#someone put me in a mental asylum

[minhosimthings]

please tell me u see it too

*coughs* I ain't seeing nothing I am a child of the Lord

(yes I am lying)

[mania-sama]

writing an iwaoi fic because im miserable. please send me songs that perfectly fit the separation oikawa and iwaizumi have gone through until they meet once again, after six years of radio silence, at the olympics. and they both know that the love they'd never confessed never, ever went away, no matter how hard they tried to move on. and yet, they've built lives and have goals that can't possibly align.

aren't they just lovely?

[a-blip-of-billdip]

this isnt what i usually post on this blog but I'm already sick of all the memes and 'jokes'. I am almost certainly leaving the fandom for good now because of the book of bills release and NO it is not because billford's community has an influx of supporters.

So the worship and romanticization of asylums and other abusive practices for mental health have been steadily gaining traction in recent years, especially with the rise of tiktok's toxicity.

SO many people, especially younger people, regularly talk about how they want lobotomies or how women they don't like should be lobotomized. They get tattoos of lobotomy like it's some quirky fun thing and not one of the most horrific tortures someone can endure.

These same people, ESPECIALLY leftists, will look at anyone they disagree with or don't like and say "get institutionalized, loser" or "et therapy" and it's always in a mocking way. it's always in a policing way.

because these people know that mental wards strip everyone of their freedom and their bodily autonomy. they know these places arent for healing--theyre for silencing.

So the amount of people i see treating bill being institutionalized like a good thing---even the writers and alex himself?

Yeah. Im out ✌🏼

[my0vershareworld]

sorry for the disappearance. im not dead.

pls talk to me abt askin pls ps pslplsplsplsplplsplsplplsplspls

[probablybadrpgideas]

THINGS I AM UNREASONABLY ANNOYED ABOUT BY GAME SYSTEM

D&D: Please put a disclaimer that you are not a universal system. Every time I see someone try to do a political mystery game in D&D, I take 3d10 psychic damage and have to make a death saving throw.

Pathfinder: Look. If i wanted to play a game about fighting Cthulhu there is an extremely famous game specifically designed around doing that. Literally no-one is ever going to say "Wow, I want to play a Cthulhu themed game! Time to stat up a musical halfling from a magical fantasy land!".

Chronicles Of Darkness: Just admit no-one uses any of your rules. You have Social Door Rules and Integrity Conditions and Corruption Levels and I bet at most 50% of COD players could tell me which of those I made up. Just admit people aren't dressing up as Alucard The Bringer Of Shadows because they want to sit down and do calculus.

World Of Darkness: You know that old guy who's still doing his job even though he is way too old to do it any more, but he's now an institution so you can't get rid of him? Like that. The 90s called and they want literally everything about this back.

Call Of Cthulhu: I appreciate the commitment to authenticity, but maybe stop hiring actual disgraced mental asylum directors from the 1920s to design your sanity system?

GURPS: Look. Look. Listen. We both know that you just want to write history textbooks. These are history textbooks with a few stat blocks begrudgingly put in. If you just give me a book on early Chinese history I will read it and go "ah, very interesting!". You don't need to put in a list of character choices. We're all nerds. We'll read them. Live your best life.

Powered By The Apocalypse: I actually can't think of anything wrong with PBTA. That's not a bit, this is literally the perfect system. Take notes everyone else.

Mutants and Masterminds/Heroes System: Your systems have probably the most customizable character creation in the world and you both just make reskins of the Justice League over and over again. Maybe we only need one "thinly veiled copyrighted characters" setting? You can fight over it once you decipher your combat mechanics.

FATE: Ok I won't lie, I have no idea how the fuck FATE works. I have read the rules repeatedly and played three games and I still have no idea what invoking an aspect means. I don't know why. I grasped the rules of fucking Nobilis but this one just psychologically eludes me. This is more a problem with me I guess, but I'm still annoyed.

Warhammer 40k: Have you considered spending less on avocado toast? Then you might be able to afford to charge less for things?

Exalted: Apart from the lore, the setting, the mechanics, the metaplot, the character creation and the dodgy narrative implications, I can't think of anything to improve here.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Don’t take my sunshine away.

Part 2.

Warning; angst, grief, mental instability, mention of murder past and future.

Pairing; Batman/Male Reader (Established)

Note; I couldn't resist and had to make a second part. I will also have a third coming!

Summary; Even if it's been months, Jason is still on your mind and your grief is still drowning you. Yet, Superman found a way to make it worse until you snapped again and decided to give the Man of Steel a taste of the Joker’s medicine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Batcave felt colder than usual as you sat next to Bruce. A little shiver ran down your back and you felt Bruce put his cloak on you. You smiled at him as he kissed your forehead and you squeezed his hand, trying to show your husband you were fine. Even if you weren't.

Jason was still on your mind. Every minute, every second of the day haunting you and his literal last word echoing in your head. There was the anger, the pure rage that sometimes hit you like a tsunami coming from nowhere, leaving you shaking and ready to destroy everything. Amiss everything, Bruce and Dick had been your rock, just like you were theirs. You probably wouldn't have survived Jason’s death if it wasn't for them.

Dick was coming at least once a week and stayed two days, going out at night with Bruce. It was probably the only good thing coming from losing Jason; Dick and Bruce were getting closer once more. The tension between them was still there and they often came back from patrol arguing, but it always made you smile. They looked so much like father and son, just like when Dick was still Robin.

Your eyes turned to the computer, staring at the time. It was very early morning and Dick wouldn't be here until at least noon, but until then you still had visitors.

Clark and J’onn had come to talk, in the name of the whole Justice League. When Bruce told you about it, you guessed the reason immediately; Batman hadn't worked as much with the League since Robin’s death. Not only was Bruce not in the right state of mind, but he also didn't want to leave you alone in Gotham. He also knew you would be way too worried for him, your nerves still fragile. In his words, you were like a ticking time bomb ready to explode and he wasn't wrong.

When Bruce got up, you knew your guests were there. You turned your chair to face them, keeping Bruce’s cloak wrapped around you. You smiled at J’onn when the green Martian waved at you and returned his salute. You knew that J’onn understood your pain, he who had also lost two children and his wife. Clark nodded toward you and you did the same, but you saw something in his eyes and you knew things were going to go South.

You watched the three men walk away and then turned back to the screen. After a few clicks, you acceded to the camera feeds and enjoyed them. Gotham at night was an open asylum, but now it seemed so calm without a trace of crime. Well, nothing that required Batman anyway.

Until you heard Bruce raising his voice, that caught your attention because your husband was always calm. Frowning, you silently walked toward them, trying to overhear what was going on.

- “You cannot be serious Clark. That a low blow.” The voice of J’onn said.

- “That not… I didn’t mean you were going to cheat on your husband!” Superman tried to defend himself. “I meant it would be understandable if you were… you know going to divorce him and get someone more stable.”

You froze, heart dropping in your chest as you felt tears filling your eyes. You never expected Clark to think so low, so badly of you. You squeezed Bruce’s cloak in your fist, feeling your bones shaking.

- “That doesn’t sound better, Clark. He lost his son, his child. That something you can’t even understand the pain of.” Bruce said, venom in his voice.

- “He is trying to make you a murderer!” Clark replied as sharp.

- “Look me in the eyes and tell me the Joker is better alive than death!”

- “You two calm down. Fighting like that won’t do anyone any good. We need to think about his well being too. He is still grieving just like you Bruce. No one should bury a child not lose them like you two did.” J’onn interrupted and you could imagine him placing himself between the two men.

- “If we need to think about his well being then maybe he would be better placed.”

Superman’s reply was like a slap in the face, making you take a few steps back. Biting your lips, you almost ran away, not waiting to know what Bruce was going to say or do. You trusted your husband, knew he would have your back and never would betray you. Yet it didn’t take the pain of those words away.

You left the cave, going back to the manor. Somewhere in the between you lost Bruce’s cloak, but didn’t notice it until you found yourself in front of Jason’s bedroom door. You rested your hand on the handle, hesitating to enter. As much as Clark's words had stung, there was a part of truth in them. Your grief was holding back Bruce and you hadn't made much progress since that horrible night.

But you just couldn't.

Couldn't stop seeing Jason’s beaten body covered in his own blood.

Couldn't stop hearing his last word, him calling you Papa for the last time.

You broke down crying, pressing your forehead against the door and covering your mouth not wishing to be heard. Never again would you hear Jason make a bad joke or see him running to his motorcycle to follow Bruce’s Batmobile. Over were the days you two would pass working on his motorcycle or shopping to find pieces.

There would never come another evening watching a match just the two of you while Bruce was on patrol.

You weren't a father anymore. The Joker had taken the title from you like he did so many others and there was nothing you could do against it. Superman was preventing you and Bruce from getting true justice, stopping any attempt at killing the Joker. It was impossible for you to get better, his presence in your city an eternal reminder of what was taken from you.

