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heretyc · 5 months

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Horror [Trager, Eddie Gluskin, Val]

Horror: A collection of small fics, consisting of Outlast's most iconic antagonists [in my opinion].

The poll I started isn't over, but "canonically" is winning and I love it. Dark shit here we come lol. I will be writing for my beloved Terror-iffic Trio [aka my favourite antagonists from each game]. A party with these 3 would be lit.

Drabble ideas here.

Content Warnings: Uhhh...Outlast Antagonists lol. That is your warning.

Trager: Gore, awful jokes, his bare ass.

Eddie: Gore, murder, injury, mentions of his...lovely little display, sexual assault [minor, just a slight touch, no penetration]. [Please lord don't let him teach an art class.]

Val: Sexual assault [slight penetration w/ fingers], gore, murder, mud, Val's bare ass, mud breasts and mudgina.

I mean it, this is pretty heavy shit. It isn't too graphic, but if SA triggers you...either look away or read with caution. Trager's section is safe. Unless you're afraid of his ass...cause me too, man.

MINORS GTFO. Miners can stay as long as they're not minor miners.

Read with caution, I condone none of this. Fics underneath the cut.

You/MC take the place of the protagonist. So...you are Miles/Waylon/Blake. Yayyyyy....? Or nay? Depends on how you feel. MC is gender neutral, but is referred to with fem pronouns in Eddie's section for obvious reasons. You do not talk in Trager or Eddie's sections as Miles and Waylon were "mute". You speak in Val's section, though. You are described as having breasts in Val's section as both sexes/all genders have breasts. Tiddies for everybody!!

Enjoy.

Drabble idea: "See, this place isn't haunted!"

Sometimes, a saving grace can be your one way ticket to hell. And this had been an excellent example of that. The angelic voice over the dumbwaiter was a dream come true; after running and hiding for so long, it was like you were granted a break.

Only for your face to fall as the scarred face of a man greeted you. The air around him reeked of danger.

This was not the haven you were lead to believe was waiting for you.

"You made the right choice here, buddy," he declared before punching you in the jaw, a pained yell leaving your throat, and he was quick to take advantage of your shocked state to haul you into a wheelchair.

He must have done this a dozen times, as he was quick to lock your wrists into the cuffs attached to the chair. They were tight, and he merely chuckled at seeing your attempts of getting out of them.

He looked fucked up.

He stood in front of you, hands behind his back, and his eyes were scanning you like a wolf scans its prey before it mauls it to bits, "You're not a variant...huh. Well, buddy...you can call me...Trager. Everyone else does, anyway."

As Trager made noises looking you up and down, you looked at his face. Coated by some half-assed attempt at a mask and some strange glasses upon his face, you come to the conclusion that he was some doctor here.

He clicks his tongue and smacks you on the back, "You've got a lot of things to learn here, buddy. I am honoured to be your teacher."

Teach you about what, exactly? You didn't want to know. But he started to push you forward, and you only questioned where your hell would be.

This place was already hell, but...at the hands of some crazed madman, it was different.

Trager hummed to himself, making jokes here and there, and he once grumbled when you didn't laugh at a stupid impression, before he finally made it to an elevator. It was...somewhat cleaner up here, for some reason.

However...

You could feel a breeze upon your skin, and upon hearing the howl of wind and torrential rain, you saw an exit. Pitch black and windy, yet so much more welcoming than in here. You questioned if there would be a tornado warning or something by how violent the wind seemed to be.

The rain out there was intense, torrential, heavy and oh so divine, and Trager only chuckled.

"You want to take a quick walk, bud?" He leaned down next to you, eyes looking into yours like he was an old friend, despite also looking feral. "Run free, like Forrest Gump? Unfortunately, we're running out of time." He clicked his tongue once more, pulling you into the elevator.

This was a cruel joke. Even the Elvis impression - awful impression, mind you - wasn't as bad as this.

Standing beside you, Trager pressed a simple button on the control pad before clasping his hands together behind his back. After a moment of movement, he looked back toward you, his voice a tone that suggested jest, "Did you know they call elevators a "shaft" in other places of the world?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

Looking at him, you realized his skin looked...awful. Like he was a draugr from that video game you used to play.

His scalp was scarred, and after spending an hour in this place, you realize you're lucky your scalp was untouched.

Wires upon wires were wrapped along his arm, and upon closer inspection, you were horrified to notice that they weren't wires, they were tubes.

Of his own blood.

How did he not feel that?

A man like him probably enjoys that, to be honest.

His nails were quite long as well, albeit you couldn't blame him...hygiene in a place like this was laughable. He probably had to exert his inner wildcat to defend himself in this shit hole.

You nearly sobbed when the elevator came to its destination, and he took hold of the handles once more.

It smelled of death and lost hope up here.

Choruses of screams reached your ears and you flinched. He seemed to notice, as he violently shushed the poor bastards trying to break free of their confines, "Sh. Shshshsh...you weren't putting your tongue to good use anyway!"

Tongue...??

The man shrieking had a bloodied mouth, and he soon quieted after choking on, what you assume to be, his own blood. Trager only sighed, muttering to himself, "Really, I just needed something to lick my stamps."

This...was a cruel joke. Taking someone's tongue for stamps?? You were deep in thought, only for Trager to notice and grin evilly, "You should see what I do with the balls."

...Dear god.

"Yeah, this weird...cannibalistic guy downstairs begs for them...the guy knows what he wants, I gotta give him that. He reminds me of somebody...eh, buddy?"

He poked you in the shoulder as he pushed, and it appears he was referring to you.

"I saw your camcorder. You're some sort of journalist, here to...what, expose one of the biggest experiments in history?" He laughed at the notion, shaking his head. "I admire the bravery, really. Braving through disturbed masses...I have to admit, I'm impressed."

You only gulped.

"People love to say this place is...haunted." Trager noted, pushing you into a bathroom of some sort. Bloodied, smelled of decay and looked like a paradise for bugs and bacteria.

What had scared you the most was the array of torture devices he had laid out on a tray. This man was deranged, one way or another.

He continued his one-sided conversation, focusing on the aforementioned tray as he walked over to it, "I mean, who wouldn't? People love to paint asylums as haunted. They hear a ghastly noise or a terrified scream and immediately tell the papers that a house of human suffering is haunted."

Trager's hand hovered over each instrument of torture, trying to pick which one, but he hadn't stopped talking.

"And I am more than sure that's your entire...reason for coming here. Trying to prove it was haunted. But guess what, buddy?"

He finally picked up a blade, long and serrated, and he pressed it against a finger of yours, the edges sharp against your thin flesh. He leaned in close, his dry lips forming into a smile, "This place isn't haunted."

He moved away, the blade removed from your finger, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he placed it back down onto the tray.

"No, no. It's worse."

