#episode the crimson horror
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Into the canal with the rejects
it's! The Crimson Horror! they're in Yorkshire in Victorian Times
sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 4/10
sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or given agency to her emotional interiority): 4/10
interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 6/10
furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 5/10
companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 5/10
the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 7/10
doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 6/10
isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 4/10
internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 6/10
Politics (how conservative is the story): 5/10
FULL RATING: 52/100 (if I can count….)
ohhh this episode. OOOhhhohohooo this episode. it COULD have just been a fun little romp that was a bit silly, but ooh nonono. it had to do a THING. infamous THING!
OBJECTIFICATION: this is the episode that includes one of the most infamous fucking bits of sexism in the show
this being the Doctor grabbing Jenny, a lesbian, and kissing her without her consent (then when she slaps him, he says "you have no idea how good that felt") OH BOY
this episode also includes another between-the-legs shot of Jenny, and the Doctor reacting by his screwdriver pointing upwards (get it, like he's got a hard-on *fucking siiiiiiiiiighs*)
it's actually not more than this on the whole, but my goodness! bad and bad, this episode was written by Mark Gatiss, why did he think that was a good idea?
PLOT-POINT: Clara is mostly there to be captured and saved and then the others are like *gasp* it's Clara, who should be dead and the Doctor tells them nuh-uh-uh she's a different Clara. I'm not sooo much against this, considering there are quite a lot of female characters in this episode, including Jenny and Vastra, who lead a lot of the action part, and Ada and her mother, who lead the other action and the emotional stuff, including one great scene of Ada discovering her mother experimented on her and going Absolutely Ham, whacking her with her cane and screaming that she'll never forgive her
COMPLEXITY: it's kind of an over-complicated plot for what it is, but I don't hate it technically. it's a bit silly, but Doctor Who can be a bit silly
CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: sooo we get more Vastra, Jenny, and Strax which will matter for later in the season (in that the Doctor cares for them)
and at the end of the episode Clara finally has a little moment of wondering if something isn't going on, because the two precocious kids she cares for have discovered pictures of her from all over the past! but there's one she doesn't recognise, from Victorian London! who is that??? we wonder...
COMPANIONS MATTER: ehhh Clara doesn't do much, although she does get to smash a rocket control thing with a chair, good for her, but Jenny in particular does, and so does Vastra to an extent, and also Ada
“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: the Doctor also doesn't do so much, he also gets captured and then saved by Jenny, and then Jenny and Vastra save the earth, and Ada finishes off her mum
PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: uhhh not that I noticed, but it's not really an episode for Stuff
“SEXINESS”: THE AFOREMENTIONED KISSING SHIT! AND THE LEGS SHOT! AND THE SCREWDRIVER SHIT! listen, should this one bit of sequence judge the entire rest of the episode? maybe not but fuck iiiiiit
INTERNAL WORLD: it's not... reaaaally entirely... sensical. it's Doctor Who sensical, so it's fine, but this little town of perfect people encased in glass, it's yeah. it's fine
POLITICS: technically I feel like this episode ought to be political, considering it's set in Victorian Yorkshire (did it say where in Yorkshire, I'm trying to remember. me being lazy for a second and not just checking) and its themes of "purity" and luring desperate poor people in... but it's kind of not really important in the end
we do get some great female characters on the whole, but yeah. feels like a missed opportunity
FULL RATING: 52/100 (if I can count….)
this episode is not on the whole super offensive, it's mainly That Fucking Scene! it's mostly just a There episode. However I think it's elevated by genuinely quite fun female characters on both the good people and the villainous side
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Oh, haven't you heard, love? There's trouble at mill.
#dwedit#dwgif#usersophie#doctor who#whouffle#s7#the crimson horror#eleventh doctor#clara oswald#nym.gifs#they are...something else in this episode#flashing gif
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This part of The Crimson Horror novelization lives rent free in my mind:
‘I could materialise the TARDIS around her on stage!’ cried the Doctor. ‘No—’ he concluded bitterly. ‘Too conspicuous. Blow pipe?’ ‘What?’ ‘Use a blow pipe dart to knock her out. Just for a bit. Long enough to get her back here. Strong cuppa. Two rounds of toast. Gentle interrogation…’ ‘Right,’ I sighed. ‘Or—’ ‘Befriend her as a child! Easy! I can nip back in the TARDIS, make a huge impression on her when she’s just a nipper then reappear in her life and then it’ll be all bunting out, hail the conquering Doctor, all that. It’s worked before!’
He liked the results on Amy, so he tried it on Kazran Sardick, until causing lasting childhood trauma is one of his go-to solutions for easy compliance! That's my eleven. My eldritch horror.
#twelve years and four psychiatrists works great for this manic pixie dream eldritch horror#'is friends the right word for the people you acquire?' -the dream lord#‘offer a child a suitcase full of sweets and they’ll take it. offer someone all of time n space and they’ll take that too’ -eleven#eleventh doctor#11th doctor#Amy pond#Kazran sardick#doctor who#new who#the doctor#crimson horror novelization#words by seaweed#dark!Doctor#am I using that tag too freely? I was hoping to use it for my serial killer AU doctor fan arts I have yet to fully render let alone post#this novelization is however. very. mark gatiss (you know if you know)#the ONE exception to novelizations always being better than the episode#not only because he apparently forgot about the whole impossible girl arc which is the reason they're in victorian times in the first place#Kazran is a companion btw I will die on this hill. in audios the Doctor took him on adventures without Abigail too
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things we Don't Really Talk About in the Doctor Who fandom (although we really should):
this Scooby-Doo scene, mainly because it takes place in the same episode as this:
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and this:
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this interspecies couple:
and their children:
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this creepy lady and her leech:
and how she turned The Doctor into this:
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those few episodes with this kid who was sort-of-not-really a companion:
and The Doctor was essentially on the future space version of Big Brother:
and this was the bad guy:
also Scotty was in it:
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these awful dolls that came to life and turned other people into dolls:
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that time The Doctor and team saw this message on the surface of Mars:
only to discover Victorian soldiers there:
and the baddass Empress Martian:
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that time everyone got sucked into the tv:
and promptly lost their faces:
and The Doctor went all Mary Poppins on a misogynist:
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my least favorite, the first time Mark Gatiss appeared:
and turned into this:
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and my most favorite, that time there was a (presumably) cis pregnant man:
and when asked if it was a girl or a boy, said that both male and female people of his species could get pregnant - and that men gave birth to boys, and women gave birth to girls.
and the bad guy of the episode was Just A Little Guy who ate everything:
(including a bomb. and not only did it survive, it was finally sated!)
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these are out of order but there are definitely more. and the point is, like... Doctor Who is weird. it always has been. this isn't even counting Classic Who, as I haven't watched much of it.
and I think we should talk about the underrated episodes more. because they have some really poignant moments:
and also...
it's just fucking hilarious, dude
(evil vampire lady drinking life force through a straw)
#gore tw#it's slight and really just bad cgi#body horror#doctor who#underrated#episodes#love and monsters#gridlock#the crimson horror#the long game#night terrors#empress of mars#the idiot's lantern#the Lazarus experiment#the tsuranga conundrum#smith and jones#original post
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thinking about elevenclara it could've been So Good like it has a lot of potential but sadly a) series 7b sucks and b) they don't have much chemistry they don't work with eachother the way any other doctor and companion do I find it really odd. anyway so im living in my dream world where the main dynamic of their relationship is that the doctor doesn't fully see her as a person he sees her more as something to study he's fascinated with her because she keeps dying he keeps seeing her die all over the universe (and on that note she should've appeared in more episodes pre being a companion) but his fascination with her is much the same as it would be with a science project he sees her as a puzzle to solve. and I think that aspect of their relationship would really nicely parallel twelves "you don't see me, you look at me and you don't see me" in deep breath. and clara is enamoured with this man she wants nothing more than to run away across the universe but she has to stay in control she can't just follow her impulses so she says come back tomorrow. and he does and they travel but she starts to see how he looks at her and he says things that don't line up and he doesn't tell her he's seen her die. and now she's not in control anymore and it's messing her up and then name/day/time of the doctor happens and suddenly she's faced with a man she doesn't recognise and who no longer looks at her like she's a puzzle he needs to solve and she doesn't recognise him at all. and that leads to the insanity that is twelveclara
#i dont know if i think elevenclara should've been a full season or not.. i think really they just needed better episodes#the only ones i like are journey to the centre of the tardis and the crimson horror but even those i have issues with#i think crimson horror should've been without the doctor i really do. he could've been there for five minutes at the end but jenny and clara#and vastra should've been the main focus
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Thinking about the dynamic of The Name of The Doctor where clara can see river and the doctor is pretending he can’t see river and how funny that would’ve been if they’d stretched it for the whole of 7B.
#dw#the crimson horror alone#also looked up 7b to remind myself of the episodes and my god that is. not a strong season
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Day in Fandom History: May 4…
The Paternoster Gang (consisting of Madame Vastra, Jenny, and Strax) investigate something odd going on in 1893 Victorian London and must find The Doctor, who became a victim of the mysterious "crimson horror". “The Crimson Horror” premiered on this day, 11 Years Ago.
