Asylum Meme

[waitingforsin]

Meme, Interrupted





"People ask, How did you get in there? What they really want to know is if they are likely to end up in there as well. I can't answer the real question. All I can tell them is, It's easy."


Well, you've really done it now. You're in a mental institution. Maybe it's a modern facility with a therapy garden, compassionate staff members, and a warm environment meant to help nurse people back to health, or maybe it's a glorified dungeon where the government shoves people they don't want to deal with and patients are abused by staff. Regardless of what it is, you're there, and it doesn't look like they're planning on letting you out any time soon.

Maybe you're actually not supposed to be there and you're trying to arrange for your release. Maybe you actually are meant to be there and you're struggling with your illness. Maybe you're not a patient at all and you're just there to visit or earn your paycheck. It's up to you.

Rules:

1. Post with your character's name, canon, and your preferences on the subject bar, and set up the situation.
2. Tag other people. Are you a visitor? A staff member? A fellow patient? A hallucination? It's your choice.
3. Have fun!

Comments

abraham lincoln {abraham lincoln: vampire hunter}

[1865]

[He wasn't crazy. Abe knew for a fact that a plague had descended upon America and that he was the one that was going to heal the nation. How else did his mother die if not by a vampire?]

((ooc; modern au also available; deets here.))

Irene Adler || BBC Sherlock || Open to all options

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Irene Alder had been a lot of things, with 'dominatrix' being the most memorable and 'dead' being the most recent. Until now, 'mental patient' hadn't been one of them. But it had been a necessary disguise, and she had taken as many steps as possible to ensure her discharge from the asylum would come in a week's time. And if it doesn't... well there was always escape.

For the moment though, she is extremely irritable at the amount of restrictions placed on her. The polish that had been stripped from her fingernails, same nails cut short to prevent clawing at nurses. Even her hair had been forced out of its usual coif lest the pins be used for self-harm or to stab an orderly. It fell down her back and added to her irritation.

But, she reminds herself, it is a necessity, to play the mentally unbalanced fool to keep the arms dealer who had sniffed out her existence unaware of who he'd actually found. It doesn't help her boredom though, as she continues a half-hearted game of chess against herself.]

[oracle_knows]

"Kings knight to queen's bishop's fifth." Barbara's first words after entering the room. Given the position the chess board was in it was an extremely aggressive move, leaving both Queen and Rook apparently vulnerable - not that either could be taken safely.

But the most notable thing was she'd offered that move from half way across the room with just a glance at the board. And her eyes were on Irene's, assessing. From her dress she was a visitor - and not one intended for Irene. But had poked her head round the door.

the eleventh doctor | doctor who

[aintno_grave]

[He's not sure how long he's been trapped here. A day? A week? A year? It feels like a lifetime to him in this padded, white room.

They tell him that everything -- the TARDIS, Gallifrey, his eleven past lives -- isn't true. That it's all a lie. One he made up after the tragic death of his family. He denies it, of course -- what else? -- stating that what they're saying is the lie. They nod at that, with false smiles and empty reassurances. Oh that just infuriates him, so he heatedly yells at them to check the cupboard for a blue police box, to check his pockets for his sonic screwdriver, to listen for his two heartbeats.

They don't believe him, of course, saying that he had convinced himself that it was the truth. That he's still recovering from the nervous breakdown, but he'd see the truth soon enough and then he can finally heal (which is their way of saying that he's a daft old man "so shut up and allow us to half-ass our jobs"). Though he's a pacifist, he almost attacks one of the orderlies for that little comment.

That's how he ends up in this room.

Well... at least, he thinks it is. Honestly, he's not entirely sure how long ago that session was, but for whatever he did to end up here, they damn well deserved it. He stopped yelling some time ago and, currently, he's sitting against a wall, mind slowly whirling with dim activity. There's a chance, a real possibility they gave him medication.

Not a hundred percent sure on that one. He'll get back to you, Alex Trebek.

