”

It warmed Violet's heart to see Eddie happy. She wondered what it would be like if they had met in a world where he wasn't insane . Eddie liked the music Violet liked, he was always quoting Lord of the Rings . He even said that he played the guitar very well and claimed to have given the best concert in the world. A small note: This concert happened in an upside-down world.

She couldn't believe that Eddie had committed all these murders. Because Eddie seemed so smart and sane.

But there was a truth. Real psychopaths always know how to manipulate you. And most of them are very intelligent. When people think of a “psychopath”, they think of someone who walks around with an axe and terrorizes people, but this is only partly true. Most of the most famous serial killers are college graduates and well-placed.

But when Violet looked into Eddie's eyes, she saw nothing that made him dangerous. Eddie's gaze was different.

Violet looked at Eddie and thought, I promised him I would find out who reported him, and he would tell me what he had learned about this hospital. I was only coming here to talk to him, but he lives here. He had more information than me. And I need that information.

Some time ago, Robert the Prosecutor had moved into the guest house building where Violet was staying because he wanted to know as soon as possible what decision Violet would make. The guest building was very close to the main hospital building, three to five minutes on foot. That's why doctors and other hospital staff, who usually lived far away, sometimes used the rooms there. 

As much as Robert staying there had annoyed Violet at first, now it was up to her to turn it into an opportunity. Robert had a business briefcase that he always carried with him, in which he kept all the files on this case. The first day Violet had come to the hospital, when he had bribed her to give him Eddie's verdict right away, Violet had realized that everything was in that briefcase. If she could get to that bag and the files, she could find out who had reported Eddie, the name was there somewhere. The only problem was how to get to the briefcase.

Violet turned to Eddie and asked gently, “What day is it?”

She asked this question every time they met, because she wanted to make sure Eddie hadn't lost his sense of time and space. Eddie leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. He licked his lips and smiled.

“It's Wednesday.”

A smile appeared on his face, but it was quickly wiped away. “Violet, can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” Violet said, nodding her head.

Eddie took a deep breath and said, “What's your favorite music? I mean, something that when you listen to it, you say, 'This song was written for me.' ”

Such a question was unexpected for Violet. She thought for a while. “I think it's Dream On, ” she said. “Why do you ask?”

Eddie smiled. “Uh, well. I’m just curious.”

There was silence for a while. Then Eddie whispered, “I hope I never have to use it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Violet decided to go back to her routine questions. Time passed so fast when she was talking to him that sometimes she lost track of time. When their therapy session was over, Violet stood up and held out her hand. 

Eddie shook it and gave her a wicked smile. “I think that's as close as I'm going to get to a woman during my stay here,” he said, unable to contain his laughter.

Violet could imagine that her face was as red as a tomato from blushing. She turned away, holding herself back from laughing. 

When she walked out the hospital door and breathed in the gloomy air, she thought, “Jesus, Eddie, I hope you're crazy. Please be crazy. Because if you're not, you're going to die.”

As she entered the building she was staying in and started to go up the stairs, she stopped in front of Robert's room. Suddenly she had an idea and she rang the doorbell. 

Robert opened the door without making any sense. It wasn't hard to guess that he wasn't expecting to see Violet.

“Violet... What are you doing here?” he said, with surprise in his eyes.

“I came to talk to you about what position I want to rise to,” Violet replied, placing a smile on her face that she thought was impressive.

Robert leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms skeptically. He was so tall that Violet had to look up when he spoke to her.

“The last time this came up, you said I was garbage and that you felt sorry for people like me. What changed your mind?”

Violet smiled, raising her hand in the air as if chasing imaginary dust. “I think after my conversations with Eddie Munson, I'm more and more convinced that he's not crazy. He could really be a brutal killer and he could be pretending to be crazy. So in that case I want to know what I stand to gain if I write a report saying that he is not crazy. If I hear what I want, maybe the paper you want will be on your desk tomorrow.”

The satisfied smile spread across Robert's face in a way he couldn't hide, maybe he didn't want to hide it. He stepped aside and motioned for Violet to come in. 

When Violet came in, all she had to do was find that file. She was sure she could do it. She had to . Because she was risking her career and even her own life for Eddie. She didn't know why she was doing it. But she felt like she must.

In the evening, Eddie was laying in his cell, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the time had passed. He had no choice anyway, there were so limited things to do here.

Suddenly there was the sound of the door creaking. He looked up to see John standing in the doorway and gesturing with his head for him to come in with him.

They walked together to the main hallway. He grabbed John's arm, pulled him a little and leaned into his ear. “How are we going to get upstairs with all these guards here?” 

John put a finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet. Thank God, this man always had a plan. He walked over to a huge patient standing in front of him. He went over and whispered something in the patient’s ear and patted him on the shoulder. Then he came back to Eddie, leaned against the stair railing and smiled. “Now watch,” he said.

The effect of what John whispered in his ear was immediate: The patient became enraged and suddenly attacked the nurse. Other nurses and guards rushed to the area, trying to pull the patient back. Other patients were screaming and running away, trying to find shelter in panic. Some acted as if nothing had happened and walked away, or continued to live in their own imaginary world.

John nudged Eddie with a tap on the shoulder. “Come on, hurry up, let's go now.”

As they hurried up the stairs, Eddie asked curiously, “What did you say to him?”

John chuckled and said laughing, “I just told him that nurse called him a chicken, he hates that word.”

Eddie and John hurried into the manager's office and closed the door. While John was checking the door, Eddie rushed to the phone on the desk. He started dialing the number and held the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?”

When he heard Steve's voice, Eddie felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: safety . Without wasting any more time, he quickly got to the point. “Steve, I don't have much time. I need you to come and pick me up tomorrow night. Meet me a few kilometers from the back door of the hospital around eight or nine o'clock at night. Okay? It's very important.”

Steve's voice was full of both surprise and concern, “Eddie? What are you talking about? How and where are you calling me? Listen, I need to tell you something very important.”

Eddie, keeping the conversation short, said, “I'll tell you everything, but I have to get out of here now. Will you come? Please tell me you're coming. My life is on the line.”

Steve took a deep breath on the phone. “Okay, I'll come, but listen to me - there's something you need to know -”

John suddenly gestured for Eddie to stop talking. Eddie hung up the phone without letting Steve finish his sentence.

They heard someone's footsteps approaching, John rushed over and they ducked under the table and hid. There was the sound of the door opening and Eddie gasped and used his hand to cover his mouth. The person who had entered the room took a few steps and then stopped. A few seconds later there were more footsteps and the door closed again.

Eddie finally let go of the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding for how many minutes. He took a deep breath and stood up, but his head was spinning and he grabbed one of the shelves on the side for balance. A few files fell to the floor with the impact of his hand.

John quickly bent down to pick them up. “Wait a minute...” he said. He waved the file in his hand and showed it to Eddie. “Do you know what this is, Eddie?”

Eddie shook his head negatively.

“This is our ticket out of here,” John continued. “When they arrested me, all the evidence I found was left in my car. I was hoping maybe they'd find it and come and get me out of here. I've been waiting all this time for them to come and save me. But these files have been here all along, the bastards have been holding on to them all this time. Of course they did... what was I thinking?”

“But isn't this Manager Wilson's office?” Eddie asked in surprise.

John nodded his head in agreement and replied, “He's in on it. What do you think, Eddie? A doctor in his hospital is going to riddle his patients full of holes and inject who knows what into their bodies and the manager doesn't know about it? You're so clueless.”

What John said was true. Eddie scratched his head in thought and whispered, “You're right,” as he looked at the file in John's hand.

John continued to shake the file. “We need to keep this until tomorrow. After we escape from here tomorrow night, we can use it to shut this place down for good. Arthur will get the death row he deserves. And you and me, man - we'll be found innocent.’’

Eddie was silent for a moment, then looked at John and spoke. “John... Maybe I shouldn't come. No one would notice if you ran away, but the whole world knows me. They'll come after us. You can clear yourself, but when they catch me, they'll either bring me back here or buy me a one-way ticket to the death chair.”

John put a hand on Eddie's shoulder and said, “Let's get out of here first. We'll prove you're innocent too. I know that, Eddie.”

Eddie frowned and said, “You may know that. I know that too. But there's only one person who can prove my innocence, and she's been in a coma for three years. Even if she wakes up, it's impossible for her to remember what happened. Every day she doesn't wake up, she loses brain functions. The doctors say it will be a miracle if she can even remember her own name.”

John looked at Eddie with determination on his face and said, “I'll never let them kill you, Eddie. You're my only friend.''

For a moment Eddie did nothing but nod his head and smile. 

They hurried back to their cell, without being seen by anyone, Eddie hiding the file in the cover of his pillow. But it wasn't long before a siren sounded. It was so loud that Eddie had to cover his ears with his hands. When the electric doors all opened automatically, the whole corridor was flooded with lights, the sounds from the patients' cells mingling together. Eddie nervously stepped out into the corridor. All the other patients were doing the same. When John, who was in the cell two doors down from Eddie, came out, he looked at him from where he was. Something was clearly wrong. 

Manager Wilson and the guards behind him were walking briskly. One by one, the guards were going into the rooms, forcing out the patients who wouldn't come out of their rooms and putting them in line down the corridor. Each one was looking for something inside the cells.

Manager Wilson shouted, “There have been little thieves in my room. Pray that what they stole doesn't come out of one of your rooms.''

Dr. Arthur was there too. He pointed to Eddie and said, “Look in his cell.''

Two guards ran into Eddie's room. Eddie was shaking but he was trying to stay calm, he kept making eye contact with John - John was no different. He was scared too.

When the guard came out with the file, he said, “I think we found the thief,” and smiled slyly. 

“Get him,” Manager Wilson ordered, breathing angrily.

The guards grabbed Eddie's hands roughly, clasped them behind his back and began handcuffing him. When Eddie tried to break free, he was kicked in the stomach. 

As the guards started dragging him down the corridor, he barely looked up and looked at John, who was trying to get past the guards to get to Eddie, shouting, “Stop! He didn't do it! It was me! I stole them and I put them in Eddie's room so it wouldn't be found on me.''

Dr. Arthur nodded his head in satisfaction, as if he had expected this, and gestured to John, “Take this partner in crime to my operating room.’’ Then he turned to Eddie and said, “And this one, take him to the electroshock room.’’

