#my psychiatrist asked if i had suicidal thoughts

[redcookies-bestcookies]

I often think if I could die so all my loved ones had easier lifes I would in an instant, I would trade my life to fix any minor inconvenience they have, as if me dying would do any good to them, and I don't know if that comes from a profound feeling of guilt or selfishness for not wanting to deal with it anymore

[himalayaan-flowers]

mental health experts are not a thing

[catatombi]

beware of fang

Hey, im gonna say it outright and state that this is a call out. people get called out for being dangerous. fangs nearly pushed 3 people to commit suicide(including myself) and i had to be hospitalized because of him, so this feels justified. Im sorry if you disagree, ill keep it short and to the point If you’ve been a long time follower of his im sure you’ve seen his vague posts about his ex friends, the cotl tumblr community and “fandom drama” with little to no context behind it, other than various people appearing on his DNI. his vague nature in the posts is intentional, he doesn't want to let on that he was abusing his friends. Ive tried time and time again to write something but it never seemed right, like what he’s done to me and my friends wasn’t severe enough to warrant something like this, but it is and i don't want to let this go any longer, esp not when he has my friends, their names, usernames and literal contact information in his DNI list Over the last year ive been friends with fang hes been horrible. Hes never changed and refuses to acknowledge what hes done to his friends and how horribly he has hurt them, to keep this short im keeping this bullet pointy Here is his carrd, he has everything neatly outlined for yall to block on every platform Dont harass, dont contact. all of this is public information so https://web.archive.org/web/20240713073710/https://fanged-info.carrd.co/#boundaries

https://fanged-info.carrd.co/ Twit: FFANGEDD / narilamb_ / mewhenimsilly Insta: ffangedd / narilamb Tumblr: ffangedd / fanged-cotl / fanged-xeno Cara: narilamb Blusky: fanged / narilamb Itaku: fanged Artfight: FANGED Toyhouse: FFANGEDD Sheezy: fanged Discord & telegram: narilamb All the people mentioned have given consent Cw !!! abuse, suicide, self harm https://drive.google.com/drive/u/2/folders/1MLMOT-qvgrX-9NnUEgpl4AkEPfixy2wG

The drive is a bit out of date, as I logged it all before april. Hes posted more awful shit and vented to me again since then Feel free to request the letter i wrote to him, i might share it anyway because it sums up my thoughts on the matter If you want any additional context feel free to ask

Fang uses suicide and self harm threats to control and manipulate his friends, hes begged me for assisted suicide and when i refused to help him commit he begged in groupchats. He begged on instagram stories as well as twitter, so much so that his twitter for suspended for 12 hours. He has admitted to wanting someone to commit suicide with him and has previously formed suicide pacts and nearly followed through on one with a friend. fang backed out first. he continues to redirect blame. refusing to take accountability for his actions. He still blames his previous medications, his ex psychiatrist, his self diagnosed BPD & OCD, psychosis, and states of beings from disorders he doesn't have (claiming to be manic or sociopathic whilst not having bipolar1 or ASPD) fang blames his (ex)friends, claiming they were projecting their mental illness onto him when they were just reacting to his abuse, that they the ones in the wrong and that how they treated him/cut him off was vile and unfair, and believes that he never got real closure when he did. it just wasn't what he wanted to hear and now feels entitled to an apology from these people when all he’s ever done is traumatize and terrorize them. He describes the amount in which he has cut over pavi, wart and kat because what they put him through and how they traumatized him. The traumatizing actions were: Kat asking for a content warning, pavi didn't want to walk on eggshells anymore and blocked him without an explanation & wart blocked him after being emotionally abused for months Hes described how he would carve their names into his thigh and told me that he will carve my name into his skin when i leave too. He demanded wart and surf choose their “real friends” and cut off their community for him because fang hated that they were being “two-faced” and hanging out with “people who hate him” He would spend hours venting relentlessly and graphically in his friends DMs, demanding their time and attention and expecting immediate replies. His friends are not professionals and shouldnt be expected to be an on-call DIY therapist for him, for hours, without consent. Fang has said he is completely unwilling to self censor for other peoples safety fang has vented to a 13 year old (they were not hiding their age) He referred to me (and our friends) as a phone person, a voice, icons. Concepts he can talk. Completely dehumanizing everyone that cared about him even to their faces. He blames his ex friends for his poor mental health and has said he wishes they watched him commit suicide, he wanted his friends to be traumatized from this (as if they werent already.) When a friend posted a screenshot of a gamenight to tumblr he had a breakdown so severe and so dangerous for so long that several of his friends has to mute the DM to keep themselves safe from his verbal abuse and suicide/SH threats He doesn't care about how triggering any of this can be for someone and will subject anyone (including people in danger) to his “venting” He didnt care about triggering me and contacted me at the worst of my suicidality in january and exasperated the danger i was in so severely I had to be hospitalized against my will before I could commit suicide. 

Im honestly not entirely sure what to even think. he knew the severity of my suicidality. he knew I had been hospitalized for an attempt in 2022, and still he chose me, probably the most vulnerable of his friends at the time to vent that heavily too back in janurary Hes a dangerous selfish person whos proven over and over that hes not getting better and isnt willing to change, i honestly had hope when he slowed down his graphic vent posts and victim blaming on twitter and insta but he decided to say fuck all and get right back into his shit train of shame and misery. Heres a link to all of the screenshot, damning ones are in important bitz if you’re not interested in going through them all https://drive.google.com/drive/u/2/folders/1MLMOT-qvgrX-9NnUEgpl4AkEPfixy2wG in these screens alone he: admits to sending his cuts to his friends, threatens to cut if i leave, admits that he was going to go through with a duel suicide and begged me for assisted suicide

warts screenshots v

full screenshots & complete context in the drive as for him claims that i was stalking him: i was scared, i was his friend. i tried so hard to be good enough and never was. the screens were a by product of confiding in my friends about what was happening and the drive was made to share w/ them i admit i prolly shouldve combed out some of it but, ykno also big phat apology for tagging cotl!!!!! only did bc fang has, please stay safe everyone, and thank you so much if you have read everything (the doc encase anyone was wanting it ! figured i;d just use tumblr regular posting method) https://docs.google.com/document/d/17QjXUEdQVd8c4GZS--vPo-xR3kgmoLl4ZmN3ROMutg0/edit?usp=sharing

edit as of 8:30pm 7/17/24 here is a link to pavi's response warts response and kats response

[gamblersdoll]

Is it possible for you to write an ex bf sukuna fic where he shows up at psychiatrist y/ns office, as a patient, to win her back after months of her not reaching back to him 😭

This could end up being fluff or smut wtv u prefer 😛

ogey! toxic! sukuna semi nsfw

oh my fucking god, dude.

you would think that because he is the one who broke of the relationship, sukuna would just leave you the fuck alone..

nope! instead of that, he just texts you when you leave him on read, an obvious sign that hes bothered by the fact that you dont reach to him anymore. he lived for it, it was pathetic for both of you.

merely pathetic of him, moreover.

you had more important things to worry about, like your patients at the hospital that were worried about their own health and needs.

“okay, how are we doing —“ you were looking at your little pretty notepad, thinking that you were attending to the same old man who dealt with hallucinations and voices, but no..

its your delusional ex boyfriend, sukuna.

“im doing better now, doc.” he grumbles, a shit eating grin and he crosses his legs. “why dont you respond anymore? aren’t psychiatrists supposed to do that?”

you could punch him.

literally. like, you could punch the fuck out of him.. and unfortunately, he would like that.

“to patients, not to ex flings. you grunt, turning your back to him to reorganize your desk. you feel a pair of hands on your hips, breathing on your neck.

had you both stayed together, you would be soaked.

“and to me, because im a patient now.” he chuckles, sitting back down and expecting a professional smile. “well, arent you going to help me, doc?” it wasnt really a question, more of a snide.

it takes everything to not break him.

“ohkay, ryomen.” you address, he hated when you called him by that. “what’s been going on? any new medication youve been taking.”

he sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes. “well, i have this asshole of an ex girlfriend.” he starts, noticing a vein popping out of your neck. “but, cant get mad.. had the best pussy ive had in years.”

how poetic.

“hmm, okay, and how does that make you feel?” you coo, seeing three veins pop from his knuckles. seems like he could lose this game he started.

“it pisses me off,” he starts. tapping his foot, he stares into you. “she acts as if she can win this little ‘ill have him crawling’ game. yet, shes using her pussy as some pawn.”

now that confused you, but, if he says so.

“has it made you feel.. down? blue?”

“the fuck are you asking me?” he growls, a eye twitch and his fist balls up. you hold back a chuckle, professional, professional.

“have you been having suicidal thoughts, ryomen?” you mask your voice with that customer service voice, knowing damn well it pisses him off so bad.

“no, i havent had— fuck you!”

“ryomen, why are we angry?” you press again, eyes lowering to his and a small smile.

youre fucking with him, he knows that. he knows that you are toying with him, he knows that. why does it make him angry? he used to do the–

fuck, he taught you that shit.

“fuck you, ill have you lose your job.” he growled.

“for what? being too nice? for good customer service?” you chuckle, “ryomen, is there someone i should call to come retrieve you?” you suggest, “any nephews? brothers?”

oh, you fucking bitch.

“we aint done.” he says, storming out and slamming the office building door. you chuckle, immediately looking at your phone to see the missed calls and texts from him.

you pussywhipped fucker, sukuna.