He finally picks up a gigantic pair of scissors, much like something you'd see picking away at a shrub, and he was more than eager to shut them and open them, metallic hisses invading your senses, much like the feeling of doom.

You will die here.

"This place is an example of human cruelty, my friend," he announced, voice loud and cheerful as if he wasn't about to maim you, and he placed the blades around some of your fingers. He cared not for your horrified shrieks and begs, he only leaned in once more and whispered,

"And you will be nothing but an example of what happened here."

Slice.

...

"Oh, come on, buddy...it's not like you needed your middle finger anyway. Now open up...I have some stamps to lick."

Drabble idea: "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

"Darling, please! You act as if I've done something rancid! What have I done to you to make you so afraid of me?!"

The bloodied behemoth on your tail was quick and hurried as he chased after you, his feet slamming against the rotting floorboards. You almost couldn't hear the music that played alongside the horrific display he handmade. The smell was awful, but the sight of it was enough to make you vomit.

You would not be the victim to the Groom. Not now. Not ever.

You would not have your pelvis slit, or your chest stuffed like you were a sex doll [ironically, that's all you would be to him], and you would not let him confess his undying love for you. It was fake and corrupt like this entire asylum.

Despite the smell of mildew and death, adrenaline filled your blood and you could tolerate the disgusting scents as you breathed in, your legs not yet faltering.

You've heard what he's done. The man who so giddily chased you rambled about it as you snuck around, and you were not pleased.

This was the only way out. Sometimes you have to take risks...right?

This wasn't worth it, though.

And sometimes, luck runs out. Like right now, as you are stuck in a dead end.

There was only an elevator. And it was not on your current floor.

Shit.

You could jump and risk a broken leg...or...

The emergency ladder. Broken and rusted, but it's tetanus over death.

You could explain all of this to the news with lockjaw.

"Wait, what are you doing?! Don't, don't-!"

You had leaped, gripping onto the ladder as your bottom half slammed against it. With a hiss you tried to pull yourself up, only for the ladder to break underneath you.

The top had snapped, and you tried to grab onto what remained on the wall, only to fall, your heart stopping.

Of all things to die from, it was a rusted ladder.

Oh well.

As your body slammed onto the top of the elevator, a sharp pang began to blossom from your ankle, and you look to see shards of glass sticking out of your flesh. Now coated in blood, you cried out and ripped the shards out, piece by piece. Blood pooled around your foot as you cradled it.

"Oh my god, are you okay?!"

The behemoth above looked down at you with a horrified expression, his hands out and wanting to hold you.

"I hate to see you suffering without me! Why would you do something like that to yourself?!"

His voice was full of panic and concern, and for a moment it seemed wholesome, until the panicked silence became one of anger. There was...tension.

"You would...rather die...than be with me...?"

His tone had shifted so quickly. He was unpredictable, and that's what had made him so...scary. In general, he had looked like he crawled from a 1940s horror series. Sweeney Todd had come to mind, actually...

"You're just another whore, aren't you?" He growled out, only to sigh, like this was a normal occurrence. "It's quite alright, darling. A good man can turn a whore into a house wife...and I have faith in us. Let me just..."

The elevator roared to life, and you panicked even more, now. Your poor heart would likely kill you before he had the chance to. But as you rose, he merely hummed to himself, waiting for the elevator to rise to his floor.

You had no chance at moving or escaping, as when you reached the proper floor, he was quick to grab you before you became sandwiched between the top of the elevator and the ceiling.

He dwarfed you. Instantly. He carried you bridal style, an eerie smile on his face, "Come, now. I must make sure you look perfect for our wedding."

You had no chance, now.

He clicked his tongue, footsteps hard against the rotting boards, and his voice was quieter as he spoke, "And I need to wrap up your foot...you are a silly one, darling."

It didn't feel silly. It felt like your ankle and foot were on fire, stinging like mad.

You had accepted your death already, but if there was also one thing you could accept, it's that he wasn't actually half bad.

Minus the...anger fits and the "whore" bit, he would have been wonderful. Looking up at him, you see a man soiled by corruption.

His eyes would have been a beautiful, shiny blue if not for the pools of hemorrhage. They had looked...empty. Dead. But whenever he looked at you, they shone like his soul had been revived.

Is this what he had wanted? Love?

Everyone in this hell hole had been deprived of it.

It was sad. Really fucking sad.

But you had read about what Eddie had done, and seen it too. And he was past the point of no return. He had done too much to be redeemed.

Dread made itself a home in your stomach as you were laid upon something cold and wet, and you were strapped in. Arms and legs spread, and your clothes were ripped off.

You were now nude, and being touched by the Groom himself.

His hands were gentle as he caressed a calf, "You have such soft skin...you will look absolutely beautiful," he cooed, hand gliding itself upwards toward your knee, then your thigh, and then...

You only flinched when you felt his hand begin to caress your genitals, as gentle as could be, as if he wasn't violating you. T'was the touch of a lover.

But he was no lover, no.

His fingertips merely grazed along your private flesh, rubbing it as if he had wanted to stimulate you, and you wanted to scream.

Eddie sighed dreamily, like he was a married man and his life would be filled with nothing but happiness, and he, luckily, let his hand glide up to your navel. "You look divine already, but when I'm finished with you? Oh, darling..."

He removed his hand, thankfully, but he was quick to turn on the saw, and all you could feel was cold air from its rapid movements and doom.

He gripped the sides of the table you were on, and he was smiling like this wasn't totally fucked up, "I know this will be hard..."

You felt the table move, slowly but surely, and you began to wriggle, but he continued, "You will have to deal with this...and then the conception, which I promise, will be wonderful," he winked as the saw came closer, "Then the pregnancy...and oh, I can just imagine the birthing. You will look so beautiful, darling...like a goddess. Mothers are goddesses in their own right."

And all you could feel was the sting of the saw, and your soul fading from your body.

...

"You're just like the rest. Filthy whore."

You're lucky you weren't alive to see your mangled body, tossed with the rest.

Ready to rot.

Drabble idea: "I want to go home..."

Val, in a sense, had been an angel to you.

They did not have a halo, made of purity and gold, or have pristine, white wings to wrap you and hold you close, no. They did not bear robes of white or play a golden harp or sing a divine chorus.

But they had wanted you all to themselves. And they would not let Knoth's guard dog, or his sickly bastards he called "friends", ruin you before they had a chance to.

Because unlike Knoth, or Marta, or Laird or Nick or whoever the fuck, Val would put you back together.

They are a loving mother, dedicated to spreading love.

It had been painted in blood on your way to the mines, 'LOVE SET US FREE'. Bottles encasing candles, bodies strewn up like Christmas decorations...

What were they trying to do, exactly? Make their cause look homey? Elegant? Acceptable?

