#(From within the insane asylum) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pathologicalreid · 3 months ago

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hysteria | s.r.

in which the BAU is called into a case in rural Appalachia when bodies start showing up in an abandoned insane asylum

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (horror?) content warnings: hanging (staged suicide), enucleation, established relationship, ghosts, insane asylum, rope burn, premonition in dreams, death, pov switches, "the green ribbon", lobotomies, abduction, corporeal vs spirit form, CPR, hospitals, painkillers, first aid word count: 8.8k a/n: hey guys i am literally not one to beg for interaction but like if you could send an ask or gimme a reblog if you liked this it would probably make my day. this fic is just an excuse for me to tell ghost stories! and just like that, margotober is over. man, it sure would be a shame if i had something planned for november!

night one

“This is a joke, right?” You asked, eyeing the rest of the team as they observed the property before you. The dilapidated building that stood in front of you was previously completely abandoned, and now you weren’t entirely sure if the yellow police line was new or if the tattered plastic was a result of a crime of the past.

It looked like one of the haunted houses that Spencer would drag you to, one with a much too high budget that would leave you feeling like you needed to scrub cobwebs from your skin. You were waiting for the sheriff to make his way up the hill that the asylum was perched on, the BAU had made it up in SUVs, but the locals elected to hoof it.

Tugging the sleeves of your FBI jacket over your hands, you tapped your heel impatiently and observed the scenery. The fall foliage was in peak season, orange and red leaves fluttered in the wind, falling from the trees until they hit the ground. To the left was the town, small and hidden within a river valley, and to the right was a field of gravestones. Each life lost in the asylum whittled down to a number, hundreds of weathered rocks marked where a body was buried. Even after all of your years with the BAU, the sight still made you sick to your stomach.

The death count on this property had gone up by twelve recently, a group of college kids had found the first body hanging from the staircase, and it seemed like a semi-routine suicide until the local cops did a full sweep of the building and found eleven other bodies, each hanging in a different room.

It wasn’t until the medical examiner looked at them that they realized they were out of their depth, the oldest of the bodies had been dead before they were hung, which told you that hanging the bodies was the intention of the killer and he was beginning to perfect his M.O. Even more than that, the last two bodies had been enucleated post-mortem.

Being grateful for the method by which a person had their eyeballs destroyed wasn’t an emotion you felt frequently, and it was an odd thing to admit to yourself as you consciously blinked.

Over the curve of the hill, you watched as a couple of locals made their appearance, each of them equipped with a flashlight. The sun was beginning to set. Emily had made the executive decision that this case couldn’t wait until morning, so you took off in the middle of the day. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Spencer’s eyes and he gave you one of his patented half-smiles before you looked back at the foreboding building.

The structure had electrical issues, leading to lights flickering all over the crumbling brick walls. The flashes were starting to play tricks on your eyes because you would’ve sworn that you saw a woman in one of the windows, in a long white dress as she looked down at you and your team.

“You must be the BAU,” the sheriff greeted once he was close enough to your group, he waved before huffing impatiently. “Sheriff Shawn Greenbaum, this here is Deputy Conrad Perkins,” he introduced himself and the man with him. You studied them, trying to gauge information about them based on appearance alone.

Emily nodded, reaching her hand out for him to shake and introducing herself before making the rounds with the rest of the team. “Agents Simmons and Lewis are already at the station getting settled, but the rest of us are interested in getting in the building and taking a look around.”

Greenbaum placed both of his hands on his hips before clearing his throat, “That’s not a problem at all. We’ve got a lock up on those front doors to try and keep people out, we’re hoping it’ll put a halt on any more crime.”

Kicking mud off of your boot, you and JJ shared a dubious look. In your line of work, where there’s a will there’s a way—a padlock would do very little to help keep your killer out of the asylum. Even so, you all followed the sheriff as he produced a key from his belt, leading the way to the front doors. They were made of rotting wood. If someone really wanted to get past the lock, they could probably kick them in.

The smell hit you before you stepped foot inside the building, the stench of mildew wafting through the air made you crinkle your nose as you closely followed JJ into the building. A gentle touch to the small of your back told you that Spencer was behind you, each of you shuffling in single file behind the sheriff.

“The first body was found hanging over there,” the deputy, Perkins pointed straight ahead toward the winding staircase. You studied the peeling wallpaper and looked at the faded signs above the different hallways, barely able to make out the words tuberculosis and adolescent as you strolled through the main lobby.

Since they’d initially assumed it was a suicide, the body had been taken down, so even though you had twelve bodies to start your profile with, you didn’t have a fresh crime scene anywhere. In fact, you’d wager a guess and say there’s nothing fresh about this building.

Cringing as you walked over a pile of wet paper, you listened to Emily as she gave everyone jobs, “Reid and I will keep talking to the sheriff, Rossi and JJ, why don’t the two of you check out this wing here with the deputy, and Luke and Y/N can take the upstairs.”

You looked up and found Luke, following him to the staircase and ducking under the noose to go up the stairs, hesitant to use the handrail as you made your way to the second floor, knowing there was plenty of building for the two of you to explore. Pulling your flashlight from your belt for additional lighting, the sight in front of you was worse than what you had seen downstairs. “Watch your step,” you said absentmindedly, bypassing a bucket filled with what you sincerely hoped was water.

“When was this place built again?” Luke asked you, knowing you had done preliminary research with Spencer on the jet. He produced his own light, slipping his cell phone from his pocket and using the flashlight function.

You checked the ceiling, wondering where the beams were and if any bodies had been found in the hallways, “The 1860s,” you responded, keeping your voice soft so you didn’t disturb anything in the building—living or otherwise. You found yourself wanting to walk to the window you had seen that woman in earlier.

Alvez made a disgusted noise at something, and you refrained from looking back at it, knowing you likely didn’t want to know. “And what patients did they predominantly treat?”

Fiddling with the door handle, you nudged the door open with your knee, coughing at the puff of dust that met you on the other side. “They started with a little bit of everything. The elderly, children, adolescents, epileptics, TB patients,” you listed off. “We even found records of people accused of ‘excessive self-satisfaction,’” you continued, finding the window in question. The only thing you found was the same flickering sconce you had seen from the outside.

“Self-satisfaction?” Luke repeated the phrase curiously.

You tapped the sconce with the end of your flashlight, getting it to stop flickering before you clarified, “Masturbation.”

Expectedly, Luke chuckled lightly at your answer, “How exactly would one quantify excessive masturbation?”

Raising your eyebrows, you studied a strange mark on the cement floor, “I assure you; I have no clue.” You turned around, expecting to see Luke right in front of you. “Luke?” You called out his name, confused when you didn’t see him in your line of sight, you flashed your light around the room, wondering if he had found something. “Ah!” You yelped when a hand touched your shoulder, causing you to drop your flashlight.

Luke cackled from his place behind a bookshelf, “It’s gonna be a long case if you’re that tightly wound the entire time.”

You swatted at him with the sleeves of your jacket, “Asshole,” you muttered, taking the practical joke mostly in stride.

“Y/N?” Spencer called from the first floor. Your voice must have carried down the stairs, or they heard the flashlight fall to the ground.

Glaring at Luke, you shouted back, “I’m fine!” You crouched to pick up your flashlight, blowing dust off of it before you tightened your grip around it, “Grow up, Alvez.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what did they do after they took in a little bit of everyone?”

You hummed, stepping back out into the hallway, and looking into what you assumed were offices—most of the patients would’ve lived on the first floor. “They started to focus on patients with mental disorders in the 1970s. Around the same time that medicine in psychiatry started to make advancements,” you kicked at a piece of cloth on the ground. “It closed down in the early nineties when people finally started acknowledging that things like lobotomies and electroshock are inhumane.”

Luke picked the next room, wiggling the doorknob before he used his shoulder to push the door open, “Woah.”

Stepping in behind him, you saw what he was looking at. Along the wall was a mural of sorts, a landscape that featured a caricature of the sun. Next to it, the words ‘let the sun shine in’ were scrawled in black paint.The colors were eerily vibrant for the age of the building, “Well that’s…” You let your voice trail off, looking at the size of the furniture in the room and ascertaining that it was likely designed as a treatment space for children.

“Do you hear that?” Luke asked, shining his flashlight around the room and looking for the source of the noise.

Fortunately, you weren’t that gullible, “Yeah, right.” You scoffed, turning back and seeing Spencer at the top of the staircase, “Hey,” you said, tilting your head to the side curiously.

He smiled at you softly, “Hey, it looks like it’s about to rain, so Emily’s having all of us head back to the precinct. We can look at the M.E. reports knowing what we know now about the crime scene.”

You nodded, looking into the room to find Luke, still shining his phone in every corner, “Luke, it’s probably just a rat or a tree branch tapping on the side of the building.”

Luke’s eyebrows were pinched together in concern, but he followed your footsteps into the hallway, falling to the back of the group as the three of you walked downstairs, meeting the rest of the team in front of the asylum.

“It’s kind of weird,” you said mostly to yourself, though you were entirely aware of the people who were surrounding you.

Spencer hummed curiously, making sure the sheriff wasn’t watching before he adjusted the collar of your jacket, “What’s weird?” He asked, mimicking the soft tone of your voice.

You looked back at the window where the light had started flickering again, “How all of these people were forced into the asylum by their loved ones, and now the word has an entirely different meaning.”

Holding your mug in both hands, you listened carefully to the crackling fire in the lobby of the hotel. Matt stood up from where he was sitting so that Spencer could sit next to you, and you absentmindedly slung your legs over his lap, thinking about the case. More specifically, you were thinking about the scene.

Spencer set a hand on your pajama-covered thigh, using his other hand to hold his book open as you listened to the other noises in the lobby. There was a storm going on outside, and a certain level of unease blanketed the team, leading to a convening in the hotel. Emily and Tara were going over case files, Matt and JJ were on the phone with their families, Rossi was playing Tetris on his phone, Luke was on the phone with someone, and you were just observing.

Eventually, Luke spoke up to everyone, “Hey guys, listen to this,” he said, holding his phone out and clicking the speakerphone button, “Okay, go ahead Garcia.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement at the revelation that he was on the phone with Penelope, but you were still grateful to hear her voice coming through the speaker.

“I hope you’re all cozy by the fire because I have found a story about your crime scene that will chill you to your bones,” she prefaced, and you smiled slightly at her embellishments. “Catherine Pence was admitted to the Barnham Asylum for the Mentally Ill in 1978 at the age of 53. She lived a totally normal and insignificant life until she was 50 years old and her mother passed away, at which point, the people in Catherine’s life said she started to behave strangely.”

Snapping his book closed, Spencer set the novel in your lap before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “Strangely, how?”

Penelope cleared her throat, “I’m glad you asked, Dr. Reid. She was convinced that her mother was still with her. In fact, she would frequently be confused when other people told her that they couldn’t see her mom. Eventually, she started showing other concerning symptoms, so her husband brought her to Barnham.”

You frowned, sharing a glance with JJ, who had hung up the phone, “What kinds of other symptoms?”

“The file I got my hands on specifically cites paranoid thoughts, but that’s not even the spookiest part,” she continued. “When the doctors did their first examination of Catherine, they decided that whatever she was dealing with wouldn’t be amenable to any sort of treatment. She was a very calm patient who periodically had conversations with her dead mother and voiced paranoid thoughts, but they put her in Block D.”

Block D was the section of the hospital set aside for patients in need of around-the-clock care, which seemed a bit extreme for Catherine.

There was a clicking on Penelope’s end of the call before she resumed, “Anyway, Block D had sixteen rooms and there was always some form of supervision, usually a nurse. All of the doors were locked and there were bars on the window, so it was impossible to get anywhere without someone noticing, or so you would think.”

You settled further into the couch cushions, and Spencer instinctively squeezed your thigh.

“On December 1st, 1978, when the nurse went into Catherine’s room with her breakfast tray, she found the room in absolute tatters. I mean, the bedding was shredded, there was broken glass, everything was scattered around the room, and Catherine was missing.” Penelope said, emphasizing the last word.

Luke, who had previously seemed bored by the story, leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, “What happened to her?”

Penelope hummed, knowing she had sucked everyone into the story, “The search started immediately. You don’t just have someone escape an inescapable room and move on with your day. The windows, walls, and floor in Block D were completely intact and there was no sign of tampering with the door. No one could figure out how she got out, much less where she was.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to speak before she continued, “Catherine’s nurse said that she was unusually moody and had been for weeks. She completely stopped speaking and showed no reactions when people spoke to her and it was apparently very sudden, but that didn’t really provide any insight into where she could be. The staff searched the surrounding area thoroughly, but there were no leads. Eventually, they notified her relatives and the residents of the town in case she had somehow gotten out of the hospital.”

Then, on January 12th, 1979, a group of men that the asylum hired to do repair work on the second floor found that there was a door locked from the inside.” Garcia cleared her throat before resuming the story, “They also discovered an unpleasant smell emanating from the room, and when they finally got into the room, there was Catherine Pence.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, simply just imagining the smell of the room.

“Her clothes were removed and neatly folded next to her and her arms were crossed over her chest, one below the other,” Penelope continued. “Mysteriously, when her body was removed and taken to the morgue, there was a trace left on the concrete floor that corresponded exactly to the figure of Catherine. No matter how many times or what they’ve tried, they can’t get the mark out of the concrete.”

Your blood ran cold at the memory of the strange shape you’d seen in the asylum, “What?”

Penelope hummed, “The medical examiner considered hypothermia as a potential cause of death, but apparently that winter was unseasonably warm, so he settled on a heart attack.”

“Did they ever consider homicide?” Rossi asked, attempting to seem uninterested.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the call, “Yes, they did, but they never found anything else to support that theory. At that point, the room Catherine was found in hadn’t been opened since 1976 when it was used to contain patients with a contagious infectious disease. Since then, the room remained locked.” You could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she divulged the final detail, “Residents of the town say that, sometimes, you can hear cries for help coming from the building. There are even reports of Catherine’s ghost being seen in the window of the room where she died, she just stands there and stares out the window.”

Everyone sat around in silence for a moment before Luke grabbed the phone off of the coffee table, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Sleep well, my pretties,” she crooned through the phone before the call ended.

You felt heavy as if there had been a weight placed on your chest, and in an attempt to rectify it, you handed Spencer his book, “I’m headed to bed.”

He looked up at you curiously, eyes studying yours before he nodded, “Alright, I’ll be up in a little while,” he assured you.

Your body carried you to the hotel room, using the key to unlock the door and somehow making it to the bed even after your mind had completely turned itself off. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered waking up.

As you sat up in bed, you were having trouble holding your head up, finding that you couldn’t turn your neck to see if Spencer had made it to bed. More than that, the room was pitch black when the two of you usually leave the bathroom light on in hotels. Opening your mouth, no words came out.

Small puffs of air escaped your lips, but nothing else came out. You couldn’t move your hands to your neck—you couldn’t move at all. You wanted to call out for Spencer, and even though no sound came out of your mouth, you saw him before you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden appearance, suspiciously illuminated in the otherwise dark room.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hand reached out for you, touching the skin of your neck with his fingertips before pulling. It felt like he was pulling at a thread, and all you could do was watch as his hand came back with a piece of twine pinched between his fingers and your disembodied head fell to the floor.

You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest and panting, unable to figure out how to get air into your lungs when you so desperately needed it. There were other hands on you, gently placed on your hip and upper back, the latter rubbing small circles as you choked on nothing but air.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, continuing his ministrations on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he comforted you, trying to get you to even out your breathing.