[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

[annieqattheperipheral]

a facilitator from nhlpa's mental health first aid program First Line

One of the things I do with them, the teams that I work with, it's called The Mask of Masculinities and on the one side of the mask, we put, what does the world see? How does the world see me? And then on the other side, we put, how do you feel? What are you hiding?

And when we do that activity, it's incredibly powerful because not only do you have a bunch of male hockey players playing with glitter and feathers and things like that. But when they read the mask there's this shared story of having to be tough, having to be aggressive, having to be dominant, being the provider.

And on the other side, there's vulnerability, there's mental health, there's suicidal thoughts. Some even use the mask as a way to come out because they're bisexual or gay, but they have to hide it because of the narrative.

Every time I interview with men or with the players, we always ask, is there anything else you would like me to know? Anything else you would like me to say and, unanimously, every time they say, thank you for letting me talk. Thank you for letting me share my story.

Sorry, I'm starting to cry because it's just the pain is just so deep. Sorry. And there's no voice for them.

I think things are getting better. I think now we are having conversations that we never would have had before. You know so there are still entrenched narratives that they need to change because there is such a huge call you know, for people to-- how do I do this differently? How do I do this differently? Because it is a crisis in our sport.

Highly rec the entire vid. Also includes a couple of the 20 nhl players that volunteered for the program, including Joseph Woll and Ryan Strome.

As well as Corey Hirsch, former stanley cup winning NHL goalie who suffered with OCD while playing until he got help. His podcast Blindsided hosted with psychiatrist Dr. Diane Mclntosh is excellent.

[mint-yooxgi]

Hey, everyone.

Sorry for the scare last night, I was having a really rough time. My mental health has taken a steep dive recently due to a personal reason. It’s been rocky for a while now, and I had been feeling better slowly, but this just tanked it a whole bunch. I took a trip to the ER, but I’m home now. I’m okay - better than I was twelve hours ago - now with an increased prescription for my anti-depressant, and a call coming in soon for a psychiatrist.

I’m very lucky to have a good support system around me with my family and my true friends helping every step of the way. All the supportive messages and asks many of you have sent me over the past twelve hours or so have really meant a lot.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

I promise I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, I just might need to take some time for myself and recuperate. Mental health has always been important to me, and talking about it has always helped. I also encourage anyone else having a rough time, or even any sort of bad thoughts to reach out to someone they trust, or even call a suicide hotline if you are experiencing any sort of negative thoughts and/or feelings.

I hope my post can resonate with a few people and know that there are resources available, and hope even when the darkness inside feels overwhelming.

You are not alone, and you never will be.

With love,

~ Jackie ❤️

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my partner not to be around me when she has panic attacks?

Probably sounds bad, but please read first. I (28FTM) have been with my partner (25MTF) for just over two years. We’ve lived together just over a year. We both have significant mental health issues, although her symptoms have always been more severe/uncontrolled than mine.

I have always been extremely supportive of my partner’s mental health issues. About 6 months after we started dating she had a mental health crisis that resulted in her being hospitalized for severe suicidal ideation; I helped her get support with her college, find a psychiatrist, therapist, and an HRT provider (since she was extremely dysphoric at the time and hadn’t started).

Around 6 months ago she had another suicidal episode where she actually attempted in front of me. I helped her receive medical help again, supported her throughout and after the hospitalization process, helped her find accommodations for university classes, and find and start alternate treatment (ketamine). I’ve also been supporting her in between her crises by attending some of her therapy with her at her request so I can learn what grounding exercises and such her therapist recommends when she’s panicking or suicidal, since she often forgets her coping mechanisms when in a crisis, and just listening to her and being there when she wants help.

All that is to say, I believe I’ve been extremely supportive in helping her find ways to sustain a healthy life while having mental health issues. However, one of her diagnoses is tourette’s (which I’m aware is neurological and not necessarily psychological) and this results in her having compulsive verbal tics that worsen especially when she’s stressed.

One of these tics is her saying “I’m going to kill myself” repeatedly when distressed (along with other severely hateful statements toward herself). This has always been extremely distressing for me to hear, even when I talk to her to make sure it’s a tic moment and not actual suicidal ideation.

I have been working with my personal therapist so that I don’t immediately go into my own damage-control type crisis when I hear her ticcing. However it’s still been extremely anxiety inducing for me to deal with this, to the point where I’m starting to either dissociate or panic when I even notice that she’s having a panic attack, because I expect to start hearing her say really awful things again. It’s even to the point where I think it’s affecting my overall mental health because I’ve been hearing these distressing tics so often I feel like I’ve started to internalize them (like, me more often having intrusive suicidal thoughts when depressed) although I certainly don’t blame her for how I’ve been feeling or my own thoughts that I’m having when depressed.

I talked to her about this recently and explained how I think it’s been effecting my mental health, especially as I work from home and her panicking often interrupts my work when she comes into our shared office to talk to me while panicking - which then makes me get behind on my work, since I feel like I can’t ignore her and want to help when she’s having a panic attack.

My mental health has also been extremely poor lately as I’m dealing with a lot of work and a sudden diagnosis of (benign) kidney adrenal tumors that I’m starting treatment for. I’ve been doing things to try to improve how I’m feeling but I’m still in a very difficult place right now.

Even though I feel extremely bad for asking I asked her to please try grounding herself at least to the point she’s not loudly saying that she wants to kill her self and hates herself when she’s panicking and wants to talk to me. I emphasized that she should always come talk to me if she is actually feeling like she’s going to do something harmful. But I’m seriously starting to feel like these verbal tics are affecting my functioning day to day, and I don’t know what else to do. And of course I still love her and want to be with her, I don’t even feel like that needs to be said but I want to emphasize it. I just feel like I need to make sure that I am safe and taking care of my basic mental health needs, like not having extreme panic attacks when she’s panicking, to even begin to try and help her out when she’s struggling.

So AITA for asking my partner to stop coming to me when she’s having these extreme panic attacks?

[atlasscrumpit]

Hannibal x Reader

(Collab with @mandofury)

Hannibal leaned back in his office chair and laced his hands together behind his head. He only had one thought on his mind, seeing you.

You have become a favorite patient of his, your mind captivated him. Unlike his other clients, he actually felt like you were worth his time. 

You had an appointment scheduled with him within the hour. The anticipation was pleasantly delicious. 

A dark smile graced Hannibal’s lips before he unlaced his fingers and elegantly sat up straight. He fixed the paperwork on his desk and readily awaited your arrival. 

The hour passed quicker than you thought but you arrived on time to your session nonetheless. 

As you walked into the waiting room, the door to Doctor Lecter’s office opened and out came the sharply dressed psychiatrist.

“Hello Doctor Lecter.” you greeted with a smile on your face.

“Hello Y/N, please do come in.” the doctor replied and opened the door wider for you to enter.

“Thank you.” you said softly before entering the nicely decorated room.

With his back turned towards you Hannibal gave a secretive smile and closed the office door, locking it.

