#tw psychiatric care

[ann-marie-s]

Bio and Info

The Basics:

Name:  Ann-Marie Seigert

Face Claim: Jennifer Aniston

Age:  53

Birthdate:  April 25, 1965

Neighborhood: Maple Hills

Occupation: Owner and Therapist at Healing Hearts Therapy Center

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single/Divorced

More Facts:

Nicknames: Annie, Anns, Apple Sauce

Positive Personality Traits: Personable, Empathetic, Caring, Open Minded

Negative Personality Traits: Perfectionist, Anxious, Emotional, Self-Critical

Likes: Chocolate and cupcakes. Champagne. Spending time with her kids. Holidays.

Dislikes: Narcissists, criticism, telemarketers, writing e-mails

Hobbies and Interests:  Hiking, Hosts a "book club", Skiing

Family:  Prudence Simon (Mother - estranged), John Simon (father), Noah Simon (brother), Lucy Simon (sister) Leonora Seigert (daughter), Aurora Seigert (daughter)

Other Relationships: Martin Seigert (ex-husband)

Pets: none

Physical Appearance:

Height:  5'3

Hair color: Light brown, blonde streaks

Eye color: Blue

Nationality/Heritage: American born, of Greek and European descent

Tattoos of piercings:  ears, one cartilage piercing

Distinguishable Traits:  Her hair, warm personality.

Quick Run Down

Trigger warnings: Verbal abuse, Alcoholism, Divorce, Eating disorder, Psychiatric Treatment

Born in Olympia WA to a State Attorney and a country club mom who wanted Ann-Marie to look and behave a certain way. Her younger twin siblings were born when she was seven and her mother often favored her younger sister while berating and verbally abusing Ann-Marie.

Developed an eating disorder in her early teens because of her mother's abuse and criticism, and had so spend several months in psychiatric care recovering. It was then that she worked with her first therapist whom she built a strong positive relationship with

Parents divorced following her release from the hospital and Ann-Marie and one of her siblings moved to East Haven with her dad

After high school she started a relationship with her father's intern who was a few years older and became pregnant at nineteen. Her first daughter Leonora was born.

Second daughter was born a few years later and she took some time off before she finally obtained a PhD in psychology and became a therapist.

Divorced her husband when her kids were almost grown due to being unhappy with him travelling for work all the time.

Started her own business 'Healing Hands Therapy Center' in a building down town in 2013. She currently specializes in helping people through mental health struggles, family and relationship issues and healing from past trauma.

Wanted Connections

youngest daughter

ex-husband

younger siblings (fraternal twins, one male one female)

therapy clients

ex-girlfriend

neighbors

fellow parent friends

Full Bio:

Trigger warnings: Verbal abuse, Alcoholism, Divorce, Eating disorder, Psychiatric Treatment

Ann-Marie Joy Siegert (nee Simon) was born in Olympia, Washington. Her father was a well known State Attorney who owned a vineyard. Her mother did not work but made use of her free time by hosting country club parties and events. She made it known that she wanted them to appear to be a picture perfect family to the outside world but and held very strict expectations of her eldest daughter. She put the girl in beauty pageants and competitive dance at a young age, berating her when she didn't win. When Ann-Marie was seven, her parents had fraternal twins, Lucy and Noah. Her mother's focus heavily shifted to them as they grew up, doting especially on Lucy who she deemed the perfect daughter. Even though he was gone a lot, Ann-Marie remained closer to her father. When he wasn't working, he would take the family on lavish vacations. They bought a vacation home near Primerose Lake where they would spends weeks out of their summers by the lake, or winters on the ski hills. Ann-Marie would attend their summer camp where she would meet her best friend Nancy. The girls stayed in touch for years over letters and phone calls and the odd visit.

As Ann-Marie got older, her mother would spend most of her days while her father was at work, drinking, having affairs behind his back, and verbally abusing Ann-Marie. Because of her cruel comments she ended up developing an eating disorder in her teen years. When she became very sick one winter, she ended up going to the hospital. Once her eating disorder became known, she was kept in the psychiatric ward and made to speak to a psychologist. For the first time she was able to speak openly about her mother and what she had put her through and admired the way her therapist was able to help her. After several months in the hospital she was released, only to be met with the news that her parents were getting a divorce. It was a long drawn out process that was difficult for the children to be put through. In the end, her mother got the house and the vineyard. Her father decided to move to their vacation home in East Haven when Ann-Marie was seventeen, and she didn't think twice about joining him, along with her brother Noah, while Lucy opted to stay with their mother.

In Vermont, Ann-Marie was able to thrive in her senior year of high school, finally given the freedom to be herself and not who her mother wanted her to be. Although she dreaded having to go back to Washington to see her. With her new found confidence, came her first serious relationship with a young man named Martin who worked as an intern for her father while he was majoring in Law. It came as a complete surprise to her when she became pregnant when she was almost nineteen. She didn't want her father to know at first, as he she had kept her relationship secret from him, but eventually Martin confessed and told her father that they were in love. She gave birth to a baby girl, Leonora. She spent the first few years of her daughters life taking care of her and ensuring to raise her to be strong and confident and show her the motherly love that she didn't have. She and Martin got married when Leonora was two years old.

When her daughter was old enough for school, Ann-Marie was able to enroll at East Haven University, majoring in Psychology and Human Studies, which had always been a dream of hers. When she was nearly done her program, she found out that she was pregnant again. She finished and earned her degree before her second daughter, Aurora was born. After taking two years off to take care of her children, she began an internship in her mid-twenties, eventually landing a job as a therapist. She helped families and couples which paid well but wasn't really what she wanted to do. As her girls got older, Ann-Marie began to experience problems with her husband Martin, who much like her father, was away from the home a lot for his job as an attorney. Both of them rarely saw each other and she began to feel unloved by him. When Leonora had finished high school, and Aurora was still attending, they came to a mutual agreement that neither were happy in their relationship anymore. They filed for a divorce and went their separate ways but were able to co-parent and be there for their daughters when they needed them.

After the divorce, Ann-Marie began to explore her bisexual side, which was something she had never been able to do while she was married, and had a relationship with a woman who was a few years younger than her, but in the end they ended things after about a year deciding they were on different paths. She also decided to start her own business. After saving up for a while she leased a buiding in the Downtown area and started her own therapy center. She specializes in group therapy as well as individual sessions and has hired other counselors. She decided to take some time off from her love life and learn to love herself first, while she also keeps in close contact with her daughters. Although she sees her father and siblings often, she avoids speaking to her mother and has only seen or spoken to her a handful of times over the years.

[amelia-yap]

haha therapy AU

[itstimeforstarwars]

In the galidraan au, omega is a clone of arla fett. I don’t know if it will come up at all or have any plot relevance, but it does shape my worldbuilding just a bit.

[chaossmagic]

in one of those moods where taking all of my pills, going to bed and never waking up seems like a good idea

[autumnbell32]

I’m not sure how she was able to keep her phone, or her watch. And watching this was kind of difficult because of the memories it brought up, but she raises good points.

Also, sometimes things meant to look like resources, aren’t. I used to talk about using 7cups.com, as it was some available support in a pinch. But I don’t recommend using it anymore- it is full of trolls that will purposefully be triggering to some of the most vulnerable people.

[unprocione]

* @hvnnigan​​ spoke :

𝟰 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝟮 𝗩𝗢𝗜𝗖𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦 𝗦𝗠𝗦: 𝗜 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗮 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽���𝗼𝗻𝗲. 𝗦𝗠𝗦: 𝗜 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀. 𝗣𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘂𝗽 𝗼𝗿 𝗜'𝗺 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿.

the low, persistent growl and clack of claws overhead. the marble walls seem to press in at all angles, suffocatingly close, as leon slowly takes step, after step, on wooden floorboards, heel to toe. his skin is clammy to the touch, a coldsweat come over him with the fever pounding at his temples with every thrum of his heartbeat. (bzzt. bzzt. bzzt.) it’s dark above, and leon wouldn’t mind it so much, if it didn’t leave so much to the imagination. the cacophony of snarls that hitch and warble conversationally with the other long-limbed monster, visible in all gory glory, further down the hall clinging to the wall, is the only hint he has other than his own agonizing experience that there’s a lab-grown killer dwelling just above his head. 

but he needs to get to the other side of the hall, the blue-grey gargoyle of a man had blocked his previous path to the library, and leon could still hear his heavy tread echoing from the floor below. this was the only other way. he’s so careful, even with the roar of the rain slashing against the windowpane, the low rumbles of thunder outside, leon holds his breath, until it burns in his lungs. wet, warm drool. that was his undoing. dripping from the serrated maw in a ballerina slipper shade of pink, it stains leon’s skin when it hits his cheek, and the shock of it makes him gasp.

the crunch of half his fingers breaking makes him scream.

pain. that’s the only way leon knows to break the illusion, the waves of memories that assault him on dark nights like this, sink teeth and claw into his every sense, deeper and deeper until he can’t distinguish whether the blood is real or not until he draws some himself. the liquor used to put him to sleep before the sun set if he could start swilling straight from the bottle a little before noon, but now it only makes everything worse, more vivid, the world hazy around him from the drink and tears in his eyes combined. the few lights on are haloed in blurry smears, casting too-long shadows that jump as leon pitches back and forth, knelt on the carpeted floor in his living room.

the shutters of the house bang against the siding, wind whipping them back and forth as the downpour outside swells to a crescendo. as soon as he’s sober, leon’s going to tear them off bare-handed. it’s a sound all too familiar that almost brings the delusion back in full force, but leon takes the heel of his right hand and bears down on the tips of his fingers, his left hand planted on the coffee table, sending shockwaves of pain radiating through his fingers to his palm to his wrist and down the length of his arm, to his elbow. leon goes blind in a flash of white-hot agony, choked swears that he can’t even think to put together properly, chimera curses of italian and english clumsily knitted together spilling from his lips. he puts his forehead against the cool surface, above his smashed hand, until he can breathe again without threat of nausea overcoming him.

leon reels to lean back against the bottom of the couch behind him, head tilted back and eyes closed, arms spread over the soft suede cushions. he doesn’t look at his hand, doesn’t look at anything, not until the cheery double ping echoes through the room, quick in a way he knows by heart, one message sent after the other at a speed so fast, the notification noises are almost singular. 

hunnigan.

blue eyes blink open, and leon, he takes a slow breath in through his mouth, out through his nose. another. and a third. all equally raspy, trying to piece the parts of him together that were present enough to get up, move, you sad fucking bastard, before helena’s sent to kick your door down. no one needs to see you like this. he puts his left hand down first to push himself up, immediately regrets it with a reedy grunt, voice worn from, from.. how long had he been screaming? a stray thought is thankful that he lives alone, and at the heart of his property; it’s why he picked the isolated little homestead in the firstplace. he uses his right hand instead to hold himself upright, and slowly, moves to his feet, cautious as the world tilts and rocks around him. leon staggers to the where the charger is looped up around the endtable leg, tugging his phone from the charger in a jerk of motion that makes the lamp on top rock, but thankfully not tip over.

leon paws through the messages with his thumb, squinting at the blinding white screen and flicking his brightness down until he can make out the words, not in the mood to go on a hunt for wherever his reading glasses had sheltered. he can make out just enough to understand that hunnigan’s been calling him all throughout the hour, memories slowly filtering back to replay him, swiping her first two calls to ‘decline’, screen outlined next to a half-empty amber decanter. he doesn’t replay the voice messages; going straight to his contacts and pulling up hunnigan’s own, with a default profile picture, and a clear warning from his sober self in parentheses next to her name. (do NOT decline call!!)

the fingers of his left hand throb painfully at his side. the alcohol dulls some of the sensation, but the bulk of it gnaws at every nerve. he knows he can’t bend them, much less text with them. leon clears his throat, taking another breath in, and another out, slow, trying to steady himself again, to keep the shake out of his voice -- leon can’t do anything for the slurring drawl when his tongue feels heavy as lead, but there’s more shame inherent to having a hint of a tremor in his voice than sounding wasted.

tapping the call button, leon barely hears the ring of his phone outside the dim ringing in his own ears. like church bells. no, no. not church bells. the bell, in that fucking tower, back at the police station. for a second, there’s only the sound of his breathing over the line, then leon winces at his own hesitation. ❛ ..Hey. I’m here. But, ah, you already.. knew that.. ❜

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Hannibal Lecter Headcanons (General)

''Nothing here is vegetarian." — Hannibal Lecter.