As long as the Joker lived you would never accept Jason’s death. If only he could die or disappear!

Disappear.

You stopped crying, tears still rolling down your cheeks as you bit down on one of your fingers as the thought made its way into your mind. It was disgusting and horrible, but also terribly dangerous. Yet it was the best response to the situation and you hated yourself for thinking about doing it.

As Bruce Wayne’s husband, you were as known and as influential as him. His money was yours he kept saying, letting do as much charity as you wanted. After years of being married and living in Gotham, you did as much good as you could for your city. And it attracted friends who were as influential and powerful as you. So yes that terrible thought could be made true with only a few calls.

You took a deep breath and pushed yourself away from Jason’s door. You knew what you had to do even if Bruce was going to be mad at you. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

It was only hours later that you heard Bruce enter his office and approach you. You stood still in front of the window watching the sun rise while drinking a cup of coffee. Neither of you said a word. Bruce simply walked up to you and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your shoulder. You knew he knew you overheard them. Maybe it was your red and puffy eyes, maybe because you weren't in the cave anymore.

- “Clark is pretty pissed off with your stun.” Bruce said, resting his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear. “I understand why you did it, but you should have talked to me first.”

Or he knew what you did…

You scoffed and leaned in your spouse’s embrace, closing your eyes for only a moment.

Your calls had worked and everyone was just in a hurry to make it happen. Everyone wanted the Joker gone and convincing Metropolis Asylum to take him in had not been hard. Especially after saying that he wouldn't be a threat with Superman always around. Metropolis Asylum was avant-garde in terms of technology and security and it wouldn't be filled with corrupted employees.

- “If we can't kill him to avenge Jason, we shouldn't have to deal with him at all.” You said with a sigh. “Clark can take care of him and have a taste of the Joker’s medicine. Besides, as your friend he can do that service for you.”

- “You still should have talked to us, me, first.”

- “No, because y'all would have refused and I just can't do it anymore Bruce. I just can't. He is always on my mind, laughing because he knows we can't do shit to him. I have to live in the same city as the murderer of my son and it's driving me nuts!”

Bruce tightened his arms around you as you sobbed, hands grabbing your cup so hard you expected it to crack at any second now. You felt Bruce pressing his forehead against your head as he whispered soft words you could barely hear. It took you a few minutes to calm down and your husband gently dried your cheeks.

- “I am not angry, not at all.”

- “I am so sorry Bruce. I keep hurting and dragging you down with me.” You sighed, defeated. “Clark is right. You deserve so much better.”

- “Nonsense. I promised to love you in health and in sickness, in joy and grief. I couldn't wish for someone better than you.”

You chuckled, finally having a small smile. Those words were like a balm to your broken soul. It has always been you two against the world and you were happy that Bruce still felt the same after all those years. There was nothing he wouldn't do for you just like you got him. You two went through so many hardship only to come out closer.

- “I spoke with J’onn and he offered his guidance if you would have him. He is ready to share his own experience with losing is family and be here for you.” Bruce said, gently letting go of you before he rested his hands on your shoulders.

You trusted J’onn with your and Bruce’s life and mind. Maybe you should accept since there was no one else around you who could understand such pain. There was no one else around you who had lost children after all. Parents? Yes. Kids? Just J’onn.

You nodded, accepting the offer and Bruce kissed you.

- “I’ll let J’onn know you accepted. He will be glad to hear that.” Bruce said, resting his hand on your cheek. “I also kicked Clark out. He won't come back until he excuses himself for his words to you.”

- “Bruce!” You groaned and rolled your eyes.

- “No, Clark is in time-out until you actually forgive him. I don't care if he expressed himself badly, he still said those words and hurt you.”

You smiled, truly, looking Bruce in the eyes. What a sweet man your husband was.

- “Thank you.”

- “You are welcome. Alfred made your favorite breakfast and its ready.”

- “Are you…”

- “Of course, I am going to eat with you.”

Bruce led you out of his office, one arm wrapped around your waist. After months you finally felt like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. The Joker wasn't in Gotham, wasn't Bruce’s problem anymore and you didn't have to fear something similar would happen to Dick. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't justice, but you knew you could truly begin to heal now.

The hole and void in your heart would never be filled, but as long as you had Bruce by your side, it would never consume you.

[g3llyfish]

"SIT RIGHT DOWN AND STAY A WHILE"

MK x GN!reader

Established relationship

Comfort and fluff<3, you both miss eachother :{, tired and overworked MK

   You stare at the text with a sigh when your boyfriend, MK, apologizes for not being able to spend some time with you again because he was busy training with the monkey king.

     Sometimes you would wish that he isn't the monkey king's prodigy, you're happy that you're with someone special like him but with all the training and working at pigsy's. He ends up overworking himself and risking his physical health and mental health and you're getting more and more worried for him.

     You understand why, ofcourse you're not one of those possessive partners that controls every decision your partner makes but you really miss him, you can't even remember when you two had a proper date or even a sleepover.

     You turn off your phone again and rose up from you bed, determined to think of a plan to spend some time with him, until you got an idea.

     You grabbed your phone again and starts to dial Mei.

     "Hey, I'm gonna do something for MK, do you think you have some time to help me real quick?"

✧˖*°࿐

     MK, the Monkey Kid, the great sage somewhat equal to heaven, the one who saved the city from damnation from several demons is currently driving in his delivery vehicle to pigsy's noodles to finish off his chores after the training he went through.

     He swears he could feel his bones breaking just from sitting down, his eye bags were deep and his skin became slightly pale from exhaustion.

     Wukong noticed this ofcourse and told him off to get some rest, the monkey king isn't that cruel to his successor, if he has to be honest, the monkey cares about MK so much more than himself.

     MK sighs as he remembers when he texted you that he was too busy to be with you, he missed seeing you, holding you, being with you, just you in general.

     He stops at a red light and decides to pull up his phone to see if he has any notification... Nothing, just the wallpaper of your first date together, he looked so tense and nervous in the photo making him scoff a laugh.

     The monkey man doesn't know why but you still make him nervous in some way, you're amazing as a friend and also as his partner, he still doesn't believe that you accepted him to be your boyfriend until this day.

     The brunette was too busy reminiscing the time when he was with you to the fact that didn't even notice the light turned green until a loud horn from behind took his attention away.

     "Hey kid! Get a move on!" "S-s-sorry!"

✧˖*°࿐

     MK walks inside the noodle shop with the neon light above the door off,—indicating that they're closing up, MK only sees Pigsy cleaning by himself with a mop at hand, roughly cleaning a stain on the floor.

     "MK, you're finally back!" The pig notices MK and stops mopping.

     "Hey, pigsy!" MK greeted his dad "here, I'll help you with cleaning the shop."

     He was about to grab the mop from Pigsy but the noodle shop owner stops him by grabbing his hand and puts it down as he shakes his head no.

     "You can get an early off, kid" Pigsy pats MK's arm "you've been hard on yourself, too hard if I have to be specific so go up and get some rest."

     MK looks at Pigsy flabbergasted and blinks a few times.

     "But what about the shop?" "Don't worry about it, Tang is here to help me out so it's fine"

     From afar MK could hear Tang shouting 'I did not agree to this!' in the kitchen then the sound of a bunch plates falling down was heard making Pigsy flinch.

     An early day off? And it doesn't cut off his salary? Is this a dream?

     "Don't worry about me pigsy! I'm okay, really..." MK yawns, not helping his excuse "I want to help you, four extra hands with your hands can close the shop up early."

     The brunette smiles cheerfully with dark eyebags making him look like some escaped patient in an asylum and reaches for the mop again but the pig sways the mop away from the man making MK pout.

     "You can help me out by going up to your room and not bother me cleaning, now go up and rest" Pigsy demanded.

     MK took a second to respond, his eyes squinting in suspicion.

     "Am I in a Kalabash again?" "It's an order, MK!" "sir yes, sir!"

     As MK walks up to his apartment or more to say room, he wondered why everyone was sending him home more early than usual. First it was Wukong and now Pigsy? Sure, he was tired and his body feels like it could sink to the ground but he can manage it!

     He's the monkey kid afterall, he can deal with anything! Right? 

     The man yawns again as he stumbled slightly and opens the door to his place,  his groggy and tired eyes lit up seeing a well made fort on his bed.

     MK walks forward and see how comfortable it is then noticed the Sun Wukong plushies in the fort and Monkey Cop could be heard on his TV.

     He pulls out a tired smile, it was like he already knew who made did this. The door behind him opens.

     "Awh dang it! You got here before me..." Your voice calls out making him turn around to see you, who was carrying arms full of snacks.

     "[Y/n]..." MK breathes out a hearty laugh.

     "I was just getting some food for us for incase you were hungry once you come home," You walk pass him and sets down the various of snacks on his bed "I wanted to surprise you but oh well..."