#Day in Fandom History#11 Years Ago#Doctor Who#Series 7#Episode 11#The Crimson Horror#Cartoon#Animation
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cANDELA OBSCURA TOMORROW,,
It is almost Leo Amicus day—
#I’m so so excited to see crimson mirror again but also I don’t want it to be their last episode ; ;#this is my emotional support gothic horror team
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The directing in A Town Called Mercy is so good omggg
#honestly i do not understand the series 7 hate#two of my fav episodes of dw are in 7b#it’s not the best series ever but idk it’s fun and definitely not as bad as people make it out to be#anyway rings of akehtan and crimson horror my beloveds <3
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 42: Comfort and Joy
Summary: Tis the season to be jolly...
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 8, 417 words
Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omegaverse, alternate universe, slight angst at the beginning, blood and disturbing imagery, nightmares, PTSD, lots of comfort, holidays
A/N: Yes, CRCB is getting its holiday episode. Something holly and jolly before Christmas, some sweet comfort for the last chapter of this year. It's kind of rough but I don't hate it. I hope everyone feels the same. Happy Holidays to everyone
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
It’s quiet in the house.
There’s a stillness in the air that seeps into your very soul. The only light is from the street light outside. Your father never allowed you a nightlight despite your fear of the dark. You weren’t allowed to show such weakness in front of him. God forbid his family have any flaws.
You’re the flawed one.
It’s too quiet in the house, not even your brothers’ snoring audible in the tense quiet that has settled over your safe space. It has your breathing shallow so as to not disturb the heaviness in the air. Your sister is asleep in the bed across the room, tucked under the blankets safely. Sleep evades you however, something tickling in the back of your mind.
Something is off. Something is wrong.
“Hannah.” You whisper, disturbing the darkness in favor of not feeling so alone in the oppressive silence. “Hannah.”
Yet your sister does not stir, showing no sign of even acknowledging a disturbance as she sleeps deeply. You bite your lip, sinking back further under your covers. You could wake one of your brothers, but the likelihood of one of them helping ease your fear is small. They’ll just usher you back to bed and tell you to grow up. You could attempt to rouse your mother, but that runs the risk of also waking your father. If nothing is wrong, it will be your doom.
Maybe it’s all just in your head. Some terror brought on by a lingering nightmare.
You need to get up. You can’t lay in the darkness anymore.
So you rise from the safety of your blankets, padding silently across the wood and out into the hallway. There’s a nightlight allowed out here to prevent stumbling in the dead of night. There’s nothing in the hallway, no silent spectre waiting to grab whoever leaves their room first. You creep silently down the hallway towards the black gaping maw of the living room waiting just beyond the edges of the light.
You stand there at the end of the hallway, gazing into the darkness for a moment. It’s not truly dark, light filtering in through the curtains from the streetlights outside. Yet the darkness feels thicker than it ever has before as you stand there, waiting for a shadow to move.
Nothing moves, and after a breath you turn to the left, cutting through the dining room straight towards the kitchen. It’s darker in here, cut off from the street, yet you navigate it with ease. You’ve spent many nights navigating through the darkness, creeping around the house when you can’t sleep.
You enter the kitchen, heading for the cupboard that holds the cups. Your mother used to give you warm milk when you couldn’t sleep. Sometimes you’d rise to find her awake, sitting in the living room. Sometimes she’d be crying. Sometimes she’d just be sitting with the lamp on, staring into the distance.
It always made you wonder what she was thinking about.
You stand on your toes, reaching up for a glass. It nearly falls and hits the counter but you manage to catch it, preventing what would no doubt be a crisis. You let out a breath before moving to the sink, filling the glass up. You stare out the small window that shows nothing but the fence between your house and the neighbors. All the houses are the same, built after the same model with the same green grass out front. It’s like a movie set, some suburban setting for a drama or a horror movie.
The oppressive darkness feels like a horror movie.
You turn to head back to your room, but you’re stopped by a figure standing in the entrance to the kitchen. You can just make it out, large and looming in the darkness. For a moment you think it’s your father, awakened by something, some instinct telling him there’s something moving around in the house. It’s not the right size to be your father, though, too tall and long.
You stumble back towards the light switch, your fingers shaking as you flip it on.
“Phil?” You ask quietly, staring at your father’s best friend in shock. You haven’t seen him in almost two years.
His mouth opens in a haunting grin, blood pouring down his chin. You stare in horror as blood soaks into his white shirt, dripping onto the floor below. The cup slips from your hand, shattering on the floor as his hand wraps around the knife stuck in the side of his neck, pulling it free. Blood sprays across the white cupboards, painting them like some gruesome work of art.
“Look...what you did...to me...” Phil says, his voice nothing more than a gurgling wheeze.
He reaches out a blood soaked hand towards you, sending you stumbling back. Glass cuts into the bottoms of your feet, sending shards of white hot pain up your legs. You don’t care, too busy trying to evade the bloody hand trying to grab at you. You slip in the water on the floor, falling backwards, the back of your head seconds from hitting the side of the counter...
“Easy, easy.”
Arms are around you, holding you tightly as you sob. Your feet are burning as you sit there on the kitchen floor. It’s not the kitchen in your old home, though, it’s the kitchen in the cottage. Your feet are burning with sharp stabs of pain. There’s water soaking into your pajama pants.
“You’re alright.”
The light is on, raining down bright yellow light from overhead. You hate it, the oppressive light burning your eyes. You squeeze them closed, trying to ease the pounding in your head that pulses in time with your heart.
“...sleepwalking I think...”
Voices float in and out as you sit there, leaning back against something solid and warm. There’s arms around you, holding you tightly, your own arms trapped up against your chest. You tilt your head back, resting it back against the solid warmth.
“Almost hit her head...”
“Move her to the couch...”
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“It’s not that uncommon during times of extreme stress.”
You wince as another tiny piece of glass is pulled from your foot.
“Even if someone has never experienced sleepwalking before, it can start at any age.”
“Is this something we need to worry about now?”
“It’s hard to say.” Dr. Keller dabs at your foot with a damp towel streaked with pink from your blood. “It’s one of those things we’ll just have to wait and see if it was a one-time thing or if it will become a regular occurance.” She dabs at your feet with the towel before shining the flashlight on them again. “You want to talk about the nightmare?”
She’s talking to you now.
“No.” You say, the word strained and weak from your lips. Your face feels tight from the tears you had shed in your confusion and delirium. The nightmare is still fresh on your mind, replaying like some sick television show, over and over in your head.
She gives you a look, but doesn’t press anymore. She won’t ask again, not in front of your pack at least.
She lets your feet rest on the coffee table before moving closer to you. Her hands cup the back of your head, pressing down on certain spots. “Does your head hurt?”
“No.” You say, ignoring the throbbing behind your eyes.
“Well, thanks to Kyle’s quick reflexes, I think we’ve avoided a concussion.” She says, turning to Kyle. “How’s your hand?”
“Fine.” He says from where he’s sitting next to you, flexing his fingers. “I’ll take aches and pains if it prevents a hospital visit.”
“That’s the last thing we need right now.” John says.
You can’t help but wince at his words.
If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“Thankfully there wasn’t any serious damage.” Dr. Keller says, wrapping your feet in gauze. “Just try to take it easy for a couple of days. Walking isn’t going to feel very good for a while.”
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“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“I think it might be good to talk about it.”
“You’re as bad as Dr. Keller.”
“Well, she and I agree that holding everything in isn’t going to help anything.” Kyle says, taking the seat next to you. “We just want to help you.”
“Unless you can crawl into my mind and fix my memories, I don’t think you can help with this.” You say bitterly.
“Well, I can’t do that, but I can listen.” He gives you a look.
You choose to ignore it.
He continues to stare at you as you turn your gaze out the window. It’s raining again, light droplets hitting the window. You can feel yourself beginning to crack as he continues to stare at you, his gaze not sharp and prying, but instead soft and inviting. He really wants to know, not out of curiosity or need, but because he cares. He wants to help, even if it’s just listening.
Can you be brave enough to share?
“I woke up in bed, but not in the cottage. I was in bed at the house we lived in before I was sent to the institution.” You swallow the lump in your throat threatening to choke you and cut off your words. “It was the house we moved to shortly after Phil left. I remember feeling something was off after I woke up, something was wrong but I couldn’t figure it out.” Your mouth suddenly feels dry. “I went to the kitchen to get some water and Phil appeared there in the darkness. He...”
You trail off for a moment, the memory of what he had looked like in your dream sending a spike of fear through you. You had thought the one positive of Phil being dead was that he couldn’t haunt your dreams anymore. He’s not out there hunting you, seeking you out. He’s dead, burned to a crisp in that barn. You made sure of that.
“He had a knife in his neck. He was bleeding.” Your voice shakes as tears prick behind your eyes. You hate it that you’re still crying over Phil and his hold on you even in death. “He said....he said ‘look what you did to me,’ and pulled the knife out. I dropped the glass of water and slipped in it. I was falling but then I woke up.”