Eddie's eyes widened in horror. 'Me?' he thought, 'God, help me,' he pleaded inwardly. But the God who could help him had long since left this hospital.

Eddie was struggling, four people were trying to hold him still on the bed and they could hardly contain him. “Let me go! You won't get away with this!” but no one paid any attention to him.

On the bed were leather handcuffs used to bind his hands and feet. The nurses tied Eddie's hands and feet and squeezed them tight. He struggled, but he couldn't move. He began to watch the ceiling. The light from the fluorescent lamps blinded him. Dr. Arthur walked slowly to the head of the bed and looked at Eddie. Eddie could see him backwards, he couldn't hold back his tears.

Eddie said desperately, “Please let me go. I won't tell anyone what I saw. I swear I won't tell anyone,” he begged. Dr. Arthur put something gel-like on a wooden stick and began to rub it on Eddie's temples.

“We need to make sure you don't tell anyone, son,” he said, bringing his face closer to Eddie's. Then he gestured to the nurse and told them to hook up what looked like headphones to the machine next to him. But the machine had two iron balls the size of tennis balls where they were supposed to go in the ears. They placed them on Eddie's temples.

“I beg you,” Eddie moaned, ”please don't do this.''

But Dr. Arthur didn't seem to care, he shoved a cloth like a piece of tissue into Eddie's mouth and said, “You'd better bite down on this, Munson.''

Eddie's tears flowed and mingled with his hair. He closed his eyes tightly one last time, the last thing he saw before he closed them was the light from the fluorescent lamp on the ceiling.

“Let's start with 30 volts,” Arthur said, taking a deep breath.

Violet put her coffee mug under the sink and turned on the water, she had a rough night.

Prosecutor Robert Hills was a smarter man than she thought. But he had his weaknesses. He loved winning and couldn't stand losing. He would do anything, even sell his soul, to get the “Eddie is not crazy report” he wanted from Violet. Violet had to have a long talk with him during the night. 

Robert Hills didn't trust her at all, just as Violet didn't trust him. 

Violet had asked him to show her the photos of the victims again. He had laid everything in his big brown bag on the coffee table in the center. All the files from the case were on the coffee table at that moment. Robert had even told her a few statements and details that had not been released to the public. This man really believed that Eddie wasn't crazy and that he was a murderer. 

''First it starts with nightmares. He shows you your greatest fear. You think it's a simple nightmare, so you don't dwell on it. Then you start to see it when you're awake. As your death approaches, Vecna starts to show himself. He wants you to join him. Your soul will give him strength. That's why your greatest traumas feed him.''

That's what Eddie said in his statement. As she read the file in her hand, she couldn't understand how Robert could know all this crap and still insist that Eddie wasn't crazy. According to him, Eddie was a fraud and he was making it all up to avoid the execution. Later that long night she asked him to make her some coffee. 

And while he was doing that, she found out what Eddie had asked her to do. She found out who had reported him . She was so excited she didn't even sleep until the morning. 

As soon as she woke up in the morning, she came to the hospital with great excitement. She wanted to talk to Eddie as soon as possible.

She walked down the grand hallway to the common room, she smiled at Brendon who was coming across. He noticed Brendon's agitated state. He came over and leaned into her ear “Something terrible happened last night, Violet. You must see Eddie.” 

Violet looked fearfully into his eyes. Brendon nodded for her to follow him. They entered a long corridor lined with rows of rooms and came to a room labeled “1208”. Eddie was sitting on his bed. He was staring expressionlessly at the wall in front of him, mumbling something.

She took an uneasy step into the room and looked at Brendon. Brendon nodded, confirming Eddie's state. Violet called out, hiding her fear, “Eddie?’’ She took another step closer to him. Eddie wasn't looking at her, just staring at the blank wall in front of him, mumbling, “Ed?” she called again. She was in front of him now, but Eddie's eyes still hadn't turned to her. She leaned down, put her hands on his cheeks and said, “Can you hear me?’’

Eddie's eyes were still focused on the wall, but when Violet pushed his hair back, she realized that he had red bruises on both sides of his forehead, on his temples. She recoiled in horror, but grabbed his face in her hands again and said quickly, “Eddie, look at me. Look at me.'' This time Eddie's eyes were focused on her, but his gaze was meaningless. “Eddie, do you know who I am? Do you remember me?” Violet said, her voice shaking.

Eddie closed his eyes tightly and swallowed, then paused, “You…’’ There was silence for a moment, then he continued slowly, “You're Violet.’’

She sniffled her runny nose. Her throat was knotted with pain. “Come on, let's get you to bed, sweetheart, come on.’’ She held his head and rested it against the pillow, then she covered him with a blanket.  

Eddie started watching the ceiling. When she turned her back and was about to leave, Eddie took her hand. He was whispering something. She bent her head and brought her ear close to his lips.

He whispered, “I gotta get out of here.''

The heart didn't need to be stabbed to shatter, because those words were enough to tear Violet's heart in two. She walked out the door and saw Brendon leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting for her. She was panting. She spoke through clenched teeth. Because she knew that if she let it go, she would start crying.

“Who did this?” she asked angrily.

Brendon was as angry as Violet. “Manager Wilson and Dr Arthur,’’  he said. 

Violet asked, confused, “Why?’’

Brendon took a deep breath and said, “Eddie and John took something from his room. I don't know what it was, they found it when they were searching the rooms.''

Violet had terror in her eyes. “John? Where is he? Did they do this barbaric thing to him too? My God!” she said, fear in her voice. 

Brendon shook his head in the negative and said, “They have him in a cell. It's in the basement of the hospital, no light, no windows, a disgusting place used for punishment.’’

Violet took a pen and paper out of her purse and wrote the names of some medicines on them, “Take these and give them to Eddie. I have a little business.’’

Her eyes were burning with anger and she couldn't see anything else. The way Eddie looked at her shattered her heart. He didn't deserve this. No one deserved this. All along she had believed Eddie was innocent, that maybe the people who had committed the murders had framed him because Eddie was mentally unstable. Maybe Eddie was a scapegoat. But Eddie was innocent.

She came to Manager Wilson's office, opened the door hard and walked in. Wilson lowered his glasses in surprise as she slammed the door wide open.

Wilson said, “Mrs. George, you may not know the ethics of where you come from, but here you have to knock before you enter the room.’’

She slammed the bag in her hand hard on the table. “What is electroshock? What century are you living in? Do you realize that what you are doing is against the human rights of the world? I will report you. You are done, Mr. Wilson. You’re so done. Enjoy your last days here,” she roared. 

“Watch your tone, little lady,” Wilson said, pointing a finger menacingly.

Just then the door opened and several guards came in, ready to take her out of the room. Violet was sure her voice could be heard throughout the hospital.

Wilson said, “I told you the day you came here that my hospital and my rules apply, and in some states electroshocking up to a certain volt is still allowed, and it's not against the law. Those little thieves should have paid for what they did. You are in no position to question my techniques.''

Violet was at the point of losing her profession. “If your fucking techniques cause someone to die, are you going to take responsibility because ‘my hospital, my rules’? He could have died! You turned an innocent man’s brain into mashed potatoes, you bastard!” she shouted.

Wilson stood up angrily and slammed his hands on the table. “The man you call innocent is 23 years old and the murderer of four people. His most recent victim was a 15-year-old little girl. He put her in a coma. If by some miracle she wakes up, she will never see again. She'll be blind for the rest of her life! It'll be a miracle if she even wakes up! When they told me they were sending you here, I was happy that a professional doctor was coming. But I see that your interest in your patient has taken precedence over a doctor-patient relationship . Since you're so defensive of a murderer!’’

Violet answered him with a sharp look. “This is not something I'm saying just for Eddie, Wilson. Listen to me carefully. When Eddie recovers, I'm going to take it to court that he's in danger here, that his life is at risk. I'm going to have him transferred to another hospital. And you won't be able to keep torturing any patient the way you tortured Eddie and John.''

Wilson scratched his head with a laugh. “As I remember, John Forest was not your patient. Did you know that he burned down a nursing home and killed 15 people, including babies?”

He turned around and took out a file and threw it across the table in front of her. “John Forest” was written on it. Violet picked up the file and began to shuffle through it quickly. 

Wilson took a deep breath and sighed, “John Forest is a severe manic depressive. He lives with bipolar at its most extreme. He lives with an identity he made up in his own head. He has schizophrenia. He thinks he's a police officer who's trapped here. And he lives in a world where he says we trapped him to keep him here. He was making progress with his treatment, but since Eddie got here, he's relapsed. We expected it to progress once he found someone who believed what he said. They stole this file last night.’’ He walked to the door. ‘’Come with me.’’

Violet grabbed her purse, which she had thrown on the table, started to go after Manager Wilson and followed him. They entered a room that was used as an infirmary. A few patients were lying on stretchers, moaning in pain, others were asleep. A few nurses were giving some of them soup.

As they walked quickly past the beds, Violet saw John. He had an IV in his arm and was asleep. She had never spoken to him before but she knew who he was, he and Eddie spent a lot of time together.

Wilson raised his hands in the air as if in surrender. “As you can see, Mrs. George, we are not monsters. We've sedated him and we've restarted his medication. I'm sorry about what happened to Mr. Munson, but it had to be done. It's the only way we could keep him from getting confused. He will be fine in a day or two. None of his vital functions have been damaged anyway. He can eat, talk and go to the toilet on his own. The memories that are gone will come back in time. He will just remember some things faintly, that's all.’’

And then he walked away. Stupid bastard. Just because John was mentally ill didn't justify all the things they had done to John and Eddie, she thought. She went and sat down next to John. His eyes were closed but obviously he wasn't asleep, he was just pretending to be asleep. He had heard everything.

“What have they done to Eddie?” he asked quietly.

Violet picked up the file on the bedside table next to John's gurney, checked John's medical tests and answered briefly “Electroshock.’’

He opened his eyes, “Assholes. I'll make them pay for all this. They set me up. It's all lies. I was a policeman, Violet, I was trying to save Eddie and myself. You have to believe me, they're holding me captive here.’’

