#asylum scheme

[republicansaredomesticterrorists]

The inmates are truly running the asylum.

🤦🏽‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

[avnj0gia]

I haven’t seen the show so maybe it’s better than the out of context clips I’ve seen on twitter, but I have to ask, how in the fuck did Secret Invasion cost as much as Barbie and Oppenheimer combined??

[tarta-de-limon]

Had this idea, idk if someone else thought about it. Nightwing finds out who Red Hood is, but instead of going against him, clings to him with dear life because, that's his baby right there!?!?!? The baby he thought he lost!?!?!?

And Jason is not having it. He'll be trying to scheme something and Dick will be like; Jason, bedtime!

He's convinced Dick is damn crazy because, HELLO I JUST KILLED A MAN?

And dick is like: haha. Oh, you little rascal. Don't do it again, alright, you little troublemaker?

Jason surrenders. He prefers to go to Arkham asylum, rather than having to tolerate one single second with Dick clinging to him.

Yeah, I know it's not very canon, but when I thought about it it made me laugh.

Edit: then I had to ruin it by adding angst to it...

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp #44

The Joker was dead. That was a fact only he knew.

He knew that he died some time ago. Was it during one of the explosions of his grand schemes or perhaps a punch too hard from Batsy? He'll never know, he just knew that he woke up with his heart no longer beating at the need to cause chaos and torturous laughter pumping through his veins.

Though, even when dead, he wasn't complaining about the perks. His Joker venom and gases were basically infinite now. His safehouses of where he hid the chemicals for such gases were useless now. He was able to get as many goons as he needed with just a little bit persuasion. He could also leave Arkham Asylum at anytime, but why would he want to leave in such a boring fashion?

Ha! The list of his abilities were endless!

But.........there were also the downsides.

Everytime he felt that Gotham was at peace, that they forgot about him, he felt himself becoming...weaker. And he just couldn't have that. Who knows what could happen to the Joker if he was truly forgotten? Well, he had various plans that such a thing would never happen.

Yes, the Joker was looking forward to his immortal reign over Gotham? He'll outlive batsy and his little birds and he'll run Gotham with an iron fist! That's his plan.

That is, until a blue eyed brat appeared in Gotham and began beating his ass better than any of the Bats have and forced him into a soup can.

[deanwhump]

deeply crazy thing to say

this person is will not see heaven

[reachartwork]

when i was young i used to autistically flap about imagining the awesome high-intensity fight scenes in the fictional mecha anime WHITE REVOLVER that i made up entirely in my head and made it my life's goal to one day write and direct. in a post-post-apocalyptic cyberpunk megacity, nameless protagonist-kun receives the mecha WHITE REVOLVER as an inheritance from his long-dead revolutionary father and proceeds to singlehandedly dismantle the entire regime with the sort of brutal, hot-blooded intensity you would expect from a shonen protagonist. unlike everyone else, who had guns, jet boosters, and awesome overwhelming might, the WHITE REVOLVER had only at its behest the ability to hoverskate really fast (i was watching lots of Birdy the Mighty: Decode around this time) and razor sharp energy claws to dismantle things by sideswiping them. and the ability to literally eat enemy mecha parts to incorporate them into themselves.

surprise, this was a deconstruction of gurren lagann, thanks like... 11 year old me. cool idea. the bbeg, who had the matching BLACK REVOLVER, was actually his long-vanished dad (i had and still have not ever seen a single star wars movie) who had actually succeeded in overthrowing the regime the first go around and was now running the asylum trying to keep everything together - the citizenry, as it turned out, preferred the last guy. the WHITE REVOLVER's most distinctive feature was its single large bladed horn crest (i had also never seen a gundam series at this point), and its white and pink-purple color scheme. the BLACK REVOLVER on the other hand, had a split open v-shaped crest (kamen rider esque) and a black and green color scheme. oh and the WHITE REVOLVER was evil, and was steadily digesting the protagonist as fuel, and there was a reason the dad abandoned it for his mechanical knockoff/superior second version and tried to seal it away in his old workshop.