     You turn around to face him and does an awkward jazz hands.

     "Sur... prise? I guess?"

     This made MK laugh as he walks towards you and wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, he buries his face on the crook of your neck as he lets out a delightful sigh.

     You were shocked about the sudden hug but you held him tightly anyways, missing his warm embrace for so long.

     This is what MK needs, you, the tenseness of his shoulder relaxes as he inhaled the smell of your shampoo, he loves your scent... It made him feel like he's at home weirdly enough...

     MK's eyes closes and cherished this moment with you for a brief moment, it was as if he never wants to let go.

     "You doing alright, MK?" you ask, as your hug tightens.

     "Hm," he nods "I just miss you."

     This made you smile, knowing that he misses you the same way that you miss him makes your heart giddy as you let out a giggle.

     "What?" "Nothing nothing, you're just cute... I miss you too"

     You pull away and grab both MK's cheek firmly before planting a kiss on his lips, he froze on the spot from shock of your bold action before melting into your lips.

     He places his hands on your hips and pulls you towards him as you both savor this short moment with eachother.

     MK starts to smile in the kiss. 

     You both pull away as the two of you look at eachother for a while before laughing at eachother like it was your first kiss all over again.

     "Come'on, let's watch some Monkey Cop together" "Yeah! haha... Can you stay a while even after the movie?" "Ofcourse..."

Requested from Quotev :3, it's really not that much but I tried TT

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

I Can Fix That... | Dr. Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary| She's the detective assigned to investigate one of Gotham's top villains, Falcone, but as she follows her leads, she uncovers a new suspect: Dr. Jonathan Crane. His charisma and good looks won't stand in the way of justice, or at least that's what she thinks.

Warnings| Mentions of self-harm in the beginning in accordance to the movie (Batman Begins 2005). Not explicitly discussed but implied sexist and misogynistic work environment. Some archaic language when discussing psychiatric hospitals bc I tried to follow the language that the movie used. Violence with needles, drugging someone. Gun is mentioned but not used. Knife is mentioned a lot but never used to inflict pain. Smut, dubious consent, unprotected sex, restraints.

word count: 6757k (long-ass story bc I didn't want to make separate posts)

Song for a Guilty Sadist- Crywank 🎶

Butch 4 Butch- Rio Romeo 🎵

IFHY (feat. Pharrell)- Tyler, The Creator 🎶

Please read warnings before continuing, thanks <3

i 

She had been following him for weeks, stealing into the shadows at every turn as Jonathan Crane walked through Gotham City’s Police Station. She’d been suspicious of him for months and with the men in the police force finally working up the nerve to investigate Gothem’s leading henchman, Falcone, she’d uncovered a theory that pointed simultaneously at the notorious psychiatrist. Of course, the men in her force had refused to believe her, reminding her of Crane’s long history with the department and work to establish Gothem’s Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane: Arkham Asylum. But the real reason why Crane had never been investigated was because of his status in the department of justice, and it didn’t hurt that the man was charismatic. He knew how to work the system to get what he wanted. 

Jonathan Crane had a reputation of declaring criminals insane after mere minutes of deliberation, especially those who happened to work with or for Falcone. She’d been in charge of carrying out Falcone’s case and taking him to trial as a detective for the prosecution. After being put in jail, Falcone had managed to slash his wrists just enough to draw attention and a little bit of blood. He was immediately flagged for psychiatric evaluation, bringing Jonathan Crane once again into the basement interrogation rooms to administer an interview. When he clamored down the steps onto the basement floor, she was waiting for him by the door into Falcone’s interrogation room.  

“Dr. Crane,” she greeted him with a smile, drawing every ounce of her long lost theater-kid days into play. 

“Miss —,” he remembered her name and shook her hand with a serious glint in his blue eyes, covered by harsh rectangular glasses. His handshake was firm and strong, and he made eye contact that still shook her even after speaking with him so many times before. She didn’t let it show, however, and nodded towards the door. 

“He cut his wrists last night during the changing of the guard but we don’t know how he even got access to the weapon that he used; and I’ve spoken with him numerous time since we processed him and he’s never given me any reason to suspect that he was mentally unstable, but of course, you are the professional. It’s better that he be evaluated anyway-”

“In case anything were to happen,” he finished for me and clenched his jaw. He gave a curt nod of his head and went inside, shutting the door behind him and drawing the blinds on the door closed. She scoffed quietly beneath her breath and clenched her fists. Don’t be fooled by his good looks or superior smile, she told herself, Jonathan Crane was capable of things that she didn’t know of yet. He was not someone to admire, he was someone to distrust. 

After only ten minutes of quiet murmuring, she could hear clear and blood curdling screams through the door. She knocked on the door, “Dr. Crane?” She called through the door but it opened in her face before she could do anything. He stood in the doorway, his dark hair falling into his pale, angular face. 

“He’s definitely what I would classify as mentally unstable,” he chuckled calmly as he side-stepped her and closed the door. He ran a hand through his hair and fixed the glasses perched on his nose. “I can’t treat him here, I’ll need to move him to Arkham.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked, more surprised than anything. He had started to walk down the hallway to the stairs when he turned around, stopping right in front of her face, his breath fanned across her face. 

“Are you questioning my diagnosis, detective?” He smirked, an underlying tone of warning below his wide-lipped smile. His blue eyes were unwavering as he studied her face, she swallowed to steady herself. 

“No, sir. Of course not.” She apologized and crossed her arms across her chest, ducking her head nervously. When she looked back up, his eyebrow was cocked. 

“Do I make you nervous, detective?” He smiled and she could tell he was setting a trap, attempting to make himself more likable, more trusting. As if he could be anything of the sort. She laughed lightly and met his eyes, holding his eye-contact defiantly. 

“No, sir.” She answered and he nodded. 

“Good day, Miss —.” He called with his back turned, walking to the stairs and climbing them quickly. She watched him leave and finally released a sigh of relief. There was something about him that unsettled her, but it was something that also attracted her with a devious strength, ripping factual and independent reasoning from her head. 

She had started following him when one of Falcone’s men had been moved to Arkham two weeks before. She switched her assignment for the day to escort the man to Arkham, getting a chance to see the asylum for herself. It was a large gothic building with a modern facade in the center of Gotham. The attendants at the door led the prisoner (or patient now) through the heavily guarded door into the hospital’s main ward that was closed to visitors. Even police or other officials had to obtain a special license that granted them clearance into the institution. The second time she’d stepped inside, she was following a few yards behind Crane, studying how he actually entered the building. They had a separate entrance for the asylum’s psychiatrists at the side of the building by the alley. She waited a few minutes for Crane to enter the building before she approached the guard stationed at the door and flashed her badge. He’d allowed her in but warned that he’d lose his job if he did it again. The next time she followed him, she would need a new method of entering the building, one that didn’t alert Crane that she was in the building in case he got suspicious. When she entered it was easier to blend in so she followed the maze of hallways until she reached a small hub with arrows guiding attendants to the different wards of the hospital. Dr. Crane’s office was included in the psychiatrist ward (funny they had their own ward). 

The psychiatrists each had their own labs, whether or not they used them was their own business, but she knew for sure that Crane used his but for what, she didn’t know. Walking down the hallway to his office, she peeked inside the wide panel of glass into his lab. He had one assistant who was copying his notes into a binder for Crane but quickly left when Crane shooed him away from the set of beakers and vials of powders he was working with. She flattened herself against the wall and pretended to answer a call on her phone as the assistant passed her in the hallway. She hurried to leave the institute, leaving through the same door she entered, thanking the security guard discreetly. 

This time as she watched Crane climb the stairs, she pulled aside a police officer and explained Falcone’s transfer. The officer nodded and left to initiate the transfer to Arkham, Falcone’s hysterical screams still audible through the thick steel door. Crane tugged at the starched collar of his shirt as he crossed the lobby of the police station, sighing in relief. Falcone had tried to corner him. Him! Falcone may have been powerful but he was stupid and Crane didn’t have patience for stupidity especially from someone who was supposed to be a criminal mastermind. News flash: he wasn’t. Falcone was sloppy and arrogant, he didn’t take his own threats seriously. He’d threatened to tell the police about Crane’s experimental drug concoctions but in reality, he still didn’t know the full extent of what Crane was planning to do to Gotham. 

“You don’t know anything,” Crane said pointedly, tired of Falcone’s attitude. 

“I know that half of the drugs we moved belong to you and the police still don’t know what they are or what they can do.” Falcone scratched his greasy nose. Crane almost laughed. He removed his glasses and sighed, reaching into his open briefcase. 