Carefully, his hand reached up to your neck, sweeping hair behind your shoulder, but as soon as you felt his hand on the side of your neck, you flinched away from him, nearly toppling off of the double bed.

He pulled you back as gently as he could, “Y/N,” he said, his voice stern this time as he turned to flick the lamp on. “What happened?”

You shook your head, appreciating how secure it felt to the rest of your body, before pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “It was just a nightmare,” you answered, the sound of your own voice felt disconnected from your body.

“You don’t usually call out my name in your nightmares,” Spencer observed softly, trying to get you to open up more to him, “And you’ve definitely never pulled away from me like that.”

He was right, you had your general recurring nightmares—mostly work related—but you’ve never had anything like this before. You didn’t know how to explain it to him, because how would you explain to your rational, genius boyfriend that you thought you were seeing ghosts?

night two

You felt his eyes on you, Spencer’s big, brown eyes were boring right into yours as you looked at the foreboding structure in front of you. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been watching the stained-glass window, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the ghost to come back.

Sighing, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, thinking about the now-cold coffee that you had sitting in the cup holder and wondering if it would be worth the caffeine if it meant you had to pee in the woods at some point in the night.

“You should’ve stayed at the hotel tonight,” Spencer said, his eyes still focused on you.

You pursed your lips, watching the light flicker in the window, “We have a job to do.” That should’ve been enough for him, it had to be enough for you, knowing that at the end of the day, this was just a case and you’d be going home once you found whoever was doing this.

Finally turning his head, Spencer huffed in frustration as he faced the front door of the asylum. “I know you didn’t get back to sleep last night, so you have to be exhausted now,” he told you.

It was nearly midnight now, and you indeed hadn’t gone back to sleep after waking up at two in the morning, but you still agreed to a stakeout when Emily suggested it. Spencer called you out on it then, similarly to what he was doing now, and you were sure he had something to do with you being paired up together. If you ever found out he had voiced a concern about you to Emily, you were going to have issues.

The cool glow of the waning gibbous moon reflected off of the building, the effect only building the eerie feeling in your stomach, winding itself up like a ball of yarn.

With the morning came another body, and it became clear to Emily and the locals that the camera surveillance that had been set up along the perimeter wasn’t doing anything to bring you closer to closing the case. So, she had you and Spencer sitting in a car at the front entrance, each of you armed and on high alert, no matter what your boyfriend thought.

On the other side of the building, Luke and Tara were in another vehicle, keeping an eye on a back entrance that had the potential to be an access point for the UnSub.

Keeping an eye on your window, you squinted as if you could somehow summon Catherine Pence’s ghost. You wished you’d been paired up with Luke again, who at least had seen the mark on the floor, but instead, you had Spencer, who had meddled with your work out of concern for you.

You sighed, reminding yourself that he only did it out of concern for you, wondering how to approach the issue when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in that second-floor window, “Do you see that?” You blurted the question before you could even think about what you were saying.

Instinctively, Spencer placed a hand on his weapon while looking through the windshield of the car, “See what?”

You furrowed your brows, pointing as plainly as you possibly could to the second-floor window where you saw the woman, “On the second floor. Off to the right,” you said desperately, wanting him to see it, wanting him to believe you. “Don’t you see her?”

Spencer’s hand dropped as his gaze went from the building and back to you, “Honey.” You tried to ignore the emotion-filled tone that he gave you, flooding the pet name with an apt amount of concern.

Sitting back in the car seat, “Never mind, I didn’t—” you cut yourself off, “I just thought I saw something.” You tried to play it off, crossing your ankles one over the other and shifting in the seat, trying to keep your ass from going numb.

His eyes were still trained on you, and you tried to ignore him even as he locked the passenger door from the inside. The car remained absolutely silent until you heard a voice come in from the radio, “This is the Death Star calling for the Bat Mobile, over.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Luke’s voice, “Don’t call this car the Bat Mobile,” you told Spencer as he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“This is the Bat Mobile, we can hear you loud and clear Death Star, over,” Spencer responded, grinning at the way you groaned in response. The poltergeist of it all nearly forgotten for just a moment.

Placing your head in your hands in frustration as you waited for Luke’s response, Spencer reached over and smoothed your hair back, the gesture feeling oddly domestic for a stakeout. Maybe that was why Emily never paired the two of you together. “Yeah, we aren’t seeing anything out here, are you clear on your end?”

Spencer’s ministrations on your hair faltered for just a moment before he answered, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”

“Tara just got off the phone with Emily, they got the lab results back on those tools we found by the latest victim,” he informed you, “The blood on it was a match.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line and shared a look with Spencer. Part of you was grateful to finally feel like you’d made some semblance of progress with the case, but the other part of you felt physically ill knowing that the latest victim had been enucleated using an orbitoclast. Her eyes and sockets were pulverized by a lobotomy pick, and it almost made you feel like you needed a word stronger than sadist.

“Did the medical examiner say the injuries matched the patterns of the other two enucleated victims?” Spencer asked into the radio, holding it close to his mouth as he spoke.

There was a pause before Luke responded, “Uh, kind of.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Another pause, “The M.E. concluded that the wound patterns are the same on the three latest victims, but the injuries on the most recent one were inflicted antemortem,” Luke explained.

Your eyes widened as the weight of Luke’s words joined the pit in your stomach, her eyes had been pulverized while she was still alive. The M.E.’s conclusion matched the one you had proposed when you saw the blood spatter this morning. You held your breath to stop a sound of disgust from escaping your lips, but you knew Spencer saw it on your face.

“Thanks for the update,” Spencer said, turning down the volume on the radio slightly before setting it on the dashboard.

Swallowing thickly, you placed both of your hands in your lap, studying them as if you’ve never seen them before, “Have you ever gotten the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

You caught him while he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his movement paused for a moment before he took a swig anyway, setting the cup in the cup holder and nodding, “Yeah,” he answered, his voice raspy before he cleared his throat, “I have.”

Running your tongue over your molars, you raised your eyebrows at him in curiosity, “What usually happens?”

Spencer sighed, going back to facing the asylum before he held his hand out for you to take, you obliged, setting your intertwined fingers on the center console. “The case usually doesn’t end well,” he admitted.

“When are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?” Spencer asked, squeezing your hand as he made conversation, trying to keep the two of you awake through the night.

Leaning your head back, you looked through the sunroof of the car, thrilled to see the sun beginning to rise over the tiny town. “I don’t think it really matters, it was just a bad dream,” you told him, clearly aware of why it mattered.

You even knew why it mattered to him. You’d never pushed him away like that before, but as soon as his hand had gone near your neck, you’d completely lost control of your body. “Look, I know I don’t believe in dream analysis—”

“Oh,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “Yes, you do,” you corrected him, “You do this all the time, you talk about dream analysis, and you claim that you don’t believe in it but then you actually get into it, and you admit that you just don’t like what Freud has to say about it. Then you’ll list everyone who has discredited him before you tell me ‘Jung still has his merits.’”

Spencer was quiet, and you immediately regretted your interjection.

Sighing, you wished you could melt into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t think that analyzing my dream right now will do any good, but I just… I’m sorry.”

He was still silent.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you turned your body as best you could in the vehicle, “Do you believe in the afterlife?”

That got his attention. Spencer turned his head to you, concern etched into his face, “Why are you asking me this?”

You couldn’t tell him. You’d break his heart if you told him that throughout the duration of this case, you’d developed a pit in your stomach and started having dreams about dying. “In my dream, it was like… like I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my head. I couldn’t speak or anything and when I thought about calling for you, you appeared.” You sniffled slightly, “You reached out for my neck and your hand came back with a piece of twine, and then my head fell to the ground—completely detached from my body.”

The lack of judgment in his expression was what finally triggered the first tear to fall from your eye, but you didn’t wipe it away. Spencer moved his hand and deftly wiped at your tears with his fingertips, cupping your face in his hands, “You’re not going to die.”

“Spence,” you said, your voice strained by emotion.

He shook his head gently, “Nope, not as long as I’m around. You’re not going to die on this case.”

Your chest ached as your eyes studied his, “Okay.”

“But,” he continued, “I want you to take a step back on this one. No more volunteering for stakeouts, no wandering to the second floor of the asylum, and no listening to any more of Penelope’s ghost stories.”

Nodding, you silently agreed to his conditions, holding out your pinky and waiting for him to present his. Interlocking your small fingers, you each kissed your hands, and you took a deep breath. “What do you think we’re looking at, Spence? Is it another witch hunt?”

Names and faces of people like Leland Duncan and James Heathridge flashed in your memory, but if there was an overlap there, you haven’t seen it.

You didn’t feel like the BAU had a very good track record in Appalachia, Shane Wyland and the still unnamed ‘Mountain Man’ were proof enough of that, but you hoped that Wyland was long dead by now, and these crimes were too organized for the Mountain Man.

“I don’t know, baby,” Spencer admitted, and you knew that it hurt him to say that to you, especially now.

Looking out the window, your eyes caught on Luke and Tara as they made their way over to your car. Spencer unlocked the doors as you hurriedly wiped beneath your eyes, trying to hide any evidence of your upset before reconvening with the team.

Luke waggled his eyebrows at the two of you, “Good morning, how was your night?”

Groaning, you stretched out your neck, “Ultimately uneventful,” you told him, knowing that if anything of real interest had happened, Luke and Tara would’ve been the first people you notified.

“Prentiss asked us if we’d do a quick sweep of the inside before heading back to the precinct,” Tara said, jutting her chin in the direction of the building.

You and Spencer shared a look, but now that you were grouped within your team, you felt comfortable enough to slip your hand in his as the four of you approached the building. Squeezing his hand, your eyes flickered up to the second-story window, and seeing nothing, you stepped into the building.

The smell hit you. The strong tang of blood mixed with that of isopropyl alcohol burned at your nostrils as Tara swore at the sight in front of all of you. A body hanging from the stairwell, eyes completely destroyed, and while the body was covered in blood, the floor was completely void of any red.

“She’s cleaning up,” you observed, stepping closer to Spencer and looking at the streak marks that a rag had made on the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows, “She?” He asked, confused about the sudden change in pronouns while Tara immediately went to call Emily.

Spencer nodded, agreeing with you as the three of you watched the body turn in the glow of the sunrise, “A man wouldn’t care about the mess he’s leaving behind.”

This revelation left you more confused than anything, you had no idea how anyone could lift that much dead weight, night after night. “Oh,” you breathed, blood draining from your face as you looked up at Spencer and Luke. “We were watching the building all night,” you reminded them. “We never saw anyone enter, but we never saw them leave.”

night three

“Alright,” Emily started, fully equipped in her Kevlar, she looked around the entryway of the asylum, “Rossi and Tara will keep an eye out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it. Reid and JJ will take the tunnels beneath the west wing, Simmons and I will take the east wing, Alvez and Sheriff Greenbaum will head north, and Y/N and Deputy Perkins will stay here in the foyer in case anyone calls for backup.”

In the dark building, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze before everyone turned on their flashlights. “Let’s end this,” Rossi said, earning a hum of agreement as everyone split off into their respective directions.

You wished Emily had done you the kindness of letting you be paired with Spencer again, but twice in the span of a single case was seemingly too much to ask for. “You ever seen something like this?” Deputy Perkins asked you, shuffling his feet across the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes focused on where the newest body had been found that morning. The body was cleared out and the cause of death was blunt force trauma, but once the realization that the killer had been in the building the entire time settled in, the team got to work on figuring out some of the logistics.

That was when the sheriff brought up the possibility of the killer using a long-abandoned tunnel system. The town had assumed they caved in years ago, but a bit of sleuthing had revealed that there were still a select number of tunnels for her to use.

As long as I stay in the foyer, you reminded yourself, no wandering.

The stench of isopropyl alcohol still floated through the air; it had likely sept into the porous flooring that had been underneath the body. You made note of the flickering lights in the surrounding area, making sure not to get any of them mixed up as you rested a hand on your firearm.

“Did you hear that?” Deputy Perkins asked you, looking up the stairs and shining his flashlight on them, trying to see if he could find anything in the eerie abyss of darkness.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head in response, “No,” you told him, looking to the left and right of you, wondering if one of the pairs that had been sent off was returning. You hadn’t heard anything coming from the upstairs.

He hummed, taking a step closer to the staircase and setting off alarm bells in your head, “I’m sure I heard a shuffling coming from upstairs.” The pit in your stomach reformed as he planted a foot on the staircase and waved you over, “Come on, we should check it out.”

You hesitated, “We’re supposed to be here if someone needs backup,” you reminded him, nearly pleading with him not to abandon his post.

Perkins shrugged at you before taking another step. “I’m going to check it out, and there’s safety in numbers,” he countered before ascending the steps, making it to the first landing before your feet finally moved.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you followed him up the stairs, taking careful steps so that they didn’t creak beneath you. You reached the second-floor seconds after him, but you shone your flashlight around without any sign of him, beaming the light into the familiar room, “Deputy Perkins?”

You stepped into the room, placing a hand on your firearm as you tapped on the flickering sconce again and looked behind you. Your breathing hitched at the sight of the deputy in front of you, he was crumpled to the floor, his legs folded unnaturally, and there was a lobotomy pick that went straight through his head.

Next to him stood a woman, her clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and she came at you, shoving you to the ground and leaving your gun and flashlight scattered on the hardwood. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and you got yourself out from under her while she frantically searched for a missing piece of the puzzle.

She’d used her pick to take out the deputy, leaving her with nothing to gouge your eyes out. You weren’t sure if you should feel grateful as you rolled over and grabbed the closest thing you could, wrapping your fingers around your flashlight and swinging it aimlessly against your attacker.

“No!” She screamed a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound rang out as you hit her on the side with your law enforcement issue flashlight. The object slipped out of your fingers as you sat up and tried to reorient yourself with your surroundings, you couldn’t see your gun, searching for it as she flung your flashlight back at you, the edge of it catching on your forehead as you fell back.

The UnSub straddled your waist, keeping a firm hold on your throat as she held the pick to your eye, having pulled it from the deputy’s head so that she could complete her ritual, “Don’t,” you gasped, “Think—” your voice broke off as vomit rose in your throat. “Think of the mess,” you told her. “You used all the rubbing alcohol,” you reminded her, pleading with her not to take your eyes.

She was seething, very nearly foaming at the mouth above you as instead of stabbing you with the pick, she used the butt of it to crack against your skull. “You took my friends!” She raged, referring to the people that she had murdered, she was collecting them to keep her company.

“No,” you wheezed, shaking your head even through the blinding pain, “I set them free,” you challenged her, resigning yourself to an untimely demise and crying out when she sat you up.

You tried to claw at her, a weak attempt at saving your own life that received a laugh from the UnSub, an almost childlike giggle. “You can be my friend,” she offered, grabbing an already prepared rope from the floor and looping it around your neck before she slung it around an exposed beam, creating a makeshift rig and pulling on it.

Immediately, your hands flew to your neck, trying to stop the rope from suffocating you completely, and it worked for a little while before your feet lifted off of the ground.

After that, you were gone, left standing off to the side as you watched your body hang from the ceiling while the UnSub who would always remain an UnSub to you watched, cackling as she did so. She cackled up until the moment JJ put a bullet in her brain, the sudden death of your attacker leaving your body to drop to the hardwood floor, the hit softened by Spencer and Emily as they caught.

Tossing the rope to the side, Spencer laid you out on the floor and ducked his head to your chest, listening for breathing sounds. He was listening for anything, any sign of life at all.

There was nothing, so he put his hands on your corporeal form’s chest and started CPR, pushing down on your chest in steady motions.