“Please, feel free to share what's on your mind.”

~~~

The session passed well enough, you and Doctor Lecter always had a good relationship. You thanked him for his time and made to get up until he stopped you.

“Just a moment, I have something for you.” 

You smiled in acknowledgement and waited for him to receive what it was he had for you.

Hannibal went around the chair you were sitting at and disappeared from view. You waited patiently, excited for the gift he would give you.

It wasn't long until you suddenly felt strong hands come around your neck and restrict your airway. You tried to fight back but it was in vain.

Reaching up you gripped his wrist as tightly as you could, trying to dig your nails into his skin.

He moved closer behind you.

"It's okay, my dear. Please, don't fight me." He whispered into your ear as tears began to spill from your eyes.

Your vision began to fade and the grip you had on Hannibal's wrist slowly loosened.

"Shh, that's it." He whispered as your eyes slowly closed and your body fell limp.

Cautiously Hannibal let go of your throat and saw your body automatically start to breath again.

He moved in front of you and knelt down, slowly caressing your cheek.

"Let's get you home."

--

Hannibal had laid you into bed in his guest bedroom, he didn't bother restraining you because he knew he could easily over power you.

Sitting beside your bed he gently wiped your forehead with a damp cloth.

It was perfect really, you had no one, no friends, no family, no one to look for you.

People would easily believe it was suicide.

Hannibal watched as you shifted a little and whined.

"Easy now, my dear." He whispered, stroking a hand through your hair.

Your eyes opened and you looked up at him.

"Doctor, Lecter... What's happening?" You whispered as he smiled softly.

"There's no need to be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you." He whispered before glancing at the bruise forming on your neck.

"Anymore..." He continued as you looked up at him in shock and confusion.

"What is going on? You...you choked me." You muttered, reaching up to touch your neck softly.

"Usually I am prepared, usually I know every action I'm going to take... But, whenever you sit in front of me and speak, all of that disappears. That feeling is intoxicating." He said, brushing his hand through your hair.

You weren't sure how to react, on one hand you were terrified, but on the other hand it was Hannibal, a man you had trusted with everything.

The man you had told every dark secret to, maybe this whole time he had manipulated you.

You felt safe, looking up at him with his gentle touch on your hair.

"What are you thinking about, my dear?" He asked, noticing the distant look on your face.

You unconsciously leaned into the hand that was buried in your hair. Only two emotions ran through your body, fear and strangely comfort. 

You knew now that Hannibal's intention was to manipulate you from the start but you felt safe with him, he meant everything to you.

Your eyes began to focus and you looked at Hannibal once again. He could easily tell if you were to lie so you decided on sticking to the truth.

“I'm just thinking about you, you truthfully scare me but you also comfort me. You mean the world to me, you're the only one I have.” 

Doctor Lecter smiled at your words, he felt pride at your response. It was only natural for you to fear him but that'll change over time.

 He molded you and made you have this need for him. You are everything to him and he will not let you go. The mere thought of you trying to leave made his blood boil, you're his alone. 

Vanishing those thoughts away he spoke softly to you. 

“You don't have to fear me my beloved but I understand, give it time. You're safe here with me, you don't need anyone else, I'm all you need.”

You smiled at Hannibal's words, you believed in every word he said. You're his and he is yours, you both need each other. You vowed never to leave him and to obey his every wish.

From the moment you had become Hannibal's patient he knew how easy it would be to manipulate you into relying on him.

He knew everything, your past, your trauma, your needs.

He didn't care if he had to exploit them to get you to be his.

His life was no longer monotonous, it was filled with so much more than he thought it could be.

He knew you were happy too, whether you ever admitted it or not, you needed someone like him.

Someone to guide you, someone to follow and listen to.

He knew he would never get bored of you.

[tkwrites]

I'll Be Proud For You - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from Pinterest via Bauer Hockey

Title: I’ll Be Proud For You - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (OFC) 

Summary: When an opportunity for Quinn to meet her uncle arrives, Sarah jumps at the chance, and they attend a St. Patrick's Day party at her uncle's house on Salt Spring Island. On the ferry ride back home, Sarah finally explains why she had to be close to family after her mothers death, necessitating her move to Vancouver. 

Warnings: Mentions of depression, grief, and meeting new family. Talks of suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation. No attempts or methods are described or discussed. 

Word Count: 5,600

Comments: I’ve been working on this fic for a long time. In many ways, it's extremely self-indulgent. I loved writing the banter between Sarah and her uncle Travis, and it was very healing for me to write about Sarah’s experiences after her mothers death. 

Sarah’s experiences are very similar to the experiences I had after losing my father. My dad died three years ago in September, and I have not experienced any kind of suicidal ideation for over a year and a half. While I was in the thick of it, it felt like I was always going to be stuck in that darkness. The other side of that chasm is so beautiful and so worth the work it took to get here. 

I was very lucky that I already had a therapist who could refer me to a specialist and friends and family who cared very deeply about me and my mental well-being. Seeing a psychiatrist to get on medication was one of the best decisions I ever made.

If you are having or have thoughts like these in the future, please, please talk to a friend and a professional to get help. The world is such a better place with you in it. xx

I’ll Be Proud For You 

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Sarah grabbed Quinn's wrist as he walked toward the kitchen. “Do you have plans for St. Patrick's Day?” 

“I think Garly's having a party. Why?” 

“My uncle Travis always hosts a dinner party since we’re Irish, and I wondered if you wanted to come with me.” 

“Sure.” 

A smile took over her whole face, and he was instantly glad he agreed. 

Internally, though, his heart was racing. Her uncle was the closest family she had nearby. When she first moved to the city, she'd lived with him for a year. She still went to his house at least two Sundays a month. Quinn knew they were close.

At least he had a while to mentally prepare. 

“It’s a bit of a drive - they live on Saltspring, so we have to take the ferry.”

“Just means I get to spend more time with you,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, I like it over there.”

Her smile got bigger, and he swore his knees got a little weak. God, what wouldn’t he do for that smile?

“Is there anything I should do to prepare?” he asked, sitting next to her.

“Just wear something green. And don't wear anything that says 'Kiss me, I'm Irish' unless you actually want to be kissed.”

“Wouldn't mind being kissed by you,” he said with a wink. 

Laughing, she leaned over and obliged. 

He instantly wished they weren't at the dining room table so he could lay her out and kiss her like he meant it. 

A few minutes later, the nagging feeling of neglecting her studying won out, and Sarah pulled away. “I'm sorry,” she said, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, “I really need to finish this. Give me thirty minutes?” 

“Then you're mine for the night?” 

She nodded. 

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead and wandered to the kitchen to make dinner. 

As she left school for the aquarium the next day, Sarah called her uncle Travis.

“Hey, Sar, how are you doing?” 

“Good. How are you, Trav?” 

“Great. Samson started crawling on Tuesday.”

“What? No.”

“Yep.” 

“I refuse to believe he’s crawling already.” 

“I know. It’s the worst. What’s up?” 

“I just wanted to let you know I'm bringing someone with me on Sunday.”

“One of your roommates?”

“No, someone I'm seeing.”

He actually seemed to choke on whatever he was drinking and coughed a few times before asking, “I'm sorry, what?”

“We've been going out for a while, and I want him to meet everyone.”

“How long is a while?” 

“Two and a half months.” 

“And you were going to tell us when?”

“I was waiting to see how serious it would be.”

“And it's serious?”

“I think it’s headed that way. I want to see what you think of him.” 

“What's his name?”

“Quinn.” 

“How did you meet?”

“At the aquarium,” she said,  “he asked me out to lunch, and we've been dating ever since.” 

“He lives in the city?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is there anything I should know about him?” 

“Just that I really like him. Please promise you won't embarrass me.”

“No can do. That's what uncles are for, but I can promise I won't pull out your baby pictures.”

“You don't even have my baby pictures.”

“Precisely. Otherwise, I probably would.”

Rolling her eyes, she asked what she could bring to dinner. After deciding she would bring the soda bread and butter, they hung up, and she sent the plan to Quinn.  

Great. When should I pick you up?

I'm driving, so I'll come get you. 

You have a car? 

Technically, it's my uncles, but I haven't driven in forever, so I’m calling transportation on this one.

He laughed. Tocc canceled practice tomorrow so we can leave whenever. 

I'll pick you up at 1 then? 

What time is dinner? 

5, but the drive over is 2 and a half hours, and I like to be there a little early to help out. 

“Why does your uncle keep a car here?” Quinn asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

“I have parking included with my apartment, so it just made sense. I drop it off at the Ferry terminal once or twice a month for Trev when he has to come to the mainland for work.” 

“I didn’t know that. Let me know next time and I’ll give you a ride home.” 

She shot a grateful smile at him before looking back to the road.

It was a strange thing for Quinn to be a passenger. He was usually the one driving, and rarely got the chance to watch her for such a long period of time uninterrupted.

He was taken with her. With the constellation of freckles on her cheeks and the button of her nose, and the round swell of her bottom lip. He wondered if anyone would notice if they just made out on the ferry ride over. She didn’t have tinted windows. Probably not the best idea.

She was wearing the same green dress she’d worn when Brady came to town. It still looked beautiful and soft, and he still couldn’t stop the fantasies of stripping it off her from clouding his mind. 

“How was your morning?”

“Fine.” he scrubbed his hands over his face, “It’s nice to have a day off.” 

“I bet,” she said, reaching over to entwine her fingers with his. 

They held hands until they hit traffic and she had to get back to the gear shift.

He’d never driven a manual transmission, and he was impressed by her seamless shifting, despite the fact that she was a bit of a terrifying driver. He found himself reaching for the door handle more than once as she weaved in and out of traffic and went a little too fast for his liking.

“How was your day?” he asked to distract himself.

“Good. I did some reading and finished up some assignments I’d put off from earlier in the week.” 

“I didn’t know you were capable of putting things off,” he teased. 

She snorted and threw him a sarcastic look. 

“You’re so organized, I didn’t think you could.”

Quinn had seen her planner once. It was the size of a college notebook with a column for every day of the week. Each of her classes was assigned a different color, and every day was an organized riot: hours blocked for class, work, assignments, tests, and readings to be completed. He didn’t know how she got it all done. He was exhausted just reading it. Then, he’d smiled when he realized he was there. She had all his games and their plans and dates written in sparkly blue ink. 

“I still miss things. Sunday is my catchup day,” she explained. “Usually, I sleep in and do my homework on the ferry over and back, but I wanted to have it done early so I could spend the time with you.”

“It would have been okay,” he said. 

The smile she gave him made his heart patter against his lungs. That, along with a stop so sudden, the seatbelt engaged to snap him back, made it a little hard to breathe. 