As soon as the words, “would you like to see my mask,” left his mouth, Falcone was done for. The only thing that had inspired a shred of panic for Crane was hearing the girl’s voice through the steel door, calling his name. He expected her to open the door and see his mask, and while he had an explanation that a normal officer would believe, he knew that she was different. He didn’t trust her but something about her made him laugh. She was good looking and smart but too invested in his work and he didn’t like that. He’d have to keep an eye on the young detective, Miss —. In fact, he’d like to strap her down… hide her away in his asylum and play with her head like he did with his other playthings - - - oops - - - patients. Same thing.

ii 

She pretended that her plan was straightforward, it was the only way that she could convince herself to go through with it. No one else in her department would have had the balls to sneak into the asylum where once you went in, you may not be able to leave, that is- if Dr. Crane diagnosed you accordingly. She left a note on her desk in her office, explaining where she was going and the evidence she had already collected. Photos, “destroyed” medical records, and recent missing shipments from cargo ships including one micro-wave machine meant for warfare. She made copies of everything and hid them away in a special box directed to the only person she really trusted in her department, Sgt. Gordon. Even if someone dumped the notes on her desk, Sgt. Gordon would find the box of evidence, she knew. Falcone had been transferred the day before and was nearing his second night in the institution, now was her time to investigate what he was planning to do to him and why. 

She stashed a small knife at her thigh, having learned that a woman had to carry multiple weapons in this city if she wanted to protect herself, which unfortunately, happened often. She checked her weapon and put it in her holster at the small of her back. She was wearing a gray quarter length top tucked into a black skirt. She pulled on her straight black leather coat and closed the door to her office, locking the door. She knew that Crane would be in his office, he almost never went home, and with Falcone there and at risk to disclose sensitive information, he would be sure to stay close by. 

The sun had already set hours before when she approached Arkham Asylum. Each window was bright with light but it didn’t make the building any more welcoming. She shivered as she approached the side door, seeing a different security guard at the door. He stood when she approached, not recognizing her.  

“Stand down, officer. I’m detective — on police business,” she showed him her badge.

“You’ll have to check in at the front, detective.” The officer sat back down with a nod. 

“My business here is strictly confidential; Dr. Crane said I could enter in this way.” She pointed at the side door and the officer looked nervously at her. He reached for his walkie-talkie. 

“I’m here about Falcone. I am the detective assigned to his case, he was transferred here two days ago. I’m supposed to meet with Dr. Crane about some of the things Falcone has said during his initial treatment. Because of the sensitivity of Falcone’s case in the department, as I’m sure you know, the department has asked that we keep this confidential. No one inside can know that I was here to meet about Falcone. We haven’t told the public yet that he’s been transferred here. Your compliance is necessary for this.” She lied out of her ass but the officer nodded slowly when she finished, his eyes widening at the mention of Falcone’s name. 

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry for delaying you. It’s just business.” 

“I understand completely, thank you officer.” She smiled kindly as the officer scanned her in. Once she was inside she hid her police badge and followed the path she had scouted days before, following the black arrows to the psychiatrist ward (again, funny that they had their own ward- almost as if they were patients themselves). Her black mary janes squeaked quietly as she finally turned onto the hallway where Dr. Crane’s office was located. A row of fluorescent bulbs flickered ominously and she rolled her eyes, silently cursing the asylum for its additional eeriness. His lab was empty and dark and his office was empty though the lights were still on. An assistant passed her, coming from a different lab with a pile of boxes in her arms. 

“Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Crane is right now?” She asked the assistant who shuffled the boxes in her arms to answer. 

“I saw him in the ward with the new transfer patients just before I picked these up, so he’s probably about to start a sit-down with a patient. Do you have an appointment with him?” She asked curiously, knowing it was too late for a business meeting. 

“No, I work in the office and I was going to request a few files to finish a transfer of a patient but it seems that he’s busy. I’ll try tomorrow morning. Thank you!” She smiled and the assistant nodded. 

“Have a nice night,” the assistant hurried off down the corridor into the hub. She wasted no time in checking the door to Crane’s office which was miraculously unlocked. She hurried inside and closed the door, making sure that she left everything as she had found it. The door to the lab was located inside Crane’s office, so she entered the lab through the office. The blinds were closed to the outside so she opened the flashlight on her phone and scanned the dark lab tables for the powders she had seen before. The room smelled heavily of chemicals and cleaning solution and it was hard to breathe normally already because she was nervous. The first table was empty of anything but the second was set up for what looked to be his next round of testing. A box that looked like a closed mouse trap was set up on the table. There was a single switch on the top of the box which she knew better than to turn but she examined it nonetheless, hoping to see what it may contain. A tray of petri dishes full of powder sat beside it. Each was marked with a different series of numbers and letters, denoting their different status, she assumed. She recognized the series on one of the dishes: F7jw009. The number had appeared on the list of drugs recovered from Falcone’s drug transport. It was one that hadn’t yet been tested to see what it was composed of. She didn’t recognize the two other dishes but she assumed the powder and the mousetrap device were used for the same thing.

There was a small bookcase attached to the base of the lab table and she crouched, scanning the spines. The books on the top, free of dust, were on phobias. A bound scientific paper on the chemical structure of fear sat on top of the textbooks. She picked it up and flipped through the pages, noticing strokes of pen and notes on many of the pages. In the centerfold of the paper, she saw a picture of a cartoon scarecrow, one from a halloween decoration. It looked like it had been ripped from a kid’s storybook. She stared at the picture, struggling to place where she had heard about a scarecrow before in the precinct… she flipped farther through the pages and landed on a second photo shoved between the pages. It was a drawing of a mask made of burlap. The mask resembled a scarecrow’s face, she furrowed her eyebrows, more uneasy. Finally, she flipped to the very end where she found a clear note detailing what Crane thought the synopsis of the paper had been: 

Fear can be constructed using a series of complex compounds and put into an admissible form. They have already invented serums that temporarily remove the presence of fear by blocking certain receptors in the brain that receive signals of distress or pain. By doing the very opposite, temporarily numbing the receptors that calm the nervous system when danger has been averted, fight or flight is heightened and the human mind is more susceptible to the suggestion of danger and terror. Fear merely needs to be suggested to elicit a response after the brain is prepped for the reaction. Fear can be weaponized. Building the compounds of fear into a powder, the drug can be administered immediately into the air and receive a simultaneous reaction. Pills? Water? How can we distribute this powder? What is the easiest way to administer fear to the entire population? 

iii 

The distinct click of a door opening and closing shocked her back to attention. She put the bound paper back onto the shelf and switched off the light on her phone. In the dark she scrambled into a hidden alcove inside the lab behind one of the hooded chemical boxes. She was pretty sure that the lab’s closet would be shared with the lab next door but she couldn’t remember which side of the room it was on. Dr. Crane had gone into his office and removed his suit jacket. He was too excited by Falcone’s reaction to his fear serum in powder form and he needed to get a handle on himself. It was nearly midnight when he checked his watch. Most of his colleagues would be gone by now, just the night staff remained to look after the patients. Night was the perfect time to work undisturbed in his lab, especially because his assistant couldn’t know the full extent of his research into the chemical compounds of human fear. He slipped his coat over the back of his desk chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. 

He exhaled slowly and removed a stack of papers from his desk, flipping through them as he opened the door into his lab and kicked the door closed with the heel of his shoe. His elbow flicked on the lightswitch and he spread out the papers on the first lab table, seemingly absorbed by the chemical structures his assistant had prepared for him to review. He scribbled a note in red pen on the corner of the document, berating his assistant for his obvious mistake with one of the compound structures. What was this? High school chemistry class? He licked his thumb and turned the page, writing another note in the margin. 

“I know you’re here, Miss —.” He smiled, not looking up from his notes. He tossed the first set of pages further down the table and moved to the next one. “You and your perfume… I can always tell where you’ve been by your scent. I don’t think you’re naive enough to wear perfume in your field, especially when on your little jaunts into other people’s business. So, the lovely smell is from your shampoo, I venture. You use an expensive brand of shampoo because you think that your hair is your best attribute, and I agree, it's one of the best. Your job makes you feel dirty too, doesn’t it? This city makes you feel dirty and so you wash your hair every night with the same sulfate-free shampoo to get the smell of our city out of your system. Your shampoo smells like mint and you like it the best because it makes your head feel cleaner, tingly,” he laughed and moved to the next stack of stapled papers. “And that’s why you chose this job, a detective, because you feel like you’re cleaning up our streets; removing all of the bad blood of Gotham but it’s been a disappointment to say the least. The system is backwards, though you knew that from the beginning, you thought you could fix it. You want things to be right and I don’t blame you, so do I.” 

Dr. Crane finished writing a note on the last paper and capped the pen. He circled the table once before moving to the second table. 

“I’m cleaning the city in my own way, I guess you could say. This city needs a restart button, a way to begin everything again and start fresh. Fear can do that, fear can be controlled and it controls.” 

She could barely breathe, her back was pressed against the wall of his lab. She was scared and she knew that he knew. Fear was his thing, his kink and she anticipated the absolute worst as she waited out her fate, wondering how long it would take for him to find her or if she could manage to escape. 