You knelt down to him, watching tears fall from his face as JJ did her best to keep your airway open and Emily frantically radioed for an ambulance, continuously repeating that Y/N is down.

Assuming your hand would go right through him, you placed a hand on Spencer’s back, surprised to find that he was still solid to you. In a sort of daze, you watched him as he tried to save your life, repeating the same three words over and over again, “Come on, baby.” The mantra continued, tears falling onto your shirt.

You felt like you were on fire as if your body was physically burning while you watched life-saving measures be performed on yourself, “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry,” you said to no one but yourself, knowing that he couldn’t hear you.

Looking to your side, you saw her again. The spirit form of Catherine Pence was watching you die in real-time, and you took a shuddering breath as she knelt next to you, expecting her to impart some sort of spiritual wisdom onto you.

Instead, she placed one of her ethereal hands on the back of your head and slammed both of your forms together. The entire world went dark after that, but you could still hear everything going on, searing pain ran through your entire body, from a throbbing in your ankle to an ache in your ribs to a pulsing in your head, but there was no more pressure on your chest.

“Is she…?” You heard JJ’s voice first, and as badly as you wanted to open your eyes, you just couldn’t gather the strength to do so.

There was heavy breathing and a soft weight on your shoulder, two fingers pressed into the pulse point on your wrist, “She’s breathing. She’s alive,” Spencer answered, out of breath. “Oh, my angel.”

A low groan was the only thing you could muster up.

Spencer shushed you, keeping his head on your shoulder and his fingers on your wrist, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” he cooed. “You’re going to be okay, the paramedics are here,” he lifted his head then. “I just want to stay with her.”

aftermath

It was far too bright for you, and the low keening sound that you expelled from your throat was the only way you could think to express that feeling. Whoever was in the room with you understood, turning the brightness down for you, earning a hum of approval from you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to keep his voice as low as possible.

The universe was taking pity on you, you knew it because you couldn’t feel any pain, which either meant you had finally kicked it or the hospital you were in had given you painkillers.

Your eyes felt like they were stuck together, the way that they get when you wake up from a perfect nap, and it took a surprising amount of energy to part your lips, expelling a deep breath out of your mouth. The action led to a pinching pain in your chest, causing your breathing to hitch, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said, though you couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. “Can you open your eyes? How are you feeling?”

A grunt was all he received in response, the single noise begging him to slow down. Your eyes opened just slightly, looking at him through slivers as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were red and there was a box of Kleenex on the table next to him, accompanied by his phone and a cup of water.

He sighed in relief once he noticed that your eyes were opening, “Hey,” he repeated, “You look good,” he lied to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and his smile only grew, “Hi,” you croaked, your throat swollen and dry as you tried to reorient yourself. You were in a hospital, but the view outside of your window was of a city, not the tiny town that you had just been in.

Noticing your confusion, Spencer reached out to adjust your nasal cannula, “They transported you to a hospital in a city. The local hospital just didn’t have the capacity to treat you,” he explained. “I’ve been with you,” he reassured you, “The entire time.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, but he waved you off instantly.

Spencer grabbed the Styrofoam water cup from your bedside table and held it to you, bending the straw so that you could get some water.

Noting his silence, you tilted your head to the side, ignoring the way your brain felt like it had been scrambled, “Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips while setting the cup back down, “I just remember thinking about how I promised you that you weren’t going to die.”

The antiseptic air made you cringe, your body becoming more and more conscious as time went on, “I wandered,” you reminded him, making sure he knew that you broke your promise first.

“That wasn’t your idea,” Spencer challenged, knowing you well enough to say that without having experienced it himself. His fingers nimbly adjusted the blanket on your hospital bed, “You followed the deputy upstairs, it wasn’t your choice.”

In your current state, Spencer wouldn’t let you take any of the responsibility for what had happened in the asylum and even though you knew the answer, you asked him anyway, “Is she dead?”

Nodding softly, he took your hand in his, “She’s dead, and someday I’ll let you know her name and read the rest of the case, but today is not that day.” He skimmed his thumb over your knuckles, each of them cracked and bloodied from your fight with the UnSub.

You sighed in relief, a single tear receding into your hairline as you closed your eyes again, “How long have I been sleeping?” You asked, squinting over at your patient care whiteboard.

“Two days,” Spencer answered gently, dragging his fingers up and down your forearm, “You were tired, and your body had a lot of healing to do. It still does,” he added the last part, not wanting you to claim being healed. “Everyone’s still here, waiting for you to be discharged,” he continued, “I should message Emily, actually.”

“And Penelope,” you added, knowing she’d rather hear it directly from him than through Emily.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that was as curative as any medicine you could be given, “I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at the tarmac in Quantico.”

A small smile sprouted on your face, “She’ll be the one landing the plane,” you laughed slightly, interrupted by a fit of coughing. You placed a hand on your chest and winced, inhaling sharply before trying to breathe through the pain.

“What do you need?” He asked you carefully, setting his phone back down after sending his texts.

You shook your head, “Nothin’, just you.”

It was an action that would’ve previously earned a few stares from the team, and at least one wolf whistle from Luke, you and Spencer slipping into the galley together and closing the curtain behind you. Now it was simply the easiest place for you to get some semblance of privacy as Spencer snipped at the old bandaged around your neck.

Your hair was secured atop your head, keeping it out of the ointment as Spencer used his fingertips to carefully cover the rope burn that had been left around your neck. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyes focused on his canvas while coating the hollow of your throat.

Shaking your head minutely, you closed your eyes, “No,” you told him, a slight rasp still peeking through your tone.

He hummed in response, giving you a small smile as he went back to the tube, putting more ointment on his fingers, “Liar.”

Opening your eyes again, you looked up at him as your face warmed, “Only a little bit,” you altered your answer. At this point, the worst part about the burn was that the nurses recommended keeping it covered, and Spencer was taking his job as caretaker very seriously.

He checked his phone for something before going back to his prior actions, “I think it’s getting better,” he observed, furrowing his brows as he wiped excess ointment from his fingers.

You took his word for it, having been avoiding looking in a mirror at all costs. Seeing the bruises all over your body was more than enough for you. You flinched when someone else slipped into your oasis, Emily shut the curtain behind her, holding out a pack of non-adhesive Telfa pads for Spencer to use on your neck.

“Hey,” you said nervously, wondering if she had another purpose or if she was simply bringing you some first-aid.

Emily smiled nervously; her eyes studied the marks on your throat as Spencer covered them. You expected her to speak, but she just watched in complete silence.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked from her to Spencer, and back to her again. “You should see the other guy,” you joked, earning the slightest smile from the both of them.

“I just wanted to let you know that however much time you decide to take off, it’s yours,” she offered to you, watching as Spencer unwrapped another packet of gauze.

You hummed, “I’m really alright, Em,” you assured her, more than comfortable with the automatic six weeks that you were granted by the bureau. It was the standard set for all agents unless there was an extenuating circumstance that prevented them from returning to work.

Emily’s nervous smile returned, “It wasn’t a suggestion,” she informed you, letting you know that she was more or less forcing you to take the extended time off.

Peering at your boyfriend, you frowned, “You put her up to this.”

Spencer shook his head, “I didn’t. Stop moving so much,” he urged you, trying to stretch the number of Telfa pads he had before he had the chance to go to a pharmacy.

“He didn’t,” Emily iterated, “But he could’ve, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she added. “We’ll talk more—both of you. For now, I don’t want to see you around the BAU for a while.”

You sighed when she left the galley, Spencer finished his last placement before stepping back. “How do I look?” You asked him, keeping your question mostly rhetorical.

His smile was so gentle that it cracked at your resolve, “Good.”

Looking up at him doubtfully, you leaned against the counter, “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Hey,” he said, carefully wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest the unmarred side of your head on his chest, “You look alive, and that’s good enough for me.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober

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postmoe · 4 months ago

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Moe im absolutely DROOLING at capitano 😵 May I request yandere! capitano preeety plees with a cherry on too 😫😫 U CANT TELL ME HES NOT JUST AHHXJSNSNSN HES SO FINEEEE

im sorry it's been so long life is just UGH i think we all need a bit of capitano rn-

i think i made the yandere a little too subtle but I hope it's still okay-

When you first fell to this world, no one believed you to be an outsider. You were just crazy, a patient who escaped the asylum.

It happened when you were out on a job, your last year of med school and you were doing your practical part, following along in ambulances and assisting paramedics. There had been a building collapse, chaos everywhere, dust surrounding the scene. You weren't supposed to stray too far, it's only when you heard a young voice calling from help did you separate, calling out your intentions to your colleague before rushing through the door with your bag of equipment held tightly to your chest. As you began through the doorway, it was as if an earthquake struck, everything trembling and crumbling. You couldn't believe your eyes, the way the ground turned blocky, a red and black colour eating the sides of your world like an 8-bit transition. Gravity hit hard as you fell through, the broken, wooden floors turning into a faraway city, canopies of trees, rivers, mountains - before you fainted.

When you awoke you couldn't find any injuries that would result from a free fall from the atmosphere, namely death. If anything, you were a little tender in the muscles. You found your med bag not far from you before awkwardly making your way, searching for help.

One lonely night you had approached a group of soldier-like people. They were part of the 'Fatui', which people seemed to fear but what other option did you have? You told them your story, begged for food, and out of pity some had helped you. A lot of laughs came your way, but even so, you sat at a table with drunken fatui and got a nice bowl of stew and bread.

Just as everyone was leaving, you felt a large hand on your shoulder. It was their Captain, who the party under his command conveniently referred to him as 'Capitano'. He holds out a small, woven bag once he gets your attention, dropping it in her hands when you hold them out. It feels like coins - Mora, if you remember correctly, the currency of this world - and regards you with only a few words, "I believe you. However, I cannot help you."

It was the little glimmer of hope you needed. You stored some leftover bread in your paramedic jacket, running after him and calling him to wait, to have a conversation but, he was a busy man. He retreated into a nice looking motel on the outskirts of the city, leaving you to sit outside.

So you did. You waited all night on the side of the road, resting until he eventually came back out.

Granted, following an 'evil' organisation wasn't the smartest thing, that's only if the words of the people you've met are to be believed. As of now, they're the only people who have reached out a helping hand, and Capitano, the only one to make you finally breathe and remember that you aren't insane; that this is real.

Still, you keep your distance, following diligently like a lost puppy. "Leave her be," Capitano had said when one of his men asked about you, "She is no threat." Later he would say he was hoping you would get the message to journey on your own, to find your own way.

On a cold night he had saved you, though to anyone it appeared as nothing more than an easy kill. Two hilichurls, you were half asleep, focused more on keeping warm than any dangers. It wasn't until you heard the slash of his blade did you even notice he was there, the monsters leaving behind blood and dust in their wake.

Capitano drapes a blanket over you, "Come." You follow him into the camp, beyond the guards and closer to a fire. He points to a sleeping mat, "If you're going to follow me then stay within the group." With that, he retreats to his tent. You can't help the tears of gratitude as you bathe in the warmth, your sleep the best it's been in weeks.

You make friends with the fatui, it's unanimously agreed that everyone in Capitano's ranks are morally... adequate, compared to other Harbingers. "Don't even get me started on Il Dottore's..." one mentions, and you think as a 'doctor' yourself, you couldn't handle hearing his horror stories.

Eventually, you become part of their medic team, showing them all the fun tools and medications from your world. Even if they don't believe you, they pretend to, and they show interest. You've only cried twice when reminiscing.

A few times you've seen Capitano enter the medic tent, he grabs some bandages and some ointment before retreating to his tent. "Would you like some help?" You ask, not for the first time, and it won't be the last.

His usual response is what comes, "No, thank you."

It's a routine, you like to think he appreciates it.

You're not a stranger to violence. During your schooling you saw a lot of gore, it never phased you in the ways it would others. Of course, it was sad, seeing children who needed to have a leg amputated, people being victimised by a violent stranger, you could only do your best to give them the rest of their lives.

War, however, was another thing. Footage does nothing compared to witnessing it, the people you eat dinner with being ripped apart by monsters, other factions of the land getting burnt to death by the power of their gods, or frostbitten and forced to watch their comrades suffer until they themselves succumb.

Capitano scared you, in a way. He was always so strong, so willing to give his all to anyone who had the courage to fight back. It was his way in honour. You're lucky he had a sense of justice, apparently anyone else could have killed you and be done with it. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like if he drew his sword against you, or used his large hands and wrap them around your neck, suffocating you until he saw the whites of your eyes...

He was a monster, but maybe compared to the other, real monsters out there, he was the better option.

Tonight he got hurt, enough to show the blood spreading through his clothes. Wounds and scars were normal but this made your stomach churn. You see a glimpse of a monster claw that he's tried to hide with his cloak. There's a tear in his sleeve as well, showing his long glove underneath.

Nope. You can't just sit by as he struggles, you signed a contract saying that you would help anyone, no matter the circumstance. As he walks back to his tent, you follow him closely behind, your bag in hand. He stops, the flap partially open as he turns to you and says in a strained voice, "I'm fine. Go tend to the others."

You shake your head defiantly, staring into the dark abyss of his helmet with conviction.

He huffs, entering the tent and murmuring, "Do as you please."

His tent is much larger than any of the others, perhaps the medical one only being marginally bigger. There's a fireplace, a desk with a multitude of papers, scattered, used bandages and a large pile of bed wrapping and furs. He takes a seat on the chair near the desk, removing his coat and grabbing the claw, about to yank it out when you slap his hand away.

You waggle your finger at him, crouching to get a better look at the wound, "You're only going to make it worse. Honestly, if that's how you treat yourself it's a wonder you're still alive. Help me get your shirt off."

There's a hint of hesitation in him, though you're only a little sure you see it. Your focus is on pulling it over the claw without moving it too much, it had gone through bandages around his stomach as well, wrapping over his chest, the rest of his body... Look over him, taken aback. His flesh isn't normal, what you thought were gloves was actually the decay of his arms. No, decay doesn't seem right either but even so, there's no life. He lets you take it in, waiting until your eyes look to his mask. "My body is rotten, rotting, still," he clarifies, and you realise that perhaps decay is the right word, it's just a different meaning in this world. "I'm fine," he says again, as though expecting this to be too much for you, "You can leave."

You wonder why the smell isn't so bad, the sweet tinge mixing with a sour after scent. It wasn't the most pleasant but if you're being honest, it wasn't horrible. You put this aside and give him a dead stare, "You're so aggravating. Are you just allergic to help? Shut up and let tend to you."

He sits still after that, leaning back in the chair as you get to work. You tell him when it might hurt, he doesn't even flinch when you're prepared to extract the claw. Even the inside of his body isn't normal, his blood seeming to pulse out than continuously flow, the colour off in a blackish way. You had removed the bandages before, so the feeling of his leathery skin was odd, there was an odd sense to it that you couldn't describe. Darkness? How could you feel darkness?

You're priority is the claw wound, which you diligently tend to, cleaning and stitching it until you were satisfied with the result. You have a gauze left that you wrap onto him, sitting back on your heels to admire your work. "I'll have to check on it twice a day. If you need help bathing let me know, or I can instruct one of your men how to assist you without infecting the wound," you tell him, expecting him to blatantly deny any outside help.

Instead, he changes the topic entirely, speaking lowly, "I still can't help you."

"What?" You ask, mind still on the topic of his wellbeing.

He rolls his shoulders and looks to his tattered shirt, reaching to put it back on, though leaving it open, "To get back home, I still can't help you. You're wasting your time here."