You had felt oddly welcomed. Every single enemy in your way was slain, journals and notes left in your path to urge you to come to them.

"Come to me," the red ink beckoned you on the dirtied paper, "and I will show you my love."

They had been so kind as to leave batteries and bandages. Before you had taken the small, makeshift raft, a final note had been placed in one of the small shacks, the bed made and smelling of firewood,

"I am waiting for you."

You did not want this. But you needed to find a way out.

The mines were not welcoming. You were not alone. And you had been chased into the underground, where you are now; held down by Heretics as they muttered, "mother, burn..."

Like the fallen angel ready to relieve the sinners of their pain, their martyrdom, Val had approached, coated in mud and looking like the demon of the mountains.

In their hand was a torch, raging with fire, and it made their white eyes so much more intense.

They had hummed eagerly, the hum evolving into a laugh as the torch was placed down and the Heretics were shooed away. You were too afraid to move or notice their cold, dirtied hands leaving your flesh.

Their eyes were wide, pupils tiny, and they smiled as they strutted to you, "We are creatures of appetite..."

They moaned, feeling up their body and their fake breasts, like they were a porn star and giving you a show.

"I want to feel your hunger," their voice became quiet, something only you could hear, and they leaned close, your eyes staring frantically into theirs, searching for any fragment of humanity.

There was none. And you felt saddened, knowing that the Val in those journals was not this Val.

This was something different.

"I want to know your desires...and show you what true pleasure feels like," they rasped, pushing you down and straddling your hips, grinding against your clothed stomach. Your fear had aroused them.

"I want to go home..." you whispered, tears rushing from your eyes, and they only laughed, leaning close to your face and whispering, "This is your home, my love," a muddy hand came up to caress your cheek and wipe the tears away, "and I...will be doting."

You had no chance to respond or even acknowledge the powder blown into your senses, or the tongue forcing your mouth open, and immediately, they sought dominance over your own muscle, wrestling with it. It had ventured to each nook and cranny of your mouth, like they wanted to taste everything about you, and they eventually pulled away with a moan, saliva connecting you two.

They licked their lips, humming in delight as their hands rushed to push up your shirt and reveal your chest. "Your body...is delightful," they breathed out, squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipples with precision.

That powder did something to you. You had hated the feeling of their hands, but now you were overheating; desperate and quiet moans leaving your throat and making the cultist above you grin.

"I don't..." You couldn't even finish your sentence, as they pinched a nipple and made you shriek. It made them chuckle, and their hands moved south, ripping your zipper and breaking it. They got off for a second to completely rip your pants and undergarments off, and their naked thighs wrapped around your bare hips.

"Did you enjoy my gifts?" They questioned, hands now massaging your thighs, "You needed those batteries so badly...to document the lies of Sullivan, didn't you?" They purred, their hands tight and knowing just where to touch to get you to cry out in pleasure.

"That's why you came here. Fell from the sky, wrapped in flame..." they bit their lip, feeling aroused at the notion, "To record his bullshit."

You had even forgot about your camera, and you questioned where it was, until Val snorted, "It's gone, my love," their hands moved upwards to your genitals, "taken away...by my children. You won't need it anymore."

There was no pain when you felt their finger enter you. It was more pleasurable than anything you had ever felt, and it made you moan the loudest, and Val had revelled in this.

With precision their fingers located your pleasure spot, and sped up.

Your pleasure was their pleasure.

"God doesn't love you...not like I do."

And in time...you would know it to be true.

#outlast #outlast 2 #outlast 2 val #eddie gluskin #outlast eddie gluskin #outlast fanfiction #eddie gluskin x reader #outlast x reader #richard trager #trager #val #outlast val #val x reader #this was a doozy lmfao #enjoy!!!#richard trager x reader #trager x reader

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loveipromiseimnotinsane · 11 months

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After playing some of outlast trials, I am begging on my knees for the eddie glusken and trager simps not to turn their gaze to evil cop and make him the new outlast sexy man

#i know it's gonna happen #i just need time to prepare for all the x readers that will flood the tag #outlast #outlast trials #eddie gluskin #richard trager #my posts love #if you're going to pick a new sexy man it should be puppet mommy <3

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c3lestialmonarch · 2 months

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Ship Analysis because I have nothing else to post except they're mostly with Waylon

Weddie (Waylon x Eddie) - While I don't care for it, it's fucked up in the right sense. I would read fics about it but I don't ship it.

JerWay (Jeremy x Waylon) - Same for Weddie, like there are certain fics I would read for them but I don't ship it.

Lisa x Waylon - They're married, so automatic 10/10. I like how people portray them since we don't get very much of Lisa.

Camerashipping (Miles x Waylon) - Another 10/10, I'm actually a huge fan of Camerashipping. Like, there's a huge difference in personalities between them that are balanced out by each other.

Wake(?) (Waylon x Blake) - I'm not entirely sure how to feel about this, and I'm not even sure this exists.

Polycamerous (Miles x Waylon x Blake) - I think it's silly yet have never heard about this outside the shipping wiki. If anyone has some fics about it please send them to me so I can figure out how I feel about it.

Second Coming/Messiah (Miles x Blake) - I think it would work post-2 since Lynn is dead, but I feel like Blake would be too hung up on her death to even think about moving on (kind of like Jessica). They could possibly even already know each other, unlike Camerashipping where Waylon and Miles haven't met.

WalMiles (Walrider x Miles) - I'm not sure. I've read some fics about it but I don't know where I stand on the WalMiles spectrum.

Blood and Business (Miles x Trager) - I came up with the name but it sounds more like a fic title. I'm all for fucked up ships and fics with them in it but like the other two I don't really ship it.

I'll make a part two if I missed anything.

#c3lestialmonarch #Miles x Me all the way #outlast #outlast game #outlast whistleblower #asks open #miles upshur #waylon park #camerashipping #weddie #jeremy blaire #eddie gluskin #richard trager #outlast ships #shitpost #fandom ships

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rohansregret · 2 years

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WHO I WRITE FOR (OUTLAST)

———

Outlast

miles upshur, chris walker, richard trager, the twins, jeremy blaire, various other variants (lmk specifically which one)

Outlast Whistleblower

eddie gluskin, frank manera, dennis, waylon park

Outlast 2

blake langermann, val

requests are closed + who i write for

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darling-i-read-it · 2 years

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Nurse to Doctor

Richard Trager x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: kidnapping, religious father martin stuff, trager being trager, the reader kind of plays into his fucked upness a bit. If you are reading this i’ve assumed you’ve played outlast so yeah general warnings with the games stuff as well

Author’s Note: really on a roll with these fucked up guys huh…maybe i'm just prepping to get to eddie gluskin because that's....that's gonna be the one

Summary: You get captured by Trager in Mount Massive when you went in for Miles. You get to leave with all your body parts.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You could feel your sweat against the back of your neck, cold and suffocating. You had your head leaning against the back of the wall as you sat, knees up to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You hoped that any variants that saw you would just run right past you. Some of them seemed to be in the same predicament. Caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time and now had to pay the price for it.