Kyle is silent after you finish, the quiet settling heavy between you, as heavy as it had felt in your dream. You know you sleep walked through part of your dream. You went to the kitchen for water and dropped the glass. You slipped in the puddle and nearly hit your head on the counter if Kyle hadn’t found you seconds before and cushioned your fall with his hand. Your feet still sting from stepping in the glass, even though the puncture wounds and cuts have mostly healed.
A warm hand touches yours, fingers curling around yours. Kyle’s rough skin, calloused by handling weapons and fighting for so many years, drags against yours as he slowly lifts your hand away from the arm of the chair and up towards his face. His breath is warm as it hits your palm, his soft lips pressing against your skin. You turn to face him, tears still blurring your vision as you sit there, staring at him.
“It was just a dream.” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “No one is going to hurt you. Phil is gone and we’ll be damn sure nothing else can even try.” He presses your hand against his cheek, your fingers trembling against the smooth skin. “You have nothing to fear.”
“Only what’s in my head.” You whisper.
“What can we do? How can we help you defeat those demons plaguing you?” He asks, threading his fingers through yours.
You stare at him for a while, taking in his face again. It feels like so long since you’ve really looked at them, since you’ve truly taken in their features. You’ve almost forgotten what they actually look like, your mind always conjuring up muddy images of their faces in your memories.
You’ve forgotten just how pretty and perfect he really is.
How...disarming his face is.
“I don’t know.” You whisper, your thumb stroking his cheek. “I don’t know.”
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The breeze is cold, whipping around you and biting at your cheeks. The blanket tucked tightly around you stops the wind from chilling you to your bones. You don’t care about the cold, your gaze out on the waves crashing against the shore.
“Cold?” Johnny asks, tightening his hold around you.
“No.” You say, fighting back a shiver as you lean further back against his chest. The last thing you want right now is to leave the beach.
“Somethin’ tells me I shouldnae believe you.” He says, squeezing his body around yours.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s wrong.” You say stubbornly, shoving your hands in your armpits to keep them warm.
“Stubborn little thing.” He says, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Should be headin’ back soon anyway.”
You let out a whine in protest, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “I want to stay here forever.”
“I know.” He says, letting you go just enough to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Wish I could let ye.”
You can’t stop the shiver that shakes through you at the loss of his warmth. It is cold and getting colder as the sky gets more grey overhead. The sun is going down, the darkness of the evening rolling in earlier and earlier every day.
“Time to head back.” Johnny says, pocketing his phone.
“Five more minutes.” You whine, trying to lay all of your weight against him.
“I have direct orders to get you back stat.” He says, pushing himself up to stand.
You let yourself flop back on the blanket you’ve been sitting on, looking up at him as you lay there in the sand. The wind is picking up, blowing some of it onto your face. You sputter, pulling yourself back up to sit.
“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, tucking his hands under your arms before lifting you to stand. “Let’s head back before it gets dark.”
He brushes the sand off of your blanket before picking up the other one and shaking it. He drapes it over his arm before guiding you back up the path towards the car. You take one last look over your shoulder at the water before following him to the parking lot.
It’s dusk when you get back to the cottage, the lights from inside glowing warmly through the windows. Johnny takes your hand, leading you up the steps and into the cottage.
It’s warm inside, the rest of your pack moving around in the kitchen and dining area. You kick your boots off, passing your blanket off to Johnny before heading into the living area. The table is all made up, many dishes sitting out ready to be served, all of them looking very familiar.
“What is this?” You ask, stepping closer to the table.
“It’s Thanksgiving.” Dr. Keller says, stepping out of the kitchen with a tray of meat in her hands. “I thought you might like to celebrate.”
“Oh.” You stand there for a moment. You didn’t even realize what day it was. Time has been so strange with no phone or television to give you an idea of what day it is. It’s been moving quickly, almost four weeks since the day you were taken. “Is that why you let Johnny take me to the beach?”
“We wanted to surprise you.” John says. “I know you don’t like surprises, but this felt like a more appropriate one.”
“I don’t like surprises, but this is really sweet.” You move towards your normal seat at the table, looking at all of the dishes laid out.
“We made all the classics, or at least as close as we could get with what we have available.” Dr. Keller says.
“It’s pretty close, but then again I’ve only had Thanksgiving once.” Ashley says, coming out of the kitchen. You hadn’t even noticed her car parked outside.
“Thank you for this.” You say, still a bit taken aback by the gesture. “I didn’t even know it was close to Thanksgiving. Time...time seems so weird now.”
“A lot has happened in a short amount of time.” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back. “That can skew how we perceive time passing.”
“I also don’t have any way to tell time.” You shrug.
Dr. Keller gives you a soft smile. “Well, we’ll see if we can rectify that.”
Everyone takes their seats at the table in their usual spots, except for the extra chair next to Dr. Keller for Ashley. You recognize the strategic move, even if the rest of your pack pretends not to notice. Dr. Keller also pays it no mind, but you can’t help but notice the bashful look that flashes across her face when her hand brushes Ashleys as food gets passed around the table.
You load up your plate, digging in almost immediately. You hadn’t realized how hungry you got down at the beach, not until you came back to a cacophony of delicious smells. It all tastes good, all of it throwing you back into reminders of your childhood and Thanksgivings with your family. While your father still had expectations of proper behavior from you and your siblings, it was tradition that he’d spend most of the day in his chair. Your mother did all of the cooking, you and your siblings helping when she’d allow.
You never truly understood how much work she put into every holiday until you were older.
Thanksgivings at the institute were never the same as Thanksgivings at home. You got the day off of course, and there always was a better meal that day with the classics, but it always felt so manufactured, not unlike the food on base. You never realized how much you missed home cooking until now.
You never realized how much you missed your mothers food until now.
Tears blur your eyes as you continue to eat, trying to distract yourself with heaping spoonfuls of food.
“You doing alright?”
Of course the one time John would notice your melancholic state would be right now. The entire table pauses, turning to look at you. You start to curl in on yourself, not wanting all the attention all at once on you.
“Yeah.” You clear your throat, wiping the tear that betrays you and falls down your cheek. “Just tastes really good. Reminds me of my mom’s cooking.”
The words slip out before you can stop them, tumbling out onto the table and landing among the mashed potatoes. Things suddenly feel very vulnerable, very raw. You wish you could grab the words, shove them back in and make them all forget your admission. You don’t want the soft stares, the sympathetic looks in their eyes, the understanding. You want to crawl under the table and hide until the moment passes.
“I-I think I just missed home-cooked food.” You try to save the moment from growing more embarrassing for you.
“I second that.” Johnny says, the tension in the room lightening just a bit. “Easy tae forget what good food tastes like sometimes.”
“I’ll give it to the Americans.” Kyle says, recognizing your desire for the attention to be off of you at this moment. “They do know how to do a good feast.”
“We can do more than good food.” Dr. Keller says, sounding almost offended.
“Like Halloween.” Johnny says. “What I wouldnae give to have an American Halloween.”
“You just want an excuse to eat candy until you’re sick.” Simon rumbles.
“I wan’ tae do more than that.” Johnny gives him a look. “Costumes, the parties, trick or treatin’. All of it.”
“Maybe we’ll have to take you to America next Halloween.” Dr. Keller says. “Let you get a proper taste of the holiday.”
Next Halloween.
You’re not even thinking a week ahead, much less a year. You’re not even sure the others have thought much about what the next few months will look like. Where will you all be in a year? You can’t stay at the cottage forever, as much as you would enjoy it. At some point a decision has to be made. Where do the five of you go from here?
The conversation begins to lighten, the attention thankfully being drawn off of you again. That doesn’t save you from John’s gaze, though, his eyes flicking up to you every so often. You try not to meet that gaze, keeping your eyes down on your plate as you eat until you’re stuffed full. Yet you can’t help but look up when his gaze lingers too long, when your omega shifts under the scrutinizing gaze of an alpha. He’s trying to read you like he used to be able to. You wish you could hide better from him, but you’ll never be able to truly keep your thoughts and feelings under wraps.
Not from him.
You’re banned from the kitchen as food is cleaned up and placed in the fridge and dishes are washed. Instead you find yourself on the couch, staring into the flickering flames of the fire. Kyle takes a seat next to you, sitting down with a quiet groan.
“How are you?” He asks, draping his arm on the back of the couch behind you.
“Fine.” You say, still turned to face the fire. “Full.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Same. Don’t think I’ve been this full in a long time.”
“That’s the point of the holiday.” You say. “Eat until you pass out.” That’s what your father used to do, slipping into a food coma after dinner in his chair. As much as you hate him, you do miss those quiet evenings where you could loosen up and not care about his calculating gaze.
“Feeling tired?” He asks, and you can feel his questioning gaze hitting the side of your head.
“No,” You respond, and it’s the truth. There’s far too much going on in your head to even nap right now.
It falls silent for a few moments, only the sounds from the kitchen and the crackling of the fire breaking the silence. You’re far away in your thoughts, replaying the last few weeks over and over in your head.