“Thank you, but I would rather spend this time with you.” 

His heart warmed at the gesture, and her willingness to give up her one morning to sleep in to spend time with him.

Once on the ferry, they stayed in the car and talked instead of going up on deck. He told her about practice and trying to push aside his nerves about making the playoffs, “Everyone keeps talking about it like it’s a guarantee.” 

“Well, you are second in the league.”

“Yeah, but so much could change. I don’t want to get my hopes up, and the media asks about it practically every day. I’m getting so tired of telling them, ‘that’s what we’re aiming for, and we have a group that can get there.’” He threw his voice into a self-depricating, exaggerated version of itself. 

Despite her attempt to stifle it down, a giggle spilled out of her mouth. “I think they’re probably asking because it’s going to happen.” 

“We don’t know that. Demmer’s out, and we haven’t been doing great…” he trailed off. 

“You’re still first in the Pacific by almost 10 points, Quinn. Can’t you celebrate that for a minute?” 

He sighed, “it’s just… so much can change in a month, and I don’t want to be the guy who talks about how good it will be to play in the playoffs only to have his team not make it. I’d be a laughing stock on the internet for the rest of time and a lesson to all other captains to not jinx it.”

“I’d never considered it that way.” 

He made a noise of ascent in his throat. 

“You can celebrate it with me, though, right?” she asked, lacing their fingers together.

Quinn wanted to agree, he really did, but the superstitious part of his mind went to war against it. The result was a kind of half-hearted grimace.

Laughter burst from her. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to talk about it. I’ll just be proud for you,” she said, bringing his hand to her mouth so she could kiss his knuckles. 

His stomach did a jerking little jig, and a real smile spread over his face. 

Eventually, their conversation turned to her uncle. 

“Trav is a sound engineer, and he toured with Brooks & Dunn for a long time. He moved to Vancouver because he said it’s the most beautiful city he’s been to.” 

“I would agree with that,” Quinn said. 

“Now he stays at home with their kids. Trevor is a copyright lawyer.”

“Oh, your uncle’s gay,” he said with a spark of understanding. 

“Is that a problem?” Sarah asked, raising her brows. 

“No, of course not. I was just confused. You mentioned Trav and Trev, and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing his name wrong or what.” 

When they pulled off the ferry, Sarah turned onto a small two lane road, running away from town. It didn’t look like anything was out here except forest and pebble beaches. 

Sarah had an incredible inherent sense of direction - the kind he had to rely on his phone GPS for - so he knew they weren’t lost, but he couldn’t see anything that looked remotely like civilization.

When they turned onto a small driveway tucked right into the woods, drove up a hill, and pulled in front of a home that looked more like a cabin than a house, Quinn wasn’t too shocked. 

“What a view,” he said as they got out of the car. 

Despite the drizzly weather, the horizon was still stunning. The gray blue water of the Salish Sea seemed to melt into the rolling, gray clouds, making them indistinguishable except where pine covered islands rose out of the water, vibrantly green against all the neutral colors. The city skyline cut a dark, jagged edge across the water. If the commute wasn’t so long, he would live out here, too.

“I know, right?” she said, picking up a tote bag and taking his hand to lead him up to the front door.

“Hey Trav,” she said, embracing him as soon as the door was opened. “Trav, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is my uncle Travis,” she introduced when they broke apart

Other than the fact that he had her same bright blue eyes, her uncle didn’t look anything like he’d expected. Quinn had braced himself to meet a middle-aged man who was around his dads age. Instead, Travis looked no more than ten years older than Sarah. The oldest looking thing about him was his gray hair, which was casually swept back in that effortless way Quinn’s hair could never quite manage. He wore jeans and a green band t-shirt without socks or shoes. His toenails and fingernails were painted various shades of green. 

 “It's nice to meet you, sir,” Quinn said as they shook hands. If he wasn’t so used to seeing it, he would have missed the way Travis’s eyes widened slightly in recognition.

“Just call me Travis,” he said with a snort, trying to cover his shock. “No one has ever called me, sir in my life. Come on in.”

Trying to catch her eye as they passed, Travis wondered how, when he’d asked if there was anything he should know about this guy she was bringing, Sarah didn’t think the fact that he was Quinn Hughes was something he ought to know. She didn’t notice, and he dropped it before Quinn did.

“Beara!” a little girl yelled as she ran toward them. “Beara! Beara!”  She had curly pigtails, each tied with a green bow that flopped as she ran. 

“Sawyer!” Sarah caught her before they collided, picking her up and swinging her around. “I missed you,” she said, pulling the little girl against her chest. 

Putting her hands on Sarah’s cheeks, she said, “missed you more.” 

When she noticed Quinn, she turned her face away from him and put her thumb in her mouth, suddenly shy.

“Sawyer, this is my friend, Quinn,” she said, turning so they could make eye contact. 

“Hi, Sawyer,” he said. “I like your ribbons.” 

She smiled around her thumb at him. She had those same bright blue eyes, though they were slightly wider than Travis or Sarah’s. 

“What do you say to that?” her father coached gently.

“Thank you.” she didn’t take her thumb out of her mouth when she said it, so it was a little garbled, but he got the idea.

Sarah set her down, and she ran back to the kitchen, squealing when Travis chased her down the hallway. 

“Beara?” Quinn asked, humor in his eyes as she took his hand, following after them.

“My whole life, my nickname has been Sar Bear. When she was younger, Sawyer had a hard time saying her S’s, so she started calling me Beara instead of Sarah, and it just kind of stuck.” 

He snorted, “oh god, the guys are going to have a heyday with that.” 

“With what?” 

“You know how they call me Huggy Bear sometimes?”

She nodded. 

“Huggy Bear and Sar Bear?” He snorted, “I mean, come on.” 

The house, while rustic on the outside, was homey on the inside. Neutral gray walls and a modern, light kitchen. It seemed the whole back half of the house was made of glass, giving a perfect view into the misty forest. It was beautiful, but Quinn wasn’t sure he’d want to be here at night to see what came out of those woods.

Sarah was laughing as she entered the kitchen, hand in hand with Quinn. The shock of Quinn Hughes being in his house, of Quinn Hughes dating his niece, who had always been more of a little sister to him, still had him reeling. 

Even through that startling revelation, Travis wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her so relaxed and happy since her parents died. The protective part of him held himself back from reading too much into it. The last thing Sarah needed in her life was more heartache.

“Quinn, this is my uncle Trevor.” 

“It’s nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little busy,” he said, gesturing to the meat he was fishing out of a marinade. “I hope you like beef stew.” 

“Sounds great.” 

“And this,” Sarah picked a pudgy little boy up from his high chair, “is Samson.” 

Quinn held a hand out to the little boy, who wrapped his tiny fingers around one of Quinn’s as he smiled and babbled. Samson looked more like Trevor. He had dark curly hair, dark eyes, and smooth olive skin. Quinn wondered if each of them had fathered an embryo for a surrogate. 

“Can I get you a beer?” Travis asked. 

“Sure.” 

“We only have Guinness today.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. It’s the Irish way, right?” 

Laughing, he handed the can off to Quinn before turning to Sarah. “Hey, can you help me find the barley?” 

He knew he was being obvious as he pulled her into the pantry, but he hoped this was a little less obvious than pulling her back into the living room would be. At least he had an excuse for her help this way. 

As he shut the door behind them, he heard Quinn ask, “is there anything I can help with?” 

Travis clicked the light on. They were standing nearly chest to chest in the tiny room, baby Samson squished between them. He didn’t seem to mind as he continued to babble, reaching out for the brightly colored packages. 

“You didn’t tell me you were dating Quinn Hughes!” he hissed. 

“You know who he is?”

“Everyone in this entire province knows who Quinn Hughes is, Sarah.” 

“I didn’t when we met.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“Why not?” If she didn’t have a baby in her arms, she would have folded them over her chest. 

“You’re too busy learning stuff to pay attention to things like that. He was all over the news for three weeks when they put him in as Captain this fall. Plus, you only care about football.” 

“I do not. Well, not anymore, at least,” she said, catching Samson’s hand before he could pull a box of pasta off the shelf. “Anyway, why does it matter that he’s Quinn Hughes?” 

“He’s - I mean,” Travis blew a harsh breath out of his nose. “When you said you met at the aquarium, I thought he was some guy who works there, not the captain of the fucking Vancouver Canucks!”

“He's just a guy, Trav. He just happens to play hockey for a living.” 

His mouth opened and closed as he seemed to realize he couldn't argue against that point. “He’s a pro athlete, Sarah.” 

“So?”

“So, they’re gone all the time, and the money fucks with their heads and pretty soon they’re all cheating on their partners.”

One of her eyebrows arched up, “do you only watch reality TV, or do you sometimes deviate to Lifetime?” 

Despite himself, he laughed. “I just mean,” he paused, glancing down at his green fingernails. Sawyer had insisted on painting them and pulled out every shade of green polish in the house, determined to use them all. “I don’t want you to get hurt. He treats you well?” 

“Yes. Very well. I wouldn’t keep dating him or bring him to meet you if he didn’t. He's actually the best guy I've ever dated,” she added. 

Travis's eyebrows shot into his gray hairline. 

“Just spend some time with him. You'll see. He’s really thoughtful and nice.” 

“Okay, but I’m having a talk with him by the end of the night.” 

“No.”

“Listen, I just need to make sure he’s good enough for you.” 

“Don’t you think that’s something I can decide for myself?” 

“I’m just going to have a chat with him, man to man. You’re the one that wanted to know what I think of him,” he said. “It's happening whether you like it or not. I'm just letting you know.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but don’t embarrass me. And none of that asking for permission bullshit. I'm not a possession.”

“Dont insult me,” Travis chided, smiling, loving seeing pieces of his oldest sister in Sarah. He was glad Becky had instilled those same, strong feminist values in her children. “Of course he doesn't need permission. I just care about you.”

“Thanks, Trav,” she said, touched. 

He pulled her into a hug, smooshing Samson between them more. He let out a tiny grunt.

“Here, take your baby,” she said, handing him off and grabbing a box of cookies as an alibi as she left. 

If Quinn thought anything was suspicious, he didn't let on, continuing to chop the lettuce Trevor had set him to preparing. 

“Teddy Graham?” Sarah asked, offering the box as she stood next to him at the long island.

“Sure.”

“Hey Sar, we were thinking about coming into the city for your birthday. I have to be in that day for a few meetings, so Trav was going to bring the kids on the ferry. Do you think that would work? We thought we could take you to dinner.” Trevor said, looking up from braising the beef. 

“Yeah, I would like that,” she said with a big smile.

As he walked back into the kitchen, Travis caught Quinn’s wide-eyed expression. 

“When’s your birthday?” he asked, tipping the lettuce into a bowl.

“On April third.” 

He gulped. It was a gesture Travis immediately recognized as a man grappling for a purchase with new information.

 Quinn pulled out his phone and quietly breathed, “we’re in Arizona that day.”

“I know,” Sarah said with a smile that tried but didn’t totally succeed in covering her disappointment. 

Something about it made Travis’ hackles rise. Quinn wasn't actively hurting her, but his lifestyle was.

Quinn saved her birthday in her contact card and put his phone back in his pocket. “I guess we’ll celebrate when I get back.” 