You shouldn’t have come. When Miles had told you he had a scoop he wanted to come, naturally. You told him you would just go and scope the place out, see if they would let an unsuspecting lady inside. They hadn’t. You broke in, just to see what the hell had gone on. You would’ve called Miles had you had any service but you figured you could just give it a look.

Now you were here, surrounded by insane men, not sure what you were going to do to get out. The windows were barred. If you could just make it to a door leading outside, maybe you could jump a fence or something. It might take some climbing but you could do it.

The very thought of Miles coming to get you made you worried. You needed to talk to him before he got any stupid ideas. You had your camera. If you didn’t make it out, hopefully he found it and used it.

You clutched it to your chest, closed your eyes tightly, sliding up the wall. You had to keep moving. You weren't sure what level you were on. The hospital was massive, spanning for what felt like miles. You felt like you had gone up and down so many flights of stairs that you honestly weren’t sure which one you had landed on.

At least this floor had most of the lights on. Some were completely engulfed in darkness. You had been stuck in the sewers for a while and were more than happy to be in what seemed to be a sick ward or something. There were beds lined up along the walls in some rooms. In others, they were completely discarded, shuffled around and tossed upside.

You held your camera up, recording the dead people you had passed. How much proof did you need to prove Murkoff wrong? To prove something awful had happened here? You had stopped gagging at the open wounds.

There was someone in the middle of the room that startled you. They were alive.

“Hello?” a man called, desperately. He rattled at his chains that were holding him to the bed. You didn’t approach immediately. He could be faking it. Did the patients even have the wherewithal to do that?

Double doors opened. You looked up, fear in your eyes as you made eye contact with a patient. There was a mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Who are you?” he questioned, voice lucid. It was the most sane anyone had sounded here but he definitely didn’t look it. “You aren’t a patient.”

“I’m…”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here all the same,” he said, shrugging. His voice was reminiscent of a man you would meet at the bar and immediately disregard. The thought brought you a little comfort. He had once been a man. Just a man.

Even if he was currently holding a very, very large scissors.

You backed up slowly.

“Did you see my work? A little rusty, I admit. I was trying something…a little bit state of the arc with him.” He gestured to the main chained up. “But trust me, I have figured out how many organs you need to live. Would you like to see?”

“Who are you?” you asked.

Richard Trager noted that you weren’t running from him. Stupid, really but a new tactic nontheless. He also immediately noticed that you were a woman. He hadn’t seen a woman in these parts for a while, not since the whole phantom pregnancy debacle.

“Trager. Doctor,” he said. He walked up to you, back straight, head held high. He had the upper hand (hence the scissors) and he enjoyed watching you squirm while you were still free to use all your limbs.

“Richard Trager,” you breathed. “I’ve read some of your files. Where exactly did you get your doctorate?”

“You’re a nosy little one aren’t you? I don’t mind, truly. I miss titillating conversation. We really should go out for brunch,” he suggested. You had reached the wall, your back flush against it. He could only get closer and you were stuck there. Your eyes looked around helplessly for something to hit him with but all the beds were neatly tucked into their spots at the side of the room.

He looked down at you, close now, close enough to touch you but he only grabbed your wrist.

“It would’ve been smarter to run,” he said, smiling a bit. You could see only a little bit of his mouth, sans his lips that seemed long gone. You couldn’t tell if he had skinned himself or if it were a deformation caused by the same thing that happened to everyone else here. Regardless, it was eerie.

He cleanly knocked you out.

You woke up in a chair. Your temples were pounding. The side of your head was cold and wet. When you tried to raise your hand to touch it, you found your hands were tied to the chair you were sitting in.

“Morning sunshine.” You lulled your head up to see Trager walking into your view. “You know, I thought about just getting to work with you. You never would’ve known with those pretty little eyes closed. I mean, I am a tad bit short on anesthesia so you would’ve known eventually,” he said, standing in front of you. You were in a bathroom maybe? Sinks in front of you, two large ones. A mirror was above them. You could see your face but you didn’t recognize yourself.

You looked disheveled, dirty, exhausted. Like you had been running for your life for hours.

Your reflection was quickly blocked by Trager, standing in your field of vision.

“Why didn’t you?” you questioned, bitterly.

“Haven’t seen a lady here in a while. Figured I’d make some conversation before I decided to part you from one of your body parts.”

You had to play along right? Chat with him. Figure out things about Murkoff, figure out if he could help you rather than hurt you.

“You were a doctor here right? How did you become a patient?” you questioned.

“Long story. It’s a campfire story actually and poor us; we don’t have a campfire.”

“Well then what conversation should we have?”

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you said, honestly and quickly.

“I know Father Martin’s got to you. I hear the whisperings and stupid fucking mumbling of some of these assholes. You’re not a religious freak are you?”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “His preaching didn’t really hit home,” you suggested. Trager nodded, smiling more with his loose mouth.

“You see, I had a feeling you would understand.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked again. There were body parts on the ground surrounding you. You still didn’t know when you had started to not react to them.

“Same reason everyone’s here. Rest and relaxation.” He extended his arms, placing them on the sink edges behind him.

“I’m a freelance reporter. That’s why I’m here.”

“Came at the wrong time sweetheart. Things really are a bit cuckoo these days. You should see it when it’s all up and running. Then it’s just caca.”

“I was coming to see what the hell went wrong with Murkoff.”

“Murkoff was never right in the first place.” He gestured with his hand, waving away any other opinions.

“MKUltra right? I was reading about it in the files,” you said. He shrugged.

“Who cares about the past? You know you won’t make it out of here. Not with all these pesky variants running around.”

“I do. I care.” You hoped your camera was still running. You didn’t know where it was.

“Well I don’t.”

“What happened to you? You were an advisor or something. What…I mean, how are you here right now?”

“They all are,” he promised. “Every single person. Including the one who probably sent you the email. That’s whatcha get for messin with the big man,” he said, shrugging. “I take great joy in knowing all of those fuckers are probably long gone,” he said, making a flying gesture with his hand. You nodded. He was probably right.

“You should. They were fucked.”

“I was one of them before I generously was separated from my position,” he said.

Neither of you were sure why you were talking still. All you really knew is that you were alive and he was keeping you that way.

“I mean what if we could fuck everything else up. Every other plan Murkoff has. I mean a former employee turned patient and me with all my evidence?”

“That’s not what I want,” he said, slightly frustrated. “I’m biding my time. Someone else gets to do the big job this time around,” he said. “I think we’ve chatted enough.” He pushed himself off the counter. You took a deep breath, feeling each of your body parts. You weren’t sure which ones you would be losing.