“This machine can diffuse the compounded form of fear. I’ve used it on most of your suspects, all of them Faclone’s men. I even used it on Falcone himself. Oh, I wish you could have seen his face! The second the powder entered his system he abandoned the arrogant criminal persona, he reverted back to who he was at his very core. He was suddenly controllable and easy to manage. So you see how this could be used to clean up Gotham. It’s a way to seize back control of our city, take it away from the people who run it now; the sycophants and billionaires.” 

Crane pulled a needle from the drawer at his hip and flicked the glass tube. Her chest rose and fell in a state of panic. Dr. Crane leaned against the counter calmly. 

“That’s why you like me. I’m clean. I’m orderly and smart. I’m the opposite of the criminal justice system that reminds you of this dirty city. And, Y/N, that’s why I like you.”

She tensed at his use of her first name. She’d never heard him use it before and it sent a chill down her spine. She reached for her gun. Dr. Crane rounded the corner and stabbed the needle into her neck, pushing the tranquilizer into her bloodstream. She wobbled before slumping back against the wall. She managed to push past him and run for the office door but the drugs worked almost immediately and her legs began to go numb. She couldn’t feel anything below her waist and she worried that he would break her legs running without being able to feel which bones she was using to get away. She collapsed on the floor of the lab and looked up at Dr. Crane who smiled down at her, his hair disheveled. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he cooed and crouched at her feet, “I applaud you for your efforts. You may have succeeded had I not recognized the smell of your shampoo. I know you’ve been here before. You’re a smart girl but I won this game, and the victor gets the spoils. That’s how it works, Miss —.” He crawled over her and pulled the needle from her neck. She didn’t even feel it. Her hair that he loved so much was fanned out on the floor, falling in loose curls. He twirled a curl between his fingers and nodded approvingly. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you with the utmost respect. Afterall, you are my colleague, of sorts,” he shrugged and stood up, straddling her. “It’s a pity that you became a detective. You would have done well in this bloodthirsty field because,” he disappeared for a moment and returned with a set of keys which he slipped into his front pocket, “you’re like me.” 

He pulled her up and put one of her arms around his shoulder, supporting the brunt of her weight that way. Though he was small and lanky, he was muscular and strong. He dragged her through the door in his lab that connected to a separate room that she hadn’t even noticed. He flipped the light switch with his elbow and sighed with pleasure when the room was lit up with light. 

“Here it is. This is where the real fun happens, Y/N. This is where I test my new treatments on our most psychotic patients. Falcone will be here soon, perhaps tomorrow once you and I finish our discussion.” The room was smaller than the lab and housed what looked like a mortuary slab. She tried to scream but her mouth was numb. He dragged her to the table and lifted her onto the flat surface. The numerous straps he buckled around her waist, her wrists, and her feet. When she was secured onto his table, he pushed a peddle at his foot which titled the table forward, propping her more upright. 

“Ah, and now I can finally see you,” Dr. Crane smiled and moved her hair so that it was caught behind her back. He straightened her hair against her chest, running his fingers through the strands. He moved a stool in front of the table and sat on it, his legs spread and his arms across against his chest. “Do I make you nervous now, detective?” He smirked and chuckled darkly when she couldn’t respond. “It will wear off soon. It’s one of those doses that act quickly but then wear off just as quickly. I wouldn’t do anything to you while you were in this state. What kind of man would I be if I did that?” 

He watched her for a few minutes, his bright blue eyes trailing up and down her body. She knew what that look meant from men. Her gun was so close and yet she knew she wouldn't be able to reach it even when she regained control over her body. While he waited, he arranged numerous tools and vials around the room, humming softly to himself. She could feel herself starting to get feeling back in her stomach as the blood recirculated from her heart. Her hands and her feet took the longest to twitch awake. She dropped her head from left to right, groaning in the absence of words. Dr. Crane came back and checked her pulse, pinching her wrist and counting the seconds on his watch. 

“Good girl, you’re coming back. Can you speak yet?” He supported her chin with his hand and when she didn’t answer he nodded. “That’s all right. You’re all right.” He soothed her and she couldn’t help but relax as his eyes checked over her. “Now, Miss —, where are your weapons?” He posed the question theoretically and touched her, she flinched beneath his hands. He felt around her waist and inside her jacket. “There aren’t many places to hide it.” He whispered and wrapped his hands around her waist, finding the gun at the small of her back. “Ah, here it is.” He smiled as he took the gun from its holster and tossed it onto a small lab table. “You have something else, don’t you. You’re smart so of course, you have a second weapon.”  He licked his lips, thinking but it didn’t take him long to trail his hands up her thighs, glancing up into her eyes as he did. Her skirt rose as he felt below it and soon, his fingers were on top of the knife’s handle. 

“What do we have here?” He lifted her skirt, showing the knife’s hiding place at the top of her thigh. “This is honestly almost funny so forgive me if I laugh.” He ripped the knife from the holster and she cried out as much as she could, terrified by his quick movement. He let her skirt fall back into place and twirled the knife in his hand, examining the small blade. “You’ve just made my night so much more interesting, Miss —.” He smirked darkly. 

iv 

She finally regained her ability to speak though her words were jumbled and hard to get out around her tongue.

“Use your words, honey.” Dr. Crane frowned frustratedly. 

“Please…” she managed, “don’t… hurt… me.” She pushed the words out and he listened carefully. 

“Oh but it’s so hard to resist when you so willingly came here and with your own weapons. Can you see how this might be hard for me?” He furrowed his brow as he spoke and she couldn’t tell what was sarcasm and what was real. 

“It was nothing personal… I had a job to do.” She whispered weakly and he cocked his head, his lips parted. 

“You know it's funny because Falcone’s men all said the same thing. I know you didn’t work with them… but I can make it look like you did.” He whispered close to her face and her chest clenched with fear. “I can do whatever I want, do you understand? I have the power to say that you checked yourself in and I evaluated you. I found you on the verge of a psychotic breakdown because we all know you were already prone to hysterics. But your office shouldn’t worry because I’ll be your psychiatrist. And so what if you happen to disappear- go missing? No one comes in here, except for you, and that was stupid.” 

“You might die tonight, detective. I’m sorry to say it because you are one of the most attractive women I have met in Gotham and I fear that you have ruined our chances of continuing this to a second date.” He studied the curvature of her clavicle as it dipped above her sternum. Not knowing what else to do, she kissed him. Dr. Crane stiffened as her lips met his. He pulled away, stopping short a few inches from her mouth.

“What are you doing?” He raised his eyebrow. 

“If I’m going to die, I might as well make the most of it,” she shrugged and kissed him again, her head leaning as far forward as she could reach. She hoped that she sounded truthful enough. He pulled away again and stared at her, his forehead creased as he watched her. She panted softly, straining against her restraints. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest had broken out into hives from the stress. Fear made her even more beautiful. Going against his better judgment, he leaned forward into her and kissed her hesitantly. Slowly, he began to kiss her more aggressively, his tongue dragging against the roof of her mouth before he captured her top lip in a deep kiss. Her hands instinctively went to reach for his hair but they snapped back against the table. He broke away, panting, and took a few steps back, resting his back against the wall. 

“I don’t trust you,” he put his hands on his hips, still holding the knife. 

“What can I do, Jonathan?” She tried using his first name and he raised an eyebrow again, “I can’t move, no one can hear me scream, you’re going to kill me… what reason is there left to trust me? So, either kiss me or go ahead and kill me.” She nearly cried, overwhelmed and terrified. Her plan had been to seduce him, to use most men’s fatal flaw against him, but she worried that it wouldn’t work with Dr. Jonathan Crane. In a way, she had planned for this. The evidence was back in her office waiting to be discovered. She hadn’t gotten a chance to take pictures of the lab but maybe depending on how far he went with this, she could get away. But God, even though she was terrified and held on a slab against her will, he was beautiful. He was looking at her with his aquamarine eyes, his black hair gelled and falling around his face. Even his glasses looked perfect on his face. 

“Jonathan…” she started with a shakily voice, “despite why I came today and what you’ve told me about what you want to do to Gotham, right now, more than anything, I want you to come here and kiss me because while I may hate you and you may be the cause of my death, I want you. Give me some comfort if you’re going to take everything away from me.” 

“Freud would have some things to say about you, Y/N.” He pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and studied the edge of the knife. “Your psychology is so interesting,” he flicked his eyes up to her’s and set the knife down on the table. “To study you…” he trailed off as he loosened his tie and ripped it from his neck. He approached her, standing far enough away that she couldn’t reach him with her mouth. She exhaled, waiting. “I almost studied anatomy,” he pushed a hand against her navel, holding her even more in place. 

“Why didn’t you?” She whispered. 