“Penny for your thoughts?” John asks, breaking you from your reverie. He takes a seat on the other couch, facing you.
“Just thinking about how much time has passed.” You answer, tucking your knees up close to your chest. “It’s been almost a year and yet it feels like it’s only been a few weeks.”
John hums. “You would have been with the CIA already by this time.”
You nod. “Yeah. I was picked up just after Halloween. Didn’t really have Christmas last year. The CIA wasn’t exactly the most festive place. They had bigger things to worry about.”
“Did you miss it, Christmas?” He asks.
“Well, yeah. Of course, even if we didn’t really celebrate much in the institute either. We didn’t have any gifts to give each other outside of things we were supplied with by the institute. They didn’t really bother decorating either. We got the day off, of course, and we had a nicer meal than usual, but it wasn’t really some big festive celebration.” You shrug. “It was always a big deal in my house. It was my mom’s favorite holiday.”
You cut yourself off before the emotions can get to be too heavy. You’ve already almost lost it once in front of them today. The last thing you want is to risk that again. You’ve spilled too many words already. The last thing you want is to spill more.
John’s gaze leaves you to look at Kyle next to you, the two of them sharing a silent conversation. You’ve always envied their abilities to speak to each other without words. You wish you could know them that well, you wish you could understand them on that level. You wish you shared the bonds they have with each other. You’ll always be the odd man out, the outsider. You’ll never have that closeness, that ease with which they exist around each other.
You’re beginning to see it again, the fluidity between them, moving around each other without needing to look, always aware of the others. Here you are again, on the outside of that once more. Things really have gone back to the way they were before, back when things were new and foreign and unknown. You’re an unknown factor in this dynamic again, all of them tiptoeing around you like you might explode if they get too close, if they push those boundaries again.
Part of you hates it. Part of you likes it.
You’re not sure what to feel anymore.
You tilt your head back, thumping it against Kyle’s hand. “Sorry.” You quickly sit yourself back up. “Done that twice now I guess.”
“No need to apologize.” He says, his hand dropping to your shoulder to lean you back again. His hand gently cups the back of your head, rubbing soothing circles into your scalp with his fingers.
You let out a content hum, your eyes fluttering closed. It falls silent between the three of you as Kyle slowly works you into a comfortable, content state. Your omega begins to almost purr contently, and for the first time in a while, she doesn’t feel quite so out of control.
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The days start to make more sense as you now have an idea where you are on the calendar. It’s the end of November, meaning in just a few weeks it’ll be Christmas. The guys haven’t said anything about celebrating, so you haven’t gotten your hopes up. Still, you can’t hide that itch in the back of your mind, that desire to have a proper celebration for your first year out of the institute.
“You know you can tell them what you want.” Dr. Keller says, sitting in the chair next to you. “We’ve gone over this. I’m sure those guys would turn the world upside down if you asked them to.”
“I just...I don’t know how.” You say. “What if they have no plans for Christmas? What if they weren’t planning anything? What if this is too last minute?”
“There’s a little under a month till Christmas. It’s hardly last minute.” Dr. Keller says. “Even if they say no, then we’ll have a celebration. Just the two of us.”
“You’d do that for me?” You ask, turning to look at her.
“Of course. If you want to celebrate Christmas, then we will, no matter what the others decide.” She says firmly. “If they don’t wish to participate, then they don’t have to.”
“That’s...really kind of you.” You say. She’s done so much for you already, and here she is offering to do more.
“It’s what I’m here for.” She says. “Whatever you want to do. Decorate, bake cookies, go shopping. All of the above.” She reaches over, squeezing your hand. “You’re in charge.”
You’re in charge.
Your omega nearly preens at the words, starting to get excited. Yet, you’re not quite sure how you feel about that kind of pressure being placed on you. It’s not in your nature to be in charge...or at least that’s what the institute taught you. Omegas are submissive and follow their alpha’s orders.
The institute was wrong about a lot of things, though. Maybe you do want to be in charge. Maybe if you’re in charge, things will start to get better. Maybe if you’re in charge, you can finally get your pack in line and get them doing what you want them to do.
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It’s far too early for you to be awake. It’s still dark out, no light filtering through the gaps in the curtains. There’s light coming through the gaps in the door, though, and you can hear quiet rustling.
“It’s still crooked.” You hear Kyle’s voice through the wall.
“I’m doin’ the best I can.” Johnny retorts.
More rustling and quiet tinkling sounds through the wall. There’s no more hope for sleep for you now, your interest far too piqued as to what they’re doing. You slide out of bed, rubbing your eyes as you pad across the cold floor to the door.
You’re not ready for what you find on the other side.
All four of them pause as your door opens and you take half a step out the doorway. You freeze, hand still over one of your eyes. Johnny is standing on a stepstool, leaning over a tree. Kyle is standing next to him, peeking around him to look at you. Simon is frozen in front of the fireplace, garland hanging from his hands. John is standing between the couches, a round ornament in each hand.
You slowly lower your hand from your eye, sweeping your gaze over the four of them once more. “What are you doing?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to that question.
“Decorating.” The four of them say all at once.
“We were going to surprise you when you got up.” Kyle says.
“We were trying to be quiet.” John says. “But those two muppets can’t get the star properly on the tree.”
“You’ve got it on the branch wrong.” Kyle says.
“It won’t go any other way.” Johnny argues.
They go back to what they were doing, almost as if you’re not there. You’re glad for it as tears begin to fill your eyes. They’re decorating. They were decorating to surprise you. You can’t help but wonder if Dr. Keller expressed your desire for a proper Christmas to them on your behalf, but part of you knows she wouldn’t do that. She’s pushing you too hard to take control to do that.
Maybe they’re doing it because they want to. Maybe this was their plan all along.
“Let me do it.” Kyle says, tugging on Johnny’s shirt.
“I can do it just fine.” Johnny persists, still fiddling with the star on the tree.
You roll your eyes, moving over to them. “Move. I’ll do it.”
Neither of them argue as Johnny steps down off the stool, letting you climb up. You can feel their hands hovering as you stand up on your toes, reaching for the top of the tree. You bend the top branch, situating the star on properly for them.
“See! I told you.” Kyle says, his hands still hovering as you climb down off the stool.
“My way would have worked just fine.” Johnny pouts.
“I’m sure it would have.” You shrug, patting his arm before walking away.
You join John in sorting through ornaments as Kyle and Johnny finish adjusting the lights on the tree. They’re all brand new, sealed in the boxes still. So they went shopping for all of this. You don’t suppose a summer house would have Christmas decorations laying around. It’s touching that they did this for you, even if they didn’t know you’d want it.
“Thank you.” You say, fiddling with the hook on one of the ornaments. “For doing this.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to not give you a proper Christmas.” John says. “Not when it means so much to you.”
A small smile tugs at your lips, tears starting to fill your eyes again. “I appreciate it. More than you know.”
You don’t flinch as he reaches out, gently running a hand over your head as you wipe the tear that falls. It’s nice, feeling his touch again. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, holding his hand against the side of your head. You barely realize you’re doing it as you press your nose into his wrist, breathing in his fresh, woodsy scent. Petrichor, damp earth. It fills your nose like it did the first time you scented him, making your head spin.
For the first time in a while, your omega lays comfortably in the back of your mind, settled contently back into her cage.
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You stand there nervously, staring at your alpha. He hasn’t acknowledged you yet, giving you a moment to gather yourself. You’re nervous, your palms sweaty, even if you have nothing to be nervous about. The worst he can say is no, and then you’ll have an excuse. Or he’ll say he’ll do it himself, then one surprise will be ruined at least.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard that nickname spoken in such a way. Your omega rolls over and shows her belly, ready to submit to his quiet purr of your nickname.
“I...I wanted to ask you something.” You say, shifting nervously on your feet. Now is the time. Now is when you have to be brave and voice your wants.
“Go ahead.” He says, putting his phone down and turning to face you.
You almost wish he wouldn’t. You wish he’d stay turned away, attention on his phone so he can half pay attention to what you’re saying. No, instead he has to give you his full attention and put even more pressure on you.
The words catch on your tongue, choking you as you attempt to be brave, as you attempt to take this leap into unknown territory.
The worst he can say is no.
“I want to go Christmas shopping.” The words come out fast, almost slurring together in your haste to voice them before you lose all the courage that led you to this point.
He leans back in his seat and you prepare for the worst, you prepare for the no waiting to come out and put an end to your silly little request. You’ll sulk and cry about it in the safety of your room. Now you have to be strong.
“Okay.” He says.
You nearly turn and run in shame before the meaning of the word settles into your brain. You stand there in surprise, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Okay?” You parrot, your brain still trying to comprehend what it is he’s saying.
“Okay.” He repeats. “You’ll have to take one of us with you, though. You can’t leave unprotected, even with Christine.”
“I’ll go.”
The voice makes you jump, spinning on your heel to face Simon. You hadn’t even heard him approach. You stare in surprise at the other alpha. He hasn’t made much of an effort to insert himself back into your life. You were half sure he hated you again with how he’s been acting.