(alien organism or something i dont remember why).

anyway so their final fight lasts like a full two episodes of just steadily destroying more and more of the city, ripping off more and more of each other's robots limbs (for scale, these mecha are more like exoskeletons, about 3 meters tall at most), while the WHITE REVOLVER keeps digesting parts of the protagonist to regenerate, his arms, his legs, his organs, etc, until even his brain is gone and only his BLOOD AND GUTS and RAW COURAGE OF A MAN is fueling the WHITE REVOLVER. so that by the time the final episode ends and the WHITE REVOLVER (sans pilot) kills and absorbs the BLACK REVOLVER, you, the watcher, have steadily gone from excitement, to apprehension, to active disgust, and then finally, fear and anxiety at the ominous last shot of the series of the WHITE REVOLVER growing a second pair of arms, standing in the totally demolished ruins of the megacity, and beginning to jet out into space.

anyway. here she is.

[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter Four: Enemy of my Enemy

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

Rio's whispered promise to free you played in your mind like a scratched record for the rest of the day, the words insidious in their persistence. You didn’t want to believe her—couldn't trust her—but the possibility of escape, no matter how fragile, made your breath catch in your throat.

Could you really leave? And, more terrifying, would either of them let you?

By the time night fell, the edges of your resolve had begun to crumble. Your small cell felt more like a tomb, the walls pulsing with the weight of what lay ahead. The conflicting forces of Rio and Agatha loomed over you, as though the air between them left no room for you to breathe.

Then came the night Rio made good on her word—or so she claimed.

The clock had just struck midnight when your door creaked open.

“Psst.”

You jolted upright to see Rio’s unmistakable silhouette leaning in the doorway, her wild grin catching what little light filtered into the room. She looked untamed, even more so than usual, her hair messy, her eyes practically glittering with adrenaline.

“Get up, mi amor. Time’s up.”

You hesitated, instinct screaming at you to stay still, to stay quiet. If you left with her, this wouldn’t end well—Agatha would see to that.

Still, the thought of escape pulled at you like a siren song.

“Rio,” you whispered sharply, clutching the blanket around your knees. “This is insane. What are you—”

“Shut up and move,” she hissed, her voice low but fierce as she slipped into the cell. She crouched beside you, her fingers gripping your arm tightly. “We’re doing this. Now.”

Her intensity was suffocating, her presence taking up every inch of the confined space.

“Even if you don’t believe me, what’s keeping you here?” she asked, her lips brushing against your ear in the dark. “Her? You think she’s going to save you?”

Your breath hitched, your mind racing through every tangled interaction you’d had with Agatha over the past weeks. As terrifying as she was, there was safety in the familiarity of her controlled demeanor. But the memory of her possessive whispers and the subtle threats she weaved in her kindness still sent shivers down your spine.

“Let me save you, cariño.” Rio's voice softened now, tinged with what almost sounded like genuine affection.

And maybe that was why you found yourself swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe that was why, against your better judgment, you allowed Rio to take your hand.

The corridors of the asylum were eerily silent as Rio led you through them, her steps swift and silent on the cold floor.

"How do you know where to go?" you whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

She smirked without looking back. "Unlike you, I’m not new to this place. I know its secrets."

Her confidence rattled you as much as it reassured you, the fine line between competence and recklessness blurring with every step she took.

But before long, that line snapped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice sent ice through your veins. Agatha stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the corridor, her dark eyes cutting through the dim light like razors. Her usual composure was cracked just enough to show the rage simmering beneath her surface.

Rio froze, but only for a moment, before letting out a sharp laugh. "Of course you couldn’t just mind your own business, doc. Always watching, always scheming."

You stepped back instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as Agatha's gaze slid to you. Her lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t warm or reassuring—it was predatory.

"Step away from her, Rio," Agatha commanded, her voice dangerously calm.