“I loved the human mind too much to abandon it,” he smiled and drew a hand up her thigh. Her muscles spasmed beneath his hand. He leaned in against her ear, “I know you’re scared of me,” he whispered calmly, “and isn’t that incredible? That you can be so afraid of something that you want so much?” His hand pulled down her underwear and it stretched between her open thighs, held apart by the restraints. His hand went further still, gently tracing the folds of her labia. She knew that she was wet and it embarrassed her, though she knew it helped confirm her story that she wanted him, he didn’t seem to care either way. His thumb rubbed her clit as he slowly inserted his middle finger into her, pushing past the initial resistance. She always hated fingering because it didn’t feel like how people pretended it did. That being said, she sighed as he gently inserted a second finger and pulled against the top of her cunt, fingering her slowly. 

“The body holds fear because our bodies hold memories,” he explained as he pressed her clit harder. “I can find what really scares you and I can fix it.” 

“I’m scared of you,” she whispered, her breath escaping in a sharp pant. 

“I can fix that.” 

He pulled his fingers out of her and held her neck still against the table as he kissed her. The sense of urgency to fight and escape melted into an afterthought when the back of his hand slid slowly down one side of her neck, making the tendons flex. He held her neck still as he kissed down to her collarbones, licking their shelves and tracing the bone with his tongue. His free hand groped her breast over her tight shirt and then surrounded her waist. She started shifting her hips back and forth, wishing that she had something between them to relieve the pressure she felt. He smiled against her skin and clicked his tongue, pulling away from her. He pressed the pedal again with his foot and the table reclined once again as it had been. He climbed onto the table and sat above her on his knees, looking down at her as she panted. 

“Look at me,” he told her and made sure that her eyes met his. “I have no plans to kill you tonight and I know this act is solely for the benefit of your own survival. But knowing that I will not kill you, would you like to change your mind?” He put both hands around her waist, showing the pale flesh of his forearms. She tried to weigh her options, she tried to think clearly but it all felt like a dream. It didn’t feel real enough to have consequences, so she shook her head and licked her lips quickly.

“No, keep going.” She whispered, “please.” Dr. Crane chuckled lightly and trailed his fingers down to her ankles. 

“In that case, would you like to see my mask?” He smiled darkly, teasing her. 

“No, I want to see your face.” She answered calmly and he nodded. 

“Fine.” He removed the restraints around her ankles. He took the knife from the table and cut away her underwear with one strong swipe of the blade. She gasped and he smirked, “I’m a doctor, remember? I know how to use a knife, detective.” 

He put the knife aside and pulled her knees up, sitting between them. He unbuckled his pants and withdrew his erection, glistening with precum. He guided himself into her with his hand, his eyes never leaving her face. She gasped again as he entered her. He rocked his hips slowly back and forth and groaned, watching her mouth open in a silent moan. She raised her knees higher, closer to her chest, giving him a better angle at which to fuck her. His hands pressed against her stomach and his thrusts became faster as his body began to learn hers. 

“You’re getting wetter,” he observed with a sly smile, “I must be doing something right.” He teased her as he started to rub her clit with his thumb, the rest of his hand pressed against her uterus. She couldn’t even speak. It had been months since she’d last had sex and even then, it wasn’t good sex. “I’m going to go harder but you can take it,” he told her matter of factly and placed either hand by her hips on the table. Leaning forward he shifted his hips slowly but harder, going deeper without much care for how her body adapted to the thrusts. “There you go,” he grunted as his hips bucked rhythmically into hers. She cried out, her body sliding up and down against the table, hot with her perspiration. Holding onto the top of the table, he moved farther up, pushing more inside of her, and started thrusting fast. He was suddenly in so deep and only backing away a few inches before snapping back in. Her hips bounced off of his and she gripped the excess material around her wrists to help her stay stationary. 

“Slow… God, please! Slow down… its so much, fuck.” She whimpered and smiled down at her face, flushed and angry with red. He slowed his hips, squeezing his glutes together whenever he thrusted inside. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, still rocking in and out of her. Her body shuttered from the high and started to build a more even climax. She hummed against his lips, her voicing getting higher as she started to orgasm. 

“And here comes the orgasm,” Jonathan smiled and sped up slightly, leaving hickies up and down her neck. She orgasmed with a shuttering cry that she couldn’t cover with her hand, but he didn’t let her finish there. “Fuck, you got so tight again.” He groaned as she panted, her system overwhelmed with waves of pleasure and exertion. She started to tighten further around him as her thighs squeezed his hips. Her breath left her lungs in short pants and she moaned beneath him like a pitiful creature. “Are you cumming again?” He laughed and stroked her cheek. She nodded weakly and he kissed her again briefly. 

“Its so tight, fuck. I won’t last much longer like this.” He took her hips in his hands and started a steady rhythm, pulling her hips onto his cock and thrusting at the same time. She came around him and he groaned animalistically, his thrusts becoming more sporadic and needy. He watched her breasts bounce inside her shirt and how he slid in and out of her, her cum collecting at the base of his shaft. Finishing with fast, desperate movements, he moaned loudly. She felt him finish inside her and it felt almost better than if she had finished herself. He pulled down her bottom lip with his thumb and admired her fucked-out face. Her pupils were shot and she shook slightly from the high. Finally, he pulled out and stuffed himself back into his pants. He sighed as he straightened his clothes and ran a hand through his hair. He took the gun and the knife and stuffed them both into a drawer and locked it with a set of keys from his pocket. They stared at each other for a while until Jonathan broke the silence, clearing his throat. 

“You’re coming home with me tonight, Miss —. We’ll decide what to do with you later.” 

[0asisbliss]

That was hilarious, man I feel bad for their lawyer. Imagine during at the trial.

Judge: Mr. Lucilfer, how do you plead?

Chrollo: Guilty as charged, your honor

Lawyer: W-What my client means is that he isn't mentally well

Chrollo: But I am mentally well

Lawyer: *whisper* shut up man

A/N: He would totally do this being unaware of what they were trying to do. Pt.1

Today was the day. 5 weeks of exhausting questioning. You were so tired and he had a 0.01 chance of winning this trail at that percentage was pushing it. You really wanted to get this case and dump it in the trash, but something kept you going. Maybe it was that they did bad things and maybe this was eye opening to them, and this would help them change their ways, but another part of you kinda wanted them to learn from their actions.

Chrollo was very hard to work with. He didn’t get the sneaky agenda very much even though he stole things for a living. He was kinda of one the “I understand but what do you mean?” kind of people. It was fairly annoying, but then again you could use this to your advantage. You had to in some way or you were getting no where in this case.

You gave a good fight at trail, but you knew that your verdict would depend on how you up turned the whole case.

“How do you plead Chrollo Lucilfer.”

“Not guilty your honor I am fully awar-.”

“What my client is clearly trying to say is that he’s been through a lot as a child as that is no reason as excuse for his actions but he’s not in his right mindset.”

“Shut the hell up” You mumbled to him quietly.

Chrollo looked at you shocked and oddly offended.

The judge was very confused.

“Well this case has left me tired, and quite frankly on the verge of quitting. It has come to me that you two are not quite ready for a verdict so this case is not finished the court will meet up again September 3rd 2024.”

You gave Chrollo a very dangerous side eye as the court officers lead him back to his facility.

You had 9. 9! More fucking troupe members to do. Maybe you should just give all of this up? Feitan was next you didn’t want to even to try. You didn’t even want to try for Feitan just imagine what type of shit he could say.

Today was Feitan’s day in court.

“How do you plead Feitan?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“N-No- see this is prime example of bad of condition my client is in I mean just look at the way he responded this isn’t the response of someone in their right mind.”

The judge felt a slight change in the atmosphere in which made him a slight bit afraid.

“Well I- uhm think this should stretch out a little longer. (Reader) you should have more evidence when we circle back to this case again.”

Maybe him playing crazy will get him a little farther into a smaller sentence if not that he should get a the insane card a be put into the local insane asylum and you can finally be finished with all of this.

[incomingalbatross]

Frankenstein from the perspective of any of the other characters would be INSANE.

This guy goes off to university; flourishes; stops writing home; and then has a complete mental and physical collapse. While he's still recovering from that, his baby brother is strangled to death. He come home devastated, insistent that the servant accused of the crime CAN'T have done it, and seems more broken by her death and his brother's than anyone else. He is, in fact, VERY Haunted about something. The best anyone can come up with is "do you not want to marry your childhood fiancee anymore?"

He insists he does but he has to go to England first for unclear reasons. His bff goes with him. His bff is strangled to death in Ireland; he's arrested for the murder, released on a an ironclad alibi, but has ANOTHER total breakdown and, even after recovering, frequently insists he killed his brother, the servant, and his bff. Varies between depression, terror, and catatonic fits on and after the journey home.

The best anyone can come up with, again, is "Are you SURE you still want to marry me? Were you upset the last time you were home because there's Someone Else?" He responds that he expects very little happiness in life for any of them, going forward, but he definitely wants to marry her, and the day after their wedding he will reveal why he is a blasted and ruined man. This is kind of a typical interaction at this point, for him.