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I think it's amazing that my hcs become more and more extensive lol, but you like it, don't you? Hannibal is my newest fixation and I loved writing for him, due to his personality. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! It's four in the morning here 🤎🤍.

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, cannibalism and murder.

❝🍽pairing: yandere!hannibal lecter x gender neutral!reader.

Hannibal Lecter is decorous and very polite and he really appreciates that, politeness. He values ​​and is easily offended by people who are rude or who do not have the correct manners, especially at the table. In addition to being a perfectionist analyzer.

He believes that the way people behave at the table directly reflects their education and social status. Hannibal is meticulous in choosing ingredients, preparing meals and presenting dishes. The problem is that his food tends to be human flesh, but Hannibal doesn't consider himself a cannibal, since the victims he chooses are seen as pigs to him.

Hannibal is known for his distinct personality and his appreciation for elegance and refined etiquette. His impeccable education, combined with his exquisite taste, creates an intriguing and contradictory image, due to his serial killer side. He stands out not only for his intellectual abilities and his ability to appreciate high culture but also for his meticulous and artistic approach to his darker pursuits.

You must have his politeness and good manners, that's the least he requires, Hannibal doesn't like rude people and although he won't kill you, he would have to teach you to have good manners. He will be happy to do so, however.

When interacting socially, Hannibal is observant and analytical, evaluating people based on their behavior at the table and in everyday situations. His aversion to rude people puts him in a unique position where he feels compelled to correct these "lapses" in etiquette. The way he corrects these mistakes varies from murder to a class, in this case, that class would be just for you.

You would have to be someone who achieves these Hannibal decorums, or comes close at least, for him to become obsessed with you. He likes polite people and will be happy if you are one of them, but if you are not or don't know the correct manners very well, don't worry, he will help you.

Hannibal is a psychiatrist and is very well aware that his thoughts of you are not ''normal'' or healthy, but he doesn't care. He knows it's morally wrong to do what he does and does it anyway, so what are some dark thoughts about you? But these thoughts quickly become actions he committed in your name.

He will take notes about you and create your psychiatric profile and if there is something ''wrong'', he will offer therapy for you, that is if you were not already his patient. Always very observant and attentive, he will be keeping all the necessary information about you, so that he can use it to catch you later.

If you have problems with your family or friends, Hannibal will take care of it. He doesn't like the idea of ​​someone wanting to hurt you, whether emotionally or physically, and most likely he will kill them one by one and serve them to you. Of course, without your knowledge. He knows you're not ready to know that yet.

Hannibal will be very picky about your food, just as he is about his. If you eat poorly or incorrectly, he will correct it. He enjoys cooking for you and will be adamant about doing so, serving refined recipes and elaborate dishes using fresh ingredients. Hannibal is a bit too controlling.

He is not possessive, but rather obsessive. Hannibal doesn't like it when you get too close to other people, but he will be more uncomfortable if it's someone he has apathy or something against. But he will sort it out. He feels jealous, but he deals with it in his own way, releasing that feeling on other things... Or people.

Hannibal is quite protective of you and will be adamant about keeping you safe. He may try to convince you to live with him or will make regular visits to your home, work or where you study. He will always be around when he gets the chance, just to look out for you.

He will try not to completely succumb to his desires, as Hannibal doesn't like being controlled, and allowing you to have so much power over him makes him more than uncomfortable. At least until he is sure that you will let yourself be completely dominated by him, only then will he feel more comfortable in making his feelings for you clear.

Hannibal Lecter is very intelligent and knows very well how to get rid of evidence that could incriminate him. Besides being a psychopath who doesn't feel remorse or empathy for others, he becomes softer when he's with you. Although his feelings aren't clear or fully understood, he knows he cares about you, enough that he wants you to be his. And you'll be his.

[oliversrarebooks]

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace: the truth is...

Prev > Masterlist

This came about as a result of the Choose Your Own Whump poll! The winners were:

secret underground facility

whumpee who is traumatized and hiding it badly

creepily intimate whumper

the corruption was infecting their thoughts, turning them against their allies

tw: restraints, beatings, physical and emotional abuse, drugging, needles, poison, truth serum, mind control

One year after the city's second-most notorious villain, the technomancer Morgan, was taken in by the hero team for medical treatment...

Morgan cracked his eyes open and immediately had to shut them again, blinded by obnoxiously bright lights.

He was woozy, barely awake, and his entire body hurt -- especially his right hand, which was throbbing with pain. It almost felt like some of his fingers had been broken, but he knew from experience that that would hurt far worse than this, unless...

The dreamlike haze slowing down his mind confirmed it. He was on some pretty strong painkillers. It was the sort of thing that would have sent him into a blind panic before, terrified of being incapacitated, but lately he'd been getting used to it. When he'd worked for Salcedo, the city's nastiest supervillain, he never received any form of painkillers, his boss far preferring to use his painful, torturous healing ability to re-injure Morgan and heal him back wrong again and again. A punishment for meeting his defeat at the hands of heroes, or looking at Salcedo wrong, or anything else the boss dreamed up.

That had all changed since he'd officially switched sides. No matter how badly he screwed up, no matter how much he irritated the shit out of the heroes, they always provided him with proper medical care, complete with ample medication. The feel of a hospital bed underneath him confirmed it: he must be in the heroes' infirmary, and that meant he could actually relax. 

He'd have to deal with Arthur, the team leader, and his unwanted concern and pity later, of course. That was absolutely a thorn in his side. He was definitely not looking forward to it.

Morgan shifted slightly, his wrists sore, and realized that he couldn't. He was restrained? And not with soft, comfortable restraints either, but hard metal ones. 

That couldn't be right. The hero team hadn't seen fit to restrain him in almost a year. He'd somehow managed to establish trust with them -- an uneasy, fragile trust, but trust nonetheless -- and he couldn't remember what he'd done to break that trust. The last thing he remembered was fighting his former boss at the city power plant, Arthur shouting his name... and then it all got blurry. He'd been injured, somehow, and he had a vague memory of collapsing into a dirty puddle with the sounds of the fight still raging around him.

He'd been fighting alongside the hero team, on a mission with them, taking out Salcedo's communications equipment and drones left and right. Why would they restrain him now, when he'd been helping them? He used his technomancy to feel out any nearby machines, and found it unresponsive. They'd used power suppressors, too.

The realization forced his eyelids to fly open, and as he adjusted to the painful light, an all-too-familiar ceiling swam into view. Harsh, bare, buzzing fluorescent lighting flickered too close to his face.

He wasn't in the heroes' infirmary at all. He wasn't even in a civilian hospital or a jail infirmary or a psychiatric ward. No, he was in Salcedo's lair, drugged and restrained. The first time he'd been captured since he'd betrayed his boss and started fighting by Arthur's side to stop his plans.

Oh, fuck.

The surge of adrenaline cleared his mind enough to think. Salcedo was going to torture him, that much was certain. Salcedo punished Morgan with beatings, starvation, and torture even for small mistakes -- one of the primary reasons Morgan had finally defected -- so he didn't even want to think about what his punishment for open betrayal would be. The fact that he was still alive at all could only mean that Salcedo was plotting something truly nasty.

Why was he drugged, though? The restraints and power suppressants had him entirely at Salcedo's mercy, and drugs were never a technique he had favored, since he didn't want Morgan's mind dulled to the pain and stress. Since he was already physically restrained, the only answer Morgan could come up with was that the drugs were necessary to compromise his mind. And that wasn't a comforting thought in the slightest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He would be rescued, wouldn't he? The hero team would definitely notice he was missing. They'd figure out what happened to him. He'd have to deal with Arthur's smug fucking face over rescuing his stupid ass again, but even that embarrassment was a vast improvement over whatever Salcedo had planned. There was no way Arthur would pass up the opportunity to preen and gloat over his heroism. He'd definitely go out of his way to rescue Morgan for that reason alone.

Unless he didn't.

Unless the hero team decided a half-reformed villain barely in control of his own powers wasn't worth it. Unless they were only putting up with him because it stopped him from being a nuisance. Unless they thought back on the things he'd done as a villain and decided he deserved whatever Salcedo had cooked up for him.

God fucking damn it.

He hated them sometimes. Hated their easy laughter and their camaraderie. Hated the way they awkwardly tried to include him in the group like a weird kid at recess. Hated Arthur's flawless smile, and his sickening dedication to doing the right thing, and how quick he was with a reassuring word, and how he worked so hard he had to practically be forced to rest --

Yeah, he hated them all, and they probably hated him too, and they'd be glad if Salcedo lobotomized him. He never should have defected in the first place. 

Morgan heard footsteps approaching the door, and shut his eyes again just as it opened. The sound of Salcedo's heavy combat boots approaching him was enough to send panic spiking through his heart, but he tried not to show it on his face, stubbornly pretending to be out still.

"I know you're awake, Morgan," said his former boss's deceptively smooth voice. "Don't embarrass yourself."

Morgan didn't twitch a muscle.

"You're a smart man. Or at least, I thought you were before you went and pulled this little stunt. The point is that you know very well where you stand right now."

So do whatever torture you came here to do and spare me your self-important monologuing, he thought. I'd rather have my fingernails pulled out than listen to you.

"You betrayed me, Morgan."

Here it comes.

"I gave everything to you. An unhappy teenager from an unhappy home, like so many others, but you were different from them, weren't you? You had potential. You had brains. And most of all, you had that wonderful little gift of a power. And I gave you everything. I trained you, I funded your lab and your inventions, I gave you food and a roof over your head. I forgave you for all of your many mistakes with only... sensible punishments." 