Violet could only nod. “I believe you,” she said, but she wasn't. Everything was written in the file she was holding in her hand. John felt his eyes grow heavy, unable to bear the effects of the drugs any longer. Violet looked at him sadly, poor man, she thought to herself. She put the files back on the table and left.

She didn't have the strength to deal or talk to anyone any more today, and apparently Eddie wasn't in any condition to talk either. So she thought it best to go back to her room. She was trying to digest and understand everything that had happened. When she heard a voice, which disgusted her even to hear it, she reluctantly stopped and turned around.

Dr Arthur was smiling at her with a satisfied look on his face. “Where are you going, Mrs. George? I thought you'd be attending our choir show tonight.’’

Violet looked him up and down with a look of contempt. “I'm not in the mood to listen to children dressed as angels babbling about how everything will be fine, doctor. But you should definitely go. You obviously need it. Maybe your conscience, which has been lost inside of you, will tingle a little and you will remember where your heart is.’’

She left him there and didn't even look back. Something made Violet feel uncomfortable, something about what the manager and John had said didn't make any sense. Separately it made sense, but put together it was a complicated maze. If John was an arsonist who thought he was a policeman and almost got treatment, and if the file he stole was his own patient file, then why did they electroshock Eddie ?

What were they afraid that Eddie would find out?

Violet had spent the day in her room at the guesthouse, going through the files she had received from Robert. It was almost four in the evening. After taking the last sip of her coffee, she got up and looked out the window at Chassell Hospital. Eddie was probably asleep now, probably from the drugs he was taking. She had prescribed him something to help him recover more quickly and take the pain away. Then she went into the room and threw herself on the bed. 

She was dreaming. She knew it was a dream. She was in a beautiful house with a garden. She looked out of the kitchen window into the backyard. Two little children were running around in the grass, laughing. The joy between them was like pure joy piercing the sky. She called out to them as she continued to chop the vegetables in front of her: “Be careful!”

The older one turned to her and smiled. How much he looked like her. She felt a breath behind her. Then arms wrapped around her stomach from behind. She felt a small kiss on the back of her neck. His warm breath tickled her neck. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “What's my darling wife cooking today?'' That was Eddie's voice. 

He hugged her tighter as he smiled, he started kissing her neck. “Eddie, stop. The kids are outside. They'll see.” she said, giggling.

He laughed out loud. Eddie's laughter was full and deep, like a depth that made Violet's insides tremble for a moment. She put down the knife and put it on his hands that were holding her stomach.

She backed away quickly as she felt the wetness on her hand, blood on her hands.

She turned around in horror. 

Eddie was gone. 

She looked out the window. The children were gone. 

She ran out into the yard. “Eddie! Where are you? Eddie!’’ The peaceful moment was suddenly swallowed by a deadly silence.

She was scared. Had she hurt them? She would never do that. She entered the house and ran through the rooms one by one. When she got to the basement, she came out into a hospital corridor.

She followed the blood stains on the walls. Someone who had been injured had left and grabbed onto the walls on the way out. It could be Eddie, she thought. Finally she found a room with a red door when all the other doors were white. 

As Violet stepped through the doorway, the air seemed to shift, thickening around her like an invisible fog. It wasn’t just an ordinary room—it was something alive, something breathing.

The walls were drenched in crimson. Not the dull red of paint, but the slick, glistening red of fresh blood. Thick rivulets oozed down the surfaces, some congealing into dark clots, while others left sticky trails that glistened in the dim light. The metallic tang of iron hung heavy in the air, invading her nostrils, making her stomach turn.

The floor was tacky beneath her feet. Each step produced a faint, sickening squelch as her shoes clung to the viscous surface. It was as if the room itself sought to hold her in place, pulling her deeper into its trap.

The walls seemed to move. Violet blinked, uncertain if her eyes were betraying her. No, she was sure now— they were pulsing. Slow, rhythmic, like the steady breath of some unseen, grotesque creature. The walls expanded and contracted in a hypnotic cadence, as if the room itself were alive, feeding on her presence.

Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, where ancient, unreadable symbols had been etched in dark, drying blood. They formed a language that defied comprehension, twisting her thoughts into knots with every glance. The symbols seemed to shift when she tried to focus on them, as though they were aware of her gaze. The more she stared, the more they burned into her mind like searing hot knives.

A low hum vibrated in the air—a whisper just below the threshold of hearing. Voices, layered and interwoven: men, women, children—all speaking in a language that gnawed at her sanity. She couldn’t understand the words, but she felt them. They crawled inside her head, coiling around her thoughts like serpents.

She turned toward the door, her heart pounding. But the door… was gone. Where it had once stood, there was now only more of that blood-soaked wall. There was no way out.

It was as if someone was talking to her. She couldn't understand where the voice was coming from, but it seemed to be coming from inside her head. “Violet,” said a deep, stern voice.

“You have suffered so much. But it is over now. I'm here to give you the freedom you deserve.’’

She closed her eyes tightly. She thought of Eddie's face. His angelic face. 

When she opened her eyes again, she was between the police cars. And her sister was crying and hugging her, saying, “I can't believe that bastard did this to you. It's over. It's over now.'' For a moment she looked away in surprise, she was remembering this day.

This was the day she feared the most and swore she would always forget. One of her patients had attacked her. He had grabbed her by the throat and choked her until her eyes went dark. She was the one who had gotten him out of the hospital and she was paying for the wrongest decision she had ever made. At the last moment, in a last ditch effort, she hit him on the head with the frame she was holding out her hand and the frame shattered, broke. She had hit him so hard that one of the shards of glass had cut a vein in his forehead. She looked as if she had taken a blood bath from the blood that poured on her. When she came out, the help she had already called for had just arrived. Her sister was getting out of one of the police cars, crying. “I can't believe that jerk did this to you. It's over. It's over now.'' 

She was reliving that damn day in her dream. She was reliving it over and over again. She was forcing herself to wake up, but it was no use. Eventually she was sitting in the back of the ambulance again, she had forgotten how many times this endless cycle had happened. 

Suddenly she felt the crowd slow down. Someone came out of the building where she was staying, it wasn't a person. It was some kind of, something, a thing. His whole body seemed to be on fire, maybe wrapped in ivy. She couldn't understand what it was. It came towards her, slowly but surely. When he looked into her eyes, she felt her soul being pulled.

“Your time is coming, Violet,” the creature said. It was the same voice she heard in her head, “You will join me.''

The moment she opened her eyes, she jumped out of bed in fear. Someone was banging insistently on the door. She poured water from the pitcher on the nightstand into a glass. It could have been the worst and most realistic nightmare she had ever had. She was out of breath, her heart beating like it was going to pierce her chest. She was sweating like she had literally run hundreds of meters.

She took a deep breath, turned on the light and looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten o'clock at night. She wondered who had come at this hour. She slowly went and looked through the hole in the door. Someone with long brown hair was waiting in front of the door. It was not someone she recognized. She thought it was one of the nurses or security guards working at the hospital and opened the door.

’’How can I help you?’’

The man looked worried and said, “You are Violet George, aren't you?’’

She nodded her head. She looked at him with curious eyes, waiting for him to explain.

“Hi, I'm Steve Harrington.’’

Violet poured the coffee into the cup and handed it to Steve. Then she walked over to the window and looked outside. Only a few lights were on in the hospital. They would turn them all off soon. The church choir's performance should have been over by now, she thought. After sighing, she pulled the curtain closed and sat on the couch. ’’Did Eddie tell you what he was going to talk about? At least, did he mention what it was about?’’

Steve shook his head. ’’He just told me to come and pick him up from the back door of the hospital. He sounded really scared, like his life depended on it. He said he’d explain everything after I got him. I’ve been waiting for him for a few hours, but no one came. I thought he might be in trouble.’’

She rubbed her forehead with her hand. So Eddie somehow knew what was going to happen to him, and that’s why he wanted to escape , she thought. But now she was even more curious—what did he learn that made him want to run away so urgently?

She sighed, ’’Actually, Eddie got into a bit of trouble because he trusted a friend. One of the other patients, his name is John. He's been receiving treatment at this hospital for some time—I just found out today. He told Eddie that he was a police officer who was lured into a trap and brought here. But in reality, he's an arsonist, though he doesn’t realize it. He tricked Eddie into trying to escape with him.’’

Steve gave a bitter smile. ’’Don't take this the wrong way, Doctor, but from your tone, it doesn't sound like you really believe that.’’

Violet nodded. ’’There's something that’s been bothering me. On my first day here, I met a patient at the door named Mitsy. It was obvious she had a mental illness, but physically, she looked healthy. Later that same day, I learned that another patient named Mitsy had died of severe pneumonia.’’

Steve was staring at her with curiosity.

Violet continued, ’’The patient who died had been bedridden for a long time, unable to walk. They told me it was just a coincidence of names.’’

’’But you didn’t believe them,’’ Steve said, narrowing his eyes as if waiting for her next sentence.

Violet nodded again. ’’I searched the records room where they keep files on all the patients, looking for someone named Mitsy. And what do you think I found? Nothing. There was no other patient named Mitsy. The woman I saw that day and the corpse were the same person. But that brings up another question. How did that woman end up in that condition within just a few hours?’’

Steve was nervously biting his lip. ’’Do you think Eddie wanted to escape because he figured out the reason behind all of this?’’

’’Most likely, yes. He was going to tell me everything anyway. He just made a deal with me—if I found out who reported him, he would explain everything. Now, I’m not even sure if he’ll remember everything clearly…’’ Violet sighed. ’’Right now, there's only one person who knows what really happened. And I’m not sure if I can trust him—John Forest.’’

Steve stared at her, his eyes wide with urgency. ’’Wait a minute. Did you find out? Did you tell Eddie?’’

She looked at him, confused. ’’Tell him what?’’

Steve leaned forward, his voice more intense now. ’’Who reported him to the police! Did you tell Eddie?’’

She shook her head. ’’No.’’ She didn’t understand why Steve was suddenly so nervous. Clearly, he knew the answer to that question too. But deep down, something told her that Steve didn’t want Eddie to find out.

Steve stood up anxiously and began pacing around the room. "Violet, listen to me… we need to get Eddie out of there. Because…" He trailed off, struggling to find the right words, running his fingers through his brown hair, scratching his head as if it would help.