Oh, so that's what he meant. You haven't spoken about it with him at all, and you did have questions you wanted to ask but you're not even sure if you have the mindset to discuss your fate immediately after learning the man you've been following is rotting before your eyes. It feels kinda shitty to bring up your trauma over his. You reach forward, fingertips grazing against the damaged skin above his stomach, wishing you could do something more than than bandage a wound, "Does it hurt?"

"I've had worse, at least it didn't come out the other side," he tilts his head to the claw, and you can imagine he might have a disinterested look by the sounds of his monotone voice.

You laugh, and you're not sure if he's saying that so you don't bring up his skin but you honestly can't believe what you're seeing, "No no, your body. Your flesh. Does it hurt?" You distantly wonder if that little vial of morphine you saved would alleviate it. Would it be a blessing of reprieve or a torture since it won't last?

Capitano sighs, probably the first sign of true emotion you've heard from him, "Yes, it's very painful. I'm used to it, however."

"Does the ointment help, the one you get from the medic tent? God I wish I could just," you frustratingly clench your fist before opening your palm to him, exhaling in sombre, "Take your pain away. I'm a medic in my world, but here I feel really useless sometimes."

You sit in comfortable silence, still crouched down before him. He hasn't removed your hand, you're not sure why but perhaps the cool touch it soothing to him? His muscles tense underneath you, and you only open your eyes when you feel him relax again. You're face-to-face with a strange light from your palm, a swirling breeze like a vortex coming inwards. You freaked out, retracting your hand fast but only getting a fraction of a distance before Capitano grasped your wrist, forcing you to press back against him. It's too late, whatever concentration you had fades, as does the light.

The way his shoulders sag gives a sense of disappointment. "What was that?" You practically whisper, a little scared of whatever just came from you.

He finally relents your hand, leaning back in his chair, "I believe... It's an ancient power. I shall do some research."

Capitano is curt, his head turned to the side and away from you. You get the hint, knees cracking loudly as you stand, causing you to laugh anxiously while you dust off the imaginary dirt from your thighs, "Y-Yeah, okay. Thank you. I'll check in on you in the morning."

Your goodnights are brief, the flap of the tent closing gently behind you.

There's a pyroslinger skirmisher standing guard at his tent, you give him a pointed finger and declare, "If you see him take off his bandages without me, you let me know! I won't tolerate my patients disrespecting my orders."

He gives you a salute, playing along, "Yes ma'am!"

Capitano's body is corrupted by the abyss, he's been stuck in a torturous torment of decay for over 500 years. Your heart aches at this, a condition your mind struggles to comprehend but there is one saving grace you both had realised:

You have the power to ease his pain.

It's a form of light that counters his darkness, and whilst you can never truly cure him, you can certainly take the edge off and allow him to rest. Physical touch works the best, a few times now as you're focusing on his ailments has he fallen asleep. Now you provide mandatory rest, it had taken a lot of complaining and arguing but you finally managed to get him to take off his helmet.

"I've seen the aftermath of a person's skull from a violent car crash, I don't think it could be worse," you had told him.

To which he responded, "What is a car?"

Seamless to say, you were correct. If you were honest, you were expecting some sort of Freddy Krueger look, though he certainly didn't meet those expectations. What caught you off guard were the piercing blue of his eye. Sometimes, you had thought you'd caught a glimpse of them through the mask, whenever raw emotion truly shined from the Captain. Now, you know you weren't imagining things. One eyes was scarred shut, though he could open the lid, the eye itself was pale and sat naturally closed. The scar across it took up almost half of his face, his skin partially remained its true colour, though he says its faded over time. The blight that covers most of his body travels up his neck, like twisted vines growing along his cheeks and forehead. His long, black hair remained neat, only a few strands falling forward once the mask is removed.

The tent remains securely closed at the time, your back facing it as you both rest in the furs of his bed for extra security. You hum a song that doesn't exist here as you caress your fingers through his hair and down his neck, circling around his shoulders and along his spine. He rests comfortably in your lap while the light from you absorbs his pain. One of his hands reaches out, grasping your left hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, his own hand enveloping yours like a delicate treasure, "I'm not sure I could ever let you leave now. You should have turned around when you still had the chance."

You laugh, because you know Capitano and you know his values. Even as the alarm bells ring from the way he squeezes your hand, like he'll never let you go, you ignore them in favour of your naivety, "If I left then I would have been torn apart by monsters."

He grunts and rolls so he's on his back. Your smile is awkward from the position he's put himself in, your chin tilting up to lessen the double chin from looking down. His hand now reaches up to your face gently stroking your cheek as he thinks aloud, "So as long as I stay in dangerous areas, you won't run away."

His words are making you feel too uncomfortable, so you flick his forehead and scold him, "Stop being so weird. You've kept me safe this far along, right? As long as I'm here, I'm going to help you." You hold his hand against your cheek, hoping to comfort him with a smile, "Besides, who would I follow if not my Captain? Anyone else would just be a downgrade."

Capitano's stare is as piercing as ever. He takes his time sitting up, shirtless and uncaring of the cold temperature. You much prefer this angle, looking slightly up so you can still meet his gaze. True to Capitano fashion, he hits you with a curveball and says something that catches you off guard, "I want you to sleep with me tonight."

Your face goes red, eyes avoidant as you stammer, "F-For the comfort, right? To keep your pain at bay?"

You think this is the first time you've seen him smile and, if this is his joking tone then... What was everything else? "Of course, for the pain. Why, was there something else you had in mind?"

#yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #il capitano #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #x reader #il capitano x reader #isekaiied #genshin impact capitano #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader

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gothhabiba · 1 month ago

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Nosferatu (2024)

I'll tell you right now that I'm going to call everyone by their Dracula names because I'm sorry but I don't know the proper ones

The camera angle when the first Germany part of the movie opens! you're so in the streets, so in the crowds. idk if that's the cinematography or just that I haven't seen a film on such a large screen in a long time?

The scenes with Count Orlac in the castle and how civil he is in his speech (demanding to be addressed by his proper title; forbidding Jonathan to leave but saying "you will stay as I advise," not e.g. "as I command"), and how thin but impenetrable that veneer of civility is. For "civility" read here all of its implications of "civilisation"

The first scene of the ship being in perfect profile, sailing on a sunny sea with picturesque clouds in the background, just like a painting!! like an Age of Sail painting, and all the things about aesthetics, colonialism, depiction-as-claiming-of-ownership, that that implies.

And then the next time you see the ship, it's storming, the camera pans in from over the stern and forward, the ship is rocking, it's much more down in it, the sunny idealism of imperialist fortune-making brought down to its gritty reality

The East As Contagion (free square)

Major missed opportunity to make the ship more explicitly imperialism-flavoured

Female Sexuality As Dangerous And Inviting Contagion (free square)

Lucy and Arthur already being married and having children, specifically her being pregnant again, Lucy and Arthur as "heterofuture" (after @metamatar), reproductive futurity, him being a shipman, their money being conspicuous and being from shipping--

then Mina having one of her episodes just as they're about to kiss, in the water, dress pulled up, legs open to the water (to the Contagion From The East), convulsing--! Inappropriate female sexuality (inadequately contained, inadequately future-oriented, the West as future, heterosexuality as future, female sequestration in the home to raise children who are also appropriately heterosexual as futurity) and how inappropriate female sexuality interrupts the heterofuture that Lucy & Arthur's almost-kiss represents.

Lucy being very light in colouring and lit so as to emphasise that fact, obsessively dressed in white and placed in all-white rooms, versus Mina being dark in colouring (I mean of hair & eyes) and dress, reproductive futurity as whiteness

The Insane Asylum piquing itself as morally upright, scientific, humane, modern, future-oriented institution; the doctor's "don't lock him [Renfield] up, we don't do that here"--and then of course he stays locked up and restrained, and more so than he was before the doctor spoke to him (so gently and kindly and civilly)

Renfield caressing a bird Dracula had given him and saying "master likes the pretty ones," Mina as bird, birds in cages as metaphor for Victorian womanhood and sequestration within the home, Jonathan saying immediately when the men plan to go hunt Dracula down that Mina isn't going

Something about the drunk (?) man gently banging his head against a wall whom they have to pass to get to Van Helsing's, and this coming on the heels of the scene in the asylum

Mina becoming poorly specifically when Jonathan leaves, her saying that she's unwell because he's gone, Lucy saying "and Jonathan leaving caused your..." and Mina finishing "melancholy." When, like, obviously what's being elided here is the idea that Mina is unwell because she's sexually unfulfilled, the Victorian idea that once a woman has sex she has to continue to or she'll become physically and mentally unwell--a series of ideas you may be most familiar with under the heading of "hysteria."

Mina talking about her "epilepsies," insert everything about Victorian medical science versus popular culture and how ambivalently epilepsy was treated as effectively demonic and uncontrollable on the one hand, or subjected to modernising theories of disease (including and especially mental illness) on the other hand--

which, obviously, the "science versus popular superstition" is a significant part of what animates this. I think they brought this out very well & maybe even a little too explicitly

The fact that it is Germany's (England's) "modern" and "scientific" ideas that allowed this to happen, when Nosferatu had grown weak in Transylvania because of the superstitions of the local populace and especially the "g*psies"--I have to think about it more but there's a countercurrent in there somewhere--expressing anxiety not necessarily on behalf of, but about, "Western" modernity and heterofuturity

That Mina x Jonathan sex scene was so good even & especially because of the demonic possession / doing-it-to-prove-a-point thing. they're so endlessly devoted to one another and I love them so much

Needed an intermission. really really needed an intermission

Just the sexiest Dracula adaptation ever. horniest by far, by far. yes, even including that other one, which really wasn't sexy or horny at all imo.

Whoever was involved in making this movie is very, very familiar with Victorian anxieties and motivations and rhetoric and very, very psychosexually disturbed. perfection

My girlfriend complained that all the sex was missionary-style but I think that worked perfectly. For one thing, think of "missionary" and all the colonial implications there. The implications of heterosexual reproduction specifically within marriage that it carries. Also the implications of domination that come with being physically on top of someone, and the fact that the way Nosferatu feeds on Jonathan bears close resemblance to the way he feeds on & has sex with Mina--

then Nosferatu apparently telling Mina that Jonathan was "pathetic" and "weak" and "womanish"--!!!!!!! And the image of spread legs (recall Mina's scene in the water, also Lucy after her death) as surrender. If all the sex and quasi-sex scenes weren't so formulaically heterosexual in this particular way, these parallels wouldn't work as well.

And speaking of Jonathan, it's also interesting that his seduction-by-three-brides-of-Dracula thing is cut out to emphasise instead Mina's seduction by Dracula. We don't get any of that reference to his "indiscretion" (with Mina holding his hand sympathetically, forgiving, perfect angelic Victorian wife) that we get in 1992.

Stupid ending. there is never a good or poetic or touching reason to kill the woman at the ending of a movie. it's always stupid. like I get that she sacrificed herself to save everyone and took agency by reversing things so that inside, within the home, within the bed was where the war was fought, and outside, with the men was just a diversion and I get that this is an intentional subversion of the Angel-in-the-Home bird-in-a-cage situation. I still think it's stupid.

When Jonathan kisses Mina's hand as she's naked, covered in blood, legs spread, covered by the body of Nosferatu, and he pulls away, and he's so covered in tears and snot and saliva and all those liquids make so many stringy trails in the backlit space between her hand and his face as he pulls away. so so so good.

the sound design was incredible

#Nosferatu #Nosferatu 2024

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reality-detective · 11 days ago

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Now that Donald Trump is President it’s time to undo the damage that Barack Obama has done to this country.

National Reporting on Barack Obama being responsible for the media being allowed to use propaganda against the American People.

Make Propaganda Illegal Again!!!

“Obama repealed the 1948 Smith–Mundt Act, which then permitted propaganda to be in broadcasting. It no longer said that it had to be credible”

He wasn't the only one though; both of the Bush's, Carter and Clinton did their share also. In fact it goes back further than that, Reagan was trying to do the right thing by warning us and was shot.

It goes back further than that. 👇

The powers that be, knew the U.S. needed to be infiltrated from within so they brought these people in to lie to the people about space, to perform human experiments (think insane asylums), corrupt our education system, brainwash the people and honestly it doesn't end there, it gets much worse. 🤔

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disillusioneddanny · 1 year ago

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A Place in this world

Danny took a breath and let it out slowly as he started to get ready for the day. It had been six months since his parents lost custody of him since he had been welcomed into the folds of the Wayne Family. Since Batman himself had saved him from his parents’ experimentation table. His parents were now safely locked up in Arkham Asylum where they would spend the next ten years serving their punishment and Danny was safely living within the confines of Wayne Manor.

Things had been going rather well so far. The Bats had been insanely understanding about Danny wanting to live a normal life now that the portals had all been shut down. The most they requested from Danny was the occasional help on their gadgets and Danny was more than happy to help with that. He had more fun working on the Batmobile and Batplane than he ever did being a vigilante.

And they had encouraged his special interests! They even indulged him in it, letting him have his own little study dedicated to just his experiments and inventions. It had been amazing when Bruce had first shown him all of the spaces that were just for him. He had a bedroom that was as big as his parents' old living room and had an entire space dedicated to his inventions. And on top of that, Bruce had encouraged him to build his own portal so that if he wanted to go to the ghost zone he could. He had even made a space in the Batcave that was just for him if he ever decided to build it.

Six months in and he hadn’t decided yet if that was something he wanted to do. He hadn’t gone ghost a single time since he had moved to Gotham. He was starting to miss it if he was going to be honest. There was something about his ghost form that was just truly comforting. It just felt wrong, though, almost like it was taboo to do such a thing. Which he had no real reason to feel that way. Batman or well, Bruce, had assured him multiple times now that he was more than welcome to change into his ghost form whenever he wanted. Had just requested that Danny let him know if he was going out when he was Phantom so that they wouldn’t think he was a new rogue or anything of the such.

He was missing it, though. The longer he went without shifting into his ghost form, the tighter his skin felt. It was starting to feel like he couldn’t fit in his human form anymore. He could feel himself growing more restless as the days went by, and could feel himself fraying at the edges.

Which was why he was letting himself spend the day in his Phantom form even if it was kinda terrifying the more he thought about it. It was the first time since Batman had saved him and none of his new family had ever really seen him in this form before. It was nerve-wracking but he was going to do it.

He let the bright rings wrap around his body and breathed out as he felt himself change into Phantom, it felt like taking a deep breath on a cold winter’s day. He let himself phase through the door, using his powers a little more than he used to dispel some of the pent-up energy.

The Fenton’s had hypothesized that ecto entities relied on ectoplasm to live, that they needed it like humans needed oxygen. But that wasn’t quite right. Ghosts were ectoplasm. Despite the fact that they were sentient and sapient-looking beings, they were more closely aligned with plants. They created their own energy to survive. And Danny had been letting the ecto that his ghost form created build up inside of him and now he was just about ready to burst from all of it.

“It’s fine,” he breathed out before floating out of the room. His feet were mere inches from the ground as he made his way down the stairs and into the breakfast room where he could already hear the rest of his family sitting around talking and preparing for their mornings. The only people who lived in the manor were Alfred, Bruce, Damian, and Duke. So it wasn’t like everyone in the Wayne family was going to be there to see him. Jason lived in Crime Alley, Dick was in Bludhaven, Steph lived on campus, Cass was in Hong Kong and well, no one actually knew where Tim lived now that Danny was thinking about it.

Why did no one know where Tim lived? He shook his head, he was distracting himself from the matter at hand. And that was having breakfast with his new brothers and adoptive father.

Things quieted as he floated through the wall and gave them an awkward smile. “G’morning,” he mumbled, dipping his head down as he took his usual seat beside Damian.