Morgan tried not to flinch as Salcedo got even closer.

"And yet, you betrayed me."

Morgan tensed for Salcedo's fist a moment before it connected with his cheek, pain blossoming from his shattered cheekbone. The pain was chased by a warm stinging feeling, Salcedo's healing power, before he was cracked across the face again. Breaking faces only to heal them and break them again was one of Salcedo's signature moves, and Morgan could almost tune out the familiar beating, especially since the painkillers dampened the sensation. His ears were ringing, and he knew he'd be severely concussed with his face swollen beyond recognition if it weren't for Salcedo healing him after each punch, allowing him to prolong the beating as long as he liked.

It was only when Salcedo slowed down and gave Morgan's mind enough time to recover from the assault that he finally decided to crack his eyes open. "Is that all?" he said, knowing that his fate was sealed whether or not he provoked the supervillain.

"That was just your punishment for the time you broke into headquarters and damaged some of my henchmen and equipment," he said. "Your punishment for betrayal hasn't even started yet."

"Hm, let me guess what it will be. Is it punching me in the face? Or maybe you want to mix it up a bit and punch me in the kidneys. Or get spicy and kick me in the --"

With no change in expression, Salcedo grabbed Morgan's injured hand and twisted, the bones audibly cracking. Morgan couldn't retain his straight face, and a sad little whimper escaped from his lips.

"Now that I have your undivided attention, allow me to explain exactly what is going to happen to you. Anticipation is half the fun, you know," he said, the sickening green light from his fingertips mending Morgan's bones back into place, a process almost as painful as the initial injury. He pulled a capped syringe full of a clear liquid from his pocket.

"If you're banking on me being scared of needles..." Morgan bluffed while internally screaming. He'd rather have the beating. At least those were predictable.

"Of course not. I'm banking on you being scared of what Marcy in the chemistry department has been cooking up since you've been gone." He tapped the side of the syringe. "It's not quite a mind control drug, but it's a good start -- a combination of potent truth serum that dulls your mind, and a sedative that makes you highly suggestible. The tests we've conducted on henchmen have been most amusing."

"...So what? A truth serum? You think the hero team trusts me with some secret information? They don't. And they have official protocol to change out the passcodes when anyone's captured, so you're not going to get anything useful."

"Oh, Morgan, don't worry your pretty little head. I'm not expecting you to be useful for your information. I have much better plans than that." 

Morgan's struggles were futile as Salcedo pushed the syringe into his arm and pushed the plunger. He didn't know what the fuck Salcedo thought he was going to accomplish with this and didn't want to find out, and he especially didn't want his mind put out of commission for any length of time. 

Salcedo's smug face was both infuriating and unreadable. What was his game? Morgan knew he had better figure it out before -- before --

-- before whatever was in that syringe shifted his mind out of gear. He pulled against the restraints again, shaking his head, as though it would somehow stop or slow the deep fog settling in over his mind. His eyelids grew heavy and lidded as he blinked slowly up at his wretched former boss, the intense sense of dread muffled as it became more difficult to think clearly.

"That looks to be kicking in nicely. I'm guessing you're ready to tell the truth now. Just let it all out," said Salcedo, grabbing his chin and looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Morgan wanted to spit in his fucking face, but instead... "Groggy. Out of it. What the fuck is in that stuff?"

"It's a miracle drug, isn't it? That's why Marcy is a star employee and you're an also-ran. I only wish I could use this on Arthur. See what the city's shining hope really has buried deep down inside."

"There isn't anything buried," said Morgan before he can think twice. "He really is just that fucking heroic. Makes me sick. ...And jealous." He shook his head again, trying to could do anything to clear that uncomfortable fog. He had the dim feeling that he hadn't meant to say all of that, that the drug was working, but he didn't seem able to resist. The words came out before he could measure them.

"Is that so?" Salcedo chuckled. "Is that why you betrayed me?"

"No, I betrayed you because you're a fucking miserable sack of dicks who beats me for fun," said Morgan, fire cutting through the fog. "You think consequences will never apply to you, that there will never be any repercussions for treating your henchmen like shit smeared on your shoe. I can't wait until they all turn on you. I hope they kick your fucking teeth in."

"How charming," said Salcedo in a strained voice. "Now, I realize you can't help expressing your true feelings while you're high off that drug I gave you, so it would be unfair of me to punish you." 

Then he smashed his fist across Morgan's mouth, allowing Morgan to cough up a mouthful of blood before healing him.

"Listen to me, Morgan," said Salcedo, this time grabbing his face with more force and purpose. "You will listen to me, and you will absorb everything I have to say."

"No, no --" Morgan tried to pull himself free, but he'd always been physically much weaker than his boss, and the drug cocktail wasn't helping.

"You've always been a villain, haven't you? I found you and I molded you int a villain, one capable of terrorizing the city on so many occasions. Have you forgotten that?"

"No..."

"And you enjoyed yourself. You loved making your gadgets, you loved watching the civilians scream and cower. You loved the feeling of power and control. And you still love it."

"I... I do..." he said. He'd been fighting so hard to suppress all of that lately, to show the hero team he could be more than just a villain, that he could do something helpful for a change... but deep down inside, a part of him missed laughing maniacally while riding some mechanical monstrosity through the city.

The truth was, heroics was fucking hard. Civilians were unpredictable and frequently ungrateful, and with the hero team, he was no longer allowed to blow them off and make them someone else's problem. He had to work had. He had to care.

"That's right, Morgan, you miss being a villain." Salcedo's voice was like a snake tightening around its prey. "It's all you were ever good for. It's all you'll ever be good for."

That was exactly what Morgan often felt late at night, in his bunk in the heroes' headquarters, wondering what the fuck he was doing there and how long it could last. "I'm..."

"It's all you'll ever be good for," said Salcedo with more force, letting it sink into Morgan's compromised brain.

"It's all I'll ever be good for," he repeated in a dull voice, resistance crumbling. 

"You hate trying to be a hero. It's too hard. You're awful at it. You're tired, and you want to give up. You want to give in."

He really was so, so tired. "I want... I want to give up..."

"You hate working with the hero team," Salcedo hissed in his ear. "You're jealous of them, aren't you? How they're praised and fawned over while you rot in the shadows, fighting for the smallest scraps of recognition. How they don't trust you."

"I..." A memory flashed through his mind. Arthur convincing him to join in on the team's horror movie night. Julie, the youngest, screaming, while Toshiro criticized the effects. Laughing, eating popcorn, forgetting for a moment who and what he was.

He couldn't forget for long. He could see it in their eyes, in their hesitance, how fragile the trust was.

"You'll never be one of them. They'll never trust you. You're a villain, and that's all you'll ever be."

It was true, wasn't it? They would never trust him. He'd escaped Salcedo, only to spend his time scraping and clawing to get the hero team's trust. Fighting to be something he wasn't, when he knew, he knew, he'd never be good enough for them.

And this was the proof, wasn't it? They weren't coming to rescue him. No one was coming to rescue him.

"You hate them, Morgan. I know you do. You hate them more than anything."

"I... I hate..." The corrupting voice was twisting his thoughts, making it hard to think anything but what he was told.

"That's right," he coaxed. "You hate them. And you hate Arthur most of all."

Arthur. That's right, he hated Arthur. Arthur with his perfect smile. Arthur with his words of encouragement. Arthur telling Morgan that he believed in him, believed he could be something better, as though he had any right. 

Arthur, who probably knew by now that he was wrong, that Morgan was no better than any other villain, who wouldn't be lifting a finger to rescue him from the trap he'd inevitably found himself in.

"You hate Arthur," Salcedo insisted.

"I..."

It should be so easy. It was the truth: he did hate Arthur. And he hadn't been able to resist the serum up until now. Why was he choking on these words?

"You. Hate. Arthur."

"Of course I don't hate you," said Arthur, once, on a quiet, moonlit night, sitting on top of a building, guarding a museum from an impending heist. "You're a clever guy and a hard worker, and you can do the right thing when it really matters. And the villainy? I'm not saying it's okay, because it definitely wasn't, but I get where it comes from. I do. Any of us powered people could've gone down the same path."

"I don't," said Morgan under his breath.

"What was that?"

Morgan's voice caught again. He did hate Arthur. Hated how much he wished he could see Arthur's dumb fucking face as he kicked down the door. Hated how much he wanted to be in the heroes' infirmary, with Arthur checking up on him and delivering a snack or book of puzzles, instead of here.

He hated how Arthur made him want to be something more than just a villain, and how fucking hard it was, all the time.

"I don't hate Arthur," Morgan said more clearly, unable to stop it. "I want to hate him, because it'd make everything so much easier, but I don't. I can't."

Salcedo recoiled in disbelief, a look of shock and disgust on his face. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You can't be fucking serious. He hates you, you know. He's foiled your plans so many times --"

"He doesn't hate me," said Morgan with more confidence. "He said it himself, every time I asked him. And he doesn't fuck around with that kind of thing. If he says it, he means it. It's infuriating."

"Fucking hell. I suspected, but --" Salcedo grabbed Morgan by the front of his flimsy medical gown, pulling him close enough that he could feel hot breath on his face. "Are you in love with him?!"

Morgan froze.

No. Fuck no. That's what he wanted to say. No, obviously not.

But he couldn't.

His head pounded.

"I don't know."

"You. Don't. Know?" Salcedo screamed in his face.

"I don't know!" The fog in his head was so thick, making it impossible for him to think through his words. "I don't know how I feel about him -- or about anything -- or if I'm even capable of --"

Salcedo grabbed his head and slammed it against the medical bed, sending his ears ringing. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! The one fucking thing I wanted you for, the one fucking thing you were going to be good at and you can't even do that right -- what kind of useless, idiot villain can't even hate the man who beats him into the ground once a week --" His laugh was harsh and bitter. "Oh hell, maybe you actually like that. I bet you do. Fucking little freak."

Morgan ignored the insult, trying to push aside the insinuations that he really, really didn't want to think about in this state. Salcedo had wanted him for something. There was a point to all of this apart from psychological torment. He tried to grasp that thought with his slippery mind, recognizing its importance. "What were you going to have me do?"

"Be a sleeper agent. Stoke the fires of hatred within you. Let the hero team rescue you, pretend everything was normal, and then when their guards were down, kill them all."

His chest tightened. "No -- I don't want to -- I won't!"

"Oh, it's beyond obvious you won't. I can see that now. You're not only useless, you're fucking delusional. So it's on to plan B."

"Plan B?"

"Remember these?" Salcedo held up a glass vial. Tiny, iridescent insects were flitting around inside, crawling up the glass and bumping against the lid.

Morgan surged forward in the restraints. "My babies!" he said, in the tone of someone reuniting with a long lost pet. He certainly did remember them -- his mechanical mosquitoes, one of his favorite inventions, which he'd had to leave behind during his semi-involuntary heroic turn. These small drones were easy for Morgan to control with his technological powers. They could be used for surveillance or distraction, equipped with tiny tools, or used to inject small amounts of potent drugs, incapacitating enemies and guards with sedatives or hallucinogens. On one memorable occasion, he'd laced them with the common cold, ensuring that the heroes would stay home while he raided the semiconductor factory. Good memories.