“You did do a nice job on that man out there,” you said.

“Hm?” he questioned, standing by his table of knives and weapons.

“The sutures. You were a doctor.”

“I picked up a few tricks and tips,” he said absentmindedly.

“Can I…can I try?”

He turned his head sharply to look at you. You felt like you were holding your breath with how your throat closed.

“On?”

“Whoever you find.”

When he smiled it was genuine. You could almost feel the giddy radiating off of him. He crossed his arms, turning back around and standing in front of you once more. He stared at you without saying anything. For a second you thought you were fucked. He had surely picked a weapon and you were about to die.

“Are you a doctor Y/N?”

“I am not.”

“Good,” his cheeky smile grew. “Neither am I.”

He started to unclasp the things wrapped around your wrists.

“Just know, if you try anything on me, it will be the last thing you do with those smooth hands.” He grabbed your hand and helped you up. You wobbled but he caught you by grabbing your elbow.

“Yes sir.”

He chuckled. Trager gestured to the door with his hand, learning down a bit like he was bowing.

“Right this way nurse.”

#richard trager x reader #richard trager imaignes #richard trager x fem!reader #outlast imagines #black balloons tag

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outlastrabbit · 5 months

Text

Requests: CLOSED

I write x reader headcanons for Outlast. Reader is gender neutral unless I’m told otherwise. I also write nsfw!

Maximum of 2 characters per ask :)

Characters💕

Chris Walker

Richard Trager

Eddie Gluskin

All The Outlast Trials characters

Main: @rabbitblackx

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charsawdeath · 3 years

Text

Trager to Eddie and Eddie right back if they had phones in the Asylum

#outlast eddie #outlast trager #outlast #outlast whistleblower #richard trager #eddie gluskin #funny #meme #text #trager x gluskin #gluskin x trager

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outlustings · 2 years

Note

Outlast 1 boys reacting to a pregnant reader? And maybe them as dads? your blog gives me life

(i am too lazy to do my uni essay. the next logical step is to write 5k words of horror video game characters being dads i guess.

includes miles, chris, the twins, rick, eddie, jeremy, frank and for some reason DENNIS!

includes graphic childbirth scenes - why????? idk???? just because????? and mentions of drug use because frank is frank.

also are they phantom pregnancies? is your greatest joy just a figment of your imagination, a continuation of your insanity bleeding into your reality? are you too, depressed, like the writer is? muahaha...

enjoy!)

MILES

"I'm - I'm gonna be a dad?" he gripped the steering wheel with such tightness that you thought he might break it. You nodded, smiling as tears prickled your eyes.

"Yup."

Miles let out a shaky sigh, then ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, smiling weakly before bursting into airy, light laughter.

"Babe, that's so -..." he swallowed, turning his head to you, nearly pouncing on you as he hurriedly leaned over to the passenger seat to embrace you, "That's awesome! When?"

"When what?" you giggled against his neck as he held you tight, rocking you clumsily. Maybe you should've told this after you got out of the car.

"When will - you -... holy shit! Like, give birth?"

He was stumbling over his words, his eyes wide and excited. Adorable, you thought, ruffling his hair as he buried his head into your chest.

"I don't know, maybe June," you shrugged, "We'll see."

Miles nodded, leaning back to take a good look at you, his face red and his hair messy, his eyes glistening.

"I'm gonna be a dad!" he blurted out, grinning so wide you thought his cheeks would split. A single tear rolled down to his sharp jawline.

The cold autumn air nipped at your nose as you sat on the park bench, your discarded mittens resting on the the bump of your belly as you held the small digital camera in your numb hands. The ground was covered in little piles of leaves underneath the stirring gray sky ablve Denver. You filmed the park, panning your camera to capture the old maple trees and the distant playground. Miles always liked these little clips you took, you thought. He stayed up for hours on end editing them into little movies that he would proudly present to the two, soon to be three, of you.

A small toddler girl ran from one edge of the frame to another, brown hair spilling in wisps from her beanie as she cackled, being chased by a hunched over Miles who was roaring theatrically.

"I got you!" he snatched your daughter to his chest, raising her up above his head and she squealed in delight as he spun her around in the air.

You laughed, ending the recording on a frame of Miles pressing a kiss to the child's cheek, holding her to his chest as she tried to squirm away.

"Mommy!" she yelled and you waved at her, shoving the camera into the pocket of your jacket.

"You wanna go to mommy?" Miles turned his head to you and grinned, "I'll race you."

He set your daughter to the ground and she started running, waving her limbs all about, stirring up flurries of red and gold leaves with her pink rubber boots.

Miles jogged behind her. You stretched your arms out and she bumped against your legs. You chuckled.

"Daddy's slow, isn't he?" you stroked her cheek as she turned her face to her father. Miles panted when he reached the bench.

"You won," he nodded to your toddler and swept strands of hair from his perspiring forehead, grinning at you, "Are you cold?"

"A little," you shrugged as your daughter climbed up on the bench, huffing with effort, clinging to your arm.

"Wanna grab a hot chocolate on the way home?" he gestured towards the other side of the nearby pond where the city's skyline collided with the heavy clouds, "I think it's gonna rain soon."

"Hmm," you hummed, stroking your belly with one hand while trying to keep your daughter from climbing over the back of the bench with your other hand, "My feet are tired, Miles."

"I'll rub them when we get home," he reached over to grab the girl from your grip and held her to his chest as she giggled, stirring in his arms.

"Fine," you smiled, "You better keep your promise."

Miles nodded, adjusting your daughter to his hip and reaching an arm to help you get off the bench.

"Pissing off a pregnant lady? Not on my bucket list."

"Miles!" you hissed, "Language!"

He grinned.

"I'm sorry, babe."

CHRIS

"You're kidding," his mouth was a thin line, his eyes fixed on yours, "Is this a prank?"

"No, not at all!" you shook your head with a laugh, "I'm pregnant. I swear. Took the test this morning," you flashed him a grin and grabbed the test from the edge of the sink, showing him, "See?"

Chris bent down to look at the test, still looking suspicious. Then his eyes widened and he smiled, letting out a laugh.

"Woah! Wait," he grabbed your wrist and his other hand shot up to his cheek as his mouth hung open, "Wait, I'm gonna be a father?"

You nodded, laughing.

"You need to sit down?" you patted his shoulder as he looked absolutely gobsmacked, leaning against the sink, his eyes fixed on the bathmat as he tried to process the news.

"Actually, yeah," he mumbled and sat on the toilet, burying his head into his hands for a second before looking up at you with the widest smile imaginable.

"You're pregnant," he huffed out a shaky laugh, taking your hand, "You're really pregnant."

You sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his left temple as you stroked his back soothingly.