But he's totally ready to get married in ten days! He's excited for it, even!

He comes home the night after the wedding to tell his father that his bride was strangled to death.

His father died of grief. He himself has ANOTHER breakdown and is put in an insane asylum for many months.

When he finally becomes coherent and stable enough to be released again, he takes all the money he possesses, leaves the country (and his one remaining brother), and is never heard of again.

The local magistrate has a long story from him, given shortly before he left, about an eight-foot-tall abomination he created at college through the Power Of Science. He told the magistrate this abomination committed all the murders.

[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

[murasaki-cha]

Honestly the best advice I can give to someone who wants to start Trash Of The Count's Family is to never and I mean NEVER ask a TCF fan about what TCF is but ask a person who has read the manhwa casually.

Because we will never give you a simple answer. Oh no no no we:

Will spoil the everloving crap out of the novel. All of it. We just can't help ourselves. Never have I met a TCF fan who doesn't spoil the novel. I think we just forget that they are spoilers and that there are people that haven't read the novel. I have legitimately had someone ask me "What's an Eruhaben?" and I was confused for a solid 5 minutes until I remembered that there are people who haven't actually read the novel

Will not shut up. You will get a rundown of our top 10 favorite characters, top 10 favorite villains, top 10 favorite battles, top 10 favorite scenes, top 10 favorite angst scenes, etc. YOU GET THE POINT! Probably because we don't have a big fandom we get excited when new people join. You will have to read a 10 page essay it'snot a choice. There are multiple powerpoints the fans have made and I wish I was being sarcastic about this

Will scare you because we are insane overly enthusiastic about TCF. There are some inside jokes that only the fandom will get but we usually don't even try to be subtle we just go "Oh man I can't wait for Cale to be hurt so badly he's bleeding so profoundly and probably choking on his own blood! In canon!!" Or "He needs soggy apple pies or he will die!" Or "Why won't slacker life-chan return Cale's feelings?" Or "White Radish *cue laughing soundtrack*". You will think we are deranged but I can confirm none of us has been put in a mental asylum so far from what I'm aware of👍. We're just silly but our silly will concern people

Now if you find all these factors as things that will motivate you to read the novel than please welcome you'll fit in here just fine.

If not than please stick with the manhwa onlys please than try to read the novel at your own pace

(Just to be clear this entire post is meant for comedic purposes. The TCF fandom has some of the nicest and kindest people I've ever had the joy of meeting and I've made many great friends here. We welcome any new fan with open arms, warm hugs, apple pies and heavy angst lol. Never be afraid to interact with anyone here as we love to talk about our favorite novel)

[saintmuses]

Please write Jonathan Crane x Female! Reader one-shot, where the reader was admitted to Arkham Asylum because of minor mental problems and Jonathan Crane became her psychiatrist. She had a difficult situation in her life and Jonathan, having listened to her story, is attracted to her. Soon, after several sessions with her, he fell in love with her. However, after a while, Jonathan used his toxins to make her go insane, and he drives her so crazy that she is now under his control.

❝𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙❞ — 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞

Warning(s): Dark themes. Description of Taphophobia. Usage of toxin. Hallucinations. Power imbalance. Manipulation. Strong implications of future controlling tendencies. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 946

She couldn’t see anything, nothing can see her as clusters of dirt began to fill her mouth, eventually suffocating her lungs.

No sounds could be heard other than her terror which was screaming into nothingness. An empty abyss.

“Darling?” A voice murmured, she had recognized his voice.

Doctor Crane. Her mind wailed, screaming his name. Her mouth refused to dispose of any soil she had felt in her lungs. Help me please.

She could feel the soil collecting on her skin, above her, below her, and everywhere as the hell began to engulf her and her sanity.

She felt herself being shaken by someone. “Y/N,” it was the same masculine voice, but a hint of urgency was added to his tone this time.

Doctor Crane. She attempted to shout, but couldn’t. His name bounced off in her own head again instead of leaving her throat.

“Y/N,” he shouted, finally cutting through hallucinations that was drowning her. Clearing through the muddled thoughts and images, blurring all into one until it faded to reveal a concerned Doctor Crane peering down at her.

She gasped, finding herself back on the couch that was set up in his office at the Arkham Asylum. She scrambled off the cushions and into his arms after realizing he was the one who was holding her.

“I got you, darling.” He shushed her gently, rubbing his hand down her back. “I got you.”

She whimpered, fingers clutching his blazer-clad shoulders. “Doctor Crane-“

“What did I say about calling me Doctor Crane?” He reminded her, his tone stern as he leaned away to give her a slight strict glare.

She struggled with that sometimes, and when she did it, she would receive a reprimand from him. “To call you by your first name.” She mumbled, shyly.

“You’d be a good girl, and call me by my name properly.” He ordered, the glaring light from his table lamp reflected off the glass of his metal frames as he turned his head to the side.

She ended up dragging her fingers from his shoulders to the hem of his blazer, curling her fingers into it.

“I can’t be in here anymore, Jonathan.”

It was one of the worst hallucinations she’d ever had since she started receiving them two weeks ago.

He shushed her, his icy eyes became intense as he stared into her eyes. “Listen to me; I will put the note in that your condition has improved, and you are ready to continue your recovery at home. They will let you go,” he murmured softly; running his fingers through her hair, tangling them slightly in her strands as she looked up at him with glassy eyes.

“But where would I go?” Her voice sounded small, pitiful even as she inquired. Her fingers clenched tightly in his blazer.“I-I don’t have a home. Not since my parents did not believe what happened with…” she trailed off, sighing softly; almost defeated.

“Well, you can turn down my offer if this is something you would not want to do, but I can take you in until those hallucinations stops, okay?” He offered, giving her a slight quirk of a smile. Tracing the pad of his thumb across her collarbone that was revealed during her scrambling.

She knew she was his favorite patient out of everyone in the Arkham Asylum due to his treatment of her compared to the others. He was gentle with her whereas he was stoic and harsh with others. He even let her eat in his office during lunch and dinner hours. Jonathan was patient with her, always has been since the moment she was admitted to the asylum.

Jonathan was even there during a few episodes of night terrors a few months ago, and then he was there during her hallucinations for the last two weeks. She had been compartmentalizing her hallucinations from her usual night terrors with her fear of being buried alive. Instead of dreaming of what happened to her, she was experiencing it all over again but without the vault protecting herself.

Growing up she had never known she was afraid of it; Not until her step-brother who turned out to be a psychotic asshole happened, and he tortured her by trapping her in the safe vault and attempting to throw the vault into a makeshift grave in their backyard with her in it.

She never had a home even when she was a child. Her parents -including her step-father who her mother recently married to- were never nice to her. She grew up in a household of negligence, but it was not enough to drag Child Protective Services into it.

“Really? You would do that?” She wondered, twinged with doubt. She dragged her hands from the hem of his blazer, placing them in her lap.

He nodded, his eyes shifted into a slight storm. “Yes,” he said simply. “We will get you out of here, and you’ll stay with me until you feel better.” Then his eyes lit up with a possibility of keeping her permanently when no one would miss her at all.

“Okay,” she whispered, giving him a small hesitation of a smile before looking down at the top of her thighs where her hands rested.

He grabbed her by her chin, gripping it with his fingers as he beckoned her to look at him. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” He murmured darkly, his lips curled into a soft smile as he looked down at her with tenderness no one would ever expect from such a stoic man himself. Although the tenderness was there, it was tainted with sinisterness. “I will never let anything happen to you, darling.”

[blvdymary]

I want to support you. ^-^ Let me send a request. How about Jonathan Crane testing his toxin on patient and he actually feels bad because she has a massive panic attack when it wears off.

|| Thank you so much girlie this means so much to me. Also, I'd like to apologise since I was gone for a long time but I was having some struggles. ANYWAYS, hope you enjoy this and ilysm !!||

Piece Of My Past

pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary: Holding trauma to yourself might not be the best idea but what were you supposed to do? They wouldn't believe you. Now here you were, in an asylum for the things that never happened by you but to you.

Genre: Angst, fluff/comfort.

Warnings: Mentions of SA.

Word count: 1k

Note: I am alive. I think.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Ever since childhood, your parents and people around you knew something was wrong with you. At first, you were a talkative kid, but once you turned 7 you stopped talking. They tried every trick in the book to get you to open up, talk, and be happy like the other kids. Of course, you had your small circle of friends- not really, but oh well. So it wasn't a surprise to people around you when you end up in a mental asylum, Arkham, to be specific.

Walking towards a room in your straight jacket, both arms grasped tightly by security guards. They were acting as if you killed somebody! This much security for someone like you was useless, I mean, why not the guy who tried to eat their friend's arm? I swear to god, people in this city need a reality check.