"They're my 'babies' now, I'm afraid," said Salcedo, pulling the vial further out of reach. "It took a while to override your protocols and reprogram them, but I think the effect will be worth it. You always used them for disgustingly non-lethal purposes. I've always wanted to change that."

He shrank back, not liking where this was going. 

"They're fitted with a potent and especially painful neurotoxin, but they won't sting you immediately. No, they're programmed to hide in your clothing until disturbed. When Arthur comes to save you, that's when you'll get the privilege of watching his excruciating death, knowing he died in agony trying to save you."

"No, no, there's no way. He's not even going to come save me, you know, he's --"

"Oh, you fool. He's already on his way." Salcedo shoved a gag into Morgan's mouth, clasping it firmly shut. "Don't want you warning him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important business." He opened the vial, and the little mosquito drones flew out and nestled in Morgan's medical gown, in the restraints, even in his hair. With his power suppressed, he was helpless to control them. He could only watch as Salcedo left the room.

Morgan screamed through the gag, accomplishing nothing but straining his throat. He had to come up with some sort of plan, but his head was swimming from stress and drugs and he couldn't hold on to any one thought long enough to formulate a strategy. 

It didn't matter. Salcedo was wrong. No one was coming to rescue him.

...He must be imagining the sounds of a fight, drawing closer...

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@cardboardarsonist @zeiniszein @crystallizedmidnight @mistythedritten @pigeonwhumps @sowhumpshaped @sparrowsage @sunshiline-writes @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @i-eat-worlds @a-formless-entity

[wheelie-sick]

Hi! I’m just curious why you’re anti-psychiatry and the reasoning behind it if you’re comfortable sharing? I want to take care to specifically learn the reasoning so I can educate myself upon them, I’ve wanted to be a psychiatrist since I was a kid and so I’m wary of making any mistakes in my profession that could damage others or perpetuate harm. Thank you so much for your time. /genq

okay, first of all I'd recommend reading my post here which talks about why there are no good psychiatrists and this post here about how some people being helped by the system does not make the system good. they're long but the first is pretty foundational to my beliefs on psychiatry and the second covers the most common rebuttal I hear for antipsychiatry.

putting the rest of this under a cut because it's really fucking long because I wanted to provide some context to my beliefs and there's a lot of context

my foundational reasoning for being antipsychiatry comes from listening to other's experiences. I did not have a traumatic experience with psychiatry directly. I'm not going to repeat other's traumatic experiences but if you look through the antipsychiatry tags you can definitely find some of the repulsive things the psychiatric industry has done. my belief in antipsychiatry also comes from my experiences with therapy.

I have been cycled through many therapists who dropped me for being "too complicated" for them. my second most recent therapist I dropped after constant abuse from him.

-> TW for therapeutic abuse until "why I'm antipsychiatry" <-

my issues with my old therapist began when I first started seeing him. I was being actively abused at home and every time I tried to talk about the physical and emotional violence I was experiencing at home from my former father he would shut me down and tell me it was not abuse.

-> TW for descriptions of physical abuse for the next paragraph <-

I told him about the attempts to shove me down stairs. the times I was dragged around. the times I was thrown into the couch. the times I had my face slammed into a wall. the restraint. the hitting. the punching. the grabbing. I told him in detail. my mom has since admitted that I was abused by my former father.

He did not think it was abuse. he had an obligation to report this to CPS and he never did. he told me it was not abuse the minute I brought it up, before I ever even tried to use the word abuse. I could never talk about the violence I was experiencing because I would get shut down every time and eventually I gave up.

-> TW for emotional abuse for the next 2 paragraphs <-

several years later my former father disowned me. (that's why I call him my former father) he told me that he did not see me as his child anymore, that he hated me. he said some other rather disgusting things about me, most of which I will not repeat, but one sticks out. he told me mom that she should handle my being trans as if she was dealing with a dog; when it (and yes, he used the word it) misbehaves you should ignore it. this all happened in a single conversation.

in my next therapy session I was distraught. I didn't like my former father but it never feels good to be disowned. I was trying to talk to my therapist about this and I said "he hates me" my therapist doubted me and asked me "did he say he hates you or are you just perceiving he hates you" trying to, dare I say, gaslight me into thinking this was all my perception. he did this to me frequently when I brought up the emotional abuse I was experiencing. I said "yes, yes he did say that" and things got really quiet because for once he couldn't tell me it was all in my head. in that moment I lost all faith in him because I realized he was wrong. that he was manipulating me into believing I was the problem. that all these conflicts were my fault. but they were never my fault.

-> TW for mentions of self harm for the next 2 paragraphs <-

the final nail in the coffin came about 2 years later when I finally decided to open up about my self harm. I had relapsed on my self harm about 8 months prior, usually it was just a one off but this time it had spiraled out of control into the beginnings of an addiction. I wanted to stop, so I decided to open up to my therapist about it. he got angry at me. I was scared, and vulnerable, and he was angry. he asked me why I didn't tell him sooner, I said I was scared of hospitalization. a week later he threatened to hospitalize me multiple times after promising he wouldn't.

what actually made me drop him was 3 weeks later. I was tired of talking about self harm and I was feeling the same if it all. he asked me about it and I said I don't want to talk about it. he pressed mex accused me of avoiding therapy, threatened to hospitalize me if I didn't spit out adequate details. when I said I hadn't even self harmed that much he accused me of lying to him to avoid therapy. he crossed many boundaries that day and then pressured me into agreeing to fill out a form every week detailing all the information about my self harm down to how many cuts I made. that was my final straw. I was done.

why I'm antipsychiatry:

after that I started reflecting and realizing the whole thing was fucked up. from the starting point in 4th grade when I saw my first therapist to the ending point where I saw my second to last therapist (I had a therapist after the nightmare therapist, her name was Sara she was Deaf and amazing but largely unhelpful) the system was designed to produce bad therapists. the nightmare therapist was not the only bad experience I had with therapists, just the worst. they all liked to abuse their power over me, they all liked to deny my experiences and gaslight me into believing all my problems were my own perception rather than a real outside factor. this wasn't one bad therapist is was one bad system.

and I'm done. I'm so done. therapy has never helped me but it has hurt me and I don't think I can find a good therapist because the whole apple tree is rotting from the inside. I'm sticking with my psychiatrist because he has done minimal harm to me but my experience with therapy has thoroughly cemented that abuse isn't an exception it's the standard and therapists who aren't abusing their clients are breaking the rules. my experience is the norm and it shouldn't be but you can't reform a rotting tree you have to plant a new one.

that's what antipsychiatry also seeks to do. it's cutting down the apple tree but it's also planting a new, different fruit tree. a tree that respects autonomy of patients, that acknowledges patients' realities, that seeks to support not control and manipulate.

if you want to help people with their mental health I urge you to look into the alternatives to the psychiatric system and consider working there. the tree will turn you into a bad apple too because the tree is rotted but there's a new tree growing and you can find other ways to support people. admittedly I'm not the most familiar with alternatives to psychiatry but I know they do exist and they're becoming more common as people realize the damage the psychiatric system is doing.

sorry this was kinda a trauma dump but my antipsych beliefs largely stem from trauma so I wanted to share that context

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my parents that they should stop trying to get my brother out of the psych ward?

(Tw/Cw, mentions of self harm & suicide)

I (f) live with both my parents and my older brother. I cannot move out yet (due to a plethora of reasons). My brother has been known to loose his temper and become violent, and has hurt me when he was mad before. This was reported to my parents who said that this was normal for a teenage boy, (at the time) I was having a hard time feeling safe in my house and own room previously, as he also had no sense of privacy. For the past 6-7 months, my Brother has been going through a lot of mental health struggles and recently tried to off himself, and was put in a psychiatric hospital, and had been there for two days. My parents are currently trying to get him out and my dad has joked about literally breaking him out. Last night, I told my dad that I don’t want my brother in the current hospital, which is more of a holding cell, but I don’t want him to stay at home, because I don’t feel safe, and in the past two days he’s been gone, I’ve felt the safest that I have felt in almost a year. My dad (and mom) are now mad at me because I “should care more” and I’m “being selfish.”

AITA for telling my parents that they should stop trying to get my brother out of the psych ward, because I will again feel unsafe if he is at home?

What are these acronyms?

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

tw // suicide mention

I saw your post about Vox committing suicide, and seeing as you are a fellow angst fan, would you care to elaborate? 👀

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

So, you probably know I headcanon Vox as suffering from NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder). People with NPD can experience something called narcissistic collapse. It is not a professional psychiatric term, but it's widely used to describe the situation when a narcissist's weaknesses and flaws are revealed to the outside world, and they can no longer uphold their perfect Self image. It might sound a little silly to someone who's never experienced it or even something fair, simply the truth winning out, the pathological deceiver finally being exposed. But let me tell you, this is genuinely a terrifying feeling. While experiencing it, people may act like wounded animals. They can exhibit anger outbursts, act impulsively, go into depressive episodes, and make various desperate attempts to rebuild their perfect Self that are usually harmful to others.

But sometimes, the revealed truth is so ugly that the image cannot be rebuilt. It can make people suicidal because they'd rather die than live as someone hated, since love and admiration are what keep them going. So, yeah, Vox did something terrible (can't tell you what for now but here you can get some idea), and the consequences for his reputation were so damaging and irreversible that he decided there's no point in living anymore if it means experiencing his own downfall from grace.

[cheezeybread]

Recently, I've had one of those moments where my brain reminds me of something existing that I'm not sure many other people remember about, and that thing is American McGee's Alice [and, additionally, the sequel to that game, Madness Returns].

Two braincells collided here, because I've got mild Twisted Wonderland brainrot to go along with this reminder, and so inevitably my mind conjured up this: Riddle [or all of Heartslaybyul, if you're up for it. Individually, of course.] with a reader who is a lot like Alice, but instead of the expected Alice in Wonderland personality, they're the warped version we wind up with in American McGee's Alice.

For additional context, I've got some brief excerpts from the Wikipedias for both games:

"The game centers on the novels' protagonist Alice, whose family is killed in a house fire years before the story of the game takes place. After several years of treatment in a psychiatric clinic, the emotionally traumatized Alice makes a mental retreat to Wonderland, which has been disfigured by her injured psyche."

"Alice was discharged from a psychiatric clinic and now lives in an orphanage for mentally traumatized orphans under the care of Dr. Angus Bumby. To get rid of the trauma and learn the truth about her past, she once again falls into Wonderland, where a new evil force has corrupted it."