He's dressed in white scrubs (not his customary tweed jacket, bowtie, and stupid hat), he's got bags under his eyes, and he's feeling every one of the thousand plus years he may or may not have lived. He gives an strange effect of being a child, lost in a strange town, without adult care. Letting out a determined, irritated huff, he wills his mind to fight back the medication, to not give in to this utter nonsense. But, he can feel his eyelids drooping and he knows that any minute now he'll be off to dreamland with rainbow farting unicorns.

He can't help but bark out a soft, bitter laugh at his predicament. Perhaps his greatest enemy isn't the Daleks or Cyberman or his own kind; perhaps his greatest enemy is the very species he's sworn to protect. Homo sapiens sapiens, or, humans; the very species that he will and has given his life for.

He sighs. There's an odd silence everywhere, even in the other rooms; it's as if the whole world had tactfully turned away to avoid seeing him die. But, this is worse than death; at least there's ugliness is death. This is even worse than being gobbled up by the tear in time and space. This is like... watching a stature, after centuries of weather, erosion, and turmoil, fall to pieces.

He begins to weep. Not for anyone or anything. He wants what he was used to; he wants the old world back.]

((ooc; I'm actually afraid this is how the show will end ;; ))

[times_new_roman]

It had taken him six months to realise what had happened. And another two to get transferred to this hospital. But honestly, mental health hospitals would take all the nurses they could get, asking as few questions as possible. But this was only a guess. The best they had.

Rory walked down the corridor, whistling. And his whistling alternated two separate tunes. The first was discordant, off key, and only intermittant. The second was low, rhythmic, and repetative. Dah dah dah dum. Dah dah dah dum.

Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf | OTA

[oral_fixation]

[Stiles isn't crazy, damn it.

He isn't.

At least, he thinks he isn't.

Which is really just a sign that he is crazy, isn't it?

Damn it, he is always bad with circular logic.

The thing that keeps putting the doubt in his brain, really, is the fact that he has been in this institution for two weeks...and he hasn't been released. His dad hasn't suddenly come here, spouting how wrong he was, and that he would believe Stiles a lot more often, now.

Scott hasn't shown up, to say that he was sorry for taking so long, that he should have just shown his dad the truth immediately.

But no.

Two weeks, and nothing. Which means that Scott hasn't revealed that Stiles was indeed telling the truth when he told his dad that werewolves, hunters, kanimas--they were all real. They were all real and were all attempting to kill him or his friends (or each other) at various times during the past two years.

His dad had given him a strange look, squeezed his arm gently, and told him that tomorrow everything would be okay.

He woke up to the doctors in the house, and after a struggle, found himself drugged and put into a car...and driven here.

That was two weeks ago.

Two weeks of Stiles struggling to find a way to escape (so far he's attempted three times, almost succdeeding on the last before tripping over his own two feet and breaking his wrist, giving the orderlies enough time to grab him).

Two weeks of him doubting himself, wondering why his friends have abandoned him. He could get why the Argents might lie to his dad, tell them he is crazy. But Scott, Allison? Hell even Derekwell scratch that, he probably would have sold Stiles up the river to keep his pack safe--abandon the weakest of the pack to save the rest...

...he just didn't understand what he had done to get them not to come for him.

Which again led him back to the idea that maybe he really is crazy. That he has made it all up in his head--the act of one over active imagination finally cracking under pressure, making up something so that he could be part of something amazing.

That is why no one was coming for him.

Because there is no one to come. Just friends who now think he's insane, and a father who has lost a wife and now a son.

Stiles muses on this as he stared out the window on the second floor common room, fingers beating out a rythmn on the cast on his left wrist.]

[neverfrowns]

Lydia wonders in with a vacant look in her eyes. She looked exactly like the town's crazy person. Her title, which she tried to ignore had qualified her to help with the Stiles breakout. It had been easy for her to get admitted. She knew all the answers that would put her here without having to mention a single one of her nightmares or that horrible burnt body.

She jerked involuntarily at the thought and shuddered. No, she wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't in her mind. She was is in complete control. Her hands are trembling as she joins Stiles at the window.

