#pre!engine eddie gluskin

[evilvvithin]

The picture of Eddie in a leather jacket and high boots is haunting my mind for the past few days

[gummirock]

outlast is a game you can play

[outlustings]

Reader walks in on Eddie, Chris and Blaire using a flesh light moaning reader’s name - up to you what they each do next 👀

(literally screaminf and crying into my pillow, i'll out myself right now and say fleshlights FOR SOME REASON are one of my biggest kinks the sounds the moans the desperation aaaaaaaughuahahsgshah...... this broke me.

so uhh established relationships. light degradation and name calling because eddie and stuff like that. oh and jeremy gets teased like a lil bitch. chris is perfect, chris is fine i think. pretty explicit nsfw. just. just bear with me ok.

also pre!engine eddie and chris because it would be unsanitary to bring a fleshie to mt massive and we're all about health and safety here!)

×

EDDIE

You tossed your keys to the side table, and kicked off your shoes, the heavy plastic bag digging into the crook of your finger.

"Dearest?" you called out into the house, pulling the front door shut with a snap. No reply. Maybe he didn't hear you.

"Eddie!" you fumbled with the grocery bag, twisting your body to chain the door, "Could really use some help here!"

Again, silence. You grumbled a curse, heaving the bag onto the side table.

"The ice cream's gonna melt," you complained loudly to no one in particular. You perked up, but still no reply. Just some rhythmic sound coming from somewhere. It didn't sound like plumbing. Then you heard something that you distantly recognised as his voice, muffled through several walls. Was he talking to himself again?

"Jesus Christ, Eddie," you slammed the tub of ice cream onto the table and stomped upstairs, feeling the need to scold him before putting it into the freezer. Just because he ignored you.

You stopped just before the bedroom door. Rhythmic, slick, little fwops. What the hell? Your brain conjured up an image of him finger painting on the floor. You shook your head, ridiculous, settling your hand lightly on the door handle. Then you heard a strangled moan, more like a whine. Your name.

"Y/N. Oh, god, darling..."

Your heart skipped a beat. You pressed down on the handle gently, fully intending to call out his name, but the sounds got stuck in your throat as you cracked the door open, peeping inside, taking a good look at the view before your eyes.

Eddie was laying on his back, as naked as the day he was born, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, his hands on his crotch, wrapped around something soft and fleshy that engulfed his hard cock. You realized, with a mix of horror and hot, wet lust, what he was doing. You heard the slippery noises, heard the flesh of his abdomen strike against soft plastic again and again as he fucked a fleshlight. Breathy little grunts spilled from his lips as he rutted his hips against the toy and you watched as pearlescent little streams of lube and precum spilled onto his balls. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, your hand frozen on the door handle as you ogled at the sight in front of you from the crack of the door.

"Y/N," he groaned, his eyebrows knitted together as he pumped his throbbing cock, "Oh, my darling Y/N. So tight."

Your mouth dried up. You felt like such a dirty pervert. But you couldn't interrupt him. You were frozen like a deer in headlights.

"Yes, darling, that's it, darling," he grunted softly, quietly, exhaling sharply with each thrust, as he gripped the plastic sheath with both hands, knuckles white, "Take this cock - like you were meant to - breed yourself on it - that's it - fuck, yes," he hissed and threw his head back on the comforter, rolling his narrow hips up against the softness engulfing his length, the sloppy, wet sounds cutting through the musk-filled air like blades.

You swallowed, eyes wide and cheeks burning as you watched, mesmerized as Eddie's thick, glistening length slid in and out, in and out, in and out, the sound rattling the base of your skull as you squeezed your thighs together. You weren't supposed to watch, you thought as you heard him moan and shuddered, fingers digging into the wood of the door frame. But you couldn't interrupt him. Not when he gave you this good of a show.

"Oh, you feel so good," Eddie screwed his eyes shut, bucking into the fleshlight, little beads of sweat rolling down his temple, "Keep fucking it. Keep fucking yourself on me, darling," he let out an obscene moan as he pumped the toy against his flesh in short, quick strokes. You saw his toes curl, "That's it, daddy's little whore," he growled, "I'm going to fucking fill you up."

You gasped softly and felt your arm tremble.

Your hand slipped on the door handle and it let out a horrifyingly noisy click as it sprung back up. Eddie stilled, his head snapping to the door, which creaked open, slowly revealing your flushed, humiliated face. You stared at him. His eyes widened.

"Darling...!" he gasped softly, jumping up into a sitting position, his visibly throbbing cock slipping out of the sleeve as his blush deepened into a searing crimson across the bridge of his nose.

