#imadeitx

munday meme // accepting! // @imadeitx

December Positivity Meme | Accepting

@antibuttons / @imadeitx

listen, paige is SO DEDICATED THAT SHE ACTUALLY TEARED UP WHEN TALKING TO ME ABOUT OUR MUSES AND HEADCANONS.

paige would die for coraline & beth & any of her muses.

- - -

  Mt. Massive truly was a Godless place. It was absolute hell on earth. Everywhere Waylon wandered in it, there were more adversaries to avoid and face.  He saw various kinds of atrocities either explained in the form of documents he found scattered in the chaos, or the actions of the unrestrained patients. 

 The smell of blood permeated the air of every nook and cranny of that disgusting place, darkness consumed it like a large hungry beast made of ink. Waylon’s only advantage was his camcorder, which he held firmly onto, even long after the point of giving up on getting ‘evidence’ out there. For a time, the only reason he could remember what ‘out there’ was, was because of his vivid memories of Lisa, of their sons. 

 And because of Beth. 

 Every ‘safe’ place, Waylon found what he could and left signs. It wasn’t unlike what other patients were doing, but his were addressed to someone, not to the robotic deity the patients worshiped. To a nurse, who once did everything in her power to make it so their lives had something kind in it, something pleasant. She provided Waylon the same thing, despite his not being a real patient. 

  He used blood to write on the walls in decent enough text that she would be able to notice; ‘Beth, dead end.’. ‘Beth, all locked doors. climb down’, and so on. If blood was unavailable, he used his own notebook and pencil, tearing pages out and sticking them somewhere he hoped she would be able to see. 

 The radio in the prison didn’t work out. More than fearing for his own life, he feared for her’s, uncertain how she was handling herself. He dreaded the worst, but he never gave up on her. 

  It wasn’t until the vocational block that he wasn’t able to think about her much. The Groom was relentless. Every thing Waylon knew to be true became false in his dealings with Gluskin, and his blockades. The rooms were well lit, he could hardly hide in the darkness that for a time offered him safety. The lockers, which for a time became his only shield against the horrors of outside became a tomb. He wasn’t sure how long Gluskin had him in there, and Waylon didn’t even have the sense to acknowledge the patient who distracted Gluskin long enough to grant Waylon an escape.

 He jumped down an elevator shaft in sheer panic, the ladder gave way, and he injured his leg. Not long after, he broke it completely, escaping out a window.  The Groom’s voice would always haunt him-- His jovial singing, the disgusting sound of genuine fear and sadness as Waylon took his leaps of faith to escape. But no matter what ends he went to to escape, Waylon always ran back into him. It wasn’t until The Groom nearly hung him on the faulty pulley system he set in the gym that Waylon knew from at least him, he was freed. 

 On the floor in the gymnasium was the first time in a while he could think about Beth, and hope to whatever could help she was still alive, and not suffering what he’s had to. Waylon looked up to the unconscious widower again, impaled through his torso. If he had found Beth..

 Waylon swallowed, fear and disgust shaking him to his core as he realized how fortunate that may be for her, that she would at least survive. 

 That was what Mt. Massive was, during the riot. You would be lucky if all that happened to you was a slight maiming, or if someone forced themselves on you.  

  Far worse things could happen. 

  Waylon began to see sunlight, through the administration block. The sun was rising, and it’s orange vibrant glow was one of the most beautiful things Waylon had seen. He recorded the scene of the burning church, feeling tears drip down his face, but he was apathetic to them. He had cried so much as he hid and ran, and held onto his leg, that he wouldn’t acknowledged them any longer.

 Mt. Massive granted no mercy, just as Waylon thought he was free, Blaire himself proved to be, hopefully, God willing, his final obstacle.  He was so close to freedom, he could see the gates to the asylum from there. Blaire begged for help, and Waylon foolishly thought if anything could change that awful man’s mind on his wrong-doing in the asylum, it would be to experience it’s effects first hand. If Waylon had Blaire’s help, they both could ruin Murkoff. It was a thought he had for only a second, as he approached Blaire, and felt a sharp, hot pain under his ribs. 

 Had he really come that far, just for Blaire to kill him? Did Beth sacrifice her own life to the cannibal, so he could be killed by the man who damned them both, and everyone else in this mad house?

  At the height of despair and terror, terror incarnate seemed to save Waylon. Tearing Blaire apart above him, showering him with hot blood over the dried blood on his jumpsuit. Waylon couldn’t make sense of any of it, could no longer write notes. He was bleeding from what felt like everywhere, everywhere burned and throbbed with aches and pain, especially the leg which he limped heavily on.

  When he fled outside, into a red jeep with a key still in it, Waylon couldn’t think of anything, the most basic of his instincts guiding him off the mountain, where he drove to a gas station, and passed out.

 . . . 

. . . .

. . . . . .

When his eyes finally opened again, his body felt.. Dry, from the inside out. Lights in his eyes shocked him, causing him to recoil a bit, and he heard voices. Lisa’s.. Wally and Theodore. He must be dead, was Waylon’s first idea.