Bruce gave him a small, proud smile. “Good morning, Danny. Or should we call you Phantom when you’re in this form?” He asked and Danny felt his cheeks blush, a bright green color when he was in this form.

“Danny’s fine. Phantom’s just what I went by when I was out as a hero,” he said, stabbing at the pancakes placed in front of him. “Sorry, I just–”

“No need to apologize, Daniel,” Damian said, a small smile on his face. “We are happy that you feel comfortable enough to show us this side of you.”

Danny gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I uh, I realized I’m needing to take better care of my ghost self. And you guys are safe, I don’t have to worry like I did with the Fentons,” he said quietly.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Bruce asked him, arching a brow in curiosity.

Danny let out a quiet hum as he cut up his pancakes, frowning at the slightly strange texture. Dick had warned him that Alfred’s pancakes weren’t the best but he wasn’t expecting them to be like straight-up rubber. Jason had said that no one had the guts to tell him that they were gross and well, Danny had eaten much worse than rubbery pancakes.

“My ghost side has a tendency to create bonds with people I consider family, so it’s wanting to create those bonds with all of you,” he said carefully, staring at his rubbery pancakes rather than at his new family.

“I think that’s completely okay,” Bruce said with a small smile. “Can you explain a bit more about the social aspects of being a ghost? I think that we would all appreciate a quick lesson so that we can better support you.”

Danny blushed again and nodded. “So ghosts are protective creatures,” he said with a snort as he rested his chin on his hand. “It’s like your own personal protector but on top of that, we’re very social creatures who rely on one another, we get power from it actually. A lot of ghosts bond through fighting with one another, it’s a way to bond. But also indulging in activities together is another one. So, going out to hang out, spending time together, that all helps build the fraid bonds. A ghost’s family is its fraid. So the closer I get to you, then you’ll become my fraid which comes with a few perks? I guess you could call them perks.”

The halfa wrinkled his nose as he wracked his brain to figure out how to explain the perks. “Since you’re humans you’ll get access to a few of my powers,” he said slowly. “Sam, Jazz, and Tucker all turned kinda liminal because of our fraid bonds. It gave them some enhanced strength, they were able to see in the dark, and the shadows pulled to them a little more so it was almost like they could turn invisible at night. So you guys would get some of those same benefits.”

“That sounds awesome!” Duke said excitedly, a wide smile on his face.

“What benefits do you receive?” Damian asked with a frown, tilting his head to the side.

“I get the benefit of having stronger bonds which will make me stronger as well. I’ll also know when you’re in danger or not–something that I think will be a bitch considering your night jobs,” he said with a soft laugh. “But family bonds mean I’m healthy. If I have a lack of fraid bonds I’ll get sick and weak and grumpy. It’s why I finally gave in and changed to this form because I could feel it start to happen.”

Bruce frowned as he mulled over the information that Danny had just thrown at him. “What do we need to do to create these bonds with you?”

Danny blushed a bright green. “Spend time with me.”

“Tomorrow we shall go to the park together and take Titus on a walk,” Damian announced. “I shall have the strongest bonds with you, Daniel. Just you wait.”

Duke snickered. “It’s not a competition, Dami. We’re doing this for Danny’s health and to be closer to our brother.”

“And I will be the best at it, I will become Daniel’s favorite brother,” Damian exclaimed.

“You just want super strength so you can fight Jon,” Bruce said with a laugh and Danny giggled into his hand.

“I don’t know if you’ll be as strong as a Kryptonian, Dami. But I did see Jazz pick up the fridge like it weighed nothing one time,” Danny said thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side as he tried to think more about how strong his friends and sister were by the time he had left Amity. “So maybe don’t pick a fight with Superboy, it might just end with you covered in a lot of bruises.”

Damian huffed out a sigh. “I will still be the best brother, regardless,” he said, pushing his lower lip out in a pout. Danny snickered and took another bite of his rubbery pancakes, chewing far longer than he had ever had to chew a pancake before.

Danny just mustered up a small smile for his new family. Hopefully, this would go well.

Did you enjoy? Read the rest on ao3 here

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dis writes #dis dreams #batman #danny fenton #dc x dp crossover

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cilliansmesoftly · 7 months ago

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like a wrecking ball

pairing: john/buck egan x fem!reader

summary: you send buck sensual photos while he’s stationed

warning: talk of nude photos, dirty talk, sensual letters, inaccuracies about war, smut, oral (first time munching box 🐱) (fem! receiving), overstimulation, etc.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ what started off as marge taking pictures of you getting ready for a party, putting on lipstick and fluffing up your hair, ended with you asking marge if you could borrow her camera for a couple of days to take some photos for buck.

it was all in good fun. some ones with you crossed eyed, smiling, goofy and carefree. however, something possessed you to slip the strap of your dress off your shoulder click take the clip from your hair, letting down your loose, soft hair click and snap the clasp from your bra click.

you don’t know what came over you. you took over fifteen pictures in sensual poses, as if posing for a professional boudoir photoshoot. gosh, if anyone ever saw these, you thought. they’d have me carted off to the brothel or put into an asylum.

and what’s worse than that, you’d mustered up the courage to actually send them! with your stationary neatly stacked at your desk, your ink pen furiously wrote to your deployed lover.

My Love, I hear the war is getting harder. There’s no telling what you have to attest to that statement, they say Germany is killing our Air Force and I can’t help but to think of you. Fighting your hardest, having trouble sleeping at night, losing friends, losing family.

And even in all of this, I still feel sorry for myself for missing you. Everyone notices how miserable I am without you here. Without your touch, your smile, your kiss. Golly, even my mother visits! And you know how she is with me and boys, totally mentally insane.

Anywho, how is my love? And how is Gale? Marge misses him terribly. She has a sneaky suspicion that he is going to ask her to marry him.. though I think she may be going a bit stir crazy from not being with him, but who am I to talk?

Our girls are doing our best here, I work the soup kitchen most days for the people out of jobs and soldiers who have come home injured. My classes are going terribly, my focus only seems to train on you and what you’re doing, and if you’re safe.

I’m sending some pictures for you, John. Marge let me borrow her camera and the film just got back to me today, so I hope you enjoy. I miss you, love. I can’t wait for you to be back in my arms and within my reach. For now, take these photos and do with them what you like. Imagine me there, John. Just how I imagine you here with me. Oh, and please, please, please, do not let anyone see these!

Your Girl,

Y/N

you kissed the letter with scarlet stained lips, enclosed the envelope set with your photos, and sent it off, staring out of the window as the mailman carried it off to be shipped overseas, in the air, and into john’s trusted hands.

★

“mail!” a soldier shouted in the quiet cafeteria. men, all in matching green uniforms, scrambled to get up and horde the poor guy. he passed letters and packages around, assigning them with a last name shouted before he handed it to the rightful owner. “egan.” he said, dropping a single envelope signed with pretty cursive writing on the front.

“who’s it from?” gale asked sarcastically. he knew his friend was smitten with his girl from back home and she was one of the few- or rather only- person he took the time to write to.

“take a guess, clevens.” john replied smugly, tearing open the letter quite clumsily, the tear all jagged and the envelop ripped down the corner. out of that tear, a photo caught the eye of john. he squinted. “she sent photos.” he told gale.

“really? marge never sends me photos.” he mutters jealously. gale watched his friend’s face blush a bright red, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “what? what is it?”

“that’s for me to cherish, and for you… to never find out.” john smiled up at his friend. he took one of the many pictures out of the envelope completely and turned it many ways to look at all perspectives of your beauty. the way your hair fell over your eyes as you gazed lustfully at the camera lens. the way the intricate lace of your bra strap led down to the see-through fabric over your breast. he could see you perfectly. though the camera isn’t the most expensive and definitely not the most defined, john could tell you took your time making sure these photos were worth his while.

“damn, major. who is this beautiful dame?” lieutenant curtis was peaking over john’s shoulder and john slammed the picture down onto the table before he could see anymore of his girl.

“that’s mine, curt. you’ll have to find your own.” curtis made a booing sound and walked off playfully glum. “god, this girl’s gonna be the death of me.”

“are you gonna explain or am i gonna have to snatch the picture while you aren’t looking?” gale asked, running a hand through his blond hair.

“you ain’t seeing the pictures, nobody’s seein’ them but me.” john shook his head, a light blush still creeping up his neck, up his ears. “she sent nudie pictures.” he laughed under his breath, shoving the pictures deep into his pocket.

“what? let me see!” gale leaned forward, smiling from cheek to cheek.

“what?” john scoffed. “hell, no. i’m gonna marry this girl.” he leaned back away from the table, so gale couldn't grab him and force the photos out of his pocket. “hell, i ain’t even read the letter yet.”

“better get to writing a hell of a response. she won’t send anymore if you send some half-assed letter back, man.” gale laughed, taking a sip of coffee.

john finally took the letter out of the envelope, it still smelled like her. he brought it up to his nose and thought fondly of his beautiful girl back home. he missed her more than anything. unfolding the parchment, he smiled at her greeting, her penmanship was unlike any other. curling, twirling cursive letters filled the page and he caught a glimpse of the lipstick mark at the bottom of the page. oh, to kiss her lips again, buck thought.

his eyes scanned every word more than twice. he could hear her voice within the written words.

“she asked how you were doing.” buck told gale whose eyebrows lifted in gratefulness. “she also says that marge thinks you’re going to ask her to marry you.”

“damn it!” gale huffs, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “how does she know?”

“don’t know, man.” john laughs as he takes out a piece of paper from his pocket, always on hand for something like this, when he has to get to work immediately on writing you back.

My Beautiful Girl,

There’s nothing I want more than to be with you right now. In my arms, in my bed, all alone. No one but us, my sweet girl.

When I get back, I’m going to keep you to myself for a whole week. And those pictures? I never knew you to be so dirty. You should’ve seen my face when I opened up the envelope. I was about as red as a ripe tomato.

I long for nothing more than to kiss those sweet lips, your shoulders, your smooth legs, all of you. I am going to come home to you. I’m gonna crash through the front door and hold onto you until forever falls apart. There’s only a few more months until we’re together again, for good, hopefully.

And to answer your questions, I’m doing okay. we’re losing a lot of men, really quickly. I can’t help but to keep offering to go on missions, just so it doesn’t go haywire. Gale is also planning on asking Marge to marry him, but don’t you dare tell her. He was doing great until I told him about her correct accusations. He is currently laying his head down on the table and holding his hands to his head in despair.

My girl, I love you so much. Trust in this, I am always yours and no one will see these pictures but me, admiringly. I always imagine you with me. You’re with me when I sleep at night, when I’m up in the air, and especially in my heart. You keep me safe without even knowing, angel.

Love, John

★

just as john said in his letter, a few months and he’d be home. months turn into weeks, weeks turned into days, and days turned into hours. today was the day and you had been preparing since the sun first rose in the morning.

marge had also been on edge, their plane was to arrive at the tarmac at three in the afternoon. you and marge spent the day scrubbing, shaving, spritzing, and dressing. after that, you spent a few minutes straightening up the house and making sure there was some food warming up for him when he got home. even so, the hangar was only a few minutes down the road.

it was about a quarter past two now and marge was supposed to be with you about fifteen minutes ago. to say you were antsy would be a major understatement. you couldn’t keep the ball of your heel from bouncing on the floor, your poor nails had been chewed off hours ago.

a knock on the door knocked you out of your anxious daze and you sprang up from the couch to answer it.

marge’s glowing face entered your sight and you sighed in relief.

“you’re late.” you hugged your best friend tightly, then ran into the kitchen to grab your purse before meeting marge on the porch, closing and locking the door.

“i know, i’m sorry. i really don’t have an excuse, i was just so anxious so i drove a bit slower.” she admitted, which helped you feel a lot better. at least you weren’t alone.

“we shouldn’t be this nervous, really.” you sighed, walking down the sidewalk to marge’s car. you opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. marge followed suit and sat in the driver’s side, quickly cranking the key and speeding off to the airport. the plane was due to arrive at three, so you only had about fifteen minutes until you got to see your favorite person in the world.

"should we stand at the gate or try to get onto the actual tarmac?" marge questioned, looking around at all the other wives and girlfriends standing around.

"there's a guard at the gate, we'll just ask him if we can get in." you pointed at the man in a vest, a security badge pinned to his chest. you and marge waltzed up to the man with kind smiles painted on your lips. "hi, sir. how are you today?"

"just fine, and yourselves?" the man smiled warmly.

"absolutely dandy." marge grinned. "so, listen, we were just wondering. are we allowed to go onto the tarmac or do we have to wait behind the gate?"

"i can allow you on the tarmac, but do you see those cones over there?" he pointed behind him to bright orange cones lined up down the asphalt. the girls hummed in agreement. "you can't get more than thirty feet near them. that's where the plane will land and roll in and i will not be taking responsibility for a bunch of soldiers' wives getting run over because they decided not to listen, understand?" the man looked back to the women who nodded with wide eyes. "okay, let me open this." he fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the gate, pushing it open so the girls could come in and await their loves.

marge checked the gold watch on her wrist. "should be about five minutes, y/n."

"i feel like i need to puke. do you feel like you have to puke?" you sputtered out quickly and marge placed her hands on your shoulders to calm you down.

"hey, there's nothing to be nervous about. john is a good man, a good man who misses you, okay? you have nothing to worry about except getting pregnant in the next twenty-four hours." marge giggled when you gasped.

"marge! watch your mouth or they'll carry you away." you two laughed before the distant sound of a plane rattled the ground beneath your feet. you looked up and there it was. the plane that carried your john back to you, safe and sound. you sighed, saying a quick prayer, before watching the plane land safely and roll into the hangar.

the wives were muttering relentlessly. it had been a few minutes since the plane got here and no soldiers had yet to step out. but finally, finally, a group of men all dressed in matching green jumpsuits and carrying the same bag came running out of the hangar in search of their reasons for fighting as hard as they did. marge spotted gale, his golden blonde hair flowing in the wind as he ran to her. he scooped her up in his arms, kissing her like it was from a movie. y/n laughed and clapped for her best friends, but she couldn't help but wonder where john was.

"hey, y/n. how are ya, girl?" gale walked up to the worrisome girl with his arm around marge's waist.

"i'm fine, gale! oh, we've missed you and john so much." she sighed as he wrapped his free arm around her in an embrace. "where is john, by the way?"

gale looked behind him and there he was, almost as if in slow motion. he was just as dreamy as the day she met him.

before she could stop herself, her feet picked up a quick pace and soon enough she was running to him, grinning and laughing. when she reached him, he dropped his duffle bag onto the floor and pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.

“oh, my sweet y/n.” john muttered into her hair. she smelled so good. she smelled like home. he missed her like hell. and if she wasn’t half of his heart, there’s no way he would’ve survived. “i missed you so much.”

he let her down so her feet could touch the ground, but made no move to let her out of his embrace. y/n cupped the sides of his face and brought him into a searing kiss. a kiss that said everything she couldn’t. how grateful she was that he was home, that he’s safe, back in her arms. “i missed you so much more.”

“not possible.” he said against her lips.

“hey, if y’all don't mind i’d like to go home!” gale shouted at the couple, teasingly. marge playfully slapped him against his chest in scolding. he just laughed and grabbed her hand, leading her back to the gate.

“i guess we should go.” y/n sighed against him. john pouted and whined dropping his head to her shoulder. “the faster we get home, the faster you get to see all the new pictures i have.”

with that, he grabbed his bag off the ground and y/n’s hand, leading her to marge and gale, albeit very quickly.

★

marge dropped y/n and john off at her home, speeding off with a wave out of the window.