“Alright.” John says, his voice almost as surprised as you feel.
It will be nice having the hulking alpha following you around. You think back to when you went lingerie shopping with Johnny. How long ago that seems now. People had gone out of their way not to walk too close to you and your protector. No one will want to mess with you with him around.
“Go with Christine.” John says, making you turn back around to look at him in surprise.
“Really?” You ask in disbelief.
He nods. “I think it will be good for you, getting out of the house. Just don’t stay out too long.” He turns back to his phone and you turn back to look at Simon, but he’s gone.
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“This might be a tad bit overwhelming at first.” Dr. Keller says as she drives through town. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in a populated place.”
“I’ll be fine.” You say, even if you don’t really believe it. You had prepared for this possibility in the days you’ve thought about this trip.
John wanted you to go early on a weekday, when it was less likely to be too crowded. While crowded might hide you better, it also left too many possibilities for someone to sneak up on you.
“You say the word and we’ll go.” Dr. Keller says. “I can always come back later and finish shopping for you.”
“Okay.” You say, still staring out the window at the buildings. It’s been a while since you’ve seen so many buildings all in one spot.
Simon is quiet in the passenger seat, also watching out the window. You wonder what’s going through his head, if he regrets volunteering to come along. You wonder why he did volunteer in the first place. You know safety is of the highest concern now while Shepherd is still out there. Does he not trust anyone else to protect you? That’s a possibility.
There’s another rift in the bonds.
Dr. Keller pulls into the Tesco parking lot, many cars there even for so early in the morning. Everyone else had the same idea as John.
“Try to make this as quick as possible.” Simon says as you undo your seatbelt. “The sooner we can get in and out, the better.”
Dr. Keller gives him a look, something passing between the two of them before she opens her car door. You get out as well, pulling your jacket tighter around you as the cold air hits your skin. It had been warm in the car, the heat cranked for your sake.
You’re half tempted to hold Simon’s hand as you cross the parking lot. You doubt he’d let you. He might pull away and that would be worse. That would ruin the whole trip. Old habits, you think. He’s barely spoken to you, so much as made an effort to rekindle the relationship between you. That would be pushing things too far.
Instead you stick close to Dr. Keller, trying not to panic as you walk into the building with the bright lights and the people. It’s gross, making you squint for a moment as Simon grabs a cart, your eyes taking a moment to adjust.
“What are you planning on getting?” Dr. Keller asks, trying to distract you.
“I-I don’t know.” You stay, blinking at aisle after aisle of products. “I didn’t think this far ahead. I thought John would say no.”
“Well, what do you think they’d like?” She asks.
What would they like? What do they like? You’re drawing a blank as you think about them. How little you know about them too.
Kyle. Kyle likes skincare. He’s always prioritized that on base. Maybe you’ll get him something related to that.
You start for the cosmetics section, Simon following like a shadow behind you and Dr. Keller. What kind of skincare does Kyle like? You know he uses coconut oil after he showers. He always smells good. Maybe something exfoliating? Something moisturizing? Both?
You stand in front of the skincare, drawing a blank as you look at the many options. Dr. Keller and Simon stand there quietly as you deliberate, suddenly overwhelmed by the choice you have to make.
“Who are you shopping for right now?” Dr. Keller asks, obviously picking up on your discomfort.
“Kyle.” You say. “I know he likes skincare.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Keller hums, looking at the options as well. “How about something like this?” She picks up a gift set with cleanser and moisturizer. “Something to cover all the basics?”
You nod. “Okay. That sounds good.”
Simon says nothing, offering no words of advice as she puts it in the cart. Maybe he doesn’t even know his own pack that well. Or maybe this is his way of showing his displeasure for you. Let you flounder and get the wrong thing. You want to believe he wouldn’t be that cruel.
You wander the aisles, looking for gifts for the other three. You pass by a spa kit, pausing for a moment. You should get one for Dr. Keller. She deserves some pampering and relaxation after weeks of taking care of you.
You put two in the cart, grabbing one for Ashley as well.
Johnny. What does Johnny like? Art. He likes art. Maybe something with art supplies.
You head for that section, Simon still following behind silently, aside from the clinking of the cart as he pushes it.
You pause as you pass by a display of teddy bears. Johnny sleeps with a stuffed bear. You know that. You’ve cuddled with it yourself. It’s probably back on base with the rest of your belongings. He must miss it.
You grab one, putting it in the cart.
“For Johnny.” You say as Dr. Keller gives you a look.
Simon still doesn’t say anything, but his scent reaches your nose as you walk past him.
The alphas. John and Simon. The two you seem to know the least. What do they like? What would they want as gifts? Simon likes knives and masks, but you’re not sure you could just buy a knife in the UK like you could in America. You could just ask him, considering he’s here with you, but that feels almost intrusive. He’ll know what you get him regardless, but asking him seems like a daunting task.
You continue wandering the aisles, looking for something that John might want.
You pass by a gift set of tea, pausing as you stare at it. He likes tea. He might like some other options than what’s at the house.
You put it in the cart.
Now Simon. The hardest of the four.
You continue wandering the aisles before you pause in the books section. Simon likes to read. You do know that. You’ve scoured the shelf at the cottage enough to know what’s there and what’s not. Maybe you’ll get Simon some new books. Something that’s not available to you currently.
You pick out a couple before putting them in the cart.
“Okay.” You say, staring at the selection you’ve grabbed. “I think I’m done.”
“You’re sure?” Dr. Keller asks.
You nod. “Yeah. I don’t want to do anything too over the top.”
You really don’t. The last thing you want is to do too much too soon.
You pause as you walk past the candy aisle, grabbing a handful of candy canes and putting them in the cart before heading for the checkout.
Dr. Keller pays with cash as you load the bags into the cart. You’re ready to be out of the store with its bright lights and loud music and people. It’s starting to get busier, more and more people coming in the doors there to do their Christmas shopping as well.
Simon loads the bags into the trunk as you climb into the car with Dr. Keller.
“How do you feel?” She asks as you let out a breath.
“A bit overwhelmed.” You say honestly.
“It’s a lot going from isolation to a supermarket. I think you did good, though.” She praises you.
The door opens as Simon climbs into the passenger seat. He’s barely said a word the entire trip, looming in silence like he used to. Part of it makes your chest hurt, that he would regress so much after what happened, but part of you understands. He had to make a big decision on your behalf, push himself past his comfort zone to save your life. Of course he’d want some distance after everything. You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want anything to do with you again.
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It’s far too early when light seeps into your room before disappearing. You keep your eyes closed, willing whoever had just entered your room to vanish before they reach the bed.
You’re not so lucky, a hand settling on your shoulder and gently shaking you.
“Time to rise and shine.” A soft voice says.
You let out an irritated grumble, trying to pull the blanket up over your head.
“It’s Christmas morning, don’t you want to go open your presents?” That hand shakes you again.
“Sleep.” You murmur, curling up in a ball under the comforter.
“It’s already 10 am.” The voice says again, tugging the blankets down. “They let you sleep longer than they wanted.”
Last night was a rough one. You had laid awake far too late, staring at the ceiling and then you woke from a nightmare in the middle of the night, and it had taken time to calm yourself and fall back asleep. You’re still exhausted, your eyes burning from tiredness.
You let out a grunt of displeasure, but you know there’s no getting out of this one. You’re going to be getting up no matter what.
You slowly stretch out your limbs, rubbing your eyes. “Fine.” You yawn, turning over to press your face into the pillow. “Be up soon.”
“No going back to sleep.” The hand rubs your back gently. “Then I’ll have to send one of them in and they won’t be quite so nice about it.”
You hum into the pillow, already feeling sleep tugging at your brain. Despite the warning, your mind sinks back into the comforting realm of rest as your body relaxes back into the bed.
You’re not sure how long you get to rest before the comforter is torn off of you, landing somewhere on the floor. Hands roll you over and sit you up before your brain can even process. You blink the rapidly fading sleep from your eyes as you’re hauled up, flying through the air for a moment before you’re tossed over a broad shoulder.
“Time tae get up.” Johnny says, packing you towards the light filtering in through the open door.
You let out a whine as he packs you out into the warmth and the light before lowering you back down on your feet. Hands stop you from falling backwards, Johnny’s t-shirt clad chest coming into view as you blink the blurriness from your vision.
“Happy Christmas kitten.” He says, grinning brightly at you.
You mutter something that sounds like ‘Merry Christmas’ back to him. His hands slowly spin you around, turning you to face the tree.
You blink in surprise as you stare at the many presents on the floor under the tree. You weren’t expecting that much, though you suppose with six people in the house there would be quite a bit. It’s one gift though that draws your attention. It’s seated on the far side of the tree, nothing but a bow on top of its head.
“You...you got me a giant bear?” You ask in surprise.
“Was Si’s idea-oof.” Johnny coughs as Simon hits him on the back.
You walk over to it, pulling the bow off of its head. You’ve missed your giant bear and the comfort it brought you. That’s the one thing you wish you still had from the barracks, that you’ve been wanting for for weeks. It’s bigger than the one at the barracks, the top of its head reaching your chest when you’re standing in front of it.