"Stiles," she says without looking at him.

Amy Pond | Doctor Who

[waitedlongenough]

[No matter what they gave her, no matter what those doctors said, Amelia Pond would always say there were stars out there. She'd seen them, she'd been there. She wasn't crazy. It was another life in another universe, but those beautiful balls of light were there, somewhere.

Most of her nights were spent looking up at the dark, bleak night. There were no stars. That was what they told her.]

[ilovethatnoise]

[Of course there are stars out there! And planets and universes and aliens. There are even mad men with blue boxes.

There's a new doctor walking into her room tonight. He's got a white coat, a bow tie and if he looks a bit young, well he walks around like he owns the place. Be surprised how far that'll get you. He's even got a clipboard. Very official looking.]

Come along then, Pond. Let's talk about these stars.

[wink]

Katniss Everdeen | The Hunger Games

[ofarrowhead]

[She spent most days quiet now. After killing Coin, this is what they made her do. Enough medicine to keep her from reacting. But she was hollow inside anyway. Coin had taken Prim away as much as Snow had. Coin had changed Gale. She wasn't sorry for it. She didn't resist. She just was.

She didn't talk to anyone. There was nothing to say. She just existed in the concrete building like a ghost, a reminder of what had happened. The people of Panem were free, but at the cost of so much.

There wasn't much therapy, no matter how much they tried to rehabilitate her. She sat quietly, no emotion on her face. There was nothing behind her eyes. Maybe it was what they drugged her with, but she felt nothing even when she was without.]

Re: Katniss Everdeen | The Hunger Games

[anniesgonemad]

Katniss? [It's obvious why Annie's here. A few months pregnant, she has yet to accept, let alone understand the death of her husband. She lashes out at the doctors, confusion coloring her face every time they mention that Finnick Odair is dead, that she's pregnant. She isn't eating, she's hardly speaking, she's, much like Katniss, sitting. But today, she wants to talk to her friend-- they're friends, in her head-- to help her.]

[That, and the doctors are cruel to her, keeping her sedated, and maybe, just maybe, Katniss can help her make them stop. She hates Capitol doctors. Ever since her Games, they've brought her nothing but pain.] Katniss, it's me. Annie.

[She sits down across from her, reaching out to take a hand.] You're here, too.

Loki Odinson / MCU human AU, details on profile / OTA

[blots]

[ Every night, he dreams of Ragnarok. He dreams of the sounds of war: voices rubbed raw, metal clashing like bright sparks of sound. He dreams of blood and satisfaction and terror and lust.

And when he opens his eyes, the dreams fade to tangling spiderwebs, clinging to his thoughts, dissolving but never disappearing. He curls next to the window, eyes out on the grounds thick with trees, and he compares the father of his memories with the one-eyed warrior of his dreams, imagines his brother with a hammer in hand, his mother in gowns of the finest silks.

Every once in a while, they consider discharging him. The latest time, he stole a pocketknife from a disobedient orderly and threw it. Weighted wrong, but he still managed to slash the upper arm of his therapist. Violence kept him in longer, and he ignored the disappointed weight of Odin's stare as he was taken away, locked in a quiet room by himself.

Does he believe it? That he is the true God of Mischief, trapped in a prison of flesh and weakness? Most of the time, no. But in those hysterical moments, in the instants after his dreams -- then, yes. When his thoughts wander in whirling patterns, he thinks perhaps he truly is insane. Other times, he brags that he is merely indulging in fantasy, as though saying it would make it true.

Overall, he is manipulative, cruel to the others with him. He isolates himself. And he rarely tells anything resembling the truth. ]




[ooc: my apologies for threads I've dropped lately; was moving between apartments and pretty much died last couple weeks. If you want me to pick up anything, PM me and let me know.]

adopting my AU slightly to fit yours

[hisou]

[ Hogun had run so far from the life that made no sense to him. He fled halfway around the world looking for something, anything familiar. He should have kept his mouth shut about the dreams, about the gaps in his memory as wide as the ocean he crossed to find himself here.