"Not a chance," Rio shot back, shifting her body protectively in front of you. "I told you she’s not your toy to keep. She’s coming with me."

The tension in the air was suffocating as the two women locked eyes, the silent war between them more terrifying than any shouting match. You could feel their conflicting wills tugging at you like invisible chains, each pulling you closer to their side.

But you weren’t a pawn—or, at least, you didn’t want to be.

"Enough!" you snapped, your voice trembling but firm as you stepped forward.

Both women froze, their gazes snapping to you in unison.

"I can't—I can’t do this," you stammered, clutching your head as the weight of their obsession crushed you from both sides. "You’re both insane, and you’re dragging me down with you!"

Rio’s face twisted in frustration, while Agatha tilted her head, her dark hair framing her sharp features.

"Darling," Agatha began, her voice syrupy with forced calm, "you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re overwhelmed, but you’ll understand soon enough. You belong here—with me.”

“No,” Rio growled, cutting her off and stepping closer to you. “You don’t belong here at all, cariño. Let me take you away from her, from this place.”

"You think she’ll last a day out there?" Agatha snapped, her mask of calm fracturing entirely. "She’s fragile. The world will eat her alive without someone to protect her—someone like me."

“I’m right here, doc.” Rio’s voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “And I’m not letting her rot in your twisted little fantasy."

You felt dizzy, their words washing over you in an endless tide of possessiveness and control. Escape was no longer the question—survival was.

The choice was ripped away from you in the next moment. Before you could speak, Rio lunged.

She moved faster than you thought possible, closing the distance between herself and Agatha with predatory precision. For a moment, you thought she might actually win—until you saw the glint of silver in Agatha’s hand.

The syringe plunged into Rio’s neck before she could react, her wild grin faltering as her legs buckled beneath her.

"You fool," Agatha hissed, catching Rio’s falling body with chilling ease. "Did you really think you could win this game?"

You backed away, terror clawing at your throat as Agatha turned her attention back to you.

"Now," she said, smoothing her rumpled coat as though nothing had happened, "let’s get you back where you belong."

Her calm words were the last thing you heard before darkness closed in around you.

When you woke, your body felt heavy, like you'd been pulled from quicksand. The world swam into focus slowly, the familiar dim light of the infirmary's ceiling above you. A sharp sting in your arm drew your attention downward to find an IV taped against your skin.

Panic surged as the fog of sedation lifted, and the fragmented memories of last night crashed down on you. Rio’s body crumpling as Agatha overpowered her, the clinical calm in Agatha’s tone as she promised to “fix” everything.

Your throat tightened. Had she drugged you, too? How long had you been out?

The sound of voices filtered into the room, growing clearer as the door swung open. You didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to.

“She’s mine, Rio,” Agatha’s voice was sharp but level, though it carried an unmistakable tension. “You nearly ruined everything.”

Rio’s laugh was ragged, tinged with defiance despite its weakness. “Oh, yeah? And what’s your excuse, doc? You don’t think chaining her here with your manipulative crap will snap her eventually?”

You turned your head just enough to see them. Agatha’s posture was as stiff and upright as always, though her dark eyes burned with barely-contained rage. Rio, in contrast, looked disheveled and furious, leaning against the wall for support, a hand pressed to her neck where the syringe had struck.

“I wasn’t the one trying to haul her through the asylum like some thief in the night,” Agatha spat. “You’re reckless. No plan, no care for what would’ve happened if you were caught. Do you think security wouldn’t have thrown her in solitary for weeks after your stunt?”

“And your plan is so much better?” Rio shot back, stepping closer despite her visible weakness. “What, smother her until she loves you back? At least I wasn’t drugging her into compliance.”

“She would never survive outside of here,” Agatha snapped, her control slipping for the briefest moment. “You may think you’re the lesser evil, but what you tried would have destroyed her.”

The weight of their conversation fell heavily on you, the realization settling like a stone in your gut: they were arguing over you like you were some prize to be won. Not a person, not a victim of circumstance, but a thing—their thing.