"Steve, he's my responsibility. If you know something about him, you need to tell me. I wouldn’t do anything to put his life in danger." Violet’s voice was calm but firm, urging him to continue.

Steve took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "If I tell you… you won’t believe me." He hesitated for a moment, then a smile flickered across his face, as if an idea had just struck him.

"But I can show you."

They started walking deeper into the forest. About seven minutes had passed since Violet first thought this was a bad idea, but it was already too late to turn back. She had known Steve for less than an hour, and yet here she was, following a stranger into the woods.

"There it is!" Steve said, pointing ahead.

Violet squinted through the trees and saw a narrow path. At the end of it, a yellow car was parked. "I didn’t know there was a road here," she murmured.

Steve smiled and ran toward the car. He knocked on the back window, and after a moment, the door opened. A few young people climbed out, all looking around 18 or 19 years old.

Steve introduced them briefly. "These are Dustin, Will, and Jane."

Violet smiled and greeted them, and they nodded in return. Then they all got into the car. The drive was quiet for the most part. Violet only asked how they had found her, and unsurprisingly, the answer was the newspapers. Ever since Eddie Munson had been caught and sent to the hospital, it had been the only topic in every news outlet and newspaper.

As the minutes passed, Violet's curiosity grew.

They eventually pulled up in front of the city’s 24-hour library. It was past midnight, so the place looked deserted, except for a lone clerk dozing at the front desk.

They made their way to one of the computers. Steve showed her some old newspaper clippings. A series of strange events that had happened in Hawkins.

"So, Eddie Munson isn’t the strangest thing to happen in this town," Violet thought.

Experiments on children, a closed-down factory, townspeople claiming to have seen a creature resembling a dog, people disappearing without a trace… One article even mentioned a girl rumored to have extraordinary powers.

Violet’s questioning gaze locked onto Dustin and asked.

“Alright, I’ve read all this, but do you have any actual proof that any of it is real?”

Dustin, calm and confident, smiled again as he repeated his words.

“The proof is sitting right in front of you.”

As the sentence echoed in her mind, Violet looked at him with a puzzled expression. What did he mean by that? Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to piece it together.

And then it happened. The chair... it started to move.

At first, she felt a faint tremor, then slowly, it began to rise off the ground. Her hands instinctively gripped the sides of the chair, as if clinging to the last remnants of stability. Fear climbed up her spine like a cold wave. Her mind split into two conflicting thoughts: This can’t be real. You’re imagining things. Stay rational, Violet!

But another voice challenged her logic: Are you stupid? You’re flying!

Her eyes darted to Jane. The young girl had her hand raised, fingers extended as if she were pulling invisible strings. Wherever her hand moved, the chair followed. Jane’s face was calm, devoid of any hesitation. It was as if she did this every day, as casually as breathing.

Violet’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating through her ribcage. Her breaths quickened, short and shallow, barely filling her lungs before rushing back out. Breathing wasn’t enough. The world around her seemed to defy gravity, the laws of reality bending before her eyes.

When the chair finally descended and her feet touched solid ground again, the trembling in her body didn’t stop. Her hands shook uncontrollably, her fingers feeling like they no longer belonged to her. Her knees felt weak, as if they might give out at any moment.

Fear wrapped around her mind like a suffocating fog. This wasn’t a simple fear. This was the sensation of reality itself cracking. She was witnessing the unraveling of the universe’s rules.

Will, moved quickly. He rushed to her side and offered a glass of water. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Violet reached out to take the glass, but her fingers trembled so badly she feared she might drop it. She managed a small sip, the cold water sliding down her throat, but her breathing remained erratic.

As she tried to steady herself, Will’s file slipped from under his arm, scattering a few newspaper clippings and sheets of paper across the floor. But Violet’s eyes were still fixed on the empty space in front of her, on Jane, and on what had just happened.

Her mind raced toward an undeniable truth.

Eddie wasn’t crazy.

The stories he told, the ones everyone dismissed as paranoia, as nonsense… They were true. All of them were true .

The realization turned Violet’s thoughts upside down. A deep sense of helplessness echoed within her, like falling into a bottomless pit. Knowing that Eddie wasn’t insane was comforting in one sense, but that comfort was short-lived. Because it meant something far worse.

Eddie was trapped in a truth too big to explain.

And no one would believe him.

No one in court would listen to these stories. No one would believe in his innocence. The entire world would see him as guilty, and that would be Eddie’s death sentence.

Will and Dustin hurriedly gathered the scattered drawings and newspaper clippings from the floor.

"Stop!" Violet’s voice cracked, still trembling with fear. "Can you hand me that?"

Dustin grabbed the drawing she was pointing at and passed it to her. Steve was saying something about how Will had drawn all of them, but Violet's focus was locked on the creature staring back at her from the paper. The same creature that haunted her dreams.

When she had seen this monster in her nightmare, she had assumed it was just a figment of her imagination, influenced by the files she had read. Like how after watching a horror movie, you dream about being hunted by the killer. But she had never told anyone about that dream. And now, here it was—the creature, identical in every detail.

Jane noticed Violet studying the drawing intently. "Why are you looking at it like that? Did you see it?"

Violet nodded slowly. "Is this... Vecna?"

"Yes." Steve, leaning against one of the bookshelves, crossed his arms over his chest.

"But that's not even our biggest problem right now," Dustin added.

Violet’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about? What could be worse than this ?"

Will, with that familiar expression of delivering bad news, spoke quietly. "Max woke up."

Violet looked at them, uncomprehending.

"Maxine Mayfield," Steve clarified.

Her blood ran cold. Was this some kind of contest to deliver the worst possible news one after the other?

"Max Mayfield?" Violet repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "But... she’s the one who reported Eddie."

Steve stepped closer, kneeling in front of her, and took her trembling hands on his own, as if trying to steady them.

"Yes," he said softly. "Because that’s not Max. Vecna is using her as a host. We don’t know if he knows that we’re aware of it. That’s why we have to be extremely careful. Max is still in there somewhere, just like Will was years ago. Vecna was controlling him like a puppet, using him as a spy. Vecna lived in the mind of someone connected to this world, gathering strength. It was his mother and brother who pulled him out of Will. And now, Vecna is doing the same to Max. We’re waiting for the moment when she’s at her weakest."

Violet sighed in disappointment. "If Vecna inside Max is Vecna, that means... Vecna who reported him is Vecna. And that means... when the court asks Max who did this to her, Max will say Eddie ."

Dustin shook his head. "They'll execute him. That's why you need to get Eddie out of there."

Violet pointed to herself, stunned. "Do I need to get him out of there?"

Steve said, "We need to go back. We have to protect the town. Listen to me, Violet. Vecna is already after you. He'll eliminate anyone protecting Eddie. Take a walkman with you and put your favorite music in it. Never let it out of your sight. No matter the cost."

Violet now understood why Eddie had asked her for her favorite music. She had to pull herself together and accept what was happening as quickly as possible. There wasn’t even time to sit down and cry. Her and Eddie's lives were in danger.

Just as she was about to stand up, she turned back and sat at the computer. Everyone in the room was watching her with curious eyes. "I need to learn one more thing," she said. She typed "Fire at Sidney Nursing Home" into the search bar. 

News about the fire popped up in front of her. She saw a photo taken by a journalist. Firefighters were trying to extinguish the flames. Police had put up yellow tape all around the Nursing Home. The public, waiting in fear for the fire to be put out, were watching the firefighters. And there he was . He was in the back, but she knew it was him. John Forest. He was wearing a police uniform. He was talking to the man next to him. She knew it. John was telling the truth. John was not lying, he was indeed working as a police officer at the time of the fire at the nursing home. But wait... Violet recognized the person he was talking to as well. He was also wearing a police uniform. It was none other than Brendon , the nurse from the hospital.

She printed out the article and stood up. "We can go now."

Steve pulled the car into the entrance of the hospital. As Violet got out of the car with a heavy motion, Steve handed her the phone numbers, saying, “If anything goes wrong, you can reach these numbers.” Slowly, as he closed the car door, he looked at her one last time and continued, “Be careful.” For a few seconds, the sound of Steve’s car engine blended with the silence of the hospital, and then he quickly drove away.

Violet took a deep breath and entered the hospital. There was a faint chill in the air, as if the walls of this place always emitted a shiver. It was very quiet inside, as if everything had remained still on this night. She only occasionally heard the painful moans of patients coming from the corridors.

Every now and then, guards, nuns, and nurses appeared in the corridor, passing by quickly. But none of them seemed to notice Violet, or perhaps they preferred not to. After all, she was a doctor in this hospital.

As Violet walked toward Eddie's room, her heart beat a little faster with each step. At that moment, suddenly a hand grabbed her shoulder from behind, and the fingers swiftly and strongly covered her mouth. Violet was paralyzed with fear. She wanted to scream, but her voice only came out as a muffled gasp. Her hands were trembling as she tried to pull herself back, but the man's strength made every movement feel like a greater threat.

As he continued to pull her backward, Violet was being dragged quickly through a dark passage. The spaces between the rooms seemed to deepen her fear, as if each one was a hidden witness to her terror. At that moment, she felt the traces of the hospital’s cold, slick air on her hands, arms, and fingers.

As she was being dragged toward the janitor’s room, the person holding her turned her toward him. It was Brendon . He made a quiet "shh" gesture with his other hand. When she nodded in fear, he finally removed his hand from her mouth.

Violet yelled angrily, "What do you think you’re doing!?"

Brendon pulled a card from his pocket and then retrieved a file he had hidden on the side of his jacket and handed it to her.

He whispered, “This is my nurse card. It opens all the patient rooms except for the manager’s offices and the cells in the C block. With this, you can take Eddie out of his cell.’’ Then he handed her the file. ’’And you’ll protect this file like it’s everything. It contains all the filthy things Dr. Arthur has done. John and I were after this man. I was about to lose my job to get this file, so make sure it gets to its destination, Violet.”

Violet, filled with fear and adrenaline, listened intently to every word coming from his mouth, nodding her head to show she understood.

“How will I get Eddie out of here?” she asked.

Brendon gave her directions to a secret way leading from the C WARD . Violet didn’t want to go through the C WARD.