He plays nice for the doctors and the clinicians who tend to him, but he's learned his lesson now, and he doesn't tell them a thing. He won't admit his nightmarish delusions are only a fantasy. He can't.

And still, he's all but given up on ever getting answers. He avoids the company of the other patients, only leaving his assigned room for meals and private appointments with his doctors. Every day the same routine. Every day spent alone in silence. Until one day the nurses call an alert, another patient acting out in violence. Curious, Hogun goes to investigate. ]

Jessica Hamby | True Blood

[notevenagirl]

[It had all been a hallucination. A way to retaliate from her father's abuse. She'd snapped and killed him one day. Vivid hallucinations of violence and blood, of a power she never had before. She'd come to crave that power that she only had then.

This was the hardest part. She'd touch her teeth often and burst into a fit. She knew it was true. What had they done to her? She'd attack orderlies and was often drugged and tied down.

But those were the bad days. She wasn't always violent and threatening. She could be soft, kind. She was even helpful on the days she wasn't attacking people. She would be friendly. Most of the residents knew how she could be, but she liked dancing and having fun. She spent a lot of time in the community room.]

[creamyice]

[He would have laughed if it wasn't for the fact that he was stuck in this place. The whole situation was ridiculous.

The doctors thought that he was Shingo and that his identity as Ankh was created trough some kind of trauma. Well they was almost right. It was only that he, Ankh truly was another person as he claimed. Or person might be the wrong term. He was a Greeed or in more simple words a monster. Shingo, the person he used as his host would die if he left. If it wasn't for that he would be gone from here.

He was now siting on a chair with a grumpy expression on his face and looked over at the others that was stuck here as well.]

peter parker | the amazing spider-man

[parkours]

[ He's not crazy, Peter wants to say, but they locked him up after the Daily Bugle kept insisting, after passerby mistook him as a threat despite the fact that the pair of children he saved were alive and safe, and the monster that came after them had fled the vicinity. He could have gone after it, could have been able to stop the threat that lurked, but all the police department seemed inclined to do was put two and two together: a monster that kills and encases its victims in spider threads, and a high school boy masquerading as Spider-Man.

They learned after the last time, when Captain Stacy had caught him, Peter's face completely exposed to the world at large, and this time they were better, faster, even. Cuffed and bound, his mask gone and the world knew him as Peter Parker, shipped off to New York's finest mental institution awaiting for trial. Because that's what he was, that's what the city would whisper in the days following, that he was a freak, he was delusional, psychotic, a threat to the city he swore to protect, and to an uncle and aunt, to his parents, still missing.

He paced awkwardly in the momentary free time offered him, clenching his hands every so often to retain a bit of self, to keep himself moving, and alive. Peter's senses were numbed by the constant influx of drugs, and he could recite the names, knew the effects, and knew that if he were to get out of here, it would not be through his abilities; it would be through his mind and through the hopes that someone might realize he's not a danger. ]

[spookshow_baby]

[Vera Ellen was a veteran, had been in the asylum for years. Too many to bother counting, too long without her Firefly family. Where Parker was one of the few who shouldn't be here, someone who was wrongly labeled insane, Baby was not. She had been part of murders and missing person cases in the double digits without regret. At times, she still bragged, though without the fear factor, it became dull. She badly missed her family, Otis the most, but if her memories were true and not the things from nightmares and the side-effects of drugs, then they were all dead. Probably for the better, too, for she wished this on none of them. This hell, this cage.

Today was a day without the straight jacket, her good behavior earning her the privilege to join the others during their free period. She had been watching Peter pace for the last fifteen minutes or so, wearing what used to pass for her innocent smile in the outside world, body still save for her eyes. He intrigued her. The stories that swirled around him were interesting, things of masks and spiders. If any of it were true, Baby wondered if he was villain or hero, knowing only what the staff and patients uttered. Otis would have loved to turn him into a real-life Spider-man, another grotesque display for Captain Spaulding's attraction.