Bonus points if you feel like covering, touching on experiences near the beginning of the reader being present at NCR and potentially making an assumption of being ported off to some place like that Twisted version of Wonderland [haha] that they'd been in before, only to have to learn this is something very separate from that [the focus doesn't have to be on this obviously, especially not since there's not MUCH you can do with that, I don't think]

Yeah, hi, I was literally just about to go to bed when I saw this and thought "no, I'll do it in the morning" and then I COULDN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT

I've never heard of this game before, but tbh, now I really want to play it! Sorry if it's messy, but I started thinking about Overblot Riddle, and then I just started typing away...

.....

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: After years of intensive treatment after a housefire, Reader is brought to Twisted Wonderland, and mistakes it for the Wonderland they've previously been trapped in mentally. Even after the realization of this different world, old scars still stay

𝙁𝙩: 𝙈𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙍𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚, 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙪𝙡 𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨!

Tw// Dark imagery, graphic depictions of death and fire, mentally unstable mc (just like me fr fr)

𝙏𝙒𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙒𝙊𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙇𝘼𝙉𝘿 (𝙥𝙩. 1)

.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.

You couldn't seem to escape it.

The Twisted Wonderland of your own mind.

You thought you were starting to get better, after the first incident. Or, at least, as better as someone in your situation could get. You had escaped the torment that your brain had cooked up. You learned to deal with your emotional scars, alongside the physical scars lining bits and pieces of your skin.

But then, the black mirror seemed to call out to you in your dream. It held such alluring promises, and the dark glass, rippling like some sort of soft river current, seemed to invite you to look through it once more. Without thinking twice about it, you stepped through the mirror, and found yourself trapped in another world.

.....

The shapes of the cards haunted your mind.

Ace, Spades, Clovers, Diamonds...they circled your brain in a make-believe dance. Refusing to leave.

Meeting Heartslabyul was the trigger for it all.

The small, seemingly innocuous symbols marked on their faces made your blood freeze. Paint the roses. Happy Unbirthday.

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

The words made your skin crawl, and the burns etched on your skin began to ache, to jolt your brain into remembering.

.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.

A happy little tea party, set in a field of bright green grass, unnaturally soft under your toes. The table set before you was piled with goodies, and a set of friendly faces sat around you, each carrying their own conversation. It was such a wonderful party.

But then the grass under your feet grew from a cooling sensation to a burning one. You stood up from your chair, and the motion sent you reeling back into reality.

Bright orange flames flickered around you, each one reaching out like the hand of a ghoul attempting to pull you down into the grave. You jumped out of your bed, crying in pain when your bare feet hit the carpet underfoot. Although it wasn't exactly carpet at that point; the plastic fibers in the fabric had melted and were boiling hot.

Despite the pain, and the terrifying feeling of the fire, you ran out of your room and out into the hallway, only to be met with the sight of your father laying on the ground mere feet away, face-down, one arm outstretched to the door of your room. His flesh had mostly melted away at that point, the charred bones in his skeleton peeking out from barely clinging-on skin. The only distinguishable feature was his silver wedding ring, now dulled to a flat gray.

Room by room you ran, despite the flames grabbing at your arms and legs, causing irreversible damage. Dead. Dead. Dead.

The Firemen who arrived on the scene first found you in the front yard, alone, passed out from smoke inhalation and pain.

You didn't wake up fully for several years after that.

.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.

"IT'S OFF WITH THE HEADS OF ANYONE WHO DEFIES ME!"

Not even a whole week into your stay in this world, you were met with the horrifying fact that "overblots" existed.

Unfortunately for you, the very first was akin to the Queen of Hearts herself.

"Riddle, please, stop!" Trey yelled out, his skin glistening with sweat from exerting his own power in an attempt to block Riddle's signature spell.

Either oblivious to his friend's cries, or simply not caring enough to respond, Riddle raised his arms up and dropped a fist in a slamming motion, causing one of the rosebushes to uproot itself and leap towards those trying to save the Heartslabyul leader.

You dropped to the ground, hands covering your ears as you shut your eyes tightly. At the first sight of Riddle, at his transformation, everything had ceased to be. Your progress in recovering, your calm demeanor towards this "Twisted Wonderland", your semi-friendly actions towards the students who sneered at you, and even your attempts at befriending the Heartslabyul members. It all came crashing down, and all you could feel was the ghost of of a fire encircling your body, and the quick flashed of those in your own twisted Wonderland coming back to haunt you.

You couldn't escape them, could you?

"Hey, HEY!" Someone put a hand on your shoulder, causing you to scream and jerk away. You opened your eyes in panic, which allowed you another glimpse of the Ruthless Tyrant, and only made you panic more, your chest heaving from gasped breaths.

The man who had touched you looked concerned- and rightfully so- at your wide eyes, paled skin, and wet eyes "Hey, stay with us, please," Ace begged "We need all the help we can get."

But you would be no help here.

You gave one final look to the Blotted Riddle...surprisingly, he looked back at you, his eyes narrowed with hatred and disgust.

They looked just like her eyes...

Everything went dark.

.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.

Riddle sat in a chair next to the mysterious student's bed, his gaze focused on a small piece of hair laying on the floor underfoot. He looked like shit, to say the least. He held bags under his eyes, and his skin was several shades paler than it normally was. He had just been released by the nurse a day ago, following the incident with his overblotting.

There was a slight shuffling sound, and Riddle looked up hopefully, expecting to see you awake and fine. But no such luck. It was only your shoulder twitching in your sleep.

Riddle would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in you from the beginning. The sheer amount of terror in your eyes as you stepped foot into the Heartslabyul's territory (as told to him from Ace) was something to behold. And, also according to Ace and Deuce, you had some....issues...with cards and a certain "Wonderland". And he felt like shit about it all. He had known, even from just a gut feeling, that there was something going on with you. He could tell that much just from looking at the deep, darkened burn scars that flashed underneath your sleeved, that showed whenever the leg of your pants raised up a little bit above your ankle.

And he had played into that terror. He had made you get worse, and you were still in the nurse's office, recovering from the "incident".

"I'm sorry," he said softly, reaching out a hand to pat your arm gently. An apology was all he could muster at the moment.

But, to be sure, he would make up for everything when you woke up.

If you woke up.

.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.

[pinkslashersimp]

Hi I have a request for NBC Hannibal and Will Graham/ Hannigram x reader! Can you do some headcanons for each of them walking in on a reader in the middle of a breakdown and doing SH? Sorry if that’s a bit much you def don’t need to detail the SH but would love to see what they do to stop the reader and comfort them (I’ve been going through it lately oof lol)

I love lovee all your drabbles and stuff sm if u choose to write this TYSM in advance ahh<33

╰┈➤ Synopsis: Hannibal and Will both comfort you after a ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ breakdown

⠀⠀⠀✎ Notes: Hey anon, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ get to this, as mentioned before on here I’ve just ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ finished my college course and at the time these reqs ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ were sent I was completing assignments and doing ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ my exam^^ I wanted to get as many reqs in my inbox ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ as I could before I closed it and I’m finally getting to ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ them all. thank you so much for your patience (⋆ˆ ³ ˆ) ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 🩷

⠀⠀⠀ I don’t feel particularly comfortable writing your ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ specific request simply because it could be ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ potentially triggering to others, so I’ve written ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ Hannigram comforting you after you’ve gone through ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ it and are struggling, I hope that is okay<3

⠀⠀⠀ I also want to check that you’re okay and everyone ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ who feels this way is doing okay? I understand this ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ was back in February but as someone who has dealt ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ with SH myself I understand that urges don’t always ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ magically vanish by a wish on a star. If you or anyone ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ else reading this needs professional or immediate ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ help it is there and available to you.

TWS: Mentions of SH and breakdowns.

988 Lifeline

The Samaritans

Find a Helpline

Signs of self harm and getting help

National eating disorders help

Hannibal and Will had both comforted you the best they could after your breakdown. Hannibal had taken care of your wounds and made you some food and a drink, Will sat beside you, twiddling his fingers unsure of how to approach the situation.

Hannibal seated himself on the other side of you, and put his hand on top of yours, will figured he should do the same and he put his arm around you and held you close, they both let you cry it out and encouraged you to eat something, just to get energy back and ensure you were at least taken care of.

Hannibal approaches the situation from a psychiatric point of view. You were sad. No, more than sad, and he had to discover the root of it to ensure the problem was taken care of and to ensure your safety.

He arranges for little sessions in his therapy office, encouraging you to discuss your troubles, mood, and harm. With each session you both get a little closer to understanding a solution, and Hannibal gives you different ways to vent your feelings without causing yourself or others harm.

If need be, he will look into a prescription for you.

Hannibal is also in charge of first aid, bandaging and disinfecting any injuries you have. Stitching too if needs be.

Hannibal will get upset at this, his level of stress varies on how bad it is getting. He doesn’t ever show this as he wishes to avoid upsetting you and causing further breakdowns and self inflicted harm, but you will notice him being much quieter and more stern with you.

Will approaches from a much more nurturing perspective, keeping a watchful eye over you every second he can, doing his best to cook for you and run little errands to make you feel better.

If he notices you looking particularly upset, he removes anything you could potentially hurt yourself with from the room and brings some tissues, he also sits with you and tries to cheer the mood up, either with a joke or by trying to steer the conversation to something you enjoy.

If Will is struggling he will call in Hannibal to help, as he knows Hannibal can read others and manipulate situations far better than he can.

Will gets upset too, but he shows it by telling you that he is hurt. He understands you are hurting too, and approaches the conversation as empathetic as he can, but he wants you to understand that this affects them, too, even if you are the one hurting the most.

He just wants you to know that they are not, and will never be, angry at you.

Anything you could use in the house against yourself has been locked up somewhere you can’t reach, and you are forbidden into the kitchen until they trust you are feeling better and okay.

Hannibal arranges for himself, you, and Will to enjoy trips out together, in hopes it will lift your spirits and take your mind off of anything that is causing unnecessary stress or harmful thoughts.

Hannibal takes you to the theatre, to fancy restaurants, and to garden and art exhibits.

Will on the other hand will take you to the beach, forests, or cheaper restaurants.

You all go on these trips together and, occasionally, they will let you pick the location, allowing you some control.

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 21: FEAR PLAY Äs Nödt x F! Reader

Requested by: @muzans-stuff ➡ Hello If it's okay I'd like to participate in the kinktober event. I'm an AFAB with pronouns of she/her. I choose Äs Nödt with these following kinks: Dom/sub, impregnation ,humiliation ,CNC and ESPECIALLY fear play. thank you ♥️ ➡ i'm sorry for the delay my love, but here it is finally! hope you enjoy :3 tw: MDNI. In any case I am saying being admitted to a psychiatric hospital is scary, however being dragged to a place like that without being informed... CNC (rape/forced to mentions. be extremely careful). fear play. rough sex. humiliation. kinda dominant as (duh). slapping. humiliation. and everything dark. wc: 1,3kmasterlist

Eyes wide open, mouth covered. Boney hands, a chill running through your spine. “You are mine…” “Am I?”

White cold flickering lights, padded walls… why is everything so empty? Why does it look like a mental hospital room?

Your back pressed against the wall; it doesn’t hurt, it’s soft and secure. But your legs are shaking, you even feel like peeing yourself.