 But he heard the beeping of a heart monitor, his own heart beat. He felt bandages wrapped about him, around his head, stuck onto his face which received a good number of punches, and his leg was heavy with a cast. 

 He was in a hospital, a real one. Clean, white, modern. 

 And his family was there. They all cried, Lisa and read his notes. She had seen his footage, she apologized again and again, and Waylon wasn’t sure why. 

 He felt himself smile, he was alive, he was with his family again.

 But he re-called in a panic. Beth-- “Beth,” He croaked, looking to Lisa desperately. 

“Did they bring anyone else from Mount Massive here?” He asked, and Lisa said she wasn’t sure, looking at him with concern. 

  She had read of Beth in some of his notes, someone who was helping him, he was helping. Lisa knew what it would to do Waylon if he heard she wasn’t alright.

 They had a lot of things to worry about. About how Murkoff was going to be looking for them very soon, and Waylon knew this hospital would be the first place they would look. About where their lives would go from here.

 But Waylon had to know-- If she was dead, he had to see her. He could only hope that her body would be in one piece, that maybe she found another way out.. 

  If Mount Massive had any survivors, they would be at this hospital, in Leadville. If Beth was alive, she would be here, of this, he was certain.

- - -

      Realistically, Waylon didn’t expect it to work out. He worked over their chances in the form of numbers again and again, no matter what angle he looked at it from, the chances of being able to send out an email crying for help essentially, without being caught in the net of Murkoff detection was null and none.

   The timing went wrong, Waylon thinks that may have been one of the largest factors. He was holed away some place he hoped was subtle, when suddenly he was discovered, he rushed to shut the laptop, worrying if the email sent or not. He had no excuse for being where he was, and hoped the security would simply let it be. He was ushered to the engine room, something urgent apparently. He struggled to keep calm, to look normal. If you act like you have nothing to hide, people will believe it. Arterial Spin was dark, they had a patient in-coming and they weren’t going to get the right data reads if he couldn’t get it working right.

  It was a little unusual. Waylon had never seen the engine room until that incident. The lab filled him with a certain sense of dread and alarm, the anxiety of the laptop being unattended in that supply room made him so anxious his stomach twisted into knots. A patient begged him for help. He was large enough, strong enough to shake off two security guards, he slammed himself against the glass, eyes to Waylon specifically. The man was detained again, forced into the engine despite his begging and rage. Waylon could do little for him like this. Failure to cooperate now, he.. Just couldn’t. He sent his email, using Beth’s laptop, now he had to go retrieve it before anyone found it, and saw what he was doing. He wanted to apologize to the patient now inside the sphere of the Morphogenic Engine. He’s sent the email, he’s done what he could.

  Waylon was ushered out of the labs quickly, he ignored the dry comments of his co-workers, more concerned with the laptop.

 The situation couldn’t get worse. The absolute worst case scenario became the current situation.  As soon as he re-entered the room to gather Beth’s laptop, return it to her, and tell he’s done all they can do, he was cornered. Security behind him, and the most sadistic man in the asylum in front of him. Waylon couldn’t talk, could hardly breathe when they commended him for his bravery in volunteering for the morphogenic engine program himself, how he would be admitted as a patient for being very obviously crazy.

  Waylon was sure his heart stopped completely when Blaire noticed Beth’s name, on the side of the laptop, her hand writing. Waylon had missed it completely, he had no idea it was there, otherwise he would have scratched it out with marker, or.. Something.

 He was informed they would deal with her in ‘juuust a minute’. Waylon would have tried then to beg, for Beth’s sake, but he was knocked out cold, the last thing he remembered then was throbbing pain in the back of his head, world swimming to black.

  Then, things became disorienting, confusing. He was only made to suffer the therapy for a little bit, until something happened. His.. Doctor, left to see something about Billy Hope making a lateral ascension, Waylon wasn’t in the right state to work out what that meant. His brain felt like it was buzzing, it felt like a migraine but worse..  He couldn’t even tell if he was awake or not, a man in the cell next to him was.. Ripped apart by something, then things went dark. Waylon was terrified for his life, the second some patient wandered in, threatened him, but opened his cell, Waylon escaped, the camcorder originally meant to monitor his progress with the therapy would become his tool to gather evidence against Murkoff, proof of their crimes here.

 Everything seemed to happen so quickly. Waylon was as cautiously as he could making his way through the labs, trying to flee from the un-seen force he saw lift men from the floor and tear them to pieces.  Was that.. What they called the Walrider..?

 He had to find Beth, had to make sure she was alright. He couldn’t think of trying to take advantage of the asylum’s madness to escape until he knew she was alright. He wasn’t sure how long he was out, how long he was doing the therapy. His clothes were changed, he was dressed like a patient, it’s probably been more than a few hours.

     it was something jae knew had to happen ( if he visited the uci campus before hitting the road, he would see his parents in a similar situation ) but he had never seen it up close, never experienced the emotion hitting his chest in the way he was feeling now. heart was lodged in throat at the sight, unable to tear gaze from the words scrawled on the wall, from the peaceful yet morbid scene. the couple took the easier path, avoided the destruction of the world, the demise of the human race.