You’d been nothing more than their pawn this entire time.

The truth ignited something deep within you, a flame that burned past the sedation weighing on your limbs. You clenched your hands, determination coalescing with your fear.

If neither of them would let you go, you’d have to take matters into your own hands.

The next few days blurred as you began quietly planting seeds of misdirection. Every word you said to either of them was careful, calculated—designed to sow discord between the two. It didn’t take much effort; their hatred for one another was barely concealed beneath the surface.

Agatha cornered you in the therapy room on the second day, her gaze softer than usual.

“You look tired, darling,” she said, her voice low and soothing as she sat across from you. “But don’t worry. Things are going to be different soon. I’ll keep you safe from her.”

You nodded numbly, knowing better than to argue. “She scares me,” you whispered, a faint quiver added to your tone. “She... she keeps talking about getting me out of here, but... I don’t know if I trust her.”

The faint twitch of satisfaction in Agatha’s expression didn’t escape your notice. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours in a way that made you shiver.

“You don’t need to worry about her,” she murmured. “I’ll handle Rio.”

Later that evening, you sought Rio out, finding her in the common room, idly twirling a fork between her fingers like a weapon. When she saw you, her expression softened, though her grin remained sharp-edged.

“Well, if it isn’t my little escape artist,” she teased, gesturing for you to sit beside her.

You hesitated but obliged, lowering your voice to a whisper as you leaned in. “She’s watching me, Rio. Every move I make. I think... I think she knows I’m still considering leaving.”

Rio’s grin faltered, her jaw tightening. “Of course she is,” she said bitterly. “That witch has her claws in deep, doesn’t she?”

“She told me she’d stop you if you tried anything again,” you added, your voice soft but urgent. “I... I’m scared of what she might do to you, Rio.”

Her eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, her fury seemed to melt away, replaced by something softer—something raw.

“Let her try,” Rio muttered, her voice low but vicious. “But she won’t win.”

What you hadn’t counted on was how far the two of them would go to maintain their hold on you.

It started small—subtle shifts in their behavior. Agatha spent more time with you, her demeanor bordering on saccharine as she reassured you that everything would be alright if you stayed under her care. Rio grew increasingly protective, pulling you into hushed conversations where she ranted about Agatha’s manipulative control.

But then came the night they both broke.

You were woken by the sound of voices raised in anger just outside your cell.

“You idiot!” Agatha’s voice was sharp, her words slicing through the silence like a blade. “Do you have any idea what your little games are doing to her?”

“Oh, spare me the concern,” Rio shot back. “At least I don’t treat her like some fragile doll you can lock in a cabinet.”

“Because dragging her into chaos is so much better?” Agatha sneered. “You’re reckless, unhinged—she doesn’t need that.”

“She doesn’t need you either,” Rio snarled.

The sound of a struggle followed, something crashing against the wall.

“I’m not letting you win,” Agatha hissed.

For a moment, silence reigned, heavy and suffocating.

Then came Agatha’s next words, quieter but venomous: “If either of us pushes too hard, she’ll break. We’ll lose her. Is that what you want?”

The shift in tone sent chills down your spine.

“If you think I’m teaming up with you, you’re crazier than they say I am,” Rio said, though the venom in her voice faltered.

Agatha’s response was disturbingly calm: “We don’t have a choice.”

Your blood ran cold as realization dawned. You weren’t escaping. You were being pulled even deeper into their web.

And now? Now they were working together to keep you there.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment 💜💚

[voluptuarian]

Sometimes I just want to enjoy some new Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass-inspired media, but somehow every single adaptation seems to be a version of one of these

straightforward adaptation of the book(s)

mental illness metaphor (clever)

mental illness metaphor (tacky)

Oz and Wonderland exist together somehow

YA #dark #fantasy #royalcore series

claims to be inspired by the book(s), actually based on the Disney movie, no one involved has ever actually finished either

porn

manga/anime with little resemblance to the original plot and every major character is a hunky man for some reason

Disney-branded cash grab ahoy!