“Äs… what are we doing here?” you ask, with trembling voice and watery eyes. “Shut up…” he whispers, with low raspy voice that’s both terrifying and sexy.

You swallow, blinking fast enough for a single tear to finally fall from your eye. You try to search for an exit, perhaps the door. When have he taken you here? was it while sleeping? The last thing you remember was feeling dizzy and sleepy during dinner with the Sternritters.

When your eyes finally devise what it might look like a door, you take a deep breath and decide to run towards it. You love Äs, in a sick twisted way… but you are also scared… and there are still, maybe, boundaries you aren’t ready to take. Or are you?

As you move your foot, he approaches you violently. One of his hands cover your mouth, while the other pushes you from your lower belly against the padded wall. You can’t move a single muscle, you feel your blood turning cold, as if you were instilled with a poison right in your veins.

“Do not search for an exit. Haven’t I tell you already that you are mine?” he grunts, with his tiny nose pressed against your cheek but still wearing his black mask over it.

You try to deny with your eyes, as he is pressing your head so hard against the wall. He seems to be losing control, as if your fear fed something feral inside of him…

“Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying!” he suddenly screams, when your tears become profuse and wet the back of his pale hand. The veins on it become swollen, and his muscles tense more and more.

You can’t help it; you can’t stop crying.

His black pointy nails carve in your cheeks, as he shakes your face and then pushes you to the ground in a swift and violent motion.

Your knees carve in the padded floor. And somehow you begin to see the situation as a dark metaphor for the love you both hold for the other; it’s humiliating, it’s painful… but it’s pure white, and it doesn’t really hurt… it’s sick, but it’s healing.

You turn to look at him, his black boots, his black hair, and black eyes contrast with the white around as he walks to you. He does it slowly, but it is terrifying.

Äs looks at you from the side, as he tilts his neck to the right. His silky long hair falls like an onyx downpour on his frame. “You are pathetic” he growls, but you get the impression he is smiling under his mask as his eyes get squinted and the black orb takes over the whole socket.

Your white uniform has been slightly tore, but you don’t even remember when it happened. Nor you realize his heavy boot is now over your chest. Time seems to pass either too slow, or too fast… you feel like missing parts of reality… have you been drugged? Or is it Äs’s power? Is it the F supposed to be used this way?

“Will you hurt me?” you ask him, still crying. “Oh no… it is yourself who will if you don’t comply to my orders” he says, using his foot to spread your legs.

You soon realize that what he is meaning to do is not killing you… but fucking you. He is not willing to hear a “no” as a response, that’s why he isn’t even asking. You are, however, afraid of his words… knowing that he has the means to make you hurt yourself, makes you tremble.

You begin crawling back, you are sweating cold, you get tunnel vision having him to be the only image in the centre of your sight.

In a blink of an eye, he is already pinning you against the floor. Äs is topping you, with his long hair tickling your cheeks and the mask barely separating your lips from his.

His body feels like a bag of bones, a characteristic you have always loved about him. You enjoyed the way his hipbones protruded through the long white cover of his uniform, and always wished to be able to see his collar bones... well, now you will.

His hand slides down until your leg, lifting it up until his waist. Your skirt, that’s probably falling off by now, will allow him to have easy access to your core.

You are terrified and confused.

You aren’t sure if you want it or not, but the way his erection feels against your core fans the flame of need and yet of fright. And the more he grazes his hardness against you, the more you cry; this time, uncontrollably sobbing but with bucking up hips searching for more. What a beautiful yet painful dichotomy.

“You are such a slut, crying because you don’t want to get fucked but still rubbing yourself against me” he growls, searching with his bony hand for your panties to rip them off.

You catch a glimpse of logic and begin fighting -or trying to look like you are- to get him off of you. Deep inside, the more you want him to force you, the more that turns you on.

Ripped your underwear, his hand is now grabbing yours by the wrist above your head. “Stay still, bitch. You are getting that hole raped by me because… YOU. ARE. MINE”

You squirm under his firm touch. He might look like he is weak, but he is stronger than you in every way.

With his free hand, he slaps your face and then takes off his mask. For the first time you discover how his façade looks and you are beyond pleased. He is beautiful; pale, chapped lips, sick looking eyes but still full of a strong desire to live.

“Stop crying, you are not making me stop… come on” he whispers, now with his lips playfully grazing yours.

You sniff, trying to obey, trembling in fear but also in need. You feel his hand going down, while his dress like clothes go up. You get a glimpse of his pale, almost white abs. There is not a single gram of fat on his abs, and you discover that he is indeed way thinner than what you thought he was.

While his flesh is generally cold, his sex isn’t. You can sense the throbbing warmth reaching your slippery entrance.

“Even if I am forcing my dick in you, you are still so wet…” he moans, attacking your lips afterwards and impaling you with no mercy.

You arch your back, mewling in his mouth. But he won’t let you breathe any other air that the one coming from his own lungs.

Äs fucks you excessively rough, making you sure you aren’t able to escape from his claws, leaving you at his complete mercy… with your head spinning, and your legs losing their total strength.

He enjoys your clenching walls, your milking insides, slapping you once in a while. Sometimes he even stays inside you for some seconds, to show you how much you want him to keep ramming into you.

“You were crying and kicking before, and now you want more of my dick? Don’t you see how much of a needy whore you are? Why don’t you become my cum dump too? Let me get you pregnant, so that everybody knows you are only mine”

You widen your eyes; humiliated, asking for more of his dick, pleading with tears for your womb to be filled with his semen… forced to get pregnant by him.

Do it, Äs… After all, you have become crazy… stupidly psychiatric for him…

taglist: @miabiaria @carmenthedreamer @stygianoir @electronicwitchcollection @aizenwifey @deputy-videogamer @efrodd17 @mizugami @uzxotic @cyberdazetragedy @bookandyarndragon @fushiguroshotwife 💖

[vaultureculture]

To my homies that saw me disappear from Instagram, a brief explanation, under the cut because it's not exactly an easy topic to discuss.

TW suicide mentions

I'll be brief.

A dear friend of mine attempted to take their life. I was texting them through the entire event. They survived, and thank god, but this caused my already fragile mental health to collapse and plunge me into a depressive episode.

I was physically and emotionally sick for two days, two days prior to also facing one of my biggest fears as an agoraphobic— traveling.

I am now with my family at our holiday home, in a village by the sea. I have no wifi, and only a limited amount of data to use.

I am broken, tired, and unable to socialize or perform any more emotional labor for anybody —this friend included, whom I trust will be taken care of by their family, as they are with them. This is the only reason I have chosen to step back: I know they are safely surveilled by their parents, and will be getting psychiatric support soon.

I have chosen to take my holidays as a break from all socializing except a few select cases to recover and come back with new strength.

Thank you for reading me, if you have, and sorry if I worried you.

Please, include my beloved friend in your prayers. I want nothing but for her to recover and be safe again, even if I cannot personally manage that

[vladajwrites]

Razor’s Edge

Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 5830

Notes; this chapter has actually had my head spinning lol

again, truly thank you for reading! much much love <3

(Not Beta Read)

You spent the remainder of the school day restlessly waiting to see Charlie again. The more you thought of it, the idea of him orchestrating that night with you, the more you warmed up to the idea.

It was an interesting and covertly complex tactic, definitely, but you were thankful he actually made a move. He clearly was not the type to just outwardly express his feelings and emotional intentions. The lying to you and Robbie, finishing up the project on his own; it should make you understandably unnerved, but it doesn’t. So, if this was what he needed to do to convey his feelings to you, you could learn to find it endearing.

You stopped Charlie in the hall on the way to film club after the last bell rang. His cheeks were tinted red as he met your eyes. 

“Charlie,” you began. 

“Look, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I shouldn’t have lied to you.” He tripped over his words. 

His expression showed his confusion as a small smile slipped up your lips. You loved how nervous he still was around you.

You placed your arms over his shoulders. “I forgive you, but don’t you dare lie to me again, Charlie Walker.” You whispered right beside his ear. 

He cleared his throat, stumbling back a bit as you pulled away. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You laughed, sliding one of your arms through the gap between his elbow and stomach. 

“Ma’am? I am not my mother.” You teased him, pulling him down the hallway. 

He tensed a bit as your free hand came up to hold around his upper arm.

You both walked in silence for a moment. You could see from the corner of your eye that Charlie was anxiously looking up to meet the perplexed gaze of the students you passed by. You guess this was really the first time that you had shown any affection towards Charlie publically. 

You only held him tighter. You hardly noticed anyone else around the two of you. 

“Did you hear about Kirby’s party next weekend?” You broke the silence. 

He looked down to meet your eyes. His face held something that almost resembled discomfort. 

He nodded before responding. “Yeah, I did.” 

You stopped for a moment as you rounded the corner that led to film club. “Well, Kirby invited me, but I only want to go if you can come with me.”

His arms dropped to his side. You followed suit. What was this expression he now had? You couldn’t read it. He couldn’t meet your eyes before responding. 

“I made plans to visit my mom at Isle Institution. I haven’t seen her in a while-“ 

Your face dropped as you took in his words. Isle Institution? That was the psychiatric care facility in the next town over. When he had said that his mother was in and out of psychiatric help, you never imagined her living in a facility like that. You immediately felt horrible for bringing up the party. Visiting his mother was clearly more important. 

“Oh, no, I completely understand. Go and see your mother. It’d be nice to have a night in on my own, anyway.” You gave him your most reassuring smile. 

He looked down to meet your eyes again. You could tell he was rolling some idea around in his head. 

“No go, I shouldn’t be gone too long. I’ll meet you there. I’d love to go with you.” He tried to give his best smile in return. You weren’t sure you were buying it. You really didn’t want to go to this party alone, didn’t mind spending the night at home, but if he was able to meet you there not too long after? You’d like that very much. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “But don’t worry if you can’t make it. Just try to let me know, please.” 

“Deal.” He replied. 

Film club passed by quickly, as did the rest of the weekend. 

You spent most of your free time texting back and forth with Charlie. He was so much more sure of himself over the phone. Maybe it just was the face-to-face stuff that made him so nervous. 

The school days during the following week were spent looking for Charlie when you could. You made an effort to pass small touches in the halls, could tell he did the same. You couldn’t help but feel your stomach twist up when you caught him watching you in class.

It’d be a lie to say you hadn’t become even more enamored with him with each passing day. He was so incredibly interesting. You wanted to know more, know everything. You caught yourself laughing along with every dumb joke he’d try to make. 

You’d invite him over after class nearly every day. His confidence around you grew as you spent more and more time around one another. 

You couldn’t lie, being in such close proximity to him was making you feel frustrated in a way you hadn’t felt before. You just wanted to be closer to him. You’d watch his lips, his hands; and pray that he’d just reach over and hold you underneath him-

But as the next few days passed by, you could tell something was growing increasingly troublesome in his mind. He just seemed so far off, distant. You wished you could have just found the right words to say to him, take away whatever was worrying him. You wanted him to come back to you so desperately. 