"I'm so sorry," you blurted and raised your hand to your mouth, "I'm so sorry, I should've knocked. Eddie, I'm -..."

Your gaze lingered on his groin, the way his sleek black pubic hair glistened with lube. You shot your eyes back to his face and gulped as you saw him smirking.

"How long have you been watching?" he licked his lips, tossing the toy aside with a small thud, "Filthy little whore. You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

You choked on your whine.

"Just... for a second. I'm sorry."

"Liar," he grinned, running his fingers through his hair, slicking it back. He managed to compose himself very well, you thought, eyes still wide.

Eddie wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and gave it a slow stroke. You watched, and most of all heard his foreskin slide against the pulsing, pink head. You shuddered. He groaned under his breath, his blue eyes fixed on yours.

"Are you going to help me finish, then, darling? Or will you stand there and watch me?" he leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow and thumbing the glistening head of his cock, "You dirty thing."

You felt your face burn as you gave him a small smile. He patted his thigh and gave you a sly wink.

"Come, darling," he cooed, "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You've had your fun. Now, let me fill you up."

You all but ran to the bed. You preferred melty ice cream anyway. Tasted better that way.

×

CHRIS

"Y/N..."

You stirred, half-awake, reaching for his side of the bed. Nothing. You mumbled something.

"Take it," you heard Chris' voice again.

"What?" you croaked, then jolted awake as you realised you'd went to sleep alone. He'd apparently come home from his shift. You blinked rapidly at the alarm clock's fluorescent hands - three in the morning. You smiled tiredly and kicked off your covers. You heard him call your name again, softly, tenderly. A little out of breath. Then came a muffled grunt. You rubbed your eyes, your heart skipping a beat as you racked your tired brain, trying to figure out what was going on. Where was he? You fumbled around in the dark, hitting the light switch, your sore eyes flooded with brightness and you groaned. The sounds were coming from the en suite bathroom. You leaned on the door.

"Honey, you home?" you yawned and pushed the door open slightly, your brain foggy and heavy.

Chris was still dressed in his work clothes, standing facing the washing machine. He was thrusting his hips against his large hands, and you could distantly register the wet sounds of him fucking his cock into something. He let out a breathy groan.

He was pressing the toy against the top of the washing machine, squishing it between his hand and the surface as he fucked it from the side in long, slow strokes, his heavy balls hitting the soft plastic with tender, wet slaps, the bulbous red tip of his cock pressing into the clear silicone. A fleshlight.

You blinked dumbly.

"Y/N, fuck," his eyes were closed, his face stern with concentration as his thighs trembled as he fucked the toy. Was he - was he imagining you in its place? Your cheeks burned and you gasped softly, all tiredness disappearing from your body as you opened your mouth.

"Chris..."

He craned his neck to you, stilling inside the cocksleeve, his eyes hazy with lust as he eyed you. He let out a shaky breath.

"Babe... I-I didn't want to wake you up," he stuttered and groaned, bowing his head down, "Ah, fuck. I'm sorry."

"Am I - I'm bothering you," you bit your lip, your eyes roving over his flexed muscles, his heaving chest and the way his cock pulsed against the soft plastic sheath in his hands. He didn't even pull out. You felt a hot, heavy weight settle in your lower belly. Suddenly, you felt like you didn't want to leave the room. Even if it was getting awkward. You looked up. Chris was blushing.

"I thought since you'd gone to sleep..." he sighed and pulled out of the toy with a hiss, turning his face away from you, "I'm sorry. This is nasty. I know."

You shook your head, a soft smile spreading to your lips as you walked next to him, reaching up to touch his shoulder.

"No, not at all," you giggled softly and pressed your head against his shoulder. He tensed underneath your touch, "I think that was... Pretty hot," you winked at him. He blushed even harder.

"What?"

You squeezed past him, brushing against his hard dick and he moaned, gripping your shoulder. You scooted your butt up on the washing machine and spread your legs, giving the toy in his hand a nudge with your knee. It dropped to the tile floor with a clatter. Chris looked down at you, his nostrils flared and eyes dark as he licked his lips. You lifted up the hem of your t-shirt, bucking your hips against him as he settled between your legs, his girthy cock twitching against your clothed groin. You grinned and stroked his forearms.

"Why don't you go for the real thing, now that I'm awake?" you gave him a smile and slid your hands to his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his lips. He returned it hungrily, nipping at your bottom lip as he rutted his hips against your underwear.