"You're so amazing," he breathed out, "A baby? What the hell...?"

You giggled.

"I know, this is crazy," you muttered against the collar of his uniform shirt, "But I think we'll be fine."

"Yeah," Chris sighed, placing his hand on your cheek and stroked it with his thumb, "I think so too."

You rocked your son in your lap, stroking his platinum hair between pats on his back, a towel slung over your shoulder.

"He ready?" Chris muttered, outstretching his arms.

"I got a few good ones out of him," you sighed, lifting the gurgling and cooing baby by his shoulders and placing it in his arms, "But I don't know, we'll see if he goes to sleep."

Chris nodded and left you to fold the dry towel back into the linen closet of your small bungalow's bathroom. You rubbed your temples, tiredness stinging every muscle in your body as you dragged your feet to follow Chris to the bedroom.

His large form was bent over the crib, the back of his t-shirt lifting up slightly as he placed the boy into his bed, his head brushing against the hanging stars of the mobile. You walked up behind him and tugged on his shirt.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome," you yawned, "Is he going to sleep?"

"He's not putting up a fight," Chris straightened his back and looked down at you as you reached over his side to stroke the infant's cheek. His eyes were already close. You didn't know how Chris did it. He had a pacifying effect on your son whereas with you, he only seemed to be as rowdy as a three-month old can be.

You smiled tiredly. Your eyes skimmed over the little embroidered shooting stars of his blanky, the pastel yellow giraffe resting near his feet and the washed-out, dusky pink pig toy that he had wrapped his tiny hands around, squishing it against his chubby cheek.

"He loves your piggy," you leaned your head against Chris' shoulder.

He nodded.

"They're matching," he pointed one thick finger to his pink romper, smiling gently.

"Oh yeah," you laughed, pressing a kiss to your boyfriend's upper arm, "Unintentional on my part."

"My three little pigs," he squeezed your hand gently, "One," he patted the head of the stuffed pig, "two," he pinched his son's toe, "three," he kissed your temple, his lips soothing your headache as the two of you stood over the crib in the soft hue of the nighlight.

THE TWINS

"Congratulations."

The deadpan delivery made you a little nervous. You thought you could see slight smiles on both of their faces in the flickering light of the cell. You felt a little annoyed, you had expected a far greater reaction. Maybe you were hoping for too much. You adjusted yourself on the bunk.

"That's it?"

"We're happy," the taller man said, "But you seem to be avoiding something."

"Which one of us is it?" his brother completed the question, kicking a stray pebble. You stared at them. You couldn't believe it. Why did they have to overthink now, out of all the situations in the whole wide world?

You clicked your tongue.

"Does it matter?"

"Only if it matters to you," the shorter man reached up to scratch at his head, ruffling his dark, spiky hair. You watched his hand, wondering for a fleeting moment if the baby would have the same kind of hair. Rough and thick. But smooth in your hands.

"It really doesn't," you squared your jaw, "I don't care. As long as the both of you are here with me. Don't leave me."

Maybe they heard the crack in your voice. They both turned their gazes to you, their eyes soft as they watched you from the shadows. You slumped forward, resting your elbows on your thighs. Then you heard the soft sound of their feet hitting the floor and two masses plopping on the mattress on either side of you. A warm, large hand rested on your shoulder.

"You're ours, forever," you heard the taller man grunt in your ear, "We will protect you."

"Our lamb, our dearest," his brother whispered, placing his hand on the slight curve of your belly. You leaned into his touch, revelling in the squish of their bodies pressed against you, shoulder to shoulder. You closed your eyes, relief washing over you.

You pressed your sweaty forehead against his bicep, your throat raw from screaming as you felt a fantastic emptiness below your ribcage as the wails of your newborn filled your ears, its purplish skin glistening with mucus and blood as you wiggled your fingers at the hands that held the baby above your abdomen.

"Give it to me," you sobbed with intense relief as the balding, taller man, your other partner, placed the baby in your arms, where his brother settled his own hand underneath the child's head, bringing it closer to you, shushing the infant with a low, gentle voice.

Your vision was blurry.

"What is it?" you grunted.

"A boy," he muttered in your ear, placing the child on your heaving chest and you wrapped your arms around your son, as tears rolled down your cheeks and you panted, smiling at your baby, only choked sobs coming from you.

"A boy!" the other man called out over his shoulder to the crack of the door, wiping his bloody hands on your thighs. The congregation hooted and hollered behind the door and you distantly heard Father Martin singing praises to the Lord over the rushing of blood in your ears.

"Oh, bless!"

"It's like Christmas!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up!"

You laughed tiredly at the voices behind the door but your laugh turned into a screech as you felt a burning sensation in your loins. Something was wrong.

"What is it?" the taller twin furrowed his brows as you shoved your son to his brother's arms, gripping the sheets underneath you and spreading your legs again.

"I think there's another one coming, fuck!" you bellowed, propping your body up on your elbows. The taller man ducked between your legs and you felt his hands and you saw and felt white hot iron spill all over you as you screamed, his brother's fingers intertwined between yours and you growled as you heard another wail join the chorus of terrific noise rattling inside your head.

You felt your lungs swell and everything hurt but you saw, at the end of another umbilical chord, another baby. Twins. You should've known.

"A girl," her father muttered, grinning to you as she reached her tiny fists to pound at your chest and you stroked her back and the world behind the door ceased to exist as the brothers looked down on you with tender eyes, holding their fruit in your tired, sweaty arms as you rocked them senselessly and breathed deeply, smiling at everything in the room before you slumped back on the shorter man's chest and closed your eyes, feeling two pairs of arms wiping you down and heard low muttering.

"You did so well, you did so well."

Your head spun.

RICK

"No way," Rick held your shoulders at an arms length, his fingers digging into your flesh as he shook you gently, "No way you're pregnant."

It was almost frightening how wide his eyes were.

"Yes, I am," you gave him a slight smile, testing the waters. A silence fell between the two of you. Your heart beat like crazy. He was never this quiet. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, underneath those luscious greying curls.

Then, a wide grin flashed on his face. He huffed through his nose, straightening his back and he pulled you into a tight hug.

"Pregnant!" he exclaimed, letting out a breathy chuckle as he leaned his head back and fixed his eyes on you, his hands sliding from your shoulders to your cheeks, "We're having a baby!"

"Yeah," you nodded your head, laughing.

Rick leaned down to kiss you on the tip of your nose, squishing your cheeks gently as you pressed your hands on his chest, rubbing circles on his skin through the soft fabric of his pink dress shirt.

"Oh, you sweet thing," Rick sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, "You're too good to me."

You poured a handful of cereal to a shallow plastic bowl and set it in front of your daughter who was fiddling with her bib, tracing the stitches with her tiny fingers. You tickled her tummy and cooed at her before straightening your back and looking at Rick, who was making pancakes on the stove, flour and pieces of eggshell all over the counters.