For now, the blonde said nothing. Simply observed.]

clint barton | the avengers

[limitations]

[ Clint's here on behalf of SHIELD, bypassing the rules and regulations with a flash of a badge he rarely uses in his life, because he's never anywhere on his own, just part of a large enough contingent that uses their own authority to break in. This time he's on his own, under Fury's orders, delegated down to Coulson, who decided Clint could handle this on his own. It's not his usual sort of job, because reconnaissance and recruiting is usually left up to Natasha, while he just watches.

He'd do that now, just watching if at all possible, but that kind of situation isn't at all possible when there are nurses everywhere and Clint has never been fond of overly white clothing. Too easily visible, too much given away and he can tell just from the sparse few moments he's been in here, that any chance he has of even infiltrating as a potential patient would barely be successful. He's here to keep an eye on a certain someone, and whether or not that happens, remains to be seen. ]

[edducated]

You're not crazy.

[ Scrawny guy, too much energy. Sits himself right down next to Barton, and fixes his eyes on him. ]

Look at you. All brawn, little bit of brains but I'm sure the ... Army? Trained that right out of you. If you'd snapped, you'd be in a place with more bars, more guards with better weapons, and way higher security.

Are you a spy?

[ That would be cool. It would be cool if Eddie found a spy. Probably something more mundane, uninteresting enough to make his little cerebral display completely irrelevant. People have no appreciation for brains these days. ]

the doctor donna | doctor who

[oodsingsof]

[Figures this is how they'd repay the woman who saved all of reality. No thank yous, no congratulations, nu-uh, no sign of appreciation at all. Just a pitying look and a kick to the behind into a white room.]

Re: the doctor donna | doctor who

[times_new_roman]

As if Rory was going to leave someone there who didn't belong. Only Amy knew why although he was running a busy A&E he took bank shifts at most of the mental hospitals in London. Walking down the corridor, humming, and seeing who he found. And what he could do about them. Donna was a possible, and Rory opened the door to her cell. "Ms. Noble? How has everything been today?"

Britta Perry | Community

[britta_ftw]

[Surprise, surprise. It turns out that psychiatrist really was telling the truth. She had just been released from Greendale Mental Hospital for... whatever it was that happened to her in Africa. Of course, after hanging around her same therapy group in the real world, was just going to make her snap again. So, Britta's back in here, pretending to play paintball and dancing the twist on the table with Leonard.]

Terra Branford | FFVI | OTA

[learn_to_love]

[Why is she here? Why? There's no reason for this. She's good, she was learning, and they'd saved the world.

Hadn't they?

She's so sure--it was so real. But here, they tell her things, make her reconsider if just for an instant. They give her something and it leaves her...

Empty.

Like she'd been. Like she thought she'd been? But isn't that just further proof? She can't use her magic or morph because it's all gone now, can't they see? There's no way she could possibly prove any of it. Espers are gone and magic with them.

They'd saved the world, that's why it isn't...

Right? Isn't that right?

She panics here, more than she'd ever panicked in her life. Something they give her plays with her head, and other things make it so hard to feel when emotions are so, so important and she knows she can feel them because she'd understood... the kids... Locke and the others...

Days. Weeks. Hours. Months. A fortnight. A year? She doesn't know, anymore. Too empty, all of it. Locked inside her head and useless. Enslaved again.

Trauma, someone whispers. Paranoid schizophrenia, another. More words she doesn't know are murmured around her, like they're trying to find some fitting way to explain her away. She knows what trauma is and yes, she agrees with it to an extent, but... She isn't broken by it. Not the way these people imply. How could she be? She's too strong for that, and so they medicate her when she finds the strength to object.

In here, she feels broken. She feels so empty it's almost intolerable. This is worse than having her will suppressed and not knowing how to be human. She's deprived of that--something she knows and struggled to reach--by something they're feeding her, and her thoughts drift to that man. Poor, pitiful man with so much anger and hate for the world around him. At least he had nothing more to worry about. She can sort of understand like this, but it isn't unnatural magic making her life so difficult to handle. She isn't manic like that.