On Friday, you finally worked up the courage to ask him what was wrong. You laid in your bed next to him, pretending to work on something for your English class. 

“What’s bothering you, Charlie?” You asked. He sat beside you, staring out your bedroom window. 

“Hmm?” He replied as if he hadn’t caught your question. 

You grabbed his hand, urging him to look at you as you adjusted yourself into a sitting position. 

“What’s going on with you?” You asked gently. 

His eyes darted quickly over your face. “Nothing-“ 

Your brows furrowed as you shot a look at him that said, ‘I know you’re lying to me.’

He sighed before continuing, “I- I don’t know. It’s just my mom, I think. I haven’t seen her in a while, to be honest. I’m always nervous to be around her. I don’t want to upset her.” 

You ran your thumb over the back of his hand and nodded. “I’m sorry Charlie, I’m sure she’d love to see you.” You smiled softly. 

He sucked in a breath, nodding. 

You both sat there for a moment, hand in hand, heads against the headboard. Music played faintly in the background, filling the lapse in conversation. 

Charlie was the one who broke the silence after some time had passed. His question was so quiet, you nearly weren’t able to catch it. “Could you hurt someone?”

You turned sharply to look at him. His face stayed forward, but you were able to catch his gaze from his peripherals. 

“What do you mean?” You tried to conceal your confused tone. 

He turned to face you now. “If you had to, could you do it if you absolutely had to?” 

His question was nearly disorienting. Why would he ask you this? Your confusion cleared as you thought back to his mother and his father. Was this what he meant?

Could you? Really, could you bring yourself to do it?

You swallowed hard. “If it were between my life or someone else’s, I think I could.” He settled into the bed a bit at your answer. 

“If this is about your father, Charlie, you did what you had to do. I’d never hold that against you. And I’m sure your mother wouldn’t either.” 

He didn’t reply, only let his gaze fixate on the ceiling fan above. You didn’t push it any further. You hoped he’d be back in his usual spirits after his visit with his mother. 

You woke the next morning in a tangle of sheets. The record you had been playing the night before was skipping over and over again on the player. The conversation you had with Charlie the day before played over in your mind. You frowned. It must feel so lonely to go through life after what he had lived through. You prayed this day would go well for him. 

You sat up, groaning, pushing the hair out of your eyes. You reached for your phone, scrolling through your limited notifications. 

Kirby’s text was at the top. “I’ll see you later. ;)” 

“Can’t wait!” you replied. You honestly hadn’t been keeping up with Kirby as much as you believed you should have. You made a mental note to thank her for the invitation when you saw her tonight. 

Charlie had also messaged you, “I should still be able to make it back in time for the party. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” 

There was a second message from him sent slightly after the first one. “Send me a picture of what you decide to wear.” 

You smiled to yourself. He didn’t care about what you had decided to wear, not so smooth. “You’ll see what I’m wearing when I see you at the party.” 

You honestly hadn’t given much thought to what you would wear. Kirby had messaged you asking for advice on her outfit a few days before. You wanted to dress up like her, look nicer than usual.

You stood, lifting the needle on your record player and turning it off. You pulled your closet doors open and riffled through the mess of hangers inside. After throwing skirts and dresses and other articles of clothing into a pile on your bed, you realized that nothing you owned fit the image you had in mind. 

You groaned, collapsing amongst the pile. It was useless, you resigned yourself. 

Just then, Irina passed by your door, which was propped open about a quarter of the way. An idea came to you then. She’d surely have something. You knew she kept most of her clothing from her life-of-the-party days. She had amassed a comprehensive collection of clothing over the years. Her closet was nearly daunting to explore on your own. 

You quickly stood, throwing open your door. Irina jumped at the end of the hall. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You tried to laugh it all off. She grabbed at her chest, laughing with you. 

“Is there something I can do for you? Or were you trying to give me a heart attack?” She asked, steadying her cup of coffee. 

You made your way down the hall toward her, apologizing again. “Yes, actually, I’m desperate.” 

She cocked an eyebrow, following you into her bedroom. She turned to face you again, unsure where the conversation was about to go. 

“Okay, there’s this big party tonight,” the smile on Irina’s face grew to meet her eyes as you continued. “And I have nothing to wear. It’s just not coming together.” You sighed, dropping onto her bed. 

She set her coffee on the nightstand beside you before opening the doors that led into her closet. 

She started flipping through hangers towards the back of her wardrobe. She reached for a hanger before turning over her shoulder. “Oh, I definitely have an idea or two.” 

You smiled as she walked out, holding a black silken dress in her hands. She placed it in your hands as you looked it over. It was definitely beautiful, imaginatively form-fitting, low-cut, and incredibly short. Not the type of thing you were used to wearing, but you trusted Irina’s vision. She returned from her closet again with a pair of deep red heeled-boots. 

She dropped the boots in your hands as well. “Well, go try it all on.” 

You nodded, standing up. 

Once in the bathroom, you stepped out of your clothes, gently pulling the dress over your head. You slid on the boots before giving yourself a once over in her full-length mirror. 

Your breath caught in your chest at the sight. This was it, exactly the sort of thing you had wanted to wear. How could she always tell? 

You hadn’t realized how long you stood there before Irina knocked on the other side of the door. You steadied yourself, smoothing over the dress before opening the door. 

Irina’s eyes lit up immediately, her hands came up to her chest. “So beautiful, sweetheart.” 

“Thank you,” you replied breathlessly. 

She fixed the straps and tugged at the waistline a bit. “It’s just a little big, but should work for tonight. I’ll have it tailored for you sometime soon.” 

“Thank you so much. Really, thank you.” You replied, wrapping your arms around her. 

The rest of the day was spent anxiously pacing around your house. You fussed with your hair and makeup until giving up and calling in Irina to help you with that as well. 

Once you were all ready, and it was time to go, you collected your few things in the clutch your aunt had also let you borrow. She insisted that your usual purse would have completely ruined the entire outfit. You didn’t fight her on it. 

Irina stopped you at the door. “Have your phone?”

“Yes, fully charged.” You replied. 

She nodded. “Well, keep your ringer on. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Okay.” You reached over to give her one last hug before leaving. 

“Have fun tonight. Be safe and responsible! If the police pick you up, I’ll post your bail!” She called after you as you made your way to your car. You laughed, waving at her over your shoulder. 

You followed the directions to Kirby’s house carefully, trying not to pay any attention to your nerves. You parked in the first spot you found amidst the ever-extending line of parked cars in front of her house. 

You locked your car, shoving the keys back into your clutch. 

The music was loud enough to be heard from the street. You noticed a few people standing on her front porch smoking. 

You anxiously smoothed over your dress. The cool air made your skin prick up. You should’ve brought a jacket. Maybe you could go back and grab one-

No, you quickly put the idea to rest, knowing if you left now, you wouldn’t return. 

You wished Charlie was there to walk in with you as you entered the party. You quickly grabbed a plastic cup from the table that had been set up in the entryway. You filled it up with whatever alcoholic concoction was sitting in a tub in front of you. You finished it in a few gulps, swallowing down hard. The first drink was always the worst. 

You filled it up again before making your way further into the party. The music was making the floor pound. It was hard to keep steady as you pushed through the crowd toward the living room. Most of your peers already appeared to be completely inebriated around you. 

You tried for a few moments to find Kirby but gave up after a while figuring she must be busy or off doing her own thing. 

There were black and white masks thrown about the party. It took a moment, but you eventually recognized them from the Stab movies. You had never personally watched them, but had always seen the advertisements for the films.

Of course, you thought. You honestly hadn’t even really thought about the terrible reality that those movies were based on since moving to Woodsboro. The only time you had really heard about the murders was briefly in your childhood, and occasionally on the news during the anniversary of the killings. Hadn’t they happened in October? 

You found the mask’s presence here odd, even a bit morbid, but you hadn’t actually grown up here. You figured that the lifelong residents who had lived through this all had a right to remember it however they wanted to. 

As you pushed the thought of the murders toward the back of your mind and made your way deeper into the growing crowd, your head began to grow fuzzy and swim under the neon lights that flashed around you. It was a welcome feeling, slowly working to drown out your nerves from before. 

After finishing your third cup, you decided to have a fourth. After this, you’d slow down, you promised yourself. 

You eventually ran into Kirby. She looked stunning, as usual. She was clearly already drunk but held herself together eloquently. 

“Oh my God, it’s so good to see you. I wasn’t actually sure if you would come!” Kirby said while pulling you tightly into a hug.

She stumbled a bit as she let go. You held both her and yourself steady. The effects of the alcohol were slowly reaching a peak inside you. 

“Yeah, it’s good to see you, too. Thank you for the invitation!” You had to shout your reply. Your voice was still nearly muffled by the voices and music around you. 

“Of course! Hope I run into you again.” Kirby smiled and went to turn on her heel. She stopped herself briefly, grabbing your arm before you also walked away. “Have you seen Jill anywhere? She was supposed to be here hours ago.” 

You barely caught the last of her words. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her.” 

Kirby looked a bit defeated but nodded. “She’ll turn up. Thank you anyways!”

After leaving Kirby, a girl you recognized from your homeroom class passed you a shot glass and another cup of too-sour mixer and what surely must’ve been cheap tequila. You took the gifted shot with a small group of people in the kitchen before slipping back through the main area of the party. The music was becoming too loud; the lights were blinding. You felt so hot, could barely breathe. 

With the cheap DIY margarita still in your hand, you made your way into the backyard. You just needed a moment, needed to see if Charlie had reached out to you yet. The back patio was dimly lit, the cool air was now a welcomed companion. 

A small crowd was formed around some more tables on the lawn below. Beerpong was well underway, and apparently very intense at the moment based on the way people were yelling and cheering each other on. 

You took another sip of your drink before setting the cup on the patio railing, reaching into your purse for your phone. 

You swayed a bit, frowning to yourself after seeing you had no messages from Charlie, no missed calls, either. Your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment as you tried to make out the now swirling letters on your keyboard. 

“Are you almost here?” You took your time rereading the text to make sure you had gotten out the right words. Satisfied, you pressed send. 

You watched your phone for a moment, staring at the screen, hoping for a quick text back. You just wanted to be near him so badly. You came to the conclusion that he must be on his way if he wasn’t responding. Seemingly resigning, you dropped your phone in your bag again. 

As you reached beside you for your cup, it was picked up before you had the chance to grab it. 

Your heart sank as you turned to face the man who was now holding your drink hostage. Scotty towered above you. You watched in disgust as he quickly finished the rest of your drink. 

Even in your now almost drunken state, you wanted to be away from him as quickly as possible. As you turned to walk away, his hand rapidly planted itself on the wall beside your head. You watched with disdain as he threw the now empty cup over his back and placed his other hand on your shoulder. 

His grip was bruising as you tried to shrug him off of you. 

“Hey, where are you trying to run off to? We can be friends, right?” He smelt like liquor, his eyes could hardly focus on you. 