“i missed this place.” john said, looking up at the small house. y/n grabbed his hand gently and led him up the stairs of the porch. when they walked in, it smelled of a home cooked meal and pure love to john. “what’d you make, angel?”

“some steak,” she replied, walking in front of him to open the oven that was keeping the food warm. she felt john’s presence behind her, warm and inviting. “potatoes,” john wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips tickling the nape of her neck. her breath hitched as she leaned back against him. “and i baked a pie.”

“mmm, what kind?” his lips were right near her ear and he kissed the skin behind it, a light gasp leaving her pretty lips.

“cherry.”

“my favorite.” he turned her around and captured her lips in a kiss, lost in her already. she was breathless. this is all she had been waiting for, yearning every day and even worse at night. she missed his touch, his kiss, his everything. “those photos you sent drove me crazy, baby. took everything i had not to just tape it to the windshield of my plane.”

“there’s more.” she whispered, his lips all over her neck, sucking bruises that she would have to hide with a turtle neck. “you wanna see?”

he growled against her skin as she dragged him into the bedroom. she pushed him to sit on the bed, noticing the already prominent bulge in his green army pants. she kneeled down between his legs, eye contact heavy between them. john shifted where he sat, ready for anything she was about to give him. instead, she reached for the black box under her bed and placed it on his thighs.

“open it.” she sat back on her calves, watching him open the box with a brow lifted quizzically.

inside were more than 30 developed pictures, in all their vulgar glory. john let out a sigh and sat up straighter. he picked up a few and sorted through them, y/n was posed with a white lacy set adorning her body and light makeup on her face. she was in front of a mirror, playing with herself. she could hear his breath catch in his throat. he stared at each photo, getting harder by the second.

“do you like them?” she asked, he brought his attention back down to his girl. her big doe eyes looking pleading and seductive at the same time. she was still sitting back on her legs and the way she had her hands clasped in front of her made her arms push her breasts together, giving john a teasing view of her cleavage.

“like them? b-baby, i want these burned into my memory.” he stuttered over his words and that’s how y/n knew she had him wrapped around her finger. the usually stoic, firm, but kind man she fell in love with is gradually falling apart at the seams, all because of her. “y’know what, though?”

“hm?”

“i think i prefer the live action version.” the smirk on his face was deep, setting smile lines onto the left side of his face.

“well, good thing you got it for the rest of your life, baby.” she sat up on her legs, placing her hands on the tops of his thighs for stability. john leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back. he groaned, his mouth open and waiting for her to crash into him.

“i’d rather you not tease me right now, angel.” he breathed against her lips. y/n just giggled and took the box from his lap, placing it back under the bed. she stood to her full height and john wrapped his arms around her hips, letting her sit herself on his lap. she gasped when she felt how aroused he was. “kiss me.”

“not yet.” she smiled, leaning away from his lips. “let me undress you?”

john agreed and let her pull his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants. she flung the fabric somewhere behind her and giggled. his toned chest was warm and soft, she grazed her fingers over every freckle and mole that she had missed so much, kissing over every one she saw. she let her hands drag down to his belt that she skillfully unbuckled while maintaining eye contact with her lover.

john was going absolutely insane, he had never seen this side of her before. so powerful, so in tune with both of their bodies, and ever so confident. he was enchanted.

“can we try something?” he asked suddenly when she pulled his belt through the last loop.

“what’s that, baby?” she started to kiss his neck, licking and sucking all over the soft skin and john moaned while trying to get his words out.

“the g-guys were talking about- fuck, how good it is to eat pussy.” he whined when y/n stopped in her tracks. she detached her lips from his body and leaned back to look at him.

“you wanna try that?” she looked shocked.

john nodded submissively, blush rushing to the tops of his ears and creeping down his neck.

“just lie down, i’ll take care of you.” he cradled her neck in his large hand. he brought the other one to the buttons of her dress, slowly taking each one out. when he caught sight of the bralette adoring her figure, he brought his head down to kiss at the top of her skin and the lacy fabric. “i’m liking all this new underwear, baby.”

“all just for you.” she whispered. she carded her fingers through his hair, her head tilted back in pleasure at the magic he was working on her body. she was soaked and he had barely even done anything.

john took the rest of her dress off and lifted her to stand, it dropped to her feet onto the floor and she stepped out of it. he laid her back down, propping a pillow behind her head.

“you still okay?” he asked, kissing down her belly. her answer was breathy and barely audible, but he heard it, so he continued. his fingers grazed the hem of her white panties, a pink bow adorning the middle. the innocence of it all made john’s head feel dizzy. he slowly dragged her underwear down her legs, savoring every moment with her. “let me know what feels good, honey.”

“oka-” her voice failed her as john brought his lips up to her swollen bud. if he was new at this, he sure was a fast learner. his tongue was circling her clit, but trailed down to her entrance that was sopping with arousal. as soon as he got his first taste, john wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs and brought her closer to his mouth. “oh, my god.”

“feel good?” he muttered quickly, going back to licking and slurping as if his life depended on it.

“fucking unreal.” her head was thrown back, fingers digging into the pillow behind her. her hips were bucking onto john’s face, forcing his nose to bump her clit. she felt his fingers prodding at her and she mewled, her back arching against the bed. “won’t last, if you do that.”

“that’s the whole point, sweets.” he was smiling against her. her overstimulation was amusing to him.

“wanna come on your cock, baby.” he groaned against her core, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. her eyes were clenched so tightly, she wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up wrinkled on the lid.

begrudgingly, he pulled back, kneeling in front of her. he made sure to look into her eyes as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning around them at the sweet taste of her. “tastes like honey, baby.”

“i’m sure you taste better.” she flirted back, her eyelashes fluttering. and as much as he would love to shove his cock down her throat, her cunt was much more appealing at the moment.

“maybe tomorrow. tonight’s about you, doll. and how much i missed you.” his belt had already been undone by her, so all he had to do was unbutton them and let them fall to the floor. “do you wanna know how i spent my nights?” he mounted his sweet girl, a knee between her legs and his arms holding himself up to look into her eyes. “i had a room to myself, y’know.. bein’ major comes with some perks. i’d take out those photos you sent me.. every night. like fuckin’ clock work.” she could feel him lining himself up with her entrance. the head of his cock prodding at the greedy hole that was oh so eager to take him. “i’d picture you there, running your hands all over me, like you always do. latchin’ yourself onto me. lovin’ me so good…”

her eyes were sparkling under the warm lights of the lamps on the beside tables. her bottom lip was quivering with need, her back arching up to try and get him to slip into her, but every time she bucked her hips, he would pull just inches away. she was writhing beneath him, aching to have him in her. “bucky, please.”

“hang on, darlin’.” john was smiling ear-to-ear. he knew what he was doing to her, he loved to see her all riled up just for him. “i’d fuck my fist every night to those sweet pictures.. just counting the days until i’d see you again. til i could kiss you again, til i could fuck you again.”

he kissed the side of her neck before thrusting himself all the way into her cunt. the stretch was euphoric to her after not having anything but her fingers, that she could not work as well as john could. she hissed in pleasure as he pulled out, just to the tip, and thrusted in harder, setting a nice and steady pace.

“faster.” she breathed against his lips. he obliged quickly, pressing into her harder and faster than he had before. she was clawing her nails down his back, and he whimpered into her neck. he thought his fantasies were good? this was a hundred times better than anything his mind could’ve conjured up. she was squeezing so tight he could barely pull out, but god was it amazing. he couldn’t make his mind think about anything but her. “you feel so good, buck. better than i dreamed.”

“you been dreamin’ about me too, sweetheart?” he kissed her cheek, chin, and lips. he swiped his tongue over her bottom lip and she opened her mouth wider, letting him taste all around. she could faintly taste herself on his tongue and she moaned at the vulgarity of it all.

john snuck his fingertips down her belly, tracing her skin on the way down to her swollen clit, he circled it in slow, smooth movements. y/n threw her head back with her bottom lip between her teeth.

“cmon baby. give it to me.” he growled in her ear. his hips were losing their rhythm and he refused to come before her. “come for me, darlin’.”

she held her hand to the back of his neck, keeping him latched to her chest. john sucked and bit over her chest, leaving dark marks all along her skin. her thighs were trembling in pleasure as john worked himself faster against her hips. the only sounds in the room were the couple’s lewd and borderline pornographic curses falling from their swollen lips and skin slapping against skin. john could feel her core clenching tighter and tighter and he knew that coil in her belly was about to snap.

“john, i’m coming.” her voiced was pinched as she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at his lower back. she moaned even louder as he hit even deeper, hitting that spot inside of her so well, she was seeing stars.

“give me all you got, baby.” he whispered against her chest, his fingers still working circles against her clit. she pressed her nails into his skin, surely leaving bloody red marks all over his freckled back. her climax hit her like a train and then it hit her again and again in the most intense aftershocks she had ever had, she was leaking all over his cock and john look down to where the two of them were connected, wet and slick in both of their arousal. the sight alone had him coming inside of her with a loud groan, and collapsing onto her.

while the two of them caught their breath, john’s head perked up with a mischievous smirk on his face.

“what?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“you still got that camera from marge? i’d love to take some pictures of us that we both can enjoy.”

#callum turner imagine #callum turner smut #callum turner #bucky egan #john egan #gale cleven #austin butler imagine #boys in the boat #spotify #soldier boy

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thehivemindsys · 1 month ago

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Eddie Gluskin Headcanons because I cannot stop thinking about him and im bored

Happy holidays, I usually just am not happy during this time of year so I’m pushing down my emotions and writing angst. Enjoy. Tw: Self harm, CSA, rape, misogyny, violence, typical outlast stuff.

-Eddie hates bathing and has to be physically restrained if the doctors wish to get him clean. This is mainly due to his CSA, as Eddie was attacked a lot while he was in the shower-but it is also due to him feeling uncomfortable with being nude for long periods of time.

-Eddie hates dogs. His family had a dog that was specifically trained to bite him if he commanded it to. Eddie doesn’t own any pets, really, and believes that cats are too “feminine” for him.

-During his initial murder spree, Eddie killed around 34 people-men and women, who he all gave the definition of “bride” to. He was found not guilty by reason of insanity, and was sent to Mount Massive Asylum. For a time, he actually had a proper psychologist before he was eventually signed up for the Walrider program after he attacked the wrong guard.

-Eddie has diagnosed Schizophrenia, BPD, psychosis, and could possibly qualify for a DID diagnosis.

-Eddie could possibly qualify for DID because he has a few seperate personality states: a younger version of himself, trapped within his childhood, “The Groom,” the dominant personality states, and a version of himself that is haunted by his trauma, and rather prefers to be alone. Though it is unclear if this is DID or just due to his BPD (he does dissociate from reality quite often, though).

-Eddie’s favorite movie growing up was Sleeping Beauty, and often quotes it to the best of his memory. He believes that Prince Phillip is the perfect depiction of a devoted husband, and Aurora is the most beautiful woman in the world.

-Sketching and tailoring are his favorite hobbies. He most often draws women in goregous dresses, and has a very traditional Disney-like style to his artwork.

-Eddie believes that it is the 1950s and is incapable of perceiving the current year as it is. He writes things like computers, camcorders, and cellphones off as “advanced space-age technology.” Don’t ever ask him to operate a computer because he would have absolutely no idea how to do it.

-If Eddie could comprehend the concept of a trans person, he would for sure be a supporter-due to his psychosis and delusions, however, he couldn’t comprehend it even if he tried. He can’t even comprehend that he may be gay.

-Eddie may have targeted women before the asylum, but once he was incarcerated, he practically exclusively targeted men-even when there was a female presence in the asylum, he didn’t attack them nearly as much as he did the men.

-Eddie is actually a pretty damn good chef. He has to be, considering his only qualification for a good “wife” is that “she” has to be alive and breathing. (Even then…)

-Eddie has a love for salted caramels.

-Eddie has a hard time keeping his anger in check, and rarely keeps his hands to himself. He was transferred to an isolation cell after he groped a guard, and he was never really allowed out of maximum security afterwards. This, plus other forms of inhumane treatment at the hands of Murkoff, eventually led to his mental health getting worse and his transfer to the Walrider program once it was deemed that he was “too far gone.”

-Eddie may be a charasmatic, boisterous man but deep down, he is suffering from crippling lonliness and deep seated insecurities that will likely never fully go away.

-Eddie did self harm before he was transferred to Mount Massive.

-Eddie’s best friend in the asylum is Frank Manera canonically, but he does have a rather good relationship with many of the Variants, including The Twins and Chris Walker. He and Frank used to have cells right next to one another, and communicated through a hole in the wall.

#outlast 1 #outlast whistleblower #outlast #eddie gluskin #frank manera #chris walker #outlast headcanons

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thedemoninme141 · 5 months ago

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Her Heartbeat, Chapter 2: Her Touch

Summary: Wednesday did not think she would ever attend someone's wedding in her life, but here she was.

Warnings: EmotionallyConfusedWednesday! Fluff! WednesdayKnockingDownADoctor???

Previous Chapter Masterlist

“Remind me, are you the one who’s insane, or is it the person we’re kidnapping?” You let out a half-laugh, though it was more nervous than amused. “Neither of us is crazy. No one really is, if you think about it. They’re just... a little different from what society considers ‘normal.' " your eyes fixed on Wednesday as if expecting her to hang onto your every word. “Anyway, here is the plan. There isn't much CCTV there, the security sucks, so won't be much problem for you to get in. From 2 to 3 p.m., the patients are always gathered in one of the rooms to watch movies. Our kidnapee is gonna be there.” Wednesday glanced at you, her expression unimpressed. "'Kidnapee'? That’s not even a real word." "Whatever, you get the point. She's always there at that time." Wednesday sighed, her patience already wearing thin. "What's her name?" You hesitated, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Never asked her name. She goes by Little Cupcake." Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Little Cupcake? What is she, some sort of code name enthusiast?" She stared at you, skeptical. "And what did she do to you?" You glanced out the window, your face suddenly serious. "I can't say that right now. But I will show you after we get her." Wednesday huffed, crossing her arms. "Ugh, why did I even agree to this?" She should have turned back at the quad, abandoned this absurd scheme before it went too far. But then again, her curiosity and the thrill of doing something reckless had already hooked her in.

The taxi pulled up in front of the asylum gate. You paid the driver, your movements quick and jittery. "Come on, We don't have much time." You hurried and Wednesday followed. Without a second thought, you ran toward the gate, attempting to climb it in a flurry of clumsy movements. Wednesday watched you struggle and rolled her eyes, how did you even manage to last this long with this iq? Once you managed to perch precariously at the top, you looked down at Wednesday. "Why are you still down there? Come on!" Wednesday sighed, rubbing her temple. She calmly walked to the gate and simply pushed it open. It creaked as it swung wide, and she stepped through without another word. “Oh,” you muttered, embarrassed as you climbed back down. “Right. The gate was unlocked.” "Try not to make this more of a circus than it already is," Wednesday said, her voice flat as ever.

Right outside the door, you turned to Wednesday with a determined look. “Come on, do your thing.” Wednesday narrowed her eyes at you. “What thing?” “You know,” you said, waving your hand vaguely. “Your thing.” “Be more specific,” Wednesday deadpanned. “Come on, you know how you, like, detach your hand and send it off to do stuff for you? Like Mr. Potato Head.” Wednesday’s brow furrowed deeply, her expression darkening. “Detach my hand? Are you talking about Thing?” You blinked, genuinely confused. “Isn’t that... you?” I think it's cool. You know, that… hand thing.” With an exasperated groan, Wednesday shook her head. “Thing is sentient. He’s not a part of my body, and he’s not here right now. I have no such power to detach my own hand.” “Oh…” You trailed off, looking genuinely embarrassed. “So… now what? How do we get in?” “Stay here,” Wednesday commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. “With your survival instincts, you’d be captured within thirty seconds.”