“That would be nice,” she said with a smile that was genuine this time.

Travis got her a can of Guiness, and she wrinkled her nose. “Can I have whiskey?”

“You hate whiskey.” 

“I’d rather it than this tar,” she said, pushing the can back to him. “At least whiskey can be mixed into something palatable.”

“Here here,” Trevor said, laughing. 

Travis mimed pulling a knife out of his chest. “You’ve insulted our ancestors, Sarah.” 

“Listen, the Irish invented a lot of really great things: boycotts, modern chemistry, the stethoscope, the submarine,” she said, counting them off on her fingers.

Quinn gave her a surprised look. 

“I did a presentation on Irish inventions in high school,” she explained, flipping her hands, “the point is, is that their alcohol is not one of them.” 

Travis laughed, taking the can for himself. “You want a ginger highball then?” 

She beamed, “I think you know the answer to that.”

“What is that?” Quinn asked. 

“It’s whiskey and ginger ale. It’s delicious.” 

 

Before other guests arrived, Travis asked Quinn if he'd like to see the vintage shelby Mustang he was restoring.

Quinn agreed and gulped when Trevor asked if Sarah could help him find Sawyer. This was one of those talks. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her uncle out to the garage. 

“Listen,” Travis said after they admired the beautiful white car, “Sarah isn't my daughter, but she means a hell of a lot to me, and I want to make sure she’s not going to get hurt. She’s gone through enough heartache already.” 

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Quinn licked his lips before responding, “the last thing I want is to cause her more pain. I know she’s been through too much. I don’t know that I can guarantee she’ll never get hurt, but I can say that I would never hurt her intentionally.” 

“Do you think your job will get in the way?” 

“The travel definitely takes a toll. But I really like Sarah, and I think we have a lot of potential.” Times like these, he was glad for all of his media training. Not that this was anything like a press conference, but they did get him used to thinking fast and answering hard questions.

“She’s not really a model NHL girlfriend.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quinn demanded, barely keeping a glare off of his features. 

“Just that most of your lot date models that don’t have normal jobs and aren’t in school,” Travis said, fighting to keep a smile off of his face. That defensiveness answered a lot of his questions. 

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” he agreed, biting down the urge to correct him. Most of his teammates were married to their high school or college sweethearts. “I like that Sarah has her own stuff and that she’s so independent. Before I met her, I dated a girl like you described, and I was always a little worried about what she was doing while I was on the road. I don't ever get that with Sarah.” 

“What do you do on the road?”

“Mostly, I sleep or hang out with the guys. We don't have as much free time as people think.” 

Travis was still looking at him appraisingly over the hood of the car. Had he not been exposed to Sarah’s blue, blue eyes, he would have found her uncles stare incredibly intimidating. 

“Look, Sir - Travis,” he corrected quickly, “I really -” he stopped himself, not wanting to say that to her uncle first. “I really like Sarah, and we really get along. I know it’s not an ideal thing for me to be on the road during the season, but it seems to be working well so far. I want to be with her, and if she’ll let me, I’d like to be in her life for a long time. I just want to make her happy.” 

Travis nodded. “What’s your favorite thing about her?” It was a question his mother-in-law asked him when he met her. It wasn’t until this moment that he realized what a telling question it was. 

“She treats me like a normal person,” Quinn admitted. Even though he knew it made him sound conceited, it was his favorite thing about her. She’d never treated him like anything else than a normal guy. “And she’s interesting and easy to talk to and really respectful to people around her.” 

“Okay,” Travis said, nodding, glad to see Quinn saw the same things he did. “Okay.” His face split into the natural smile he’d given Sarah when he first opened the door. “I can see why she likes you.” 

Despite his attempt to stay cool and collected, Quinn felt a blush splash onto his cheeks as relief relaxed his shoulders.

“I'm not going to say I'll kill you if you hurt her, but just know she has me and Trevor in her corner.” 

Quinn smiled, “I get it. I would want to hurt anyone who hurt her, too.” 

The dinner party was small - no more than 10 people, and only one of them, their friend’s teenage son, Jace, gawked when he walked in to see Quinn in the kitchen. Quinn took it in stride and talked shop with Jace for a while before dinner was served and he took his seat next to Sarah, who had been watching him with a secret, proud kind of smile on her lips.

Halfway through the night, Travis looked over at them to find Quinn watching her as she talked with someone, with this quiet, infatuated look on his face. A few more of his fears were put to rest.

As he stood at the kitchen sink with his niece, drying the pots and pans she was washing by hand, he leaned closer to her, “I can see what you see in him,” he said, conspiratorially. 

“See,” she said, nudging her shoulder into his as she handed him a knife, “I told you.” 

“How did you manage going to school from here for a year?” Quinn asked as they pulled onto the ferry for the ride home. 

“When I lived with them, they lived in the city. They needed to move into a bigger house when Samson was born. By that time, Trevor was working from home most of the time, and I was okay to live with roommates. So, I moved into the apartment I'm in now, and they moved onto the island.”

He waited until the car was parked before asking, “what do you mean you were okay to live with roommates?” 

She pulled in a heavy breath. It was bound to come out eventually. May as well tell him while they had a solid hour and a half boat ride to talk about it. 

“After my mom died, I really struggled.” 

“Wouldn’t anyone?” Quinn asked. 

Sarah pushed the seat back to give her enough room to turn and face him. Her right knee pressed up against the center console. She needed to be looking at him when she said this.

“I mean… I really,” she paused, trying to find the right words. “I remember I flew back to Hawaii a week after the funeral, thinking it was going to be so nice to get back into my routine, but I had this massive gulf in front of me and a literal ocean between me and my family. My roommates were kind of party animals, and they had no idea how to support me, and I had broken up with Kaleo, my boyfriend, before I left because he didn't want anything to do with her funeral or my grief. It felt like no matter where I was, I was just so…alone.” 

It felt like someone was reaching down Quinn's throat and wringing his heart. 

“I called my sister one day - I think I woke her up, which was really shitty because she had a six month old who was teething.” She laughed a little, but there was too much sadness in it for it to be convincing.

“Anyway, I called her crying because I…I started having these really intense thoughts about killing myself.” 

A steep breath stuck in his lungs. He wasn’t totally sure what he thought she would say, but he hadn’t expected that.

“She flew out to be with me, and I moved home two days later. Just packed everything up and left. I didn’t even tell my boss - I was still on FMLA for the funeral, and she had to call me when I didn't show up to work the next Monday.” 

 “Did you ever…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Attempt?”

He nodded, and Sarah shook her head, “no, but the thought of it was really terrifying. Like, I saw for the first time how someone could get into that headspace where they might take their own life. I just remember ruminating on those thoughts and thinking, ‘I don’t wanna die.’” She pressed the heel of her hand under her eye to catch some of the tears that slipped.

“How did you get out of it?” Perhaps she was just really good at hiding it, but she didn’t seem that depressed in all the time he’d known her. 

“I stayed with my sister for the next nine months. I got on some meds and started seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist, and we talked through what was bringing those thoughts up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d already gone through the grief process with my dad, so I knew how awful it was. I never expected to have to go through another big death while I was still single. I thought by the time my mom died, I would have a consistent partner in my life - maybe even a family - and I just kept thinking, ‘I don’t want to do this again.’” 

Quinn wanted to go back in time and make it better. Somehow make sure they met before she was in the city so he could be there for her when it all happened. 

“Anyway, my psychiatrist told me our brains are basically just big problem solvers. You give it a problem, it wants to fix it. So when I kept telling myself, ‘I don’t want to do this again,’ my brain was just coming up with the swiftest solution for me to not have to do it again. When I changed the way I was thinking about it and started giving myself some more grace, those thoughts lessened a lot.” 

God, she was even stronger than he thought. 

“Even with all that stuff, I still really wanted to go to grad school, and my therapist and my psychiatrist agreed that it was best for me to have a goal to work toward, even if it meant moving away from home. I was really scared that if I moved out totally on my own, those feelings would come up again, and no one would be around for me to talk to about them, and I might hurt myself. But I couldn't study the ocean in Nevada. My brother actually suggested UBC and living with Travis. I called him to see what he thought. I hadn't even applied, but I didn't want to if I didn't have a plan for when I got in. I pitched that I could be a nanny of sorts when I wasn't in school. They told me they’d love to have me stay with them. I applied and by some miracle was accepted on the first try, and the rest is history,” she said, shrugging.

“Do you…” he paused, not totally sure how best to ask this. “Do you still think about it?” 

She shook her head, “not much anymore. Every once in a while, it comes back when a big grief marker comes up, or I get really, really stressed or anxious, but the thoughts are always  really fleeting.”

Even though it meant the console was pressing into his stomach, and she was pitched back slightly, Quinn leaned over to gather her against him. “I can’t believe how strong you are.” 

“It’s not like I had any other choice.” 

“Clearly you did,” he said, reluctantly settling back into his seat. 

“I didn’t,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “There was no way I was going to put my family through another death, and like I said, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to not be in pain anymore, and those are very different things.” 

“I just think you should be proud of yourself, that’s all.” 

“I mean, I am proud that I got out of it, and proud that I know how to ask for what I need now, but being strong in the face of death is just something you have to do. There’s no way out but through.”

“Fine,” he said, repeating her action from earlier and bringing her knuckles to his lips, “I’ll be proud for you.” 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out my Fanfiction Masterlist

[mandofury]

Hannibal x Reader Collab Fic With My Lovely @atlasscrumpit

Hannibal leaned back in his office chair and laced his hands together behind his head. He only had one thought on his mind, seeing you.

You have become a favorite patient of his, your mind captivated him. Unlike his other clients, he actually felt like you were worth his time.

You had an appointment scheduled with him within the hour. The anticipation was pleasantly delicious.

A dark smile graced Hannibal’s lips before he unlaced his fingers and elegantly sat up straight. He fixed the paperwork on his desk and readily awaited your arrival.

The hour passed quicker than you thought but you arrived on time to your session nonetheless.

As you walked into the waiting room, the door to Doctor Lecter’s office opened and out came the sharply dressed psychiatrist.

“Hello Doctor Lecter.” you greeted with a smile on your face.

“Hello Y/N, please do come in.” the doctor replied and opened the door wider for you to enter.

“Thank you.” you said softly before entering the nicely decorated room.

With his back turned towards you Hannibal gave a secretive smile and closed the office door, locking it.

“Please, feel free to share what's on your mind.”