There were animal-like things there that had lost any trace of their humanity. She had been terrified the first time she saw it, and that was during the day. Now, it was well past midnight, and she was certain that Dr. Arthur kept his undead experiments locked up there. But there was no other way, she had to get Eddie out of here.

She ran to Eddie’s room. She showed Brendon’s card to the ID scanner next to the cell door and stormed inside. Eddie seemed surprised. He stood up. "Violet?" he murmured.

It was clear he couldn’t immediately tell who was coming through the darkness. His speech had improved, but his hands were still shaking from the effects of the electroshock. Violet ran to him and hugged him. She was there. In his arms.

Eddie stood still for a few seconds, still in shock. Then she felt Eddie’s arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her toward him. He smelled her hair. Then he pulled back and held her face in his hands.

Eddie whispered, “What are you doing here? Someone will see you.”

Violet whispered back, “I know you’re innocent, Eddie. I’m getting you out of this hell.”

Eddie smiled and tightly squeezed Violet’s hand. Before they left the cell, Violet checked around to make sure no one was around. Once she was certain, they left together. They weren’t running, but they were walking quickly. Eddie held her hand and pulled her. “Wait!”

Violet turned to him, as if asking what was going on.

“We need to take John too. We can’t leave without him,” he said.

For a moment, she hesitated, feeling uneasy. Violet was already getting herself into enough trouble; she couldn’t take any more risks. “I’ll come back for him later. I promise. We have to go right now, ” she said.

But Eddie shook his head in disapproval. “He got you into trouble for me. When the files came out of my room, he took the blame. He could have said nothing, but he protected me. I owe him this.”

Violet reluctantly accepted it. It seemed Eddie wasn’t going to leave without John. She gripped Eddie’s hand tightly again, and they started running. Fortunately, the infirmary was on the ground floor. When they rushed inside, several patients started screaming. She was relieved that this was a mental hospital, because patients always screamed here, but they were rarely taken seriously.

They headed for the bed where John was. He was awake, sitting up, seemingly lost in thought. He was surprised when he saw them. “What are you doing here?”

“There’s no time for questions. We need to leave. Now!” Violet yelled.

They ran together and finally entered the corridor where the C WARD was. It literally smelled of death. They were running for their lives.

Violet only turned around for a second. Eddie and John were no longer there. The corridor seemed longer than it actually was.

She saw the creature - Vecna - coming toward her slowly from a distance.

Vecna's presence was emerging from the darkness like a shadow, and it was appearing at the end of the corridor. The sound of its footsteps was turning into a metallic, echoing growl. "Eddie?" she murmured in fear, unsure if Eddie and John could see her or Vecna anymore.

They were so close to the exit door. Eddie’s heart was about to jump out of his mouth from fear and running; his eyes were going dark as he ran. Sometimes, flashbacks of memories came and went in front of his eyes; the electroshock felt like it had reset his entire body. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, and there was an incredible pain in his head.

But the nightmare was now over. The only thing they needed to do to get out of this cursed asylum was take a few more steps, then they would be free. Eddie noticed for a moment that Violet had stopped. He called out to John, who was running ahead. "Wait!"

Eddie hurried toward Violet."Violet, come on. Why did you stop? We need to go. What are you waiting for?!"

She didn’t respond. She just kept staring down the corridor. Eddie waved his hand in front of Violet’s eyes.

"Can you hear me?! Violet, can you hear me?! Shit.. shit, I don’t like this. "

John came to them in a panic. "What’s wrong with her like this?!" he was saying.

Eddie didn’t know. No , it couldn’t be. He knew. This was exactly the same as what happened to Chrissy. Was Vecna taking her?

God, no. No.

Eddie quickly grabbed Violet by the shoulders and began shaking her violently. Then he cupped her face in his hands. "Violet! Can you hear me? Violet! Listen to me! You have to run from him! For God’s sake, you have to run from him!" Eddie was shouting in fear.

John timidly nudged Eddie; Eddie didn’t have a second to spare for him. "Wait, John!" he yelled, his tears fogging his eyes.

John was pointing down the corridor. The patients in the C ward were waking up, and there were sounds of banging on the doors of the cells. The patients in these cells were humanoid creatures who had survived Doctor Arthur’s experiments. Eddie thought, this can’t be happening now. Please, not now.

He turned back to Violet. He slapped his forehead a few times. "What was her favorite song? What was it?!" He couldn’t remember. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think, but it hurt so much. The places where they had electroshocked him were still aching.

"Dream on!" he said suddenly, with a brief expression of relief as he remembered the song, but… what were the lyrics? He squeezed his eyes shut again. He had to remember. He slapped his forehead a few more times.

He was shouting at himself, ’’Remember the lyrics, come on Eddie!’’

Then Violet suddenly began to rise slowly into the air. Eddie's eyes were focused on Violet's slowly levitating body and his pulse was getting faster and more erratic with each beat of his heart.

John was so terrified by the sight that he collapsed to the ground. He was screaming. ’’What the fuck is happening?!’’

Eddie swallowed hard, ’’No, no. Please don’t take her. I can’t lose her too.’’

taglist: @arabellagreenleaf @25bohemianmoons

[spiralling-thoughts]

Loona would make an awful and abusive friend for Octavia

(Sorry if I might be rude and pity in this post , but this have been bothering me for so long and I feel like I should voice my opinion on the matter now disclaimer I mean no ill will towards anyone and I don't harass people who write about this idea neither should you this is just me voicing MY PERSONAL OPINION so are we cool here?)

So I have seen many and I mean MANY fanfics ,fanart,ect of the idea that loona would make an awesome older sister to Octavia and be her "first real friend who understands her " and some take it as far as shipping (sorry but the shipping aspect of this is really gross loona is 22 while Octavia is 17 this is pedophilia) now I will be honest I personally think this is sugar quoting and people giving loona to much credit, this woman is ABUSIVE (yes I said it she's a more accurate representation of abuse than stella and yes abusers could be traumatized victims) this woman beats and attacks her adoptive father who always shower showed her with affection and she knows hed get over it this is an extremely toxic trait, she kept insulting moxxie about being fat (even though he's a stick figure) until she gave him body image issues and she starts pity fights like how she did in queen bee now in what world would someone like this be a good older sister towards anyone?like imagine if Octavia asked loona to dial down her attitude a bit what would loona do? Would she listen to her NAH if she'd beat up her own father for that whose to say she wouldn't do the same for Octavia?, and their conversation in seeing stars....oh boy I was holding back trying not to throw my phone when this part came there are a bunch of posts about how nonsensical this part was but the long and short of it is that loona doesn't have any right to tell Octavia to put up with stolas when she herself treats her father poorly and she straight up lied to Octavia, stolas wasn't looking for her he was pathetically sitting around in the theatre getting thirsty over blitz and he wasn't all that freaked out that he's daughter ran away because of him, so loona literally gaslighted Octavia to apologise and come back to her neglectful father (yes for the millionths time stolas is neglectful) , this just makes their "friendship" all the more jarring and toxic, just because both are goth girls with daddy issues doesn't mean they will be instantly healthy friends their issues, upbringing, situations are completely different, Octavia is getting neglected by her father who constantly puts hes own desires before her will being and constantly makes her uncomfortable and constantly let her down and break his promises and from her perspective he ruined her home life, loona on the other hand is being rude and abusive towards her father who so far gave her affection, protection and while yes he was once over protective of her it's understandable considering where he got adopted her from yet even after all of that and after 5 years of being with him she still treats him poorly with only a few moments where she was nice to him and even then she resorts back to not caring about him and being rude and violent and she knows he'll get over it and come back to spoiling her, Octavia is getting emotionally abused by her father while loona is abusing her father THERE SITUATIONS ARE NOT THE SAME and now loona will basically glue Octavia onto her abuser while also probably abusing Octavia either emotionally, mentally, physically I don't see her at all as a kind or understanding or caring person she only act like that when it's convenient to the plot or as a moment to gaslight people into ignoring her awful actions , so yeah I don't think loona would at all be a good person for Octavia to hang out with under any circumstances she'd probably badly influence her and make her mental health worse than it already is , people go out of their way to make her act completely different from what she does in the show to make this s*** idea possible and that's another problem loona like stolas is coddled by the fandom and they always ignore how much of an awful person she actually is instead come up with excuses for her and try to make her look better than she actually is , I get the appeal people might get from this idea but I really don't like it or see it I feel like people are glossing over alot of issues with this whole situation

Thank you for coming to my rant

[darkskyatnight]

I’ve been trying to think about what to say for a few hours now.

People are freaked. Understandably. The orange tumour nearly getting domed has put the conservatives in an utter manic frenzy, and it feels darker than ever.

And yet still I see people whining about Biden.

I want people to come down to base level for a moment. This is addressed to the people not voting. I want you to think of the last person you sat next to. Maybe it was your partner. Your mom, your dad. The person on the bus next to you.

I want you to think of the small family who runs the convenience store down the road from you, every day without fail. The old man who works at the post office who’s always kind to you. The old lady who believes a little too much in astrology but is always there to say ‘You CAN do this, you will be able to do whatever you set your mind to.’

If the orange tumour gets back into power, what happens to them? The old man lives alone, struggles to get to work every day. He has people who can help him thanks to social programs, but the orange tumour gets in, those social programs are GONE.

The old lady who believes that little bit too much in astrology could be dismissed as batshit crazy, hysterical by some anti-science nutcase and can snitch on her. She’d be taken to a mental health hospital and could never be seen again for all you know.

That small family who runs the convenience store? Could have their shop shut down because the Republicans torched it. They were ran out of town and are now struggling just to make ten dollars to feed their kids. Hard-working people of the land burned by geriatric fucks who want to commit treason.

The person on the bus next to you is a queer teenager not out to their parents yet. They live in a blue state now, but the orange tumour gets back in and that state goes red IMMEDIATELY. Their teachers snitch to their parents and they get beaten until they land in hospital.

There is an inherent horror in participating in this system. There is an inherent horror in the violence it inflicts on ordinary working class people, and if the orange tumour gets back in, he will affect the WORLD.

The Republicans bitch and moan about duty, about service. Duty and service isn’t joining the military to raid some poor Arab town for oil money. It’s looking at the person across from you day after day and knowing you have a duty, even if unspoken to lift them up and to help them. Assistance is the base form of humanity and I believe that with all my heart. But you must commit to it.