Before you could protest, she had already slipped away. She moved like a shadow blending into the dark corners of the building. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, taking note of the security cameras and guards positioned at the main doors.

She needed to be quick and careful. The last thing she wanted was to get arrested again.

Wednesday spotted an open window just to the left of the entrance, likely leading into one of the administrative offices. She snuck closer feeling the adrenaline she hadn’t felt in ages. Though it is annoying to do it for someone else, it isn't any less exciting.

She moved swiftly through the halls, avoiding the nurses and guards, each step calculated and quiet. As she reached the office, she glanced at the files on the desk, quickly locating a schedule that listed which room the movie session was held in. With the room number memorized, she slipped out of the office, narrowly avoiding detection as a guard walked past.

The room where the patients gathered was up ahead, the faint sounds of movie dialogue echoing down the hallway. Wednesday crept closer, peering inside through a crack in the door. She spotted the patients sitting in rows, all of them fixated on the screen.

Unfortunately, a doctor was still present, overseeing the session.

Wednesday sighed, picking up a steel tray from a nearby table. She crept up behind the doctor,

“Apologies,” she muttered just before she swung the tray, knocking the doctor out cold. The doctor slumped forward, unconscious, as Wednesday tossed the tray aside with a clatter.

She turned to the patients, who were now all staring at her, some with curiosity, others with mild confusion, and some even cheering.

“Which one of you is Little Cupcake?” she asked, her tone flat.

Several patients pointed to a frail old lady sitting in the back, her hair a wild mess of white curls. She had to be in her eighties, her body hunched over as she hugged a worn-out teddy bear. Wednesday stared with utter disbelief.

“Really?” she deadpanned. “Little Cupcake is an eighty-year-old lady?”

The old woman stared back at her with wide, innocent eyes, her fingers clutching the teddy bear tightly. Wednesday sighed, resigning herself to the absurdity of the situation. She had sneaked past guards, knocked out a doctor, and all for this.

The old woman moved slowly, shuffling her feet with every step. Each second felt like an eternity as Wednesday helped her toward the exit, irritation bubbling under her calm exterior. The old lady smiled at her sweetly, completely oblivious to Wednesday's internal fuming.

Finally, they made it outside to where you were anxiously waiting by the gate with a taxi.

Before Wednesday could unleash her wrath on you, the old lady broke away from her grip and hurried as fast as her old bones would allow, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug.

"Y/n, my dear," the old lady said softly, her voice tinged with relief and affection. It was clear now that this wasn’t some random old lady to you; she meant something more.

Wednesday’s anger simmered down, replaced by a confused curiosity. But before she could process this new information, the sharp sound of guards shouting caught her attention. They had been spotted.

“Shit!” you cursed under your breath, grabbing the old lady’s hand and bolting towards the taxi. Wednesday ran behind. She practically shoved you and the old lady inside before diving in herself, slamming the door shut.

“Drive,” she snapped at the taxi driver, her voice sharp and commanding.

“But—”

“Drive,” she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. The driver hesitated only for a moment before slamming his foot on the gas, the car lurching forward as it sped away from the hospital. Wednesday glanced back to see the guards falling behind, their shouts fading into the distance.

You were laughing beside Cupcake as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You looked over at Wednesday, your eyes shining with gratitude.

For a moment, Wednesday felt an unfamiliar warmth in her chest, a strange sensation that caught her off guard. It was unpleasant. She quickly brushed the feeling aside, refocusing her attention on you with a frown.

“Why did I just break an old lady out of an asylum?” she demanded, her voice edged with frustration.

“She’s right here!” you chided with a playful smile. “And patience! You’ll find out soon enough. But first, we’re headed to the church.”

The church? Huh... Well, Wednesday wouldn't mind if the lady she just kidnapped is part of some sacrificial ritual.

As soon as the taxi pulled up to the old church, you and Wednesday stepped out. The taxi driver gave Wednesday a cautious glance, still shaken from her earlier threat, and Wednesday rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about people being so easily scared. But then she noticed Little Cupcake was still inside, sitting serenely as if she had all the time in the world.

Before Wednesday could grill you about the bizarre turn of events, a small group of women in light pink dresses appeared, their faces lighting up as they saw you. They greeted you warmly, thanking you profusely for bringing Cupcake on time. A few words were exchanged about a dress, and the women disappeared into the shed beside the church taking Cupcake with them, leaving Wednesday in a swirl of confusion beside you. None of this was adding up.

“Are we going to continue with this lunacy, or will you explain yourself?” Wednesday asked, her voice cutting like a blade. She didn’t like feeling out of control, and she especially didn’t like being left in the dark.

You just smiled, grabbing her hand before she could pull away. The sudden contact startled her. Normally, anyone foolish enough to touch her without permission would find themselves on the receiving end of a twisted wrist or worse. Yet, her hand remained in yours, a fact that bewildered her more than the absurdity of the entire situation. Why was she tolerating this? Why you? It was disconcerting, unsettling even, the way you seemed to bypass all her carefully built walls as if they were nothing more than sheer fabric.

Inside the church, you led Wednesday towards the pews, still holding onto her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Lucky for you, you’re already wearing black,” you said with a playful smirk. “You’ll blend in nicely on the groom’s side.” Wednesday stopped dead in her tracks, her dark eyes narrowing at your cryptic statement. “What the hell are you talking about?” You didn’t answer. Instead, you slipped your hand from hers, turning to hurry off down the aisle. “If anyone asks, just tell them you’re with the maid of honor,” you called back over your shoulder before disappearing into the back of the church. Wednesday stood there, feeling utterly displaced. This was clearly some sort of wedding, and Little Cupcake must be a guest of some significance. That much was obvious. But why bring her here? Why involve her in this madness at all? She had agreed to assist with a kidnapping, not a wedding. As more guests began to trickle in, Wednesday took a seat near the back, watching as the pews filled with elderly attendees, each one dressed in their best. She felt strangely out of place amidst the soft colors and gentle chatter, yet not entirely unwelcome. It was a peculiar sensation, feeling both an intruder and a tolerated presence. She was used to being the odd one out, but here, she was a part of something without really belonging, and for once, it didn’t immediately grate on her nerves. Maybe her distaste for weddings wasn't entirely justified. She still hates them tho....

She noticed a few of the guests glancing her way, some whispering behind gloved hands, but she paid them no mind. She was more focused on piecing together this bizarre puzzle. Everything felt so absurd, like she was in the middle of some twisted dream orchestrated by you. And then you walked in, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to slow.

You were wearing a dark purple dress that clung to your figure in all the right places, the deep hue making your eyes look even more striking than usual. Wednesday froze, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the sight of you. She wasn’t used to feeling this… unsettled by someone’s appearance. It was almost as if the air had thickened, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room the moment you walked in.

There was no other way to put it, and the thought made Wednesday’s stomach twist uncomfortably. She quickly dismissed it. She wasn’t here to admire you. She was here because—because you dragged her into this lunacy. So what is stopping her from leaving? She couldn't find any. Her eyes drifted from you to the figure standing beside you—Little Cupcake, dressed in an ornate wedding gown. The old woman beamed, her joy evident in the way she clutched her bouquet of faded flowers. Wednesday’s eyebrows shot up, and she felt a mix of disbelief and exasperation wash over her.

Little Cupcake was the bride?

Wednesday shook her head, the absurdity of the situation hitting her full force. Of all the things she expected when she got into that taxi, breaking an octogenarian bride out of an asylum was nowhere on the list.

As she stood there, observing, she felt a presence beside her. A man, probably in his late fifties, with a warm smile and eyes that crinkled at the corners. "So, you helped Y/N break Cupcake out of the asylum?" he asked, his voice tinged with both amusement and approval.

Wednesday turned to him, giving a curt nod. The man chuckled softly, his gaze shifting to you and Cupcake at the altar. You glanced back at them with a small smile.

"My daughter really is something else, Pretty sure she kidnapped the groom too." he said, pride evident in his tone.

Your dad huh? He approves of this madness? It must've been where your insanity came from. The ceremony began, and Wednesday was forced to take her place among the guests, still trying to piece together the odd emotions swirling within her. She will talk to you about her part of the deal once the ceremony was done, for now, she is gonna let you enjoy your lunacy. She glanced over at you once more, catching the way you wiped a tear from your eye discreetly.

“Idiot,” she muttered to herself, though she wasn’t sure if she was speaking about you or herself.

Next Chapter

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magiturge · 26 days ago

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MY GOD GIVEN RIGHT TO LOSE IT ALL.

moofy’s information / backstory under cut

i mentioned it earlier but moofy is my sona / gruntsona, he doubles as an oc i filter my feelings into.

moofy was originally a scientist under the nexus core, diligent and hardworking with ideas brewing under the brim. visually, he looks no different than other scientists, it was just his enthusiasm to present something of his own to the world that made him an outlier. being based on the asylum patient origin, it follows that moofy presented an idea that was deemed too dangerous or outlandish, having him locked up in the asylum.

that idea was uploading the mind into machines, binding what you were to an object or system that did not require organic needs. it was an immortality that ripped you from your body, from sensations in the real world but it should be worth it for the cause of having units that would never fall.

moofy carried that idea with him into insanity, spiraling in the asylum. there are various rashes and scratch marks burned into his skin from the excessive need to soothe himself of the pain he’d received throughout his agonizingly long stay. he avoided lobotomization through other means such as negotiation but other deep cutting scars and wounds are cut into his mind. they’ve forever changed his perception of the world and made an irreparable mark in how he will act towards other.

unlike the patient origin, moofy was never cleared and allowed back into society but freed when hank was in search of hofnarr. asylum patients being able to escape due to the breach, he could run away. it was not an immediate escape, he hung around in his room despite the door being open.

watching and waiting.

the outside world is absolutely not going to be the same as it was since the last time he saw the sky and the prospect of a scary world unaccepting of him made the the bindings of his attire all the more comforting.

although it hit a point that he finally rose from his room, when the chatter and incessant giggling of fellow patients were far away that he surveyed the asylum. there were dead harmacists and orderlies strewn about alongside unfortunate patients who fell to unforgiving, indifferent hands.

it wouldnt be smart to run outside looking like a patient, there was a reason even if crazy and unjust that people were ‘patients’ and someone would find one way or another to keep you in there. you were already messed up, nobody would be averse to giving you another couple injections and tossing you around as a bonus.

he would pick up the labcoat of a harmacist, violently shaking the sleeves off the shoulders of the corpse before gently squeezing the arms of the body in apology. and he apologized again as he would rip the id from their neck, scrambling his hands for a sharp object to scratch into information on it. the face, the name, rubbing it into the blood everywhere, making it as illegible as he possibly could.

he was a harmacist. thats what he is now

he’s a harmacist, a hardworking harmacist caught in the crossfire of the breach. cowering under desks and hiding from unruly, freed patients. all these pricks and scars from needles, an accident from stress.

thats him now. thats what he will run with.

moofy would later encounter a nexus soldat in his exit from the asylum premises, finding himself in the throws of a nexus core in absolute disarray. he would be smitten with this soldat as he would now be the first friendly face that offered kindness and hospitality with no catch. his idea of a healthy relationship was shattered, this is something and someone he clings to with a knuckle aching grip.

from here its rather loose ends, but the absolute end would likely be moofy ‘dying’, achieving his now self centered goal of being within a machine or system, where nothing and no one can touch him again. his body will rot beneath his screen.

#my art #madness combat #madness combat oc #madcom oc #my ocs #gruntsona #moofy #oc info

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literaryvein-reblogs · 16 days ago

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Hii, so, i am going to write an au where my characters get sent to an asylum, one a child star and the other some student. How are the proceeds in the ins and outs of these things?

Writing Notes: Asylum

Mental Asylum - the historical equivalent of the modern psychiatric hospital.

The word asylum came from the earliest (religious) institutions which provided asylum in the sense of refuge to the mentally ill.

One of the oldest such institutions was Bethlem, which began in 1247 as part of the Priory of the New Order of our Lady of Bethlehem in the City of London.

Social campaigner Harriet Martineau summed up the poor state of public asylums:

In pauper asylums we see chains and strait-waistcoats, three or four half-naked creatures thrust into a chamber filled with straw, to exasperate each other with their clamour and attempts at violence; or else gibbering in idleness or moping in solitude.

The commonplace use of physical restraints on patients had its roots in the custodial nature of early asylums.

The function of mental institutions was simply to keep ‘inmates’ in custody.

The keepers were little more than guards and it was not uncommon for patients to be kept in chains or other restraints for most of the time.

The extent to which restraints were used varied from one asylum to another, but they were accepted as a necessary part of mental healthcare.

There were several justifications for the use of such restraints:

Restraints could control anti-social behaviour such as tearing clothes and exhibiting lewd or sexual behaviour.

Restraints stopped patients harming themselves or attempting to commit suicide. Patients were frequently strapped into their beds at night to stop them hurting themselves.

Some patients were so worried they would hurt themselves that they asked to be restrained.

Critics said the use of restraints demoralised and brutalised attendants as well as patients.

And the violence used by attendants to put uncooperative patients into restraints only increased the level of violence in the asylum.

In 1829 William Scrivinger, a patient at Lincoln Asylum, was found dead from strangulation after being strapped to his bed in a straitjacket and left overnight without supervision.

The incident persuaded the authorities at Lincoln to abolish all physical restraints and implement a non-restraint system.

Their system was very influential in 1800s asylum reform, and indicative of a wider change in attitude towards mental illness and the care of mentally ill people.

1752. The Quakers in Philadelphia were the first in America to make an organized effort to care for the mentally ill.

The newly-opened Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia provided rooms in the basement complete with shackles attached to the walls to house a small number of mentally ill patients.

Within a year or two, the press for admissions required additional space, and a ward was opened beside the hospital.

Eventually, a new Pennsylvania Hospital for the Insane was opened in a suburb in 1856 and remained open under different names until 1998.

1792. The New York Hospital opened a ward for "curable" "insane" patients.

In 1808, a free-standing medical facility was built nearby for the humane treatment of the mentally ill, and in 1821 a larger facility called the Bloomingdale Asylum was built in what is now the Upper West Side.

In 1894, it was moved further away, to the suburb of White Plains and is currently under operation as the Payne-Whitney Westchester Hospital, a Division of the New York Hospital-Cornell Weill Medical Center.

1890. Across America.

Every state had built one or more publicly supported mental hospitals, which all expanded in size as the country’s population increased.

By mid-20th century, the hospitals housed over 500,000 patients but began to diminish in size as new methods of treatment became available.

The Decline of Asylums. To some extent the Victorian asylums were victims of their own success. With an ever-growing asylum population, it became increasingly difficult to maintain the sort of personalised moral treatment envisioned by the early reformers.

Medical superintendents and reformers started the century with the best of intentions, believing that a scientific approach to improved surroundings, and a humane approach to care could lead to rehabilitation and recovery.

And the new public asylums did make life easier for most pauper patients.

Working in the asylum community gave them purpose and kept them reasonably well fed.

In return for their good behaviour and hard work, they were rewarded with social activities such as plays, concerts and parties.

But with growing asylum populations, superintendents found that the only way to maintain control in the increasingly overcrowded and poorly staffed county asylums was to resort to restraints, padded cells and sedatives. John Conolly, an asylum superintendent, complained that:

the magistrates go on adding wing after wing and story after story [sic], contrary to the opinion of the profession and common sense, rendering the institution most unfavourable for the treatment of patients. [quoted in an article in the Edinburgh Review, 1871]

By the end of the century, the optimism around county asylums had virtually disappeared.