"Little pig," he sighed against your lips, his hands cupping your ass, groping the soft flesh as he humped against you. You felt little jolts of arousal spread throughout your body, the weight of his cock against your crotch was almost too much to bear, his precum soaking into the fabric of your underwear.

"We might need some lube," you mumbled against his skin.

"I'll take care of it," he growled and yanked your underwear down to your knees. You squealed as you heard the stitching rip as he kneeled before you, tossing your legs over his bulky shoulders and dove in before you could really even react.

You didn't sleep much that night.

×

JEREMY

You creaked the door open, cradling the bottle of champagne in the crook of your arm as you slipped inside and closed the front door gently. The security lock flashed a green light and beeped loudly. You shushed it. You were trying to surprise him for his birthday, goddamnit. There was a reason he gave you his key so early on, and you were going to take full advantage of his trust. Happy birthday, honey and all that, you smirked to yourself.

You kicked off your boots and slinked through the spotless kitchen and to the living room. All the lights were off. He's probably at his home office, the weirdo, you thought as you tiptoed to the hallway, seeing a strip of light illuminating the darkness from underneath the office door. Bingo. You grinned. You twisted the door knob and it rattled quietly. You inhaled deeply, ready to scream happy birthday, but your breath got caught in your throat as you heard Jeremy's voice from behind the door.

"Y/N," you heard him moan. You stopped, eyes widening.

How did he know?

"Ahh, fuck, Y/N."

Wait a minute. Your hand stilled on the doorknob as your brows furrowed, your heart beating a thousand miles an hour as you pressed your ear to the door. No, it was definitely Jeremy who called your name. He sounded out of breath. You blushed a little. Should you knock? You decided against it.

You cracked the door open slightly.

Jeremy was sitting at his desk, his face turned to his laptop as he bounced a black cylinder of plastic up and down on his lap.

He was reclining on the office chair, sleek black trousers around his thighs. His belt clinked with every pump of his hand as the plastic rim connected with his pubic bone. His eyes fixed on the monitor, he watched intently, lips parted, little grunts and heavy breaths spilling from his mouth as he fucked his twitching erection with the fleshlight. Wet, squishy sounds filled the room.

"Oh, god," he hissed, his slender hips bucking up into the toy, his face flushed as his tongue lolled to the side of his mouth,  his brows knitted together as he fucked himself, "Oh, right there. Fuck. Aah -..."

You grinned as you watched him close his eyes, his wrist moving faster and faster, the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the plastic loud and clear in your ears as you felt your face burn.

"Oh, fuck, baby," he threw his head back against the fake leather of the chair's back, "I'm so close, fu-u-uck..."

His last word came out as a desperate whine as he gripped the armrest of his chair. You decided it was your time to enter the stage.

You licked your lips, straightened your back and pushed the door open, clearing your throat as his head snapped to the direction of the door.

"Y/N?" he choked out, pulling his chair closer to the desk, trying to hide his lower half. You just grinned.

"I thought I'd come by and surprise you," you muttered, walking up to him, raising the bottle of champagne to your shoulder level, "But it seems I was on your mind already."

Jeremy blushed.

"You could've knocked," he grumbled, turning his red face away from you to his screen, and his eyes shot wide as you bent down to take a closer look and ask:

"What're you watching?"

You eyed the screen, the video still going. You recognised the sheets. Your ass in the air, red marks on the cheeks as Jeremy's cock disappeared in and out of you. Weak mewls and grunts crackled through the speakers. Last week popped into your mind. How Jer wanted to film as he fucked you from behind.

Suddenly he slammed the lid of the laptop shut, breathing heavily.

"My, my, my," you turned to him and set the bottle on the desk, giving him an obscene wink as shifted uncomfortably on the chair, but gave you a slight, uncharacteristically shy grin.

"I didn't know you'd come," Jeremy mumbled, "If I knew..."

"You're so cute," you stroked his cheek. You looked down and saw his flushed, achingly hard cock, bobbing against the buttons of his white shirt, his left hand still wrapped around the fleshlight.

"D'you want your birthday gift, big boy?" you kneeled down before him and splayed your hands over his thighs. His cock twitched.

"Please," he sighed with a smile as you gripped the base, thumbing the hard underside, feeling his smooth, wet skin pulsate with need. You smiled at him wickedly.

"Give me that," you gestured to his left hand, "I'll show you how it's done."

[zsatuka]

OUTLAST BUT IT'S A DATING SIM

Sooo I had this idea in my head for a long time and I finally drew it :) Honestly, idk if this will be a real thing, I really don't understand how coding works etc, but I might try it.