Duty is not a thing you can half-ass, and I have no tolerance for incompetency. It’s all well and good us chatting shit on the internet, but will you put your money where your mouth is? If you don’t wanna vote, fine, go sit in the corner and let the adults do the work because you are behaving like a CHILD. A petulant child who is only thinking of themselves and how to keep the blood off of their hands.

Well I got news for you. Everyone who participates in this system has blood on their hands whether they like it or not. What matters is what you do to wipe that red from your ledger. One single person, one single vote, right now, on the precipice, on the literal cliff’s edge, there is hope. You can make that change, you can vote.

You have a right to have your say. There is a saying: “In the dark is where light shines the most.” I love that quote. Truly, I do. I spent years with no hope, thinking there was no way out of that tunnel. Connecting with people on a human level taught me that to get out, you have to have a fire. Something you burn into your core and that you stick to, because the moment you let go of it you fall. It’s the rock you cling to so you don’t die a bloody death.

I want all of you to think about just what kind of fire you got in you. Is it a candle, meant for keeping the ones you love warm, or is it an inferno, a powerful force of nature that can change a landscape for generations, paving the way for the future?

In your travels, I want you to connect with people. We cannot keep arguing like this, we just can’t. Every single time we fracture, we lose another battle. We need a common goal, we need empathy, we need discipline. Right now, right here is the time to tie ourselves together or not at all.

On November 5th, you’re gonna walk into your voting booth. If someone tries to stop you, you think of all those lives you can save and you push past them. You walk into that booth and you cast your say, I don’t care for who. But you vote. That is ALL I ask of you.

[mania-sama]

😊 and 📅 for the ask game!!

you ask and i shall PROVIDE

➼ 😊 A fic that made you smile on a bad day

Soccer Ball, More Like Sock Her Balls by grandmascokebag, MystK04. I cannot describe this fic in a way that does it justice. It's a Jujutsu Kaisen modern: no powers AU that is so fucking ridiculous at every point and turn that it is impossible to not laugh. It's pure crack for the sake of crack and I love it to PIECES. I think they did genuinely upload on some rough days of mine by coincidence, and it is sufficient to say that I was cracking up even when I saw the EMAIL for the update. I mean, really. Look at the title. Look at who WROTE IT. The authors have such a talent at being stupid and funny and ridiculous in every single line just for the hell of it. And, you know, it actually DOES have a plotline. It just has some sidequests along the way.

It's just a silly crack fic that hasn't been updated in half a year. But I sitll have hope that one day the authors are gonna come around and add one more chapter. That would certainly put a smile on my face. Maybe they'll do it when I'm having a bad day again...

Quotation:

“Wait,” Gojo paused. “Isn’t alcohol a sin?” “It’s only a sin if you get drunk,” slurred the clearly drunk man. Gojo shrugged the comment off, not willing to waste his limited brainpower on the thought. “Hate the sin, love the sinner, I guess.” “EXACTLY.” the older man clapped him hard on the shoulder. “You get it.” “Sure, sure. It’s like the age-old question, y’know,” Gojo almost fell off the stool as he leaned back. “Gay son or thot daughter?”

(Don't let this quote fool you. The chapter is actually in Megumi's point of view. The whole fic can be any point of view at any point in time. ALWAYS stay on your toes.)

➼ 📆 A fic you’d re-read 10 years from now

... When I Awake by wildflowertea. NO I am not just saying this because you wrote it. I am saying this because this fic literally changed my perspective on life, death, and suffering.

Not to get into my feelings too much, but I do experience some pretty crazy mood swings every couple of months. I will be doing well, phenomenally so, and then I will collapse and burn out of nowhere. I don't talk about my swings publicly anymore because that's just not what I really do; if I need a place or space to rant, I have friends and family. I no longer feel the need to air out my current/active grievances and struggles with my mental health and body on the Internet. I also think it would be weird considering what people follow me for (which is, decidedly, not for my mental health journey).

But anyway, the point is: I am familiar with depression and general angst and how it affects me. I have lived life as much as the next person. I know that, in a decade from now, I may have forgotten some of the lessons I learned when I originally read your fic. Beyond being an amazingly well-written, well-structured fic, you literally changed my life. When I write, I aspire to craft something as elegantly as you did. So, if I am being completely honest, this is the fic I imagine I will be crawling back to in a decade from now. I will have new life experiences, new outlooks, and I imagine I will want to see how that compares to the fic you finished two years ago (GOD it's been two years already?)

For anyone unaware: this is a Bungou Stray Dogs fic where Dazai is the spirit of his comatose body after a failed(?) suicide attempt, and Chuuya is a musician who just lost his father and is thus taking a complete detox from the world itself by trapping himself in (unknowingly) Dazai's old apartment to wrap himself in his pain and misery. Neither are in a good place at the beginning of the fic. But, somehow, they come out quite alright. I cried 3 times reading this, if it gives any of you any sort of clue as to how emotionally this impacted me.

Quotation:

“Why am I here?” Dazai asks. “After all this time.” Death stares at him, its one visible eye narrowed. “Are you here to take me away?” Death raises an eyebrow as if insulted by the very implications.  “I am not cruel, Osamu.” But that is no answer.  “Walk with me.” “No,” Dazai says. 

(The entire meeting with Death is my favorite scene in the entirety of this story, if that wasn't obvious. It made me feel. It made me feel a LOT.)

[chuplayswithfire]

Im sorry about this i need to rant. I thought things were getting better but Izzy stan Twitter is at it again with their whining, truth bending and self-victimising.

'Do you like OMFD but wish the queer disabled hero didnt die?' IZZY IS NOT THE HERO OF THIS SHOW!!!!! He is at best a reformed antagonist. What an insult to the other disabled characters, and what about the actual heroes of the show??

'We've been betrayed by straight man writing queer stories'. First of all, way to dismiss the other writers. Also, its not his fault you project your personal traumas and mental health on a fictional character on a show with death in the title.

'GB's ending is comphet (?????) because 'we only need eachother' and theyre breaking away from their queer community' ED HAS BEEN WANTING TO LEAVE PIRACY SINCE LAST SEASON!!! also, its progress that Stede was able to resist basic flattery. And David made it clear that they still have work to do. This one truly broke my brain.

Im just sick of all this. Izzy stans have been coddled for the past week, being told its ok to grieve, but theyve crossed multiple lines. I do wish some things had been more explicit in this finale, only because David overestimated the maturity and media literacy of some people.

Sorry for this but i needed to talk to people here. Its beyond annoyance at this point. Im angry and sick of petty crybabies actively working to poison what we've built.

go off anon my inbox is open to your ranting let the rage flow through you [insert palpatine dot gif] but ngl the best thing you can do is just block liberally. block everyone. block left, right, center. do not be merciful. do not hold back. block until the ceiling comes down!!

because like, some of these fans have spent the last 18 months convincing themselves that their little guy was of equal importance to the main characters, the secret third protagonist, and he just got put in a box.

🎶izzy's in a box 🎶izzy's in a box🎶izzy's in a box🎶

izzy was never a hero of this show. he was a villain and then a side character on a rushed arc to redemption for the specific purpose of making him into the kind of man who could apologize to ed for being a shit. but that's hard to swallow for people who were convinced he was always right, so. also let's be honest: they don't give a shit about the other disabled people on this show. a bunch of them were trying to figure out a way for it to be wee john who was killed, and kristian is actually a queer disabled actor. they're just mad it was their little guy who they latched onto.

also yeah like four of the writers are nonbinary people of color, and there's definitely more queer writers on the team, but somehow this was totally the decision of a straight white guy. alright folks come on now to quote your idol pack it in.

gentlebeard's ending is them deciding to give their relationship a go in a more relaxed and sedate environment than the high stress locale of a pirate ship. their friends ARE going to come see them again. just because they don't all live together in the same frat house i mean ship doesn't mean they're suddenly forever alone. also there is nothing comphet about shacking up with your gay lover in a soon to be literal loveshack.

but like you can't expect these folks to care about ed or stede or gentlebeard or anything that doesn't center their white man of choice. the only thing you can do is block because anyone still throwing a fit a week later is simply not worth it.

no need to apologize anon. return to my inbox whenever.

[sdv-rants]

Leave Shane alone :(

Thinking you should be able to "fix" him misses the entire point of his story. He's still recovering and probably always will be. People with serious mental health issues don't just randomly get better and turn their life around by getting married. Shane can be in love with the farmer and still struggle with his mental illness and relapses as an addict. People who don't struggle with this stuff constantly get mad that he can't just magically be fixed or get better. Have you considered that maybe his story just isn't for you

CW for mentions of mental health struggles and alcohol abuse

tl;dr ,, i dont at all think shane needs to just be magically fixed, i just would love to see more in his post-marriage story showing him sobering up and visibly changing a little in a positive way. i dont want him to immediately change and be “perfect”, nobody is perfect, i just think it would be really cool to visibly see changes in his character after marrying him.