The guards guided you into a small, white room with a metal table and two chairs seated across each other. What kind of psychotic shit was this? Your eyes are glued on the “restraints” as they called them, more like torture devices because what the hell is that and why is it looking like an 1890s doctor's equipment?

They sat you on the chair, putting the cuffs on your wrists and ankles to keep you in place. Why were they treating you like an object to be tossed around? So not fair. You watched as the guards left the room, leaving you to stare at the empty chair in front of you. Door, table, chair. Nothing to keep someone like you entertained.

Soon after —probably been 15 minutes, to say the least— you heard the door creaking open, revealing the oh-so Doctor Crane. Don’t get me wrong, he is a good doctor, as far as you heard, but you always thought there was something slightly off about him. Like the way, he stared deep into people’s eyes, the way he was cold as a barrel, and oh! Don’t forget that every patient he visits becomes delusional and psychotic the moment he leaves them alone with their thoughts. What is with this guy? What is he hiding?

He walked in, setting the brownish suitcase onto the table, and folded his hands on his lap. He looked like how your mom used to scold you as a child for not being expressive enough with your thoughts and feelings. His eyes stared into yours, taking you as a whole. God, why did it feel like you were in trouble or something? After a while of both of you staring at each other like two dogs, he finally spoke up with his condescending voice.

“So, I have heard you were having speech problems, and I'm here to help you, as you may know.” He put his hands on the table, still keeping his fingers interlocked to show authority. You look at him, then at his hands, and then at the suitcase. “what is that…?” you spoke silently, a bit too shy for your liking. When he realised his suitcase picked your interest, he had an idea. A not so great idea. He felt a little smirk appearing on his face before he quickly got rid of it and gazed at you. “I could show you if you want.”

“yes.” no hesitation, pure curiosity. Why would he need a suitcase to talk about your speech problem? You glued your eyes to the suitcase as he slowly opened it, not yet showing it to you. He cleared his throat, making you look up at him as he took off his glasses. Handsome, to say the least. Just as you were about to compliment his eyes, you felt some kind of gas getting sprayed onto your face, making you inhale it. You looked up at him, only to see…him.

-

Playing at the park like other kids, not yet aware of the consequences of being so pure. You didn't even notice a man approaching behind you. Feeling his gaze, you looked up, his eyes crazed but hidden behind a pair of sunglasses as he held a piece of candy towards you. “hey little girl…why don't you come with me for a while hm?” so gullible, not yet aware of how disgusting men could be. You took his hand.

-

Feeling tears streaming down your face like a waterfall, begging and screaming and crying for the pain to stop as all you could think of at that moment was your childhood. Jonathan rarely felt like this, guilty. as he heard your pleas to “get him off you” and “to let him go of you”. He stood up, looking down at your disheveled form before deciding this was enough. He grabbed another vital from the suitcase, one that he specifically made so he could use as some form of anesthesia. He opened the small bottle, spraying some onto your face as he watched you go from some kind of wild hog to a sleeping baby in minutes. He decided it would be for the best to let you rest before talking or even any word out of you.

Of course, the dreamland wasn't any peaceful as you continued to have the same past trauma repeat over and over and over again till you felt something pulling you away, the ending. Finally. You slowly felt your eyes open, pulling you away from the nightmare you just relived. You felt arms around you, was it…?

Needless to say, you weren't expecting Crane, one of the most heartless men in Gotham, to be holding you close to his chest when you woke up. You looked up at him but he stopped you, pulling you closer to his chest as he spoke in a more soft and gentle voice. “Everything is going to be alright, it wasn't your fault.” And at that moment you knew there was good in bad people, and people were willing to listen to you. For once.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

taglist: @hiraethberry @1-fuzzy-squirrels @justcallme1anangel @tejasvkris @rosierosem @meowsicles39

[missaccuracy]

What are your thoughts on this take?

https://www.tumblr.com/spop-romanticizes-abuse/760397877399945216/the-way-the-atla-fandom-treats-azula-reminds-me-so

At this point, I’m wondering if it was absolutely necessary to imprison Azula (like this take suggests) wouldn’t the Boiling Rock sound far more humane than the asylum. One prisoner from the boiling rock snuck in self-help scrolls to control his anger (got that of Avatar Lore).

Additionally, I can believe I’m saying this but the whole Red Lotus prison conditions just seemed downright cruel from the get go. 13 YEARS in the most unbearable conditions!

But let me know what you think?

Okay, so first of all, the idea that the comics don't demonize mental illness because Azula had to be put in straitjacket is just not true when we know that other patients were in straitjackets as well, even if they weren't the most powerful benders like Azula:

This confirms that the straitjacket was not a measure to deal exclusively with Azula, but just another form of abuse.

When Azula says the asylum was horrible, the Fire Warriors don't disagree:

In Azula in the Spirit Temple it is all but confirmed that asylum wasn't helping anyone to deal with mental health issues. And it's clear that Azula is traumatized by her asylum experience.

Seems like some of these " necessary safety measures" have gone a little bit too far, if you ask me.

People complain about comics demonizing mental illness, because there's no point in showing straitjackets on patients exept but to demonize mental illness, which every patient has, not only Azula.

And when I got to the Red Lotus part, I understood the problem the OP has. They don't seem to realize that because someone's is dangerous, this doesn't mean they shoud be treated cruelly. I agree that the conditions in which the Red Lotus was kept were horrible and it doesn't mean that there wasn't any humane way to confine them.

Though I don't really think the Boiling Rock would be better for Azula, she doesn't need a prison, she needs an actual help. In fact, I'm not against Azula being in the mental health fascility, only in the one that would HELP her instead of making her problems worse.

[sophieinwonderland]

Now, why would you dare me to embarrass you and your pals like that?

I appreciate how you wanted my attention so bad you posted me to not one, but two subreddits.

Makes a girl feel special! 🤣

I have actually never seen Wikipedia cited as a source about endogenic plurality. Though I do see anti-endos all the time, when asked for sources, telling people to just Google things.

Anyway, here's @guardianssystem's document filled with academic papers about endogenic plurality:

I've compiled my own, but honestly, theirs is better organized than mine.

And in the interest of fairness, here are all the anti-endo papers debunking endogenic plurality:

Sorry, I forgot. Those don't exist. Oops. 🤷‍♀️

Echo chamber? LOL!

Weren't you the one spouting a bunch of lies on Tumblr, got totally debunked, posted the people who debunked you to r/systemscringe to have a hugbox where fakeclaimers could assure you how the people who contradicted you are all fakers, and then blocked everyone who disagreed with you?

Weren't you also the one who, when shown a quote from an expert in dissociative disorders who worked on the DSM-5 saying that a disorder isn't a disorder if it doesn't cause distress, argued that the people who defined what disorder are must be wrong about that definition?

You're a misinformation machine who can only find support when huddled in cringe subreddits. Don't try to talk about people in echo chambers.

Also, you know most of psychology is just... listening to people? That's how it's been as long as the field existed. DID (or MPD at the time) was a recognized disorder since long before the first brain scans were conducted on DID patients. It's saying something though when basically every single scientist who has ever researched endogenic plurality has said they believe it's a real thing, or that it could be. While absolutely zero academic papers have expressed that it's fake.

There is also an fMRI study into tulpa systems that's been in the works, but results have yet to be published.

Sure, if that's what you'd like me to call you, Crazy. 😊

Anyway, Crazy, you should know that just because you personally find something scary doesn't mean everyone will or that the thing is bad. Personal preferences are a thing.

In a study of tulpamancers though, most generally reported their lives becoming better after the practice.

78% reported improvements in their mental health, and 91% on overall life.

There are many out there who would jump at the chance to have someone there with them that knows them intimately, and to never have to be alone again.

If it's not for you, then so be it.

But it's certainly not something to be afraid of.

And maybe, for those who are willing to commit to the practice while America struggles with an epidemic of loneliness, it's something worth being open to.

This is actually pretty fair.

But that's now, and I'm looking at course of history and trends of plural acceptance.

300 years ago, any plural would be viewed as demon possessed and end up tortured or killed for their plurality.

70 years ago, all plurality was seen as a mental illness, and it was common to force plurals, as well as anyone else associated with mental illnesses, into asylums.

30 years ago, the first real plural communities were able to connect on the internet and form in small numbers.

8 years ago, the first studies into endogenic plurality started being conducted. 4 years ago, the ICD-11 acknowledged that you could have multiple distinct personality states without a disorder. 2023 marked the first, but certainly not the last, time a system used their system name as an author of an academic paper.

Recently, new plural resources have been designed and put into use. More servers than ever are using Pluralkit. And Simply Plural went from 100k users at the end of 2021 to 210k at the end of 2022.

Progress is happening far more rapidly than you realize. And you had best be ready for it.

BOO! 👻

Oh, hey, I just realized... this is literal pluralphobia!

Liberté!

Egalité!

Fraternité!

And yes, The Future is Plural! 😜