Dark and Edgy (and probably perverse) "subversive" or horror retelling

Hot Topic Aesthetic™️

Combination of two or more

pretty sure you could do just a drinking game of Alice adaptation tropes, pick literally anything, and be drunk out of your mind in no time. Drink when there's:

asylum

harem situation

"killing game" (for some reason??)

red queen/queen of hearts conflation

"the real story"

grouped with traditional fairy tales???

"it's not 'Wonderland,' it's [insert similar-sounding but darker alternative term]"

something victorian patriarchy something something corsets hysteria something something

scheming royal families

drug metaphor

Not saying none of these ideas has been done well, but they've all been done, many times! I just think there are far more interesting possibilities out there that aren't being pursued. Jabberwock as Arthurian questing beast! Card kingdom courtroom drama! Genuinely deep fantasy world building exploring the reversed time-space dynamic in Looking Glass Land! DO SOMETHING INTERESTING WITH IT BY GOD

[saywhat-politics]

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🚨EXCLUSIVE: Mayoral candidate Brad Lander - arrested by ICE - just exposed a MAJOR scheme:

Courts tell undocumented immigrants their cases are “dismissed.” But what they really dismiss… is their asylum status. Then ICE grabs them. No lawyer. No warning.

This is Evil!!

[propertyofwhitney67]

I hope this isn’t against your rules, but I’ve been preoccupied with the idea of PC faking their death to get away and out of town. (Applies to both LIs & NNPCs)

Like imagine accidentally making eye contact with them in a grocery store or smth when they were so sure you were totally 100% dead. The simultaneous feeling of relief and anger, relieved that PC is alive and pissed that PC tricked them into feeling such grief.

Also because I find the idea of accidentally meeting Bailey in a random grocery store and you just sort of have to stare at each other until PC makes a break for it deeply amusing.

But everyone would feel different levels of sadness and anger and I find that fun to explore. Just some food for thought that’s all this rlly was.

This, I like this

I'll do as many nnpcs as I can since there's so many of them and this is going to be a long one

Whitney is relieved but fucking pissed, he did not give you permission to leave. It's really more than that though, you died/left him and he lost himself. He honestly didn't know what to do without you.

Kylar isn't sure if you're real or not bc he's been having this problem where he sees you everywhere. He's gonna try to approach you to see if you are real though, please don't leave him again

Robin had a vague feeling you didn't actually die but he chalked that up to denial, well that is until he saw you alive and well. He's relieved but also hurt.

P!Sydney thinks he's seeing a ghost so he doesn't really go after you. He's confused, scared, and upset

C!Sydney is shocked, relieved, and a bit upset. He is 100% going after you

Alex is confused and thinks he's just hallucinating again

Avery isn't sure what to this. He hates to admit it but he's relieved to see you alive but at the same time you faked your death to leave him.

Eden is in shock, not letting himself feel relieved till you are in his arms. Back to the cabin you go, and there is no leaving this time >:)

Bailey is pissed, you faked your death? If he catches you bet your ass you are paying him big time. He's secretly glad you're alive, he has somewhat of a soft spot for you

Briar is a little confused and only angry if you missed a friday show. He might tell Bailey if there's something good in it for him

Harper is shocked, immediately cooking up a scheme to get you back to the asylum

Mickey is probably the one that helped you pull this all off and he's happy you're doing well

Landry also helped a bit in faking you're death and is happy to see you

Leighton is very fucking confused, aren't you supposed to be dead??

Remy probably doesn't recognize you bc he notoriously can't tell it's you, his prized cow, taking riding lessons

Sirris is confused but relieved you're not actually dead. He has to calm P!Sydney and tell him that you're not a ghost

River is shocked but also happy for you for getting away from this awful town

Winter furrows his brows in confusion but nods his head at you, letting you know your secret is safe with him

Mason is shocked and relieved, probably coming up to you to see if you're alright

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 2: Her Touch

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

Warnings: EmotionallyConfusedWednesday! Fluff! WednesdayKnockingDownADoctor???