[tragersimp]

yeah

[the-thing-below]

Pre Mount massive Asylum Eddie Gluskin Headcanons

I am so goddamn nervous to post them :,> but here they are!

Please remember that these are my own interpritations to his character, for the comic ‘‘Infatuated‘‘ and that it’s completely ok, if you don’t agree or dislike them.  I am also thinking writing headcanons, for Mount Massive Eddie, before the engine and after. 

Also, a small Trigger warning for: mental health problems and violence. 

Just in case

Appearance

-Tall and the same athletic bodybuild, we know from the game

-Similiar hair cut but with hair on the sides of his head

-Always clean shaven

-Wore more classy clothing, even at home you could always find him with shirts on.

Behavior/personality

-Spoke more formally, liked to adress women, as Darling, Dear or Sweetheart

-Really charming and romantic

-Big chatterbox, liked to flirt alot

-Though had a more old fashioned view of women, even misoginystic tendencies which he kept for himself

-Always had an eye on everything, memorized behavior and generally many details of people (perfume, gestures, mimics, interests, disinterests, etc.).

-Must be in charge of things

-Became vicious in arguments (mocking tone, tried to make you insecure)

-Would start to be extremly intimidating, when he felt it was necessary

Mental health

-Eddie suffered from strong PTSD

-Had problems falling asleep, sleeping through and also many nightmares involving his trauma

-Watched ‘‘Leave It to Beaver‘‘ to cope with the childhood trauma, trying to convince himself that he was indeed the protagonist of the series as a child.

‘‘His childhood remains an obvious fiction, he's claiming to have grown up in "Leave it to Beaver," despite a traumatically violent ongoing sexual experience that is a matter of public and medical record.‘‘ - Project Walrider Patient Status Report of Eddie Gluskin

-Eddie was walking a thin line between, adoring women and despising them. On one side, he wanted to love and be loved by them. On the other side, felt Gluskin easily betrayed, judged and disliked by women and had a old fashoined view of them. Which did not make a great combination with all the trauma that emerged with it

How he lived

-Had a small house outside of a small town, renovate alot of it himself

-Eddie wasn’t an untidy person

-Worked as a florist in the local greenhouse and flower shop

-He had some basic cooking skills (would have been the ‘We have food at home‘ parent.)

-Bought only the most necessary groceries at the end of the week

Freetime/Hobbys

-Spend alot of time in the town, chatting with coworkers in cafes or bars. But also with random people, dating included

-Liked to sew

-Enjoyed sketching (sewing patterns, women, landscapes)

-Worked out at home, chopped some firewood (I mean the muscularity has to come from somewhere)

Why/how did he kill?

-If Eddie relived a strong emotion or whole situation from his childhood trauma. It caused a panic/psychotic outbreak, causing his killings.

‘‘When I confronted him with the photographs his father and uncle took, he responded with a mixture of laughter and anger, and restraints were issued.‘‘ -Project Walrider Patient Status Report of Eddie Gluskin

-Due to that, his killings were pretty messy and agressive, which is why the bodies are mutilated.

-He killed mostly with a kitchen knife but also with bare hands

-Gluskin was confused about his killings and even had memory leaks from his attacks.

-This led to a coping mechanism, where he told himself over and over again that he didn’t kill the victims and that they were just '''sleeping''' until he believed it.

‘‘When I showed him pictures of the women, he would not admit that they were dead or mutilated.‘‘ -Project Walrider Patient Status Report of Eddie Gluskin

-He kept the bodies in the basement, in a hidden small chamber under the floor

 Bonus: Dating

-Did everything to find the favorite flowers of his date. If she wasn’t a flower person, the next best thing-Would drive his date

-Loved it when women wore dresses or skirts, these could even be a little cheeky! Pants were a no go

-Liked makeup alot, especially classic red lipstick

-Praised the women

-Would pay for the restaurants, cinema visits, etc. Don’t they dare trying to stop him

-He had the habit to put his hand on theirs, comparing the size difference while doing that        

-Loved the idea of picking the women up and carrying them around the house

-Enjoyed slow dancing with the date at home

-Some sassiness was ok, could spice the mood up. But if they got too cocky or even tried to get a somewhat dominant position, was an instant turn off

-Eddie became fastly obsessed with his date, which often lead to possesive Behavior.

[the-creeping-shadow]

hmmm for the ask meme... miles, eddie, and trager? ^^

Brace yourself