You let your hands run over the soft fur, squeezing its plush face. There’s no cameras in this one. You know they’ve checked, ensured its safety. There’s no one looking back at you as you stare into its dark eyes.
“What do you think?” Kyle asks.
“I love it.” You say, trying to stop the waver in your voice. The last thing you want is to cry on Christmas. “Thank you.”
“Come on.” Hands guide you to the chair, letting you sit down. “You’ve got a lot to open.”
The next hour is a flurry of wrapping paper and bows as presents get passed around. You open up new shoes and clothes, a set of lacy panties courtesy of Johnny, new books, strawberry scented soap and shampoo, and some other comfort items.
You’ll never forget Johnny’s face when he opens your gift to him, his eyes lighting up as he stares at the soft bear you picked out. It gets you a big hug and a kiss to the cheek from him, and you know he’s going to be sleeping with it tonight.
You’re exhausted by the time the last present is opened, rubbing your eyes again. You hadn’t even changed out of your pajamas, feeling underdressed compared to the others. Yet at the same time it makes you feel like a kid again, tearing into presents on Christmas morning, excited to see what you got.
You look around the room, John and Kyle starting to bag up wrapping paper and clean, Johnny on the couch next to Simon holding his bear, Simon sitting near the fire already cracking open one of the books, and Dr. Keller and Ashley on the other couch talking, sitting very close. It brings a small smile to your face. You’re happy for them. It’s nice to see Dr. Keller getting something positive out of this stay at the cottage.
You can’t help but think that whatever happens next, maybe it might not be so bad after all.
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“Think we should wake her up?” Kyle asks.
“No.” John says, standing next to him. “It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen her in weeks.”
They both stare at you where you lay near the tree, draped over your large bear. You’re sound asleep, mouth slightly parted as you snooze away.
“I think she likes it.”
“It was a good choice.” John agrees. “It will certainly help make her more comfortable.”
“I can’t wait to see how she’s going to fit that on the bed.” Kyle says with a soft smile.
“Well, you certainly won’t be joining her when she does.” John smirks.
“I think I can live with that.” Kyle says. “Like you said, whatever makes her more comfortable.”
“I’m glad she’s loosening up a bit.” John says, turning away from you to head back towards the dining table.
“So am I. She deserves to feel safe and comfortable.”
“She does. We need to make sure she feels that way all the time, no matter what.”
“I want to help her.” Kyle says longingly.
“I know. And we can, but we have to let her lead.” John says. “The best we can do is listen to her and give her what she needs, even if it's not what we think is best. We don’t really know what’s best for her in the end. Only she does.” He reaches up, cupping Kyle’s cheek. “We need to focus on each other too.”
“I know.” Kyle says, leaning into his touch. “I want to.”
John’s lips twitch in a small smile. “Good. Because so do I.”
NEXT ->
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#call of duty#cod fic#call of duty fic#john price x reader#captain price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#john mactavish x reader#soap x reader#alpha/beta/omega dynamics#a/b/o#omegaverse
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several people telling me nightmare in silver was going to be the best episode of season 7 and I've gotta be honest...didn't do it for me. if it weren't for warwick davis I'd have rated it lower, but it's not going to be that high I predict
#still gotta rate journey to the centre of the tardis + crimson horror#but hmmmmmmm#it felt like lots and lots of things were smooshed together and subsequently none were afforded enough weight#and i must have missed it but i dont get why it takes place on an amusement park or why the apparent emperor of several planets#pretends to be a random guy called porridge who willingly stuffs himself in a box to trick carnival-goers#im watching nu!who#im watching eleven who#ALSO IT'S THE EPISODE WITH THE INFAMOUS LINE a mystery inside an enigma squeezed into a skirt thats a bit too tight
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Harvard's Secret Court: The Savage 1920 Purge of Campus Homosexuals
William Wright
In 2002, a researcher for The Harvard Crimson came across a restricted archive labeled Secret Court Files, 1920. The mystery he uncovered involved a tragic scandal in which Harvard University secretly put a dozen students on trial for homosexuality and then systematically and persistently tried to ruin their lives. In May of 1920, Cyril Wilcox, a freshman suspended from Harvard, was found sprawled dead on his bed, his room filled with gas--a suicide. The note he left behind revealed his secret life as part of a circle of (cut young) homosexual students. The resulting witch hunt and the lives it cost remains one of the most shameful episodes in the history of America's premiere university. Supported by legendary Harvard President Lawrence Lowell, Harvard conducted its investigation in secrecy. Several students committed suicide; others had their lives destroyed by an ongoing effort on the part of Harvard to destroy their reputations. Harvard's Secret Court is a deeply moving indictment of the human toll of intolerance and the horrors of injustice that can result when a powerful institution loses its balance.
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Bone Gnawing Guilt
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↝a/n: first post of 2025 and we're starting this year off with angst I guess.
↝pairing: season 7!Daryl Dixon x reader
↝warning: ANGST, Negan, the line up, season 7 episode 1 (I think), possible spoilers if you have watched season 7 yet, death (Abraham and Glenn), guilt, gore, crying, the usual twd stuff, not proofread, self hatred?, mention of Daryl's childhood
↝⎙ 1.2.25
|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||
Daryl could only watch.
There wasn't anything else he could do. He couldn't get himself to stand, to walk over to you. He watched as you crumbled, all of your emotions laid out for everyone to see. Face scrunched up, lip quivering, face getting more red by the second, as sobs rattled your body. Blood coated your right cheek; blood that wasn't yours. But, that of a friend you held so close to your heart.
Your own sobs layered with Maggie's, making everyone's heart clench with a devastating feeling.
Daryl had felt guilt before. It was beat into him at a very young age. Everything was always his fault. With his father being an alcoholic, there was always something that was wrong, that the abusive man could take out on Daryl, who was only a kid. After Daryl's mother died, that was a reoccurring instance that was brought up, followed by getting yelled at and kicked around.
Maybe the guilt started there. Either way, it sprouted in his developing brain and grew until it took over his body, the roots trapping him in his body that he hated so much.
Daryl fought against the men trying to drag him to a truck. No amount of fighting -to get to you- helped. He was shoved into the truck, still being able to hear the sobs. He threw his head back, time after time. Maybe if he hit hard enough, he wouldn't be able to hear your heartbreak anymore.
-
The roar of the Savior's trucks echoed as they got further away.
No one moved. They couldn't. Their bones felt like jelly, their hearts thumping in their ears. Maggie stood on wobbly legs.
The rest was a blur in your peripheral vision. Your eyes were planted on the dirt below, crimson weaving in between the mix of dirt and rocks.
Rocks dug into your legs, leaving an imprint
It didn't matter.
Everything was numb, you felt numb. Even after the bodies were picked up or dragged, you stayed, kneeled beside the puddle.
Rick stood beside the truck, watching as your body involuntarily swayed.
A walker stumbled out of the woods, snarling.
You didn't seem to notice.
Rick started toward you, grabbing you by the forearm. He didn't have the energy to kill the walker, or have to carry another dead body to bury.
Your body was dead weight under his hip You didn't notice the walker stumbling toward you. Tears lefts tracks down your face, mixing with the blood and dirt seeping into your pores.
You only looked up when Rick tugged one final time, dragging you to your feet. The look in your eyes was almost as awful as the sight had been with Negan just a little while ago.
Words lefts your mouth in a hopeless whisper, stating what Rick already knew. His eyes softened as your voice broke in the middle of your sentence.
“They took him.”
-
The sound of the wooden bat against skull was heard all round the group. The lineup watched in horror, even Negan's men were in shock. This whole thing was gross. Blood splattered with every harsh movement. Abraham laid lifeless. Muscles and nerves twitched.
It was too much.
Daryl stood before he knew what he was doing.
The moment played
over and over in Daryl's head as he sat on the cold floor, pushing himself into the corner of the small, dark room. The gruesome pictures were a reminder of what he had done. What finally broke you. You lost yourself when Glenn, a friend you had made in the beginning, died right beside you. It could have easily been you. God knows the 'what if's swam around your head after the tears had stopped. It wasn't fair.
You weren't with the group when they had hijacked the satellite outpost. You didn't have any part of it, yet you had the blood on your cheek, the trauma of seeing what happened with your own eyes.
If he hadn't stood up and punched Negan, Glenn would still be alive. He would be there for his and Maggie's baby. He would be there to tease you, like he had done since the quarry. The two of you acted like siblings. Now, he was dead. The reason Daryl had first noticed you, as you laughed and pushed Glenn away as he picked at you, was gone. Your laugh caught Daryl's attention, the laugh that Glenn caused. You wouldn't ever laugh like that again, not in this world.
The evidence was strewn across the concrete in front of him. The Polaroids of Glenn's remains were a cruel reminder.
You probably hated him. You probably blamed him. Daryl wouldn't be mad if you did.
You most likely hated him. It would be easier if you did.
If Daryl were to see you after all of this, if he were to escape, he was unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. It would be easier to live with the hate than with the guilt.