An inspector who visited Hanwell Asylum in 1893 described:

‘gloomy corridors and wards’,

an ‘absence of decoration, brightness and general smartness’ and

‘a want of sufficient ventilation’, conditions that were in stark contrast to the moral treatment days of asylum superintendents Ellis and Connelly.

His conclusion was damning:

It would be astonishing to find that any cures are ever made there.

By the early 1900s the term asylum had fallen out of favour.

Examples: In 1929, Hanwell was renamed Hanwell Mental Hospital. In 1937, all associations with the old Hanwell asylum were removed as it was renamed St Bernard’s Hospital.

McLean Hospital was founded on Feb. 25, 1811 and intended to treat both physical and mental illnesses, with a separate facility for each.

It was first known as the “Asylum for the Insane”. In 1826, The Asylum was renamed in honor of John McLean, a Boston merchant who bequeathed the hospital $25,000, payable on his widow’s passing.

Today, the term "asylum" is typically used to refer to (in international law) the protection granted by a state to a foreign citizen against his own state.

The person for whom asylum is established has no legal right to demand it, and the sheltering state has no obligation to grant it.

It is the protection given by a government to someone who has left another country in order to escape being harmed.

The definition: "a hospital where people who are mentally ill are cared for especially for long periods of time; a mental hospital" is now considered old-fashioned or outdated.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, considering the setting of your story, you may use these references on past asylums as inspiration to create your own. You could also look through the sources above for more information because these are just excerpts. But if your setting is more current, you can get an idea on how modern-day psychiatric hospitals work through firsthand account. If that's not possible, (apart from books, documentaries etc.) you can also find a bit of the process in overviews like McLean's here. They also include more details on inpatient services that could serve as inspiration (e.g., for addiction). Once you find a present-day hospital you like to use as a model in your story, you can go through their website and they usually provide similar information. Hope this helps with your writing!

#writing notes #writing reference #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #light academia #writing inspiration #writing ideas #history #writing resources

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tiredofthehumanlife · 3 months ago

Text

Oh baby my baby you're in your seventies and can't beat the dementia allegations

Can you say "Jesus Christ ell could you make a longer tilte"? And I'll tell you yes I could've but I didn't for your comfort you're welcome btw

Barbie dolls: Five Hargreeves x gn!reader

Word: 2.9k

Summary: uh right so you were with five during the apocalypse and then it's like set in season 2 but you like forgot all about your life and shit and five findz you and yada yada it's cute I think

Warnings: I said you were born is 2006 BUT IT MAKES SENSE I DID MATH FOR THIS OKAY OKAY YOU GUYS ARE THE SAME AGE, I made a timeline if you need it, you're married to him, five makes a half joke Abt you being an escapee from the insane asylum, it's a lil sad bc Five loves you and you don't even remember him but whatcha gonna do?, you ogle a stripper/burlesque dancer I KNOW THEY AREN'T THE SAME BUT LEAVE ME ALONE I DODNT EVEN KNOW HOW TO DRIVE, five ogles a stripper/burlesque dancer, open ended ending bc I got tired of writing about a season we've all already watched, that's it I think

Something has always felt off. You couldn’t remember anything before five months ago. There were faces around town that made you tilt your head because you were sure you knew them. Even the people you lived with hadn’t met you before five months ago. They found you standing on the sidewalk down some road, looking around like you’d never even seen a town before. They let you in. You got a bed and a roof all for free. They were taking care of you out of the goodness of their heart. You didn’t have the guts to not give them anything back so you got a job within your second month of living there.

It was a fine job. You worked in a diner. It wasn’t anything crazy. It had milkshakes and a fine paycheck. It had red booths and a box pattern on the floor that you pretended was hopscotch when it hit a lull. Sometimes customers were rude but you spit in their food sometimes so you considered the world balanced. It was just a diner in the simplist terms. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Something about it all just seemed off. You’d get songs stuck in your head that no one knew. You’d get Deja vu about things you couldn’t place. You’d see people stare at you like they knew you and when you walked by they seemed sad. You didn’t know who they were. You’d get this feeling like you missing something. You were homesick for a home you couldn’t remember.

You were currently listening to your coworker telling you about his day as you scribbled into your server pad. You had a flower in the bottom corner and you were starting a new spiral. The bell above the door rang. You kept listening to your coworker.

“Sit anywhere you’d like and we’ll be right with you.” You said, eyes still on the pad. Your coworker paused his spiel. You looked up from the pad to see what made him stop. A man who appeared to be your age walked straight across the diner floor. He was in a school uniform that you didn’t recognize and his eyes were set on you. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he walked to the counter in front of you. He sat in the barstool right across from you and smiled at you. He looked you up and down before sighing.

“Hi.” He said it like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. It sounded like he was seeing an old friend again. His face gave you that same sick stomach feeling. You tilted your head, staring at his face to see if you could place it. Nothing.

“What can I get you started with?” Your coworker said, picking up your slack. The man glanced over at your coworker and rolled his eyes before looking at you again.

“Have we met before?” You asked, leaning onto the counter to give him your full focus. His smile fell a little, sitting back. He gestured to his chest subconsciously.

“You don’t- you don’t remember me?” He asked, looking hurt. You shook your head.

“No, I had a mishap five months ago. I can’t rember anything before that, so if we’ve met I’m sorry I’ve forgotten.” You said, shoving your server pad into your apron. The man’s eyebrows furrowed. He hummed.

“That is horrific news.” He muttered. You shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to do now.” He said, looking down at the counter.

“You could order and I’ll give you my number before you leave so you can call me and maybe reinform me?” You said. The man looked up and nodded. He sighed and tapped the counter.

Days later he was standing in the bedroom that was temperaily yours with a blackboard behind him. He turned to the blackboard writing something at the top. He pulled back and let you read it. ‘Your life for the past 50 years’ You snorted at his joke, looking over at him to see if he was laughing too. Your smile fell at the very serious look in his eyes. You tilted your head to the side. He pressed his lips together and shrugged.

“Right, first things first. You’re in your seventies.” He said, clapping his hands together. You stared at him, realizing you might have let a crazy man into your home.

“Right. You can tell by my loafers and shaw.” You muttered. He shrugged.

“Second thing my name is Five.” You actually laughed at that. You had officially let a crazy person into your home. You leaned back on your bad, staring at the ceiling to laugh harder.

“Course I’m seventy, and your name is Five. What’s next you’re going to tell me you’re a time traveler?” You joked, snorting again at your own joke. “Five” avoided your eyes and sighed. You gasped.

“You are going to tell me you’re a time traveler.” You said, staring at him in shock. He turned back to the blackboard. His hand shot out, making a line across the board. “Five" drew a small vertical line at the start. You heard the chalk writing and then he pulled back. On top of the vertical line was ‘Birth (2006)’. Your eye twitched.

Hours later the board was full to the max, Five was breaking a sweat, and you felt like your head was going to explode. You stood from the bed, pacing back and forth as Five pulled off his top blazer and rolled up his sleeves. He really was selling the substitute teacher look now. You huffed and faced him.

“So just to recap, We got stuck in the apocalypse for 45 years. Then we were hired by basically an assassination team. Then we time traveled back to the ‘present’ which at the time was 2019. Then we didn’t stop the apocalypse and time traveled again so we didn’t all die. Your time travel shit knocked my memories out of my ear or whatever. We got trapped in the 60s and you just got here. There are 5 other people in this town who are also time travelers. You and your siblings have superpowers. And there’s another apocalypse coming. Is that right?” You said, counting on a finger at each new event. Five hummed, tapping the chalk against the side of his face and turning back to the board. He looked at the chalkboard covered in white lines. It was honestly hard to look at and you were curious as to how either of you were still standing up right. Five clicked his tongue.

“Oh! Also, we’ve been married for decades. Coming up on 36 years or something along those lines. It’s a little hard to keep track with all the time travel but once I get my hands on a calendar I can let you know specifics.” Five said, adding another note to the board. You stared at him for a moment. He turned around and gave you a small smile.

“Well, isn’t that wild? What a life huh? You know not to be rude but if all of this is true, and that’s a major if, why would I want to go back to a life like that? I mean running from apocalypses, apocalypsi? Ends of the world. Actually, I'm an assassin. I know it’s a lame life but I think I’d rather work at the diner.” You said, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. Five chewed on his lip, setting the piece of chalk down. He settled next to you sighing on his way down and making you believe the 70-year-old spiel a little more.

”If you want to stay here, you can. I won’t stop you. I’m not going to force you to come with me. I just want to remind you that your life here would only last 10 more days.” He said. It was subtle and quiet but you heard the break in his voice at the end of his talk. You hummed and stared at the carpet. You looked over at him to see a dusty white patch on the side of his face. His head was dipped down like he was trying to hide the fact he was crying. You reached over and wiped the chalk off the side of his face. Five turned his head away from you, wiping at his eyes. When he faced you again you were holding out a tissue to him. He pulled back, staring down at the tissue.

“Where’d you get that?” You scoffed, waving it at him. He snatched it out of your hand.

“Stop asking me questions, I’m clearly in a fragile mental state. I just learned I’m 70 and married, it’s a lot to take in. Especially now that I know I have to help stop the end of the world for the second time apparently.” You muttered, looking back at the carpet. Even though when you first walked into the room you felt like you were going to throw up just looking at the color now you thought you might miss it. Five sat up.

“You’re not staying?” He whispered, scared if he pulled his tone up you’d change your mind.

“Well, I don’t know you. I used to. And when I did, I trusted you enough to marry you. And not divorce you for the thirty years after that. I think if I had my memories, I’d trust you enough to follow you to the end of the world.” You said. Five sighed and looked at your lips. You had no idea what it felt like to stare your lover in the eyes and see unrecognization staring back at you. You felt an awkward pain of ‘I don’t really care but I should’ hit your heart. You leaned back and reached your hand out. You awkwardly patted his shoulder. He pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s you. It’s still you.” He muttered before standing up. He held his hand out towards you. You looked between his face and hand, staying seated.

“Right.” Five dropped his hand and spun around towards the door. He gestured over his shoulder to follow him. You looked at the chalkboard and assumed he didn’t care enough to fix it. You followed after him.

“Where are we headed?” You asked once you were both halfway down the street from your temporary home. You should’ve asked earlier but you were focused on keeping pace with him. Five glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Strip club.” He said blatantly. You clapped your hands together once.

“Ah. What was I thinking? Of course, we’re going to the strip club. Perfect first date if you ask me.” You said, waving your arms in the air. As a lady in short heels and a blue dress walked past you, you spoke to her. “Where are you off to? We’re off to the strip club! I think I’ve associated myself with a madman!” You said, shaking your head around and throwing your hands up. Five reached back for you, pulling you away by your elbow. The woman looked at you both with disgust as she slowly walked backward away from you both.

“So sorry. They’re an escape from the asylum. I’m taking them back now, pay it no mind.” Five said. He gave the woman a polite smile. You turned back to him gasping and holding your finger up.

“That’s what the P in Marsha P. Johnson stands for!” You said, facing ahead again. “Oh, how I love that woman.” You muttered. Five kept his attention on the woman.

“See? They’re making up historical figures. Cuckoo.” He waved his finger around next to his ear and faced the front again. You smacked his shoulder. He pulled you away faster, picking up his pace.

Initially you thought he was kind of kidding when Five said you were going to a strip club. But you were now starting to realize you should stop assuming he’s joking about things. You sighed in the rather uncomfortable chair as you both sat near the stage. Your chairs were pressed together, by Five no less. The second you made it inside he was shoving a chair up against the other one, the armrests pressing into each other. You watched the lady on stage, wondering how much money she was making and wondering how hard burlesque would be to pick up. Five leaned over the arm of his chair, his hand hovering over his mouth as he spoke into your ear.

“You know this isn’t our first date right? Not even a date really.” Five said, watching you intently as you turned your head to face him. You were so close you could easily count the number of hairs forming his peach fuzz on his face. You didn’t because that would be a waste of time but you could. You shrugged.

“I mostly said it as a joke but yes I would assume our first date wasn’t to burlesque. Seeing as it was the apocalypse.” You said, shaking your head and looking back to the woman. You thought of dropping the conversation but knowing the specifics of your relationship would be so nice.

“What was it though? For research.” You added an excuse like he didn’t fully know you were lying. Five shrugged and stared at the floor.

“We had a table and chairs made out of these rocks we found. It was hard work getting it set up but we had an apocalypse dinner. Which basically consists of Twinkies and other food that cannot perish no matter how hard it tries. It was actually quite nice. We didn’t really have a whole lot of time to just be normal people so even just sharing a Twinkie over our rock tables felt refreshing. Our dates after that were really just us sharing the same dirt pile as our bed and keeping each other alive. Then when we got back to 2019 I actually took you for a half-decent date. We went out and got takeout from the greasiest place imaginable and ate it at my father's extremely expensive table.” When he spoke a smile met his face like an old friend. He kept his eyes on the floor because he knew even though you were sitting next to him you wouldn’t return the nostalgia ridden smile.

“You really loved me. I can’t believe I just realized that because you talked about Twinkies.” You said, looking at the floor like it could feel your surprise too. Five hummed.

“I love you, not loved. It’s not in the past.” Five said, staring at you to make sure you saw the severity. You furrowed your eyebrows when your stomach swarmed. You raised an eyebrow.

“I wish I could tell you I love you back but I don’t know you in that way. I don’t even remember your favorite color.” You said. Five hummed and rubbed the side of your cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay. I know you love me, even if you can’t remember it. I’m almost entirely certain we fall in love in every single timeline. Not to mention we’ve had plenty of time together. I know you inside and out. I know the color of your 13th birthday cake. I know what you look like when your body has aged 50 years. I know all I need to know about you to love you till the day I die and onward. You know these things about me but they’ve settled like dust in your brain. Someone just needs to kick it up and you’ll know my favorite color again. You’ll know what it was like to share a Twinkie over a rock table.” Five said, his thumb dipping down to your neck. He pulled his hand away, holding his head up with his hand instead.

“How could you say something so nice while a woman’s tits are shaking on a stage next to you?” You asked, glancing at the now mostly naked woman on the stage. You looked back to Five. His eyes were fully set on you. His head was tilted in a way that made you think he was thinking of you before you lost every memory. He pressed his lips together.

“I’m looking at someone gorgeous, why would I waste my time letting my vision slip to her breasts.” Yeah, Five might feel that way, but you don’t. You looked past him, dropping your jaw when you saw the move she made to slip her stocking off. With your dropped jaw, Five turned his head too. You both stared at her as she started to lose more clothes. A man stood behind Five’s chair. You reached out to Five, hoping he was down for conflict. The man leaned down towards Five’s ear. He whispered something and looked over at you. He smiled and gave you a light wave. You awkwardly looked around your surroundings, staring at the floor again.

“They lost their memory. It’s okay though, I have a theory it’ll come back. Family meeting on the corner of Commence and Knox by the way, today at 10 pm.” Five said before standing up.

“Come on, love. We have four other people to find.” Five said. Snatching your hand off the chair and dragging you away. He must’ve realized he was holding your hand by the time you left the building, dropping your hand immediately.

“She was about to lose her pants.” You said. Five smiled but pretended he didn’t, sighing and shaking his head. You snorted and followed after him.

#number five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five x reader #the umbrella academy #tua five #tua s2 spoilers #tua s2 #tua season 2 #max hargreeves

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