~~~

The session passed well enough, you and Doctor Lecter always had a good relationship. You thanked him for his time and made to get up until he stopped you.

“Just a moment, I have something for you.”

You smiled in acknowledgement and waited for him to receive what it was he had for you.

Hannibal went around the chair you were sitting at and disappeared from view. You waited patiently, excited for the gift he would give you.

It wasn't long until you suddenly felt strong hands come around your neck and restrict your airway. You tried to fight back but it was in vain

Reaching up you gripped his wrist as tightly as you could, trying to dig your nails into his skin.

He moved closer behind you.

"It's okay, my dear. Please, don't fight me." He whispered into your ear as tears began to spill from your eyes.

Your vision began to fade and the grip you had on Hannibal's wrist slowly loosened.

"Shh, that's it." He whispered as your eyes slowly closed and your body fell limp.

Cautiously Hannibal let go of your throat and saw your body automatically start to breath again.

He moved in front of you and knelt down, slowly caressing your cheek.

"Let's get you home."

--

Hannibal had laid you into bed in his guest bedroom, he didn't bother restraining you because he knew he could easily over power you.

Sitting beside your bed he gently wiped your forehead with a damp cloth.

It was perfect really, you had no one, no friends, no family, no one to look for you.

People would easily believe it was suicide.

Hannibal watched as you shifted a little and whined.

"Easy now, my dear." He whispered, stroking a hand through your hair.

Your eyes opened and you looked up at him.

"Doctor, Lecter... What's happening?" You whispered as he smiled softly.

"There's no need to be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you." He whispered before glancing at the bruise forming on your neck.

"Anymore..." He continued as you looked up at him in shock and confusion.

"What is going on? You...you choked me." You muttered, reaching up to touch your neck softly.

"Usually I am prepared, usually I know every action I'm going to take... But, whenever you sit in front of me and speak, all of that disappears. That feeling is intoxicating." He said, brushing his hand through your hair.

You weren't sure how to react, on one hand you were terrified, but on the other hand it was Hannibal, a man you had trusted with everything.

The man you had told every dark secret to, maybe this whole time he had manipulated you.

You felt safe, looking up at him with his gentle touch on your hair.

"What are you thinking about, my dear?" He asked, noticing the distant look on your face.

You unconsciously leaned into the hand that was buried in your hair. Only two emotions ran through your body, fear and strangely comfort.

You knew now that Hannibal's intention was to manipulate you from the start but you felt safe with him, he meant everything to you.

Your eyes began to focus and you looked at Hannibal once again. He could easily tell if you were to lie so you decided on sticking to the truth.

“I'm just thinking about you, you truthfully scare me but you also comfort me. You mean the world to me, you're the only one I have.”

Doctor Lecter smiled at your words, he felt pride at your response. It was only natural for you to fear him but that'll change over time.

He molded you and made you have this need for him. You are everything to him and he will not let you go. The mere thought of you trying to leave made his blood boil, you're his alone.

Vanishing those thoughts away he spoke softly to you.

“You don't have to fear me my beloved but I understand, give it time. You're safe here with me, you don't need anyone else, I'm all you need.”

You smiled at Hannibal's words, you believed in every word he said. You're his and he is yours, you both need each other. You vowed never to leave him and to obey his every wish.

((From the moment you had become Hannibal's patient he knew how easy it would be to manipulate you into relying on him.

He knew everything, your past, your trauma, your needs.

He didn't care if he had to exploit them to get you to be his.

His life was no longer monotonous, it was filled with so much more than he thought it could be.

He knew you were happy too, whether you ever admitted it or not, you needed someone like him.

Someone to guide you, someone to follow and listen to.

He knew he would never get bored of you.))

[a-pups-writing]

Hi beautifullll💋🩷 got super excited when I saw ur ok with writing suicide, so can I ask for twst headcanons with first years + riddle when they learn that reader(gn) had a failed suicide attempt at ramshackle? Platonic or romantic, though I don't think it would matter much in this particular scenario. Thanks in advance, love ur writing💖

A/N; love this, and thank you for the kind words dear pink princess. No specification on what kind of suicide, so I'm going with an OD (overdose) hope that's okay. Also I have faves, I think its noticeable..

P.S.: if you ever deal with suicidal thoughts, you can and deserve to get help! Either from friends or a specialist, as someone who has the same problems it may feel like there isn't another out but there is. Life can be worth living. <3

CW; GN!reader, angst/fluff, suicide/mental health themes, some Sanders vibes(??)

Chars.; Riddle Rosehearts, Ace Trappola/Deuce (??), Epel Felmier, Jack Howl

Riddle Rosehearts; Romantic

first thinks its a joke, albeit not a very funny one, when he's told you're in the infirmary from an apparent overdose. He even collars those who told him, unable to believe such lies and rumors.

still, he goes to the infirmary, just to see if there's any proof of you..having done something, maybe you just hurt yourself accidentally- his heart almost stops when he sees you lying there, on an IV drop.

you just look so frail on that moment, pale skin and shaky breaths - he's grateful for the heart monitor standing besides you, showing him your heartbeat.

he cries, while holding your hand and just waiting for you to wake up and come back to him. He's gonna have to be forced to leave (Trey comes to get him, only able to convince him with tarts and promises of returning the next day, he even leaves one of those tarts for you..just in case you wake up.)

during classes/when he's not with you he's more irritable then normal and he sometimes reverts back into his snappy behavior - he just worries so much, and everyone seems to be breaking more rules.

as soon as you wake up he's by your side, holding your hand while his own is shaking in pure happiness. He might even cry again, tho he tries not to let you see that part of him.

definitely gets you help as soon as you're discharged, you can talk to him (or Trey) but he'll also search for an actual therapist/psychiatrist.

depending on the problem he'll do his best to help you, like studying with you, talking to those who were rude, etc.

he starts treating you more carefully, not that he really means to but you just got so much more fragile in his eyes.

Ace/Deuce; Platonic

pure unfiltered panic and chaos. Ace slaps Deuce to get him to work again, and then Deuce has to slap Ace to do it in return.

they run to the infirmary, almost getting kicked out my one of the medics, but they're allowed to stay..as long as they don't start to make loud noises again or something similar.

Ace jut stares at you while Deuce actually started to shed a few tears - seeing you so lifeless is new, definitely blame themselves for not having noticed it earlier and thinking they're bad friends because of it.

they'll be more down in general/less energetic, and mostly try to stay by your side (tho it can get to Mich for Deuce, he just can't take seeing you like that.)

both start to ask you questions the moment you wake up, the most prominent one; WHY?! Was it them? Someone else?-

they only calm down after a little while, but don't worry it'll happen..soon..maybe..

as soon as you get discharged try to help you with everything, chores, homework, people. It'll get overwhelming, and you'll have to tell them to calm down, after a few times they lay off a little.

Epel Felmier; ?

what?..his little apple? Doing something like that? He can't believe it, but runs out of the lesson as soon as he caught wind of the rumor. (Much to Vil's dismay)

cries a little when he sees you, but does his best to hold it back for his own sake.

starts wondering why you did it, is it because of him? Is he not strong/manly enough? Was he to weak for you to feel comfortable coming to him? He just becomes an insecure mess.

looses some of his spark, and even while Rook tries to cheer him up it doesn't help. Even Vil lays off a little during that time, stress causes wrinkles after all.

as soon as he sees you awake its like a dam breaks and he can't stop crying and hugging you.

he's definitely the type to demand answers. He wants them, to help you, and he wants them now!

it'll take some talking to get the point of mental health across, how its not just something that can be put aside. But he'll listen and do his best to learn.

asks you how you're doing everyday, and might even ask Rook to look after you when he gets worried..just for your safety of course.