And she hates thinking she could end up like Kefka.

She screams again like she does sometimes, just to see if she can fight past the weight of drugs, but it's all so heavy... She needs to figure out how to hide them, she decides. To fake it. To spit the pills out or keep from swallowing or something.

She can't take this anymore.]

Ai Enma | Hell Girl

[timetodie]

[They'd been trying to pinpoint what was wrong with her for months now and still they were no closer to breaking that emotionless stare, that monotone voice that only one truly practised in suppressing their feelings could manage. But while they dismissed her claims of what she did, writing her off as just a disturbed child, they would never tap into the truth of Ai Enma.

Some days she merely sat and stared. Other times she'd fashion dolls out of whatever she could get her hands on, giving whispered commands for them to transform that never did what they were supposed to. Every now and again she'd find some new pastime that would keep her occupied for a while, until the novelty wore off.

Perhaps today would bring something new. Perhaps today someone would believe her. Or perhaps today would be another monotonous day blurring into the countless that passed before it and would pass after it]

[ofmoonlight]

[Nearby, a voice spoke in a quiet, gentle way. Like wind from an unknown source. In the room next to hers was a Pokemon, trapped and restrained, his Psychic energy all but completely blocked. It was only with extreme patience and focus that he communicate. It would be a miracle at all if this one even responded to him without thinking him a hallucination.]

Can you hear me...?

wichita ° zombieland

[cons]

[ they were sick. they were. so, so angry, tried to hurt her sister, tried to tear her apart, make her like them. she's not sure how she knew, she just did. saw it in their eyes, the way they walked. it's why she loaded her father's rifle, fired two shots into their chests, each. their parents' chests. but they weren't their parents anymore, not by then. they were sick! angry, hungry zombies. nobody believes her. why doesn't anyone believe her?!

it's why she's trapped here, she knows. they keep her locked away because they don't see what she sees. don't see the rage in certain people's eyes, the hunger. terrifying hunger. they don't understand why she's so scared, bitter, untrusting.

they say she has a visitor but she already knows it's not her sister, never will be her sister, so she doesn't care. doesn't say a word until she's being guided to sit down at a table in the visitor's lounge, dressed in scrubs with her hair loose around her face, bangs in her eyes. ]

What, you're not gonna dose me up first, doc? [ he's already walking away but she watches him go ] Wouldn't want me spreading my crazy, would you??

[bitchlamped]

[ let's get one thing straight here, so there aren't any misconceptions or illusions. no false sentiments or ideas. Damon Salvatore isn't a hero. he's no messiah. not a martyr, or a savior by choice or circumstance. he's not any of the things people build themselves up to be in their heads so that they can sleep sounder in their beds at night. he's a guy. just a guy that can kill people for a hundred some odd years without getting caught. and there's war beginning (behind the media, under careful wraps) against those who know and are and those who don't and aren't. cases of cannibalism throughout the world and because it isn't widespread, isn't picking up like a wildfire it isn't real. it's drugs. kids and their crazy drugs.

(damn that rap music.)

but the other thing is, you see, that there are people who are crazy and there are people who aren't.

Stefan, Damon and Elena, Ric- the whole gang, even Caroline and the witch are involved. hitting hospitals and jails around the country, finding out the truth. their lives have gotten more dangerous than they've ever been and they can't stay in one place. that's not on the table; he wonders if it ever truly was on darker days but that isn't here and it isn't now, where he's sitting at a table and pointedly making a display of ignoring the verbal confrontation with the departing doctor. he hears every word without trying to, he'd hear it without his superb hearing. ] Contrary to popular belief, it's not actually contagious. Not like that, anyway. Believe me if it was as easy as they make contact high sound, we'd have a lot more murderers. [ Damon. ] A lot less let's talk this out and a little more ax through the bedroom door if you know what I mean.

Cassie Ainsworth | Skins

[fairyonacid]

[Admitted again. Cassie wasn't eating again. Days, weeks at a time. So she was back in hospital again. She traded food for cigarettes and drugs. She liked the way it made her feel. No one bothered her here. The world simply went on, and she was content.]