(full rant under the cut)

actually after posting that rant made me think about this a whole lot more, and i dont like how i worded some things and i can totally understand and relate to him most likely always going through recovery, my only problem is i wish there was maybe more actual dialogue and story to build that if that makes sense?? but honestly i could say that about sooo many of the marriage candidates. now, maybe their story feels slightly unfinished so you can sort of fill in the blanks yourself, and i totally can understand that being the case.

i completely see where you’re coming from, and i don’t entirely like how i worded my last rant. i think i only said the things i did because with shanes story it kind of hits a little close to home, having a lot of people close to me who ive watched go through similar situations as this character, and i think i was just projecting a little bit.

as someone who also struggles with mental health and other forms of addiction not in the form of substance abuse, i think i also relate to shane a lot, and seeing him go through the things he does within his story, it sort of reminds me of myself and reminds me of how much i wish i could be “fixed” in a way.

i also dont at all think people who struggle with any sort of addictions or mental health problems should be “fixed” or need to be “fixed”, i was referring to how a lot of people quote “i can fix him” and phrases like that when talking about shane, i definitely shouldve worded everything much better though. i meant that in that position if you’re someone who thinks you can “fix” anyone, yeah, you cant. and people dont need to be fixed. i do think people who struggle with addiction can be given support to recover though, and i guess i just wish that was more prominent in shanes story. i suppose im projecting a bit of my own personal life onto his story, cuz i would love to see portrayed in his story him sobering up and there being more visible changes in his life and his character. obviously i dont think he should just immediately turn into the “perfect” man overnight, nobody is perfect and yes, he will always struggle with certain things, and thats okay. i hope i’ve clarified my viewpoint on his story a little better, but im very bad at putting my exact thoughts into the proper wording, so i do apologize for anything ive said that may be confusing, feel free to ask for clarification and i can try my best to explain. :)

thank you for the input btw anon!! shanes character is one id like to talk about more in a much more positive light too, but when i typed yesterdays rant i had just been thinking about his story a lot and what i personally wished it looked like post marriage, but obviously we all have our own opinions on how each characters story should’ve looked, and thats ok.

i personally kind of think all of the characters story should’ve looked different after marrying them, just because i feel like it feels sort of stagnant once married obviously. but yk this is a small indie game with a solo creator, i cant imagine how difficult it would be to flesh out these characters anymore LMAO, but thats why i like this community so much. i like seeing every individuals perspective on each character and their stories throughout the game.

sorry this rant was so long LMFAO and i also apologize for my first two rants being about shane (and not being in the most positive light). i’ll definitely try and talk about my thoughts on shane and his story more soon though, trying to look at all of the things i love about his story.

ive been typing for way too long so im ending this here LMFAO, please feel free to leave input or any other questions, feedback, etc etc

[sideblogforquery-argh]

People are not using pronouns, using wrong words, but I don’t remind anyone verbally. TW: Su1cide, s3lf h4rm, anorex1a mentions.

TLDR at bottom, I appreciate if anyone reads this or has any advice. Other key points in bold.

I’m sorry this is so long, and I promise this is about nonbinary stuff, but there are Complications, if you will:

1. Autistic doormat. (Professionally diagnosed)

2. Anxious and hates confrontation of any kind.

3. Chronic pain that stops me from going places and doing things.

4. Long history of depression, anxiety, s3lf h4rm, su1cide attempts.

5. Speak in a high pitched voice (not natural, forced again by anxiety of being viewed as competent and mature and not having my limitations taken seriously)

6. Have feminine mannerisms.

7. Have a very slight build and feminine features.

8. I have not had IRL friends for ten years, or online friends for about six.

9. Premenstrual dysphoric disorder.

10. Underweight, low key restrictive eating disorder (I will gladly maintain current weight, but comment on my body, eating habits or try to feed me more and the anorex1a says Hello. Also maintaining low weight to avoid “filling out” as much as possible in breast area.)

I’m 25 and nonbinary. I’ve known I was nonbinary since 2014/2015. I had come out verbally to my mom many years ago, maybe around 2017. Came out to brother via a written sign on my door and then a short verbal confirmation in late spring last year. At my high school graduation last year (age 24) I had my write up read aloud by the principal include “I look forward to being my authentic enby self” and I wore a pronoun pin and necklace. My grandparents were also at the ceremony. I reactivated my Facebook account and posted an artistic image and write up explaining my pronouns, name, etc. I have a variety of pride and pronoun items, pins on my backpack, a They/Them pronoun necklace, a keychain. I usually have some sort of sign declaring my pronouns and sometimes my name on my door. I even attended my local Pride parade and festival last August with my mom. Also since coming out I have explored neopronouns and I like to use Ae/Aer for myself.

Now, as mentioned at the very top, I am a doormat. I hate being bother, I have had huge mental and physical health challenges. I always want to help, to do things, I’ve been trapped at home with no pain free or easy way to go into town. I’ve been alone for a very long time, not attending school, and then trying to do it by myself online. I am also AFAB and I generally don’t present in a “gender non-conforming” matter. (Put in quotes because I am not a girl) Just the other night, there was a talking head on the news who’s name was Tiana* and my mom gleefully exclaimed “her name is Tiana*, she has the same name as you! You almost never hear anyone with the name Tiana*!”

ANYWAYS, to the point, I can never manage to bring myself to verbally remind anyone to use my pronouns. I can’t discuss my dysphoria with anyone, including my counsellor, which has really increased in the last few months. My counsellor had to be told what gender dysphoria is, and he’s trying but I don’t feel comfortable talking to him about it. My PMDD is also not only making my mental health in general really mad, but increasing my gender dysphoria. I have tried birth control for this, and it resulted in a suicide attempt.

I came out a year ago now to the wider family network / world, but it feels like everyone has completely ignored that fact. I came out of the closet, but a new, iron maiden style one has been built around me by anyone and everyone who perceives “me.”

I put “me” is quotation marks because it’s not actually me that anyone is seeing or talking to, it’s the mirage of a past person. I just feel so weak and pathetic, I don’t speak up for myself, I just let it happen. I don’t exist, not according to how I am referred to my people the vast majority of the time. They/them does get used at home frequently, but more often it’s my birth name. I’ve gone through waves of uncomfortable indifference to just feeling really shitty, having an abuse of use of that name, where now I am starting to not feel neutral but dislike it. It’s always, “Tiana* this”, and “it’s in Tiana’s* room,” “I think Tiana* has it, don’t you?”

I just feel hopeless. I don’t see myself ever being able to exist as actually myself. If I can’t remind my family in my safe home to use my pronouns; or that I want to use a different name, OR that (body pain permitting) I’d probably like to have my breasts and nipples removed; how am I supposed to reminded anyone else? The massage therapist, the doctor, the other pain specialist, the orthopaedic surgeon, the counsellor, the psychiatrist, the osteopath, anyone and everyone who I’ve ever met before who just, “she/her’s” and “Tiana*’s” me.

*Tiana is not actually my name, it is used for example purposes only.

TLDR: I have a variety of visual objects and signs that describe my pronouns and nonbinary-ness, but I have almost never reminded anyone verbally to use my pronouns and that I am not a girl. The most I can do is squeak out “they” quietly. How can I actually be brave and speak up for myself for once?

[sophieinwonderland]

hi yeah lmao, im ⌛🌟 and im not whatever random ass person you accused me of being 💀💀???? nice try lmao

also you know that. trans people. can be transphobic right. just like how disabled people can be ableist.

but im not gonna be responding to anymore of ur dumbass shit sophie, the majority of what youve done is spout some transphobic shit and told me the history i alr know because i am trnas and lived through it!! crazy. hope you have fun harming random ass people on the internet!!! cant wait until youre left empty inside and broken bc of constantly harrassing people and constantly giving out hate where its not justified <3

-⌛🌟

Wait! Who did I accuse you of being?

Do you think this post commenting on a timing coincidence was meant to imply that you were the anti-endo who posted about the word "sysmed" at the exact same time as me? 🤣

also you know that. trans people. can be transphobic right. just like how disabled people can be ableist.

Of course. Transmeds themselves being an example of that. And system medicalism is similarly rooted in ableism and sanism. Especially when it comes to mixed origin systems, who sysmeds will straight-up deny a right to religious beliefs based on their disability.

My issue with this isn't that "trans people can't be transphobic."

It's that trans people can't be transphobic for comparing the pain they've suffered from transmeds to what they've suffered from sysmeds.

And also that transgender people can't "STEAL" their own terms.

Accusing trans people of stealing their own terms is implying that they're an outgroup that is coming in to steal the words. Frankly, it's trans erasure. You have to actually erase their transness to make this argument work. Which, IMO, is actually transphobic of you.

Once we get past the absurdity of "trans people are transphobic for stealing trans terms" the only thing your argument is left with is... what? "Transphobic people are transphobic for comparing transness to a mental disorder?"

But this point, you know, is a lie. If you've spent any bit of time in syscourse, you should know that the pro-endo position, along with the position of every psychiatrist and psychologist who has weighed in on the debate, is that you don't need a disorder to be plural.

See again, Eric Yarbrough's Transgender Mental Health, which was reviewed and published by the American Psychiatric Association.

So the whole "this is transphobic for comparing being transgender to a mental disorder" point is null. Being plural and being a system are not inherently mental disorders.

But I'm sure you're going to make some excuse about why this book, published by the American Psychiatric Association, is totally not valid. You know, just like how transmeds have historically dismissed all the doctors and research saying that you didn't need dysphoria to be trans.

Are you going to try to call me transphobic again for pointing out how your arguments and tactics are exactly like those of transmeds?

constantly harrassing people

This is beside the point, but I feel like this would be a bit more effective had sysmeds not watered down "harassment" to the point of being meaningless.

Like, I just saw a post from a sysmed who was asked why they were putting "doctors" in scare quotes to imply the authors of articles cited by pro-endos aren't real doctors, and the sysmed accused the anon of harassment just for asking the question.

Like to me, harassment means namecalling. Threats of violence. Bullying. Fakeclaiming. Personal attacks.

But it seems to most sysmeds, harassment means questioning them. It means having a different opinion and stating it where they can hear. It means linking sources or saying that they're wrong.

I've seen sysmeds, always desperate to play the part of the victim, complain about being asked "loaded questions" (the question was what punk values meant to them) and beg for death threats in the same post.

It's just so hard anymore to take sysmeds complaining about harassment seriously when it's clear they're just calling everything harassment so they can win victim points.