Jack Howl; platonic, kinda sire/cub (y'all want an romantic version?)

wolf boy is worried about his little cub, he believes it when he hears it and mentally prepares for the worst while jogging to the infirmary.

is calm..on the outside, the only tell is his tail being down and his ears flat against his head. On the inside he's a mess, thinking of what could have prevented this and how he can help you when you wake up.

stays mostly by your side, and gets more aggressive when he can't - actually growled at Leona when the man pissed him off, he's just constantly stressed and hoping you wake up - takes a toll on him.

sees you as soon as you wake up, he might not have a smile on but his tail sags and starts to wag quite a bit. He might even hugs you, but would mostly likely wait for you to open your arms/ask him.

much more protective of you, talks with you once a day about your mental health and even gets you a support plush. Its a little wolf, to help you in times of need.

Sebek; so sorry for the Sebek fans, I've never written for him before and am scared of just writing something completely OOC (out of character), I'm still practising how's to write him and until I feel confident enough I won't. I ask for your understanding.

[yevmarie]

Light My Fire | Chapter 1

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 >

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Pronouns: you, she/her

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings:

angst;

mentions of depression;

implied suicidal thoughts;

swearing;

a lot of smoking (by main character as well. Sorry for making it as a social aspect here, I hope you won’t get it as if I encourage you or something);

Merle being pervert;

some differences from the main plot may occur;

poor English (not a first language, but I’ll be glad if you point on the mistakes, also may skip the southern accent as I’m not aware of it too much :( ), and poor written skills in general.

If I miss something, please let me know. I hope you enjoy :).

___

Your eyes are closed and your body trembling, desperately trying to hold your tears.

“Y/N,” The soft and calm woman's voice tells you. “Let’s recall the rectangular breathing. Inhale…” You inhaled through your nose for four seconds and stopped breathing for four seconds as well. “Exhale…” You exhaled slowly and then held your breath again. “Inhale…”

“Fuck it!” you swore and opened your eyes, stretching out your arm to the Parliament pack lying on the kitchen island. You were not happy with this habit but when your life went to shit you didn’t care.

This had been an awful year full of loss which unfortunately led to depression. You visited your psychiatrist regularly and this helped you to overcome a bit. At least you don’t start suddenly crying and coped to move on. Especially when your best friend, like almost your older brother, got to the hospital and there was no good news about his health condition. As an aunt (non-blood relative) of his son, you couldn’t give up just like that. But it seemed if you had a chance, you’d do it.

You lit the cigarette, inhaled, and continued pouring the coffee from Jezve to the small thermos. This was your everyday morning routine. After this ritual, you go to the park and prepare yourself mentally for the new day. Today’s situation was different, you wouldn’t go to the park, but you couldn’t prevent yourself from beginning the day normally at least partially, and for the last time.

The TV was turned on, and the host said with a trembling voice thousands of people got infected with an unknown disease and it led to chaos in several states and yours as well, many people died. Neighbors outside were screaming, children were crying. Everyone was rushing and trying to pack all their lives in their cars. You thanked God your parents weren’t here. Sounds blasphemous, but you couldn’t bear this weight upon your shoulders. When you were imagining the apocalypse while having one of your anxiety attacks, you swore yourself you would end up right at the beginning as this would be not life anymore, but dance with the death you didn’t wish to take part in.

But you are here. Fortunately staying calm (thanks to medication). You already packed your things after your friend (your ex), had called you and asked you to be prepared to move. He told you he’d come to your house and you then follow him in your car. Also, in case he succeeds in grabbing your best friend from the hospital, you can transport him as he was unconscious, and more space was needed for sure.

The man dressed in a sheriff uniform enters your house “Are you kidding? Coffee, really? What about mediation then?” he saw you looking at him with no emotion expressed on your face. He cooled down for a moment. “Have you grabbed the essentials?” you nodded in the direction of the bag laying near the door.

“Is the tank full?”

“As usual,” you mumbled “Shane” you breathed the smoke out of your lungs “Are Lori and Carl with you?”

“Sure, come on. And quit this shit, please.” he pointed at the cigarette and went outside your house.

You closed the thermos, switched off the TV, and went to your garage. In several minutes you were following Shane’s car. Carl turned back to you from Shane’s backseat car window and waved to you. You smiled and waved in response. Thanks God your last lifeline was safe and sound. You switched on the player and drove.

“Time to die

Hammer high

Name your price

And kneel

Hail the apocalypse

All flesh is equal when burnt

We are forgiven

Forgive as we never shall learn

Get down

Hail the apocalypse”

Shane turned to the highway and you nervously turned the steering wheel following him. Your eyes widened in shock. You grabbed the phone and called him.

“What’s the matter?” you screamed.

“My colleagues told me there was a shoout-out near the hospital. Need you all to get to a safer place. We’ll deal with Rick later.” You threw your phone away after the call ended. “Shit”.

The trip was short but unbearably lasting as you were always stuck in traffic jams. You can see the sun already went under. As you saw the road was blocked with cars and people fussing you turned the engine down. Shane got out of his car and went further into the crowd. After five minutes you saw him getting back approaching you.

“We need to stop here, the road is blocked. Let’s have a break and figure out what to do next.” you nodded and got out of your car. Shane went to Lori to tell the same. Carl opened the door and ran to you.

“I’m glad you are with us, Y/N.” said Carl squeezing your waist. You brushed his hair gently with your fingers and smiled in response. “Me too…”

“Carl” Lori called “Could you please come to me for a second?” Carl looked at you, smiled, and ran to his mother while she was looking at you concerned.

You switched your attention from Lori and took the Parliament pack out of your denim jacket, picked a cigarette, and realized you forgot the lighter at home. You started to look around and your sight captured the two men smoking standing near their car in front of yours. You approached them.

“Hey, could I ask for a lighter, please? I forgot mine at home”. The older grinned, sticking the tip of his tongue while observing your hips in black leggings moving his sight up and stopping at your breasts covered with the tank top of the same color as your leggings. He looked up at your eyes and sang “Come on baby, light my fire”. The younger burst out of anger and barked.

“Have ya not slept offa hangover yet, dumbass?”

“Woah, brother,” the older laughed and lowered his voice “Why are ya so tensed?” The younger started nervously biting his lips while the older’s mouth was in front of his ear. “Getting nervous because of the beautiful girl talking to ya?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

You just continued to watch a one-man show.

“Okay, won’t bother ya, my puss,” he laughed and stared at you measuring you up “My brother is such a shy guy. Please keep an eye on him while I go and let off my steam ‘cause of the hotty around” he blinked at you.

The younger looked angrily at his brother going away down to the wooded area near the road.

“What a gentleman…” you concluded.

“I’m sorry,” the younger grunted and looked at you blushing.

“Never mind, at least someone stays positive.” you smiled. The man put his hand in the pocket of his jeans and took out a light passing to you. You lit up your cigarette and inhaled. The lungs burned with pleasure while your head went a bit fainty as you haven’t eaten anything today yet. “Thanks,” you said and then went back to your car. You opened the door and took the thermos with coffee and a small tourist cup. The man was standing quietly and glared at you as if his gaze was an X-Ray that could reveal anything suspicious about you.

“Hey,” you looked at the man while pouring the coffee into the cup “What’s your name?”

“Daryl” he didn’t stop gazing with his cold blue eyes.

“Y/N. Wanna some coffee?”

“No, thanks,” he mumbled.

“Come on,” you approached him “The night will be long, you need to stay on your legs.”

He looked at you thinking the hell this bothers you. You read his thought as his expression was asking and added “Let’s consider this as the gesture of thanks as you saved my life from the lack of nicotine.” You chuckled.

“Thanks” he replied silently not stopping investigating you.

“Bring it back to me when you finish” You pointed at the cup and turned to go away to Shane as he had called you.

The man stayed confused holding the cup and looking at you while you went away.

“What a sweetie, huh? I’d spent some time with her on the backseat” Merle let Daryl know about his presence.

“Fuck off!”

Merle laughed and sang gazing at you talking to your friends “You know that it would be untrue. You know that I would be a liar…”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 >

[katetorias]

Hi :D

Sorry for the anon ask, I'm too shy to ask on your Instagram story whenever you do a qna. I've been wondering what it feels like to be (part of) a system. I can't quite imagine what that must be like and I'm just super curious about it

One of my most burning questions has been: how does it feel to just come into existence as a new alter? You said that Prom is still a fairly new addition and I honestly can't imagine what that must feel like and how someone wouldn't know they were a system after that.

Also how does it feel to be an alter that isn't the host? Does it feel shitty to not be out as much and to be considered "somebody's alter" instead of their own person?

Feel free to ignore this if you're uncomfortable with it. Also love your art of you and your fiancé, so cute!!

since systems are formed due to the unique trauma the specific system went through, we can only really talk on our experiences. since people react to trauma differently, systems (an extreme trauma response), all form differently and have different ways they fit into the diagnostic criteria for these disorders.

im going to answer your question in a long format below^^

• for context: we are bodily 22, and we've been receiving psych care since we were around 11/12. our therapeutic progress has always been stagnant because after we left the situation we were in, we had almost completely blocked out everything that happened. so we had nothing to tell our therapists and we didn't feel comfortable talking with them. we were often dissociated and would just answer questions shortly while staring at the ground instead of engaging.

because of our lack of progress/seeming lack of effort, our mom stopped taking us to therapy and psychiatrist appointments. she thought it was a waste of time and probably saw our mental illness as misbehaving/not caring enough to try to be happy. this kept us from having proper psych care for years. we would occasionally get called to the counselor's office in school and at some point we had to start missing school for therapy again. college had us losing that support and flunking out because of the dissociation/suicidality. we only finally got access to meds after i had to go outpatient, and we've been with our therapist since.