He would feel the guilt until the snake that was death struck its fangs into his heart, the venom seeping throughout his veins, throughout his body until it paralyzes him, causing his body to give up in the long run. The guilt would run through his veins as long as his blood stayed warm.
•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•
•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]
#xoxo-sarah 🩷#🐿️#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon one shot#daryl dixon x reader angst#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon angst#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon imagines#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead fanfic#the walking dead x reader#the walking dead imagine#the walking dead angst#the walking dead x you#the walking dead oneshot
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Pretty In Red - Amber Freeman
Smut MDNI 18+
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Word Count: 1630
Prompt: Amber Freeman comes home from her recent kill to find her girlfriend waiting for her with a pretty surprise.
Warnings: strap-on usage, fingering, oral, degradation, mentions of murder, lingerie.
Masterlist
Also, Not Proofread 💅
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A quiet almost inaudible dripping sound echoed through the large bathroom. The main light buzzing as it sheds luminosity on the horrors below. The once white tiles of the floor stained and puddled with crimson. Walls and mirrors splattered with fresh blood that sprayed along it. The metal clunk of a knife hitting the tiles brought Amber from her haze where she stood admiring her art in depth. Each slash and stab articulately placed along the man’s body, almost perfect. A sense of pride filled her chest knowing she took out the guy who had the audacity to flirt with her girlfriend. A smirk pricked the corner of her lips as she pulled the mask back over her face and picked her favorite knife up from the tiles. The knife had been a gift from Y/n, who was waiting for her back home. Amber rushed out of the house and into an alleyway nearby where she had hid her backpack. Hiding behind a dumpster, she stuffs the costume into her bag, successfully concealing both the costume, knife, and effectively, her identity. Once she got home, she didn’t bother sneaking her way upstairs like she normally would. Knowing her parents were both out on business trips, she had no one to question her whereabouts except her girlfriend, who was already aware of her homicidal tendencies. As she opens her bedroom door, she’s met with the sight of Y/n laying on her bed, half-asleep as she watches an episode of Criminal Minds. Amber can’t help the smile that crawls up her lips, seeing her girl cozy in her bed was one of the best feelings in the world. A privilege that she was proud and honored to have.
“I missed you,” Y/n mumbled tiredly, outstretching her arms for Amber to come cuddle. Amber lets out a quiet chuckle, walking over to her closet to switch into sweatpants and a different shirt before crawling to bed next to her girlfriend. Amber lays on her back and pulls Y/n into her arms, laying the woman’s head on her chest, softly stroking her hair. “I missed you too,” Amber whispers, kissing her girlfriend’s forehead. “What took you so long?” Y/n asks, nuzzling her head into Amber’s neck. “Things didn’t exactly go to plan. But I took care of it.” Amber vaguely answers, softly rubbing small circles on the woman’s back as a means of distraction. Y/n placed a soft kiss on Amber’s neck, leaning into her embrace. Her hand subtly trailing under the hem of Amber’s shirt to caress her stomach. Craning her neck up, she presses her lips against Amber’s in a slow but passionate kiss. Amber’s hand trails down from the slope of her back under the blanket to grope at her girlfriend’s ass. Thinking she would be wearing the pajama shorts that she normally would to bed, but in place was a lacy feeling that had Amber smirking into the kiss as she gently flipped their positions, pinning the woman beneath her. As their lips separate, Amber tugs the blanket off the woman’s lower half, revealing a dark red set of lacy panties. Ones that Amber had picked out for her on a trip to the mall weeks ago. “What’s all this for~?” Amber teases, a hum of amusement in her tone as her finger slips beneath the waistband to snap it back against Y/n’s skin. The sensation of Amber’s fingers trailing her exposed skin as well as the nip of the cold air had her feeling more awake, and more aroused. “Well it was supposed to be a surprise for when you got home~” Y/n muses, a playful mood arising. Amber lets out a soft chuckle, leaning over the woman to kiss her neck, her tongue trailing up to her earlobe that she took between her teeth in a playful and gentle bite. “How about you take off your shirt and let me get a refresher on how pretty you look in that matching set?” She whispers before kissing her jaw and leaning back, looking at Y/n with expecting eyes and an hungry amused smirk. Y/n bites her lip as she sits up, pulling the shirt over her head, revealing the matching lacy red bra. Small lacy embroidery just barely hiding her nipples beneath, making Amber go feral at the sight. Her girl lying beneath her, in lingerie that she picked out, looking so desperate yet still so shy to the feeling of eyes feasting on her.
Amber reaches her hand beneath the woman’s back, “You look so fucking sexy baby, but I think we need this gone.” She whispers, kissing Y/n’s chest as she unclasps her bra with ease. Amber’s lips greedily kiss at the woman’s chest before wrapping around one of her nipples, sucking and swirling her tongue around the nub as her other hand toys at the other. Smirking at the whines and moans emitted from the woman beneath her. She kisses down the woman’s stomach right to the waistband of her panties. Her hands teasingly and slowing trailing Y/n’s thighs. Her tongue playfully jolts out, licking a slow swipe down to the edge of her panties. “You look so pretty in red, Y/n/n,” Amber smirks, letting her hand trail higher to the wet patch that grew in the lace panties. Her fingers run along the soaked fabric. Y/n lets out a whine at the teasing feeling. “T-thank you, Ambs,” She breathes through a soft moan. Amber lets out a breathy laugh as her eyes dilate, she leans down to kiss her hip before tugging her panties down her legs. Amber licks her lips she leans down, and licks a broad strip up Y/n’s wet cunt.
Y/n lets out a soft moan, her hand reaching down to push Amber’s hair out of her face. “Taste so fucking sweet, baby.” She hums out against Y/n’s clit, the vibrations making a shiver run up the woman’s spine. Her hand tightens around Amber’s dark locks as the woman wraps her lips around her clit, sucking and licking with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes as she stares up at Y/n. Amber’s other hand trails up Y/n’s thigh, slowly teasing her entrance with a finger. Y/n let’s out a whimper, “Please, Ambs,” She whines. Amber smirks, suddenly thrusting two fingers into the woman beneath her, smug as she writhes at her actions.``So pretty, baby~” Amber whispers, speeding up her fingers to match the pace her tongue had set. Y/n’s hips bucked up in pleasure, which Amber ends by holding her waist with her free hand. “F-feels so good, Ambs~” Y/n whines, her thighs twitching as she grows closer to her release. “Feels so good Ambs~” Amber mocks, her tone high as she mimics the woman’s moans before letting out a cruel laugh. Her fingers leave the woman’s pulsing walls. “You think I’m gonna let you come that easy?” Amber chuckles, flipping Y/n onto her hands and knees. Amber pushes Y/n’s face into a pillow, giving her a better view of the woman’s soaked cunt.
Amber bites her lip and spanks her ass, Y/n letting out a surprised whimper. “You’re getting my strap for being such a good fucking slut for me.” Amber leans over to the bedside table, grabbing out a large strap, one that Y/n hadn’t taken before. Amber secures the strap to herself, letting out a soft moan at the smaller dildo on the inside of the harness that slipped inside her. “I need you so bad, baby~” Y/n whines, arching her back to try and gain the woman’s attention back. “Oh you’re gonna have me baby.” Amber smirks, rubbing the tip of the cock along the woman’s slit. She slips into the other woman with ease, but slowing down as she gets close to the base. Y/n’s legs begin to shake as Amber goes impossibly deeper inside her. A heat in her stomach that desperately needed to be satiated. “Please baby~ Fuck me~” Y/n whines, pushing her hips back against Amber’s. “Good fucking slut.” Amber chuckles before speeding up her thrusts, angling her hips to hit spots that made the other woman's vision go fuzzy. The sound of the skin colliding, moans and grunts filled the room as the bed hit the wall. Amber’s hand showed no mercy on the woman’s ass as she spanked her, the sight of her red skin driving her into a frenzy. She goes faster as she feels a heat begin to build up in her own core. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Amber groans as she feels it get harder to thrust, but doesn’t let it deter her as she goes even faster. Y/n’s legs tremble as she feels herself on the edge of release. “Please~! Please let me cum~! I’ll be such a good girl for you~” Y/n blabbers, unaware of her words, only thinking about the pleasure that Amber was giving her.
“Be a good girl and cum for me, princess,” Amber grunts, feeling herself about to reach her own release. Amber speeds up her thrusts impossibly faster, Y/n cums around Amber’s strap with a loud cry of her name. Amber doesn’t stop, continuing to chase her own release, and with two more deep thrusts, she comes with a groan. She lays on top of Y/n, strap still buried in her cunt as she breathlessly kisses at the woman’s spine. Her hands softly soothing over the red handprint on the woman’s behind. “Round 2?” Amber whispers with a shameless smirk, reaching up to push the woman’s hair out of her face.
#amber freeman x fem reader#amber freeman x y/n#amber freeman x you#amber freeman#amber freeman x reader#amber freeman smut
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Body Horror Week Prompts Are Live!
Welcome to Trigun Body Horror Week 2024!