Eddie Nigma/The Riddler / AU / DC

[edducated]

[ A deeply infuriating patient who always has to prove he's the smartest guy in the room. And likely he's in Arkham Asylum. ]

[control_issues]

[She's in a motel room for three days before anyone thinks to place a call. Dani doesn't remember much -- needles, and a threadbare carpet. Fingernails, and the impression that she should be sad. A hole in her chest when the door finally opened and flies rushed out of it.

If Karen had found her first, it would have been a drug problem. But it was one of her father's friends, so it's a nervous breakdown.

The clinic is beautiful, clean, and on the other part of the country. She writes letters in the morning and goes running in the afternoon. In the evening, she chews her fingernails down to nubs and pulls out her hair, leaving long strands of it on other patient's pillows, like mark. It's a nightly ritual that security has taken to ignoring.

It's a nightly ritual that will give Dani enough of a window to escape.]

Babydoll | Sucker Punch

[coping]

[She was going to be lobotomized. It was inevitable now. She'd caused to much trouble. She had hurt an orderly, caused a fire and killed her little sister. Nothing had changed in the time she'd spent in the asylum. But someone has escaped, gotten out. That was what mattered.]

Alice Liddell || American McGee's Alice/Madness Returns || OTA

[shattered_looking_glass]

{flashback au, I suppose? alice has a history with asylums.}

ginny weasley | hp

[hexuality]

[Appearance is everything and for all that one can see and observe, Ginny Weasley is a perfectly ordinary young woman. One might wonder what she's doing in a place like this at all, because surely a broad grin, bright laugh, or the more than occasional cheeky remarks aren't enough to warrant being taken in and looked after like this? (Though some might argue that, yes, her cheeky remarks are more than enough reason, but those people didn't have a sense of humor in her opinion.) But everyone has a story, and so does she, and if asked, it'll come out in bits and pieces, darker than the smiling face and flaming hair might suggest—she'll talk about a war, she'll talk about fighting in it, she'll talk about a lost brother and the only man (he'd been seventeen, barely a man at all) she could have loved.

Could have, she'll never know if she truly did, they didn't have enough time together at all to really know.

The losses had been the breaking point. It was nightmares, first, but there were always nightmares and one day she said that Tom Riddle was in her head (again). He still whispers to her in the night and she fights it, but sometimes she wakes up standing in a hallway and doesn't know how she got there or what she was doing; they made sure her door was locked and watched after that. She can't remember things, sometimes. She'd tried to kill the roosters at home (and she'd woken up with her hands reaching for her brother's neck in the dark) and she asked to be brought here instead of being dragged. She claims to be possessed. But then again, she also claims to be a witch, that magic exists. And who would believe a thing like that?]

[toseektofind]

[He isn't sure how long it's been since it happened. The cemetery, the flash of green light, the blackness. It might have been days, it might have been years. Time is caught in a sort of eternal twilight, and Cedric is aware that the sun is rising and setting, but none of it feels real to him. He feels like there's a screen between him and the rest of the world, one that he could break if he punches it hard enough - but he can never gather the momentum.

He isn't sure, either, how he ended up here, in this stark white Muggle facility with its bright lights and barred windows. He felt drawn here, like a moth to a flame. He guesses maybe he felt drawn to her, the spark of magic amongst all the Muggles. It had been so long since he'd felt it.

Usually he sits, quietly, in the corner until she notices him. (He's never there while she's changing.) It's nice just to see her, to hear that familiar hum of magical energy, even if she doesn't talk to him (because someone is there, because she doesn't want to acknowledge him, maybe because he's not there). Sometimes he thinks he's half in love with her, but he doesn't know if that's because of her, or because he's so lonely.

So he sits, and he waits, and he wishes he could punch through the screen and hold her hand.]