You shivered as he stumbled forward, planting a knee between your thighs, effectively pinning you to the wall. 

You shook your head, looking around for anyone else close by that could step in and help you. It was just the two of you alone on the porch. From what you could tell, no one was paying any attention at all from the lawn below. 

You brought your hands up on his chest, pushing him with all your strength. Your head felt so dizzy, he barely moved an inch. Your body was effectively working against you. You instantly regretted coming to this party, drinking, all of it. You could hardly even find the strength to use your voice.  

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you want me, too; showing up here looking like this tonight. I’m glad you ditched that loser you’ve been seeing.” He brought his head down closer to yours.

The blood under the surface of your skin boiled. Without giving it any thought, you leaned in closer, spitting in his face. 

“Get the fuck off of me.” Your words were more slurred than you had imagined they would be. 

A satisfied smile graced your lips as you watched him stumble back, wiping at his face. 

The proud expression you held quickly transformed into terror as you watched Anderson’s line-of-sight turn dark, filled with rage. 

You barely had time to process what was going on before he stepped back closer to you. You could feel his sickly hot breath on your skin. He closed the distance so quickly. This time, his aggression was not hidden behind the sly mask he wore only moments ago. 

He wouldn’t really hurt you, would he? 

Your question was devastatingly answered as he stepped back half a step, raising his arm to swing. An absolutely evil look showed in his eyes. You wouldn’t have been able to slip past him in time to escape. 

You dropped nearly to your knees, shielding your face with your forearms. 

The entire world seemed to slow and stop around you. It was only you, your back against the wall, your heart pounding in your throat. 

You tensed your entire body, bracing for the impact you were sure was to come. 

Suddenly you were just a child, on your bedroom floor, your father smacking you around as he verbally tore into you. 

You couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes. 

Abruptly, you felt a heavy thud in front of you, pulling you from your thoughts. You jumped, the deafening buzz in your ears subsided as you recognized a familiar voice. 

You peeked over your arms. Scotty never got the chance to make contact with you. 

“I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.” The sound of a fist connecting with the hard bone of a lower jaw rang out around you. 

It was Charlie. 

He was standing over Anderson’s barely conscious body. His left fist was hooked into the collar of his shirt, while his right swung back to let into him again and again. 

Your eyes widened in shock. The sound of Scotty choking back on his own blood urged you to your feet. 

By now, people from the lawn and the thrown-open back door were filing onto the patio. The shocked whispers of those around you fell on deaf ears. 

You reached forward, wrapping your arms around Charlie’s arm that held Anderson in place. 

You pulled with all your strength, working on pure adrenaline. “Stop, Charlie, please. You’ve got him. It’s okay, I’m okay.” 

He slacked at the sound of your words, straightening up to grab you in his arms. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, or maybe it was just your own that you were feeling. 

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here sooner. I’m so sorry.” He said over and over again. His hands worked themselves comfortingly up and down your back. 

You nodded, painfully pulling yourself away from him for a moment. There were now a few people surrounding Scotty, trying to pull him up from the ground. You could feel the questioning and shocked eyes on you and Charlie from the small crowd that had formed. 

“Please, please, can we just leave?” You gasped out. 

Charlie nodded, looking you over. His arms draped over your shoulder, pulling you into him. He skillfully and carefully moved you through the crowds and out of the house. 

You shivered and stumbled out into the street. Charlie was quick to steady you. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it gently over your shoulders. The tears were steadily streaming down your face and onto your chest. 

Once at your car, you messed around in your purse, digging for your keys. 

“Here baby, please, let me drive you home.” Charlie reached for your purse and walked around with you to the passenger side. He opened the door for you, waiting until you were in comfortably before closing the car door slowly. He was quick to find your keys and turn over the engine.

The car was silent. You were both unsure of what to say. 

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie spoke just above a whisper. You looked over at him. His knuckles, from what you could tell, were white as he gripped the steering wheel. A thick layer of blood had dried across his right hand. 

You shivered again at the thought of what had happened just moments before. You honestly would’ve never believed Charlie had that kind of physical strength in him. To drop a man, who was objectively much bigger than nearly everyone was, to the ground- it was just so- 

You looked up to meet his eyes. “Please don’t be sorry. If you hadn’t come when you had, hadn’t done what you had done to protect me- I’m sorry that you even had to get involved.” 

He sighed, reaching to rest one of his warm hands on your bare upper thigh. “Don’t apologize to me. It should’ve never been able to get to that point.” 

You put your hand over his as gently as possible, carefully avoiding his knuckles that were already beginning to swell. 

How could this have all happened? How could you put yourself in this position? You tried to will away the dark thoughts that were telling you that this was in any way your fault. You truly couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, though. What if Charlie got into any trouble because of this? What if Anderson pressed charges or tried to get back at Charlie or you in some horrible way? Were you both in any danger now? No one stood up to men like Anderson and his group.  

And if Charlie hadn’t gotten there when he had-? How was it possible for him to always be there in the moments you needed him? And how was he able to do what he did? It was all just so unbelievable. You had seen a side of Charlie tonight you would’ve never imagined you’d see. The venom in his voice, the strength, the quick brutality of actions- 

This entire situation sobered you up rapidly. You dropped your head in your hands, willing away the tears. You hadn’t even realized you were beginning to hyperventilate until you felt Charlie’s hand tighten around you, urging you out of your own thoughts.

You could feel him steal small glances of you as you stared out the passenger window. 

“I’m sorry, I’m okay.” You said, your voice raspy and broken. You sat up straight, wiping away the last of your tears. You had to be stronger than this, it was going to be okay, it had to be. 

“Don’t say sorry anymore, please.” Charlie looked over to meet your eyes.

The hand he held on your thigh came up to rest in the mess of your hair. He moved his fingers, carefully working to comfort you. 

Your eyes fluttered back as you relaxed into him. 

As long as you were with him, it would be okay. You would work it out together. 

Charlie’s hand dropped back into your lap as your breaths evened out a bit more. His fingers traced steady circles on your upper thighs, just above the silk of your dress. 

You carefully shrugged out of his coat; it was just getting so warm. You went to reach for the dial that adjusted your AC, only to find it had been shut off this entire time. 

You felt your face flush as you dropped your hand back in your lap. 

“You know, I’m glad I waited to see that dress on you in person.” Charlie gave you a smile, trying his best to reassure you, relieve any of the tension that still drilled into your nerves. “You really do look beautiful. I mean- you always do, I-“ 

You let out a sigh that nearly resembled a real laugh, sinking further into your seat. Your head fell to rest on his arm. 

“Thank you, Charlie.” Your heart swelled as you looked up at him. The features of his face lit up so perfectly under the dim street lighting. You wished you could capture this image and keep it forever. You hadn’t even noticed that you were now parked in front of your house. 

He was just so beautiful, kept you safe. You knew, in his own way, he absolutely adored you. He was absolutely everything to you. You would do anything, if it brought him any sort of peace. 

Your smile widened as he looked down at you. 

He gently moved the hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. 

“What’s going on, babe?” His brow furrowed a bit as he tried to find the cause of the tears that had begun to well in your eyes again. 

You never wanted to be away from him. You just hoped he understood how deeply you cared for him, how much you needed him. How much you lo- “I love you.” The words spilled mindlessly out of you. 

He immediately tensed beside you. Had you actually said that out loud? 

He was quick, carefully wrapping his hands on either side of your face, pulling you close to look at him. He studied your face for any hint of sincerity. 

Had you been sincere? Yes, you resigned yourself. You really did love him. Whatever love meant to you, it filled your heart just for him. 

“Do you mean that?” His voice was so low. 

You nodded. “Yes Charlie, I just love you. I mean it.” 

His lips were on yours before he could give himself another moment to process it all. 

You melted into him, matching his fervent need. 

“I love you, too.” He spoke against your lips. The tears finally began to fall again. After all the terrible things that had happened to you in life, if you had to experience them all over again, just to stay in this moment with him like this for a moment longer, you’d choose to go through it in a heartbeat.

He worked quickly, picking you up over the center console and helping you over his lap. 

You needed more of him, impossibly more. 

His grip around you was nearly suffocating. You just wanted more. All the terrible things that had happened that night seemingly melted away while in his arms. 

He pulled away for a moment. His gaze was full of wonderment and adoration as he looked up at you. He made you feel so beautiful. 

“I’ll pray every night, just to thank whoever brought you into my life.” He spoke just above a whisper. He traced kisses softly against your chest and neck, marking a careful path back to your lips. 

You sighed, arching further into him. Your hands worked through his beautiful hair. 

You weren’t sure how long you both stayed like this. You could’ve stayed in this moment, just in his arms forever, as far as you were concerned. However, the sudden light from your porch sent you both back into your original seats. 

You looked over, eyes falling on Irina, who now stood in the open doorway wearing her robe. Her arms were crossed lazily in front of her chest. 

You groaned quietly, dropping your head into your hands.

You peaked over at Charlie, who was clearing his throat and clumsily adjusting the waistband of his pants. 

You gave him a smile before letting out a real, heartfelt laugh. You wished you could’ve just invited him, climbed into bed, into his arms-

He stepped out of the car quickly, flashing a smile toward you. You hoped he didn’t feel any shame about seemingly being ‘caught’ by your aunt. You knew she wouldn’t care, was just being nosy as usual. You made a glaring mental note to give her the rundown on the escalation of your relationship with Charlie. How could you have not said anything about it to her sooner? 

Charlie made his way over to your side of the car and popped open the door. He held out a hand, helping you out of your seat.

Once your feet hit the pavement, you threw your arms around him again. “I’ll see you again soon. Are you sure you’re okay to walk home?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” He smiled down at you. 

You kissed him quickly. “You know I always will.” 

“I know. I love you for it.” He replied softly. 

He stepped away, turning to face your aunt. “I’m sorry, just wanted to make sure she made it home safely.” 

Your aunt nodded, “Uh huh.” She couldn’t hide her wide, knowing smile. “Good to see you again, Walker. Have a goodnight.” 

You tried your best to keep your cool as you made your way up the porch steps. Turning back once to wave goodbye to Charlie. 

Irina eyed you over as you both entered the entryway. You knew she must be dying to hear all the details from the night. 

You honestly wouldn’t have the first clue where to start. You curbed her line of questioning before she had the chance to begin. 

“I’ll tell you all about my night tomorrow. I promise, I am just exhausted.” You made your way up the staircase, turning once over your shoulder to face her again. “Thank you for everything tonight, I love you.” 

You could tell Irina was trying her best to hide her slight disappointment, “Okay honey, get some good rest. I love you, too.”

You slipped out of your clothing and heels, running through your nightly routine as quickly as you could before dropping into bed. 

You’d process the entire interaction with Anderson another time. Quite frankly, you believed he deserved to get his teeth knocked in much, much sooner. You were just thankful that Charlie was the one who had stepped in. A sick sense of pride washed over you at the thought.  

For now, you could sleep peacefully knowing that Charlie Walker loved you, too.