[moeitsu]

This shit-post is dedicated to my weird ass friends and the most out of pocket things they've said that I've written in the quote book I've kept in my notes since 2019. Enjoy:

The mayonnaise did wonders for my hair. -P

The Holy Spirit does not want to suck your balls. -E

That's the scariest thing about Halloween...young women. -N

You can put long pasta in there! -E You mean spaghetti? -M

I don't know what blood type I am, is there an app for that? -G

You already said you wouldn't eat my ass -E

What's your major? -K Oh, I'm American. -G

I'm gonna shit in that trash can. -G

Are we about to exchange insurance cards? -J

I'm pretty sure I don't wanna warm my pussy by the fire. -M

Ugh, I don't wanna be a femboy! -M

If you're so worried about the angles then just stick your fingers in the hole. -M

I wish I could be off the grid. -M Like homeless people? -E

Who needs bleach when you have discharge. -J

Why are there panties in your hat? -G

I think I'm mentally disabled. -M No, you're just mentally ill. -E

It could be a deer with down syndrome. -D

I remember when the only app they had was angry birds. -J

Now that's the kind of guy who should be reproducing. -J

Cute rhymes with stupid. -N

No arms, no legs, not even living. But watches porn. -R

Sweaty balls doesn't sound very appetizing. -T

You're starting to look like a real girl again. -N

I always poop in other people's houses. It's how I establish dominance. -T

No sir, I am from Boston. All I know is drink coffee and cuss. -M

The gas station bathroom was treacherous. Pretty sure I saw blood on the walls. -C

If it doesn't cure you, it'll kill you! -Z

Bone dry dunes? That's where you go when you run out of cum. -E

I live by the thee S's: serve, slay, survive. -G

I will not participate in the ass licking. -E

You white people always have cool ancestors. My ancestors were slaves. -S My ancestors were responsible for that. -G

That gives me a free pass to call you a bitch. I'll take it. -N

Would anyone wanna buy my wick-less candles? Shameless plug I know. -K

C'mere, come into my womb. -G

I like your dads meat. -E

Our family funds the entire therapy on the north shore. -B

You can't be this smart w/o massive mental health problems. -B

She doesn't like gay people? -M Nope, she's up in the air about black people too. -P

We're back to our regularly scheduled racism. -R

That's abortion money, not pedicure money. -K

I'm gonna give you a disability if you don't stop. -M

I can always fuck up chicken. Especially the breast. -N

Nice parking job Alabama. Was your sister giving you head while you were driving? -N

I don't think calories are real. I've never seen one. -M

Do you even know what man boobs are? -E It's literally in the name. -M

Can't men flick their nipples off? -E

Well, 5 out of 6 of us were born with a full spine. -E

What's the point of having a gf if you can't objectify her? -N

Mother fucker we don't own straws. We broke as shit. -N

You're like a lollipop triple dipped in psycho flavor. -P

What are you just not gonna feed your kid so you can afford to go to Disney? -A

Do you think she's trans? Like she was a dude and now she's a guy? -N You mean she was a dude and now she's a girl? -M

The boogeyman wants to suck you're toes. -M He would never, he's asexual. -P

We need a new toilet. -P This is American made! This is a quality toilet! -A

There's no one as Irish as Barack Obama. -N

She called me autistic! -P Well, it couldn't hurt to get tested. -A

The shirt says 'wicked strong' -M It should say 'wicked annoying' -N

What bitch is blowing up your phone? -M Literally your Dad. -N

I'm a white girl, of course I love cheese. -S

Why do bad things keep happening to me? Don't they know who I am! -N

It's because I feel safe here. -M Well, maybe you shouldn't. -N

The real magic happens when you embrace the delusion. -K

Oh look, the Trump tower! What if it just blows up? -R

I'm gonna be honest, I didn't finish the Bible. It's on my DNF shelf. Adam and Eve? I need enemies to lovers. -B

A woman bit me, I'm gonna become a prostitute. No! -S

Technically, I'm bisexual. -M You're too old for labels. -G

[m--rtyr]

Facts about America: The Dystopian and predatory nature of the American Military system Edition

- Almost all military and quite a bit of scifi video games and movies are funded by the U.S. military. Call of Duty is the biggest example because it is such an open secret. It is also why I find all of the Ghost thirst traps hilarious because the U.S. military never expected that. They endorse it, though, don't get me wrong. Publicity and idolization in any form is great, especially when it comes to the idea of women falling for military men.

- All school gym education was for really long time centered around military training. Literally, military training for kids. Similar drills and everything

- All high schools except some private schools in America are visited several times a year for military recruitment. They hand out many various goodies and treats, especially to those who win pull up bar competitions and any thing that requires good aim.

- Some people are given the option between "voluntary" military service and deportation

- It is incredibly hard to leave the military from medical injury. Took my uncle (who already showed signs of cancer, was mostly deaf, and a slew of other issues) to get a heart murmur from PTSD to be able to leave.

- Despite having anti-autism rules, the majority of people in the military are autistic and adhd given how it is structured. Audhd are incredible susceptible to the military structure as it specifically preys in them.

So the majority of people in the U.S. military were groomed into it or given little to no option. You also can't leave so yaaaaaay!

Yeah I’ve heard a lot of shit about American military.

I have family in the British military. I occasionally see my uncle who works in the RAF, and… it’s weird. The military in general has always made me uncomfortable because of him. He’s a nice enough guy, it’s just so callous. Like he’ll talk about things he’s done that have actually hurt people, and he’ll treat it like a joke. And I understand everyone copes differently, and wars and whatever, but… it’s always so off putting. Like he’s bragging.

And I just can’t imagine having this experience ontop of living with the constant glorification of war and military all around me.

In the UK, we actually have (anti-)war poems as part of the GCSE curriculum, and one of the most popular is Dulce Et Decorum Est, or, the full quote ‘dulce et decorum est pro patria mori’, which means ‘it is sweet and fitting to die for your country’.

The poem and the way we study it is so blatantly clear about how this idea of glorifying dying in war is… wrong. War is terrible and awful, and to encourage young men to die for it, for glory, is… shocking.

And the idea that this kind of study is not standard everywhere is really off putting. Because it means that people are going to die fruitlessly and aimlessly, all because they were never given the perspective that maybe dying isn’t all they’re good for. There is so much talk about mental health, and suicide prevention in the media, and yet no one thinks for one second to question the people signing up to be target practice?

I know a lot of people who don’t sign up to the military will ever see war, but it’s just… a really visceral sensation for me to think about this. I feel really strongly about this stuff, I don’t know if you can tell haha

[belog-grada-crna-princeza]

even if i do recover from my illness and even if things ever do get better and i survive this and don't k1ll myself in the near future.. even if i stop being depressed. even if all my dreams come true by some miracle. i will never. EVER. forget. because i thought i knew hell but i didn't before this. this world we live in is hell. believe me. no matter what social media shows you with the gummy lollipop pinky pink rainbows and unicorns. nope. there is so much evil, injustice and cruelty that can never be forgiven.

like that quote: “If there is a God, He will have to beg for my forgiveness.”

i can never unsee what i've seen and unknow what i know and it has forever killed my innocence and changed me as a person. i have seen how "loved ones" leave you at your worst. how people abandon you because you cant do anything for them anymore. how they say you're not alone and they're there for you but it's just pretty words. how medical professionals and mental health system and every institution hurts people and can't be trusted. how it's every man for himself. how people avoid you when you're in pain because youre "bringing them down". how society turns away their heads from everything unpleasant and just pretends it's all good. how all fights for justice don't amount to any sustainable progress and millions suffer every day for no reason. how full of spite and envy and ill-will people are. how most of them judge you too easily if you dont fit some rulebook they've invented for you. how no one actually has empathy for one another even though it's the most popular f*cking word these days and everyone is an Empath. how people say things that make them sound good but never actually follow through.

i am sick of talking. i googled a step by step how to successfully un1liv3 myself (i even have to censor these fuck*ng words now) bc i failed in the past and i don't want to be stopped this time and they gave me.. su1cid3 lines to call. i laughed. what a joke! talk to who?????? tell them WHAT????? be put on some sh*tty ass drugs or in some stupid institution just to go back to this hell. i dont want to be brainwashed. even if things get better i can NEVER forget what the world actually is and what society is.

i will never forget and i will always know. f*ck your fake positivity and brainwashing with nicely wrapped up lies. the world is f*cked up

[totacrbattery]

The weirdness of LilaCream in TotaCR

because good lord is it weird

tw: suicide, mental unhealthiness, angsty shit

So, Lilac and Yogurt Cream's relationship in totarun is really strange. I found it weird how Lilac is so tolerable of someone so lazy and uninterested in daily life like Yogurt Cream, and the way he just kind of...devotes himself to him without much thought to it is off-putting considering Lilac's emotional depth as a character. I understand Yogurt Cream in canon is Lilacs first real friend and the one person who makes him feel human after the Sneaky Sands Clan, (Abbreviated to SSC for the rest of this post) but I feel like their relationship wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows for at least the beginning of it. I also really hate the "really rich lazy bitch" trope in fiction. I noticed Yogurt Cream isn't completely opposed to adventure in canon, seeking out treasures on his own on multiple occasions, so I tweaked the source of his "laziness"; depression. (Laziness in quotes because obviously people with depression aren't lazy.) In tota, Lilac and Yogurt Cream meet each other the same way they do in canon, via Plain Yogurt hiring him to assassinate Yogurt Cream. However, Lilac is coming directly from a place of emotional and physical abuse (because let's be real for a minute here, if you're raised in a clan of assassins and killing for money is all you have ever known, you are bound to be a little fucked up in the head) and he doesn't understand the concept of wealth and luxury until he meets Yogurt Cream, who is completely and utterly miserable living a life where he doesn't need to work for anything.

Now would be a good time to mention a few things.

I promise I'm not a sadist (this part is a joke)

I headcanon that Lilac is on the spectrum. With his sheltered childhood and no concept of true human emotion, I think Lilac would an extremely difficult time understanding why Yogurt Cream is so miserable despite having everything someone could ask for. This lack of understanding caused a majority of their arguments, and of course neither of them understood the real messed up state of Lilac's mind and thought processes.

Because of their horrendously clashing backgrounds, Lilac and Yogurt Cream fight constantly. Always with words, never physical, unless you count their very last argument where Yogurt Cream finally snaps, dramatically grabs Lilac by his collar, and tells him just how depressed he is, how miserable his brother and his father make him, and despite their constant bickering, how real and full of life Lilac makes him feel. From this argument forward, Lilac begins to notice the signs of his rapidly declining mental health, making him more wary of his words. Their relationship begins to heal, and they develop feelings for one another.

However, because I am incapable of making anything joyful, Yogurt Cream is pushed over the edge mentally by his brother, inevitably taking his own life before they could ever tell each other this.

Plain Yogurt never intended for his brother to die. (in that way, at least.) That was never his end goal, and in a last ditch effort to selfishly save his reputation, he framed Lilac for murder. As punishment, Lilac was to be banished from Yogurca.

The only thing Lilac would lose from his punishment was full contact with Scorpion, who basically raised him as an older sister. And four months after Yogurt Cream's death, Lilac is recruited by Red Velvet to join the NAE.

Don't worry; Lilac avenges Yogurt Cream, and he even shows up towards the end of the story.