Annie Cresta | The Hunger Games

[anniesgonemad]

[Of course she was here. After the death of her husband, Annie refused to accept it. She'd shut down, refusing to eat, hardly speaking. She didn't even know she was pregnant. The doctors wouldn't tell her, intent on getting an incompetency hearing. What mad girl was capable of raising a child on her own?]

[So here Annie was. Completely alone, left abandoned by those she'd considered her friends. They'd forgotten all about her. Just as she was sure they had.]

Emma | Supernatural

[amazonia]

[Sam had come to capture her. Enough to shackle her before she stabbed her father. Enough tranquilizer in her, she woke up in a asylum out of state. Thanks, Dad. Just what she needed. Four days old and she was alone again, not even human, and away from her pack.

Not that it mattered. Whenever she talked about it, she went off.and they drugged her again, keeping her strength low.]

peeta mellark ( the hunger games )

[bakeries]

( he doesn't know what's real and what isn't, only that everything hurts. peeta remembers being tortured - or perhaps that was only a delusion too. he seems to carry a lot of them inside of that mind of his, they tell him. he talks about the hunger games, a fight to the death in a country named panem, and a girl named katniss, a girl that he mentions more often than not.

and how do you feel about katniss?
I used to love her, peeta begins, strained and awkward in ways that he never remembers being, not before the tracker jackers and the capitol. some days I think I'd like to kill her. sometimes I wonder if she's even human.

when it gets really bad he ends up curling up on one side, gritting his teeth, biting down hard on his cracked lip because the pain grounds peeta in ways that nothing else does. when he speaks, it's always ended with a familiar refrain: real or not real? it helps to put things in lists like that. )

Re: peeta mellark ( the hunger games )

[anniesgonemad]

[Annie knows Peeta. He's here, too. Finally, she isn't alone again. She's been alone for so long. First in the Capitol, where they tortured her as the Games played out, then District 13, where they'd all left her after the rebellion. Now here. The result of her refusing to accept Finnick's death, on top of everything else. But Peeta's here. Slowly, the young woman makes her way across the hall, her bare feet hardly making a noise as her hands twist into her hair.]

Peeta? They have you here, too. [Maybe he'll remember her. Maybe not.] Or-- [She giggles, pulling at her hair.] Maybe you're not here. Another hallucination.

Rogue | X-men

[glovedtouch]

[After her powers manifested this is what they did to her. They couldn't keep her among the populus, not with how dangerous she was, and with her first boyfriend in her head. It was awful, and she could never shut his voice out. She even kept to herself. Maybe that's what she wanted. She was a hazard to others.

So Marie kept to her room, and was finally transferred to the adult ward after she was eighteen. But not much had changed, still alone. Marie kept to her room, barely venturuing out.]

charles xavier ( x-men: first class )

[psychic]

( he's heard voices ever since he was a little boy. it had begun with whispers, an odd knack for knowing exactly how people felt. but over time, his abilities got more and more powerful and in this tragic, tragic turn of events, charles xavier never learned how to control himself, never learned how to hone his powers or quiet his mind. it wears someone down, to have the constant cacophony of other people's thoughts in your head all day long with no reprieve. it pushed him a little further away from normal.

but he isn't insane, he had told them, in perfect oxford english rather than the babbling that the orderlies had been used to. please, listen to me. i'm sure there's been a sort of misunderstanding --

that had been ten years ago. or was it twenty? he can't be sure, these days. )

[hexuality]

[She's bright and conversational, certainly one of the more social patients in this place, and perhaps that's how she knows Charles, had come across him during their stay here. It had taken some time on her part, though, because he seemed so like her in some ways that it worried her—not just the accent, but the clarity of the words, the firm and gentle reasoning, but, more than all that, were the voices. But she has just the one, just Tom, cool and persuasive and murderous, completely at odds with her personality.

She'd had another episode last night, the orderlies say, trying to write on the walls of her room with her nails (always the same thing, 'her skeleton will', she only gets that far); and though she can't remember any of it (as usual), it's clear in her bandaged hands despite her smiling face as she slides into sit next to him, shoulder bumping his with fond familiarity.]

And how are we this fine morning, Charlie boy?