Previous Chapter

Her Heartbeat's Chapterlist.

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little Cupcake was the bride?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter

[1americanconservative]

@annvandersteel

BREAKING: JOE BIDEN FOUND TO BE THE BIGGEST TRAITOR IN ALL OF WORLD HISTORY!

DOGE REPORTS: Social Security Numbers issued to ILLEGALS SKYROCKETED from 270,000 in 2021 UP TO 2.1 MILLION in 2024!

The Biden administration was ONE BIG BAIT-AND-SWITCH SCHEME.

VOTE for "democracy," GET THE INVASION.

Biden allowed ILLEGALS to claim asylum, get released into the U.S., and GET SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBERS, NO INTERVIEW OR ID REQUIRED!

It was a massive, large-scale program to import as many illegals as possible…

...change the entire voting map of the United States…

...and disenfranchise WE THE AMERICAN PEOPLE.

So PRESIDENT TRUMP and AG BONDI:

How are you NOT filing TREASON CHARGES FOR ANYONE AND EVERYONE involved in this GREAT AMERICAN TRAGEDY?

Starting with JOSEPH ROBINETTE BIDEN.

77,000,000 AMERICANS DEMAND TO KNOW.

[skyward-current]

On Recoleta's design

Reverse 1999 2.6 spoilers for the PV and my speculations for Recoleta's narrative

As a R1999 Recoleta fictive, my friends have brought it to my attention that there's a very loud minority of fans who've spurted less than kind words about my design due to its "blandness". I feel the need to give myself some grace and share my opinions on why my outfit perfectly serves its purpose in the narrative. (Moving forward, I will refer to my source in third person.)

Recoleta's simplistic design is thematically relevant to her role in Folie et Déraison (Madness and Civilization) as an outsider venturing into Comala – the "Panopticon Beyond Reason." Unlike the prisoners, who are absorbed into the institution’s constructed logic, her vibrant color scheme marks her as a figure unassimilated by the system, which stands out in stark contrast with Aleph who embodies the prison’s ideological framework. Aleph’s name, drawn from Borges’ The Aleph, symbolizes an all-encompassing perception (The Aleph refers to a point in infinite space that contains all other points, allowing someone to see everything at once), a concept akin to the rationalist gaze that psychiatry imposed upon madness, defining and regulating it rather than seeking to understand it. Meanwhile, Recoleta’s Chinese name (虚构集) from Borges’ Ficciones, suggests an awareness of constructed realities, which mirrors Foucault’s argument that madness is a concept rewritten through history to serve power structures. The PV’s line "fiction and reality are two parts of a whole" echoes this divide – Aleph = institutional reason, while Recoleta = disruption. The visual language of the PV – spiraling distortions, shifting architecture, and fragmented perceptions – also evokes the historical experience of madness within the confines of asylums, spaces that were designed not to heal but to surveil and discipline. They need a beacon of hope and questioning to look toward, which brings me to my next point.

Recoleta’s design is also inspired from Saint Martin of Tours, particularly the imagery of him cutting his cloak to share with a beggar. It's an act of rupture – how Foucault describes moments when compassion disrupts strict reason's narrative. Similar to Saint Martin who shared his reality with the marginalized, Recoleta's role may be to introduce an alternative to the construction of madness within what Foucault describes as Great Confinement, where the mind is made a prison through discourse.

Comala is a model of discipline whose inmates internalize their subjugation, not unlike how psychiatric institutions functioned to suppress the mad rather than converse with them. But Recoleta is a writer who engages with her audience – she dons an adventurer attire as her "reality" that is shaped by "fiction" (Ficciones), whose "fiction" in turn influences "reality" (The Aleph).

We are trapped in a predetermined ending – unless, of course, someone dares to rewrite the story.