• how we didn’t notice: due to this we had no knowledge that our experiences weren't normal. our mental health has been neglected for years and we had no way of knowing what was happening with us because we had no basis as to understand. we have a gap in our memory from a little after we left our situation to early high school. our friend always says we knew each other in middle school and talked, but we don't remember enough of those years. amnesia can show up in a lot of different ways. we've only experienced two noticeable black outs, the rest is gradual. not remembering things soon after they happened, being told we said things we didn't remember saying, being unable to describe important events in our lives, vaguely knowing what happened but not remembering the experience.

• on forming: When I (Prompto) formed, we had just flunked out of college and were forced to start working. Me and my fiancé were just starting our relationship and were playing my source. My source was a fat child who experienced bullying and parental neglect, being left alone and friendless for years, feeling like he has to change his weight to be liked. We really couldn't handle having a job. we were clinging and desperately coping by consuming my source. Eventually I started feeling like I was confusing things that happened in game with things that happened to me, and my real life memories from years, or even just months before didn't feel familiar. This was frightening, I would cry to Noctis about how I was feeling, how I couldn't remember anything before our road trip (event in source). But we didn't have any resources to explain, I thought I was being weird and childish.

Because of the stress of this job we had, I would spend most of our time in a heightened state, anxious or dreading the next days. Jack (who formed in our childhood to take care of us and our little brother when we’d be left alone) started resurfacing again after being gone for years. Our brain was trying to protect us, but I didn’t understand why I suddenly felt different. Sometimes it felt like I would just leave. I started being told that I was saying things I didn’t agree with again. Jack felt miserable trying to force himself to be me. This conflict and pain was the reason we ended up outpatient, and a few months after came to terms with the fact that we were a system.

• on what it’s like to not be the host: for us we don’t really refer to ourselves as “someone’s” alters since we don’t really have a collective identity (discounting the body we act like). I’ve been making an effort to accommodate everyone, and make sure we get the time we want in the body or just have things that are our own. (Making space for their things/interests. Setting times for specific people to have a chance to front)

This is Nathan’s perspective since he’s been fronting more often lately:

- I actually used to hate being an alter. i felt frustrated that I got torn away from my shitty life to just be part of someone else’s. I didn’t want to exist in the system at all. our body isn’t mine. im skinny and im covered in healing SH scars, and im not hairy and i have short hair, im cis. i used to hate fronting. I would actively wish i could just disappear. it didn’t seem like me being around was helping anyone. dissociation sucked and I would pick fights with our fiancé. im pretty much the only one of us who gets full flashbacks, and i fucking hate looking at stuff for my source online because everyone hates me. or ignores the story to justify hating me instead of just. hating me for what’s actually in source.

we talked with our therapist and eventually i started coming to therapy and she treated me like my own person. she made sure to create a distinction between my feelings about something and Prompto’s. she told me to create a thing i could do instead of be angry which is why i would usually front. Prompto put a lot of effort into making me feel comfortable. it’s like pri could tell how sensitive I actually am. pri designated a corner of our apartment to me and got me decorations pri thought i would like. i got to make my own instagram. It felt good to be myself. when i wasnt forcing myself to be prompto i felt more content. the more i could express myself as a person the easier it was to communicate with the system, i struggled less with memory and i think were less dissociated now than ever because prompto made such an effort to acknoledge us as our own selves.

sorry for the long answer but you asked so not sorry I guess lol. prompto probably had a better closing statement but I don’t really give a fuck. thx for the question

[samgirl98]

Wail of the Silent 6/?

Prev | Next

TW: Mention of Suicide

Spectra smiled as her latest victim patient left her office. She had only been in Gotham for ten days, but she already had a job in Arkham Asylum thanks to overshadowing and fake credentials. The whole place was a pit of misery.

So far, seven patients have killed themselves due to her feeding off them. Oh well, as the saying goes, you have to crack a few eggs to make omelets and all that. It’s not Spectra’s fault they were weak.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t get to the main rogues. They weren’t filled with misery, just madness. They gave her no nutrients, so she avoided them and went for the weaker ones.

Still, the patients in the asylum were nothing compared to the young man she had found the night before. She had left a piece of herself (a new development as her powers grew.) to feed off him when he felt miserable. It had already happened once that day, but he got over it quickly. The bite size snack left her craving more.

Spectra smiled as her next patient entered her room.

____

“You said you had an idea,” Danny asked as Jason led him into a room with three computer screens, some weapons lying around, and a bunch of wooden boxes.

Jason nodded; he had put his red helmet on again.

“Yeah. You know Arkham Asylum?”

“My sister has mentioned it once or twice, but I don’t know much about it. She wants to work there ultimately.”

Danny couldn’t see Jason’s expression but knew Jason was feeling judgmental.

“What? What’s wrong with that?”

“Casper—”

“Casper, wow, so original. I’m nicknamed after my high school.”

“Your high school is called Casper? What the fuck?”

“The elementary school is named Poltergeist elementary school.”

“Poltergeist elementary? No, you know what? That doesn’t matter. Arkham is where the criminally insane end up. I mean, these are people who have little chance of integrating into society, and those who do become ‘better’ usually end up reoffending again. I know of three psychiatrists who worked there who ended up being patients there. Your sister must be a special person to want to work there willingly.”

Hmm, it seemed Danny had to have a word with Jazz.

“You think Spectra is there?”

“There is no other place in Gotham that has as much misery as Arkham Asylum.”

“Okay, I believe you, but how will we know if Spectra is there.”

Amusement. Mischief.

“I can tap into the security camera and database.”

____

Bruce Wayne stared into his cup of coffee. There was guano floating in it. He sighed and looked back at the reports.

Something was wrong in the asylum.

An hour ago, he had gotten a ping of someone who had committed suicide in Arkham; the death had marked the eighth one in ten days, and no one else was worried or investigating it. He knew most people and law enforcement didn’t care for those who resided in Arkham, but to ignore something clearly wrong…well, Bruce wouldn’t be complacent.

He hacked into Arkham’s systems. Batman would get to the bottom of this.

____

Lady Gotham felt her being boiling with anger. Another one of her citizens had ended up dead by their own hands due to the interloper.

She sent the newly formed shade toward her favored knight and the ghost child. She knew they would help her lost ones. For now, she let her rage be known through the thunder and lightning in the sky.

____

“Eight suicides in ten days, and no one has reported on this?” Danny asked incredulously.

Jason shrugged; he knew how little people cared for the patients in Arkham. The only ones who probably noticed and cared were his family the bats. However, they wouldn’t know what could be happening, so it would take them longer to solve the problem.

For half a second, Jason thought about asking for their help but felt phantom pains in his throat.

He felt sadness and regret deep in his chest. (His core was humming out his emotions.)

Soon, he felt an overwhelming misery. It felt as if it was suffocating him!

“Jason! Jason, calm down!”

Calm. I’m here—calm, calm.

It took a moment, but Jason came back to himself. What the fuck was that?

“Spectra has found a way to feed off you even while far away. We need to find her and stop her.”

Anger, anger. I will stop her. Anger—she must be stopped.

Danny touched Jason’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

Jason nodded, already feeling better. A part of him was dreading Danny’s departure, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he met the guy.

Danny kept his hand on Jason’s shoulder, grounding him, while he looked through Arkham’s security camera.

“There! That’s her.”

Jason watched the camera as a red-haired woman left an office. She had on glasses and a red suit.

Jason looked into the records.

“Penelope Spectra. She started ten days ago, the same time the suicides started.”

“I bet if we look around, we’d find suicide rates have gone up in other places.”

Jason nodded and started looking into it. He wouldn’t let the bitch get away with it.

[shadowcanine]

mind telling me all about ur #1 fave tcc case? want 2 know more abt u :3

#1 has always been Columbine. It kind of sucks because, for lack of better wording, the case is oversatured. A lot of people talk about it and enjoy learning about it, so I feel like my knowledge on it is almost useless.

However, I do better with specific questions regarding cases I like. If you have a specific question about Columbine, you can ask and I’ll answer it- in the meantime, though, I’ll just share some of my opinions / lesser known facts? Hope that’s cool!

1) If Eric had gone to any other psychiatrist in Littleton, I am 100% convinced the tragedy would have never happened. He was failed by the adults in his life who ignored him stating he had both suicidal and homicidal thoughts, and in turn, he failed others.

2) A majority of the anti-bullying campaigns in schools were created as a result of Columbine.

3) The FBI agent who was investigating the shooting had a son at the school- in multiple witness statements, they name his son as a possible suspect.

4) CHS barely gave the students any time off after the tragedy. They had 4 months to pick up the pieces of their community, try to heal, cope with PTSD, mourn their friends, and then had to return to school. The shooting was in April, and students returned in August.

5) Brooks Brown did not return- he was told he would graduate only if he stayed off school property.

Anyways, feel free to ask a more specific question. I’m not super good at rambling so I sound a bit dumb LOL