He had insisted on making you breakfast since it was your birthday. Usually he took you to a restaurant on your birthday but after the birth of your daughter he wanted to stay home as much as possible.

You eyed his apron. A honeymoon gift from a colleague, or so he had claimed. "My meat is hand rubbed, well seasoned, aged to perfection and always hot". Rick always wore it when he was making you a little romantic breakfast. Never in the neighbourhood barbecues though.

"You're gonna have to get rid of that apron," you gestured towards his chest, holding back your laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, I will," Rick looked down and sighed, then straightened out the fabric of the front, "When she learns to read, I'll throw it out, okay? I'll part with my dear apron for your sake."

"No, you're good. If she's got your brains, it'll take ten more years," you smirked, pinching your daughter's cheek as she babbled in her chair, fingers dipped into the dry fruit loops in her cup.

"O-ho-ho!" Rick laughed dryly, turning his grinning face to you, eyebrows high, "You want to insult your personal chef now! I'll make sure I burn yours," he scoffed and waved the spatula at you like a medieval weapon.

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind as he turned to the stove.

"You know I only say it because it's true," you grinned against his shoulder and reached up to kiss the nape of his neck. He shuddered.

"Ticklish!" he warned.

"Oh, are you now?" you giggled, skittering your fingers up to his armpits and he squirmed with laughter, your daughter squealing in her chair, clapping her hands together at the show.

"No, stop, honey, the stove is on," Rick laughed, "Please - have mercy!" he turned to you and grabbed your wrists, giving you a grin, wrenching your hands off of him.

"Can you behave?" Rick cocked his head towards your daughter who was still giggling. His laugh always made her hyper.

"No, and your pancakes are burning," you grinned and gave him a quick, sweet kiss on the lips. He kissed you back tenderly before registering your words and swearing under his breath, whipping his head around to face the stove. Your daughter giggled again and Rick's eyes flickered to her and his face softened.

"Daddy's a klutz, isn't he?" he cooed to her from across the kitchen, "Daddy should feed this to the neighbor's dog, right, princess?"

She laughed again in and jumped up and down in her chair. You saw Rick mouth an "awh" before turning back to the stove.

You licked your lips. How many kids did he say he wanted again?

EDDIE

"Yes, yes!" he bellowed, as he took you by your waist and lifted you several feet into the air, spinning you around while you pounded playfully on his chest with your fists, laughing as tears streamed down your face, "Finally! Oh, I love you, I love you!"

He pressed you to his chest which shook with emotion as he breathed in the scent of your hair. You stroked his broad shoulders, stifling your own sobs by biting your lip and pressing your head into his chest. A warm silence filled the air as Eddie pressed soft little kisses to the crown of your head, muttering softly. You felt him rock you gently to the tune of the old radio.

"My darling. The mother of my children. I can't believe it."

"She's beautiful, just like her mother," Eddie whispered to you as the both of you stood over the improvised cot, watching your newborn daughter wiggle inside the many layers of blankets you had managed to find in the vocational block.

Eddie bent down to his daughter, his eyes glistening with adoration and tenderness, stroking the curls of soft black hair on her little head. She whined, leaning into his hand.

"She's got your eyes," you sighed and massaged his shoulder, leaning down as well, your nose mere inched from the little bundle in the cot.

"Really?" Eddie murmured, rubbing the pinkness of her skin softly, "I thought they were yours, darling."

"They might change," you whispered, curling your finger under her chin, "Newborns often change a little bit. My hair wasn't this color for sure when I got out of the womb," you smiled at your groom as his massive frame covered the baby as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Another little grunt spilled from her lips and she screwed her eyes shut, kicking at her covers tiredly.

"Well, I'll be here to see if something changes," Eddie nodded, straightening his back and placing his chin on the top of your head, "You should go rest, dearest."

You looked down at the dried streaks of blood running down your legs and chuckled.

"I should go get a bath."

"I'll come with you," Eddie said, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your waist with his hand, almost needily.

"What, and leave the baby here?" you looked up at him.

"Oh," Eddie blushed a little bit, "Yes, I -..."

"Almost forgot?" you giggled, bending down to pick up your daughter, cringing at the pain in your loins but being flooded with oxytocin almost immediately after your skin touched hers.

"No!" Eddie blurted out defensively.

You turned to him with your newborn daughter in your arms.

"Take her," you said softly, standing on the tips of your toes, placing her in his arms, "Mind the head. Just like that."

Eddie gasped softly when you placed the child onto his hands for the first time. He looked at the stirring bundle of rags and pink, wrinkly skin and smiled, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"She's tiny," he sighed, "Our baby. My god," he sniffled a little bit, exhaling deeply. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, stroking his forearm. The legacy he had always wanted. Here. Finally.

JEREMY

"Wait, what?" he lifted up the rickety plastic test that you had placed in front of him with his morning espresso, fixing his steely blue eyes on you "What's this?"

You just smiled, sipping your tea.

"What is this?" he repeated, wiggling the pregnancy test at you. Then something clicked.

"Are you pregnant?" Jeremy's voice was shaky, still hoarse from sleep as his eyes flickered between you, your stomach, and the red lines on the stick of plastic.

You nodded into your mug.

He leaned back on his chair, his face blank for a moment. Then he threw his arms up, his eyes much brighter, all tiredness washed away.

"You're pregnant!" he yelled, exasperated, his face melting into a smile, "I fucking knew it!" he rushed over to you in less than a second, his coffee cup clattering loudly against the marble of the countertop as he slammed it down, freeing his hands. You laughed as he wrapped his arms around you, the scent of his aftershave filling your nose as he kissed you, bitter coffee lingering on his lips.

"I'm home!" you called out from the hall, pulling the door shut with a heavy thump, kicking off your boots. You could already smell the scent of some microwave meal from the kitchen mixed with the scent of Jeremy's cologne. The distant jingle of a kids' show. You shook off your coat and started walking towards the living room, leaving your shopping bags on the doormat, fancy tissue paper rustling against sturdy bags with even fancier logos printed on them.

"Hey," you peeked your head in through the open entryway of the living room, the lacquered surfaces of sleek black furniture reflecting pastel colors from the massive plasma TV on the opposite wall. You could hear light snoring coming from the designer couch. You smiled and walked over to your husband, leaning down on the outside back of the couch.

He was sleeping in an upright position with your son curled up in his lap, Jeremy's feet slung over the glass coffee table. A bad habit. Stray crayons and colouring books littered the expensive carpet. Your son let out a whistling huff from his nose and shifted on his father's lap.

"Jer," you whispered softly, brushing your fingers against his hair, leaning over from behind him to place hover your chin over is shoulder, "Jer, wake up."