We’ve set up a week of fantastic flavors of bodily horrors for you, and here is our official post sharing the prompts for you to cook with.
Body Horror Week is going to run from Feb 11th, 2024 until Feb 17th, 2024
For each set of prompts, we have an organ, two different songs, and a quote to inspire you into making the best horrors you’ve got.
The official hashtag for the week is #trigunbodyhorrorweek, and we’ll do our best to reblog your submissions the day of and whatever we may have missed during the week, we’ll reblog after. Feel free to tag us as well!
An AO3 collection is forthcoming.
There’s a copy of the prompts list below the cut, as well as links to the A-Sides and B-Sides for the music.
The art for the graphic was done by the wonderful @hashtagcaneven
Link for the music A-Sides and the B-Sides as playlists. Spotify playlist here.
Feb 11th: Eyes | Mama – My Chemical Romance | Mask of My Own Face – Lemon Demon | I hate it when humans and augmented humans ruin things for no reason. Maybe because I was a thing before I was a person, and if I’m not careful, I could be a thing again. - Network Effect, Martha Wells (Murderbot Diaries)
Feb 12th: Skin | This Body – The Dear Hunter | Hurt – Johnny Cash | Skin against skin, blood and bone / You’re all by yourself, but you’re not alone / You wanted in, and now you’re here / Driven by hate, consumed by fear – “Bodies”, Drowning Pool
Feb 13th: Lungs | Sin Eater – Penelope Scott | Between Two Lungs – Florence + the Machine | I remember seeing myself splayed across the floor of the kennel, a chimera split along a hundred seams, taking communion with a handful of dogs. - The Things, Peter Watts
Feb 14th: Heart | Love Me Dead – Ludo | Your Body, My Temple – Will Wood | The heart wants what it wants. What it wants is blood. - Welcome to Night Vale Twitter
Feb 15th: Limbs | Blood – My Chemical Romance | Body – Mother Mother | Pluck that crimson orb rusted package from the branches mother’s arms our tree you’ve chopped away at for too long with your mouth-bright ax pretty-teethed boy. - “A Brother Named Gethsemane”, Natalie Diaz
Feb 16th: Intestines | Void – Melanie Martinez | Blood on My Name – The Brothers Bright | It is a corpse rotting slowly from within while maggots writhe in its belly. - Warhammer 40k
Feb 17th: Alien | Roots – In This Moment | sprorgnsm – superorganism | To be trapped, unmoving, within the body that has betrayed her so often, feeling every sensation as it grows and warps and sprouts, never knowing what new mutation it will visit on her next. - The Magnus Archives, Episode 171, "The Gardener"
#trigun#trigunbodyhorrorweek#trigun maximum#trigun stampede#trigun 98#trigun events#vash the stampede#fandom events
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A Bloom of Despair
Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Logan Howlett x Reader, Hanahaki Disease, Angst, Body Horror (descriptions of internal injuries, physical suffering, mentions of blood), Major Character Death, Hurt /No comfort, No Happy ending
Word Count: 1.1K
Summary: Stricken by Hanahaki disease, you endure the agonizing bloom of petals in your lungs, torn between hope and despair as Logan unknowingly becomes the source of your slow death.
Author's Note: Hi my loves! It’s been a few months since I’ve posted anything on my blog and honestly with everything going on in the world…I have needed an escape. Also this is my first time writing about Hanahaki so I hope I am able to deliver... lol As always comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3
(Marvel Masterlist)
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The first petal came while the mansion slept. It was small and delicate, a pale pink thing crumpled between your lips as you jolted awake, choking. The metallic tang of blood was faint but unmistakable, and you stumbled to the bathroom, panic bubbling in your chest. You stood under the fluorescent lights, trembling, staring at the petal in your hand.
It couldn’t be real. But it was.
The next morning, you tucked the petal into a tissue and shoved it deep into your pocket, forcing yourself to smile through breakfast. Logan was there, of course, leaning against the counter with his usual gruff demeanor, grunting responses to Scott’s sarcastic remarks. His dark eyes flicked to you, giving you that half-smirk that had been your undoing since the day you met.
“Mornin',” he said, his voice gravelly.
“Morning,” you replied, your voice betraying none of the chaos inside you. You quickly looked away, your heart racing, feeling the sharp sting of unrequited affection digging deeper into your chest. The disease was already taking root.
The petals came more frequently as the weeks passed. You’d excuse yourself from meals, from training sessions, from late-night conversations, all to cough up those cursed blossoms in private. Each petal was a tangible reminder of what you could never have. Your love for Logan was killing you—literally.
It wasn’t just the petals, either. They began to claw their way up from your lungs, tearing at the tender lining of your throat. You felt the scratches long after each episode, raw and burning, a cruel reminder of what lay inside you. Sometimes you caught glimpses of stems, jagged and thorny, trailing out with the petals. Your hands trembled as you tried to clean up the mess, staring at the streaks of crimson mingling with the delicate pink of the blooms. It was horrifyingly beautiful—a grotesque contradiction that left you sobbing on the bathroom floor.
You tried to suppress it, to smother your feelings beneath layers of forced indifference. But the disease thrived on hope, and you couldn’t stop yourself from hoping. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every gruff word of encouragement from Logan made your heart race and your condition worsen.
The first full bloom came after a mission. Logan had saved your life, his strong arms pulling you from the wreckage of a burning building. You’d coughed violently in his embrace, blood spotting your lips, but you managed to hide it before he noticed. Later that night, alone in your room, you hacked up a handful of petals, crimson-tinged and velvety soft. But these were not just petals anymore. Nestled among them were small, sharp thorns, jagged and coated in blood. They cut the inside of your mouth as they came, leaving your throat aching and raw. You stared at the mess in the sink, bile rising in your stomach.
Your tears soaked the petals as you sat on the bathroom floor, clutching your sides, which ached from the relentless coughing. You knew what this meant. You’d read about Hanahaki disease in dusty, forbidden texts in Charles's library. Unrequited love that festered into flowers, choking the life out of its victim unless the love was returned—or surgically removed, at the cost of those feelings and the memories tied to them.
You couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting him.
The final blow came one evening in the mansion’s rec room. Jean was there, sitting close to Logan on the couch. Too close. Her laugh was soft and melodic, and Logan’s rare smile stretched across his face as he responded to something she’d said. The sight made the petals rise in your throat, sharp and unforgiving. You felt the thorns digging into your lungs as you stumbled from the room, each breath a struggle. You clutched your chest and fled, ignoring Storm’s concerned call after you.
Back in your room, you collapsed onto your knees, your body wracked with violent coughs. The petals came in a torrent now, soaked in blood, tearing their way out of you. Larger blooms mixed with shards of stems and thorns spilled from your lips, the pain blinding. You felt them tear through the soft tissue of your throat, leaving jagged cuts in their wake. Your chest burned with every cough, the petals relentless in their assault. The metallic scent of blood was suffocating, mingling with the cloying sweetness of the flowers. Your vision blurred, dark spots dancing at the edges of your sight. When it finally stopped, you slumped against the wall, too weak to move.
Logan found you two days later. You hadn’t left your room, and when he kicked the door open, the sight froze him in his tracks. You were pale, your skin clammy, the bed and floor around you littered with withered petals and dried blood. Some of the petals had started to rot, their edges blackened, the sickly-sweet smell making your stomach churn. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice calling your name, raw with worry and anger.
“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure where to start.
You tried to speak, but your voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Logan.”
“Sorry? For what?” His brows furrowed as he looked around the room, piecing together the horrific puzzle. “Is this… You’ve been coughing this up?”
You nodded weakly, tears sliding down your cheeks. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“The hell it doesn’t!” he growled. “We’re getting you help. Now.”
You shook your head, your hand reaching out to grip his arm. Your fingers barely had the strength to close around his wrist. “It’s too late.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—fear, maybe even regret. But you knew better. Logan cared, but not the way you needed him to. Not the way that would save you.
“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice softer now.
“I… I loved you, Logan,” you confessed, your voice breaking. “I just wanted to tell you before…” Your sentence trailed off as your strength faded.
“No, no, stay with me,” he said, cradling you against his chest. You felt the roughness of his jacket against your cheek, the warmth of his body. It was the closest you’d ever been to him, and it was enough.
Your breathing slowed, your hand slipping from his arm. The last thing you saw before the darkness claimed you was his face, twisted in anguish.
When the others found you, Logan was still holding you, his shirt stained with blood and petals. He didn’t say a word as they led him away, his expression blank, his eyes hollow.
The mansion was quiet in the days that followed. Logan was quieter still, spending his nights on the porch, a cigarette between his fingers, staring out into the distance. The others gave him space, knowing better than to ask questions.
In his pocket, he kept a single petal, pale pink and fragile. It was all he had left of you.
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#logan howlett#hugh jackman#xmen fandom#xmen fanfiction#james logan howlett#logan x reader#wolverine x reader#gender neutral reader#logan x f!reader#logan x you#hanahaki disease#no happy ending#no use of y/n#xmen#angst
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