Jeremy jolted awake, looking around him in a few milliseconds of tired panic, spotted you and smiled.

"Hey, honey," he sighed, "We were just watching..." he narrowed his eyes at the television, "Super-d-... Wait, Super-dog and friends? Yeah. That."

"I see," you kissed his cheek, resting your chin on his shoulder, looking down at your son, "Had fun colouring?"

"He stole my pen," Jeremy pointed to the floor where a crudely drawn stick figure with too many fingers smiled with empty eyes beside a sloppily coloured Winnie the Pooh page. Some scribbled text on the bottom. MY DAD WORKS ATT MERKOF.

You chuckled.

"You guys are too cute," you rubbed his shoulder, "Wanna take him to bed? I brought some wine."

Jeremy stretched before wrapping his arms around your son, lifting him up carefully against his chest.

"He's gotten big," he remarked with a strained voice.

"Four years go by pretty fast," you hummed, stroking your son's red cheek with the back of your hand.

"Feels like yesterday."

"It really does."

"You haven't aged a day," Jeremy's eyes flicked to you and he smiled tenderly, "Gorgeous," he added.

You winked.

"Get him to bed, I'll go open the wine."

FRANK

"Huh?"

He finished licking the edge of the joint, his mouth hanging open slightly as his eyes fixed on your face.

"I'm pregnant," you repeated, slightly louder, "So you better not light that," you gestured to his hands.

Frank blinked at you, his face blank.

"A baby? We're gonna have a baby?"

The corners of his lips dipped down. For a second you thought he might burst into tears. Then a strained roar came from him as he jumped up from the dingy couch and jumped up to you, gripping your hands and leading you around the living room while jumping up and down in a frenzied dance, laughing with tears in his eyes.

"We're gonna have a baby," you hugged him tight, joining his feverish movements as the two of you jumped up and down like idiots, the creaking of the floorboards below you making you laugh, "We're gonna have a baby!" he yelled.

Someone pounded on the wall from the next apartment over.

"You're sure?" he stilled, panting, lifting his hands to your cheeks, "You're definitely sure?"

You nodded.

He kissed you, his scraggly beard scraping against your skin, his bare chest pressing to you.

"Oh, angel, I -... I have to..." Frank breathed against you, his eyes widening again, "I have to call my mama!"

You threw your head back and laughed as he vaulted over the back of the couch, skidded on the floor with his hole-speckled socks and dove into the bedroom in less than two seconds. You down, taking his joint from the floor between your fingers and shoving it in between the couch cushions. For safe keeping. He would need it in a few months. But from now on he had to smoke outside.

"Mom, mom," you felt a little hand smack your shoulder and you buried your head deeper into your pillow. You woke up in a jolt.

"What is it?" you groaned, your eyes crusty with sleep, "What's the time?"

"It's six a.m," you heard your daughter's giddy voice. You could tell from her voice she was grinning ear to ear. No emergency. Probably. Then you realized that her voice sounded kind of muffled.

You moaned. You still had an hour before your alarm would go off. But it seemed like your alarm was here. With lots of effort, you rose up and rubbed your eyes.

Your daughter was standing by your bedside, a sheet draped over her like a veil and a latex skeleton mask on her face. It was way too big for her. A silence filled the room. Then you could hear her breathe in deeply.

"I'm Santa Muerte," she whispered dramatically.

You stared.

"You're what now?"

Her shoulders slumped.

"Da-ad!" she yelled over her shoulder at the open door of the bedroom, "Mom doesn't know who I am!"

"Mom what?" you heard Frank's voice from the kitchen. They were both so loud.

Your daughter inhaled, ready to scream louder but you shushed her.

"Of course you're -... What's with the costume, baby?"

She shrugged, peeling the mask off of her face, giving you a gap-toothed smile.

"It was my idea," you heard Frank say as he appeared in the doorway, and to your surprise, was carrying a tray of food, still clad in his sleep attire. Faded boxers and an old band shirt.

"Oh, angel," you smiled at him tiredly, "You shouldn't have."

"I wanted to," he grinned behind his beard, "Happy mother's day."

You had forgotten.

"Oh, yeah," you mumbled as he set the tray on your nightstand and leaned in to kiss your cheek as you propped yourself up on your pillows.

"I wanted to scare you," your daughter grumbled and reached for a slice of toast but Frank snatched her wrist.

"Mom first," he said sternly, then his face twisted into a quizzical expression, "Why'd you want to scare mom? I thought you just wanted to perform some metal or something. The mask was mine," he added to you as you giggled into your slice of bread, swiping crumbs off the sheets.

Your daughter shrugged again.

"Thought it would be fun."

Frank opened his mouth to protest his involvement but you just laughed, ruffling your daughter's long black hair.

"Weirdo," you took another bite of bread and offered the rest of it to her as she scooted up to sit on your legs. Frank sat on the edge as well, taking your hand, rubbing his thumb on the cheap ring he'd bought you ages ago, eyeing the way the gold glinted in the dim light of the bedroom.

"Don't even think about replacing it," you warned and shoved a piece of toast in front of his mouth and he smiled before taking a bite.

DENNIS

"W-well I'll be goddamned," he grinned, enclosing your hand in both of his, lifting the bundle to his lips and placing a tender kiss to your fingers, "Y'all hear that? Me, a-a daddy? Shit..."

You laughed, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek as he cradled your hand in his grip, so softly, like he was holding a baby bird.

"Don't get all soft on me, Dennie," you giggled, "You're going to make me cry."

He shook his head.

"D'you think th-they'll like him?"

"Who? The baby?"

He nodded, his grin twisting into a solemn look, his dark brown eyes fixed on yours, glimmering with intense happiness and even more intense worry.

"I'm sure they will," you whispered and stroked his cheek, "All that matters is me and you right now, okay?"

He nodded again.

"Hey, lil' guy," Dennis cooed, stroking your son's tiny, pink and wrinkled face with his index finger as he wailed and screeched in his arms, "He's sure g-got a pair o' lungs on him," he turned to you, chuckling as you held your arms open, as you tried to ignore the searing pain between legs. You were flooded with a need to hold your newborn. Hold them both. Your Dennie and his little boy.

"Give him to me," you sighed with a weak smile, "And get us a rag. We need to clean him."

Dennis placed the newborn onto your chest and he writhed against you as you rocked the child, shushing him gently.

"Careful, he's slippery," he cocked his head, flashing a wide toothy smile as he eyed the two of you, "They thought I didn't have enough man in me," he sighed.

"We shut them up," you winked at him and he nodded, reaching over to the side table, retrieving a torn piece of cloth and placing it in your outstretched hand.

"We showed 'em."

(screaming and crying and sobbing and shitting into my pillow rn because i can never be a baby mommy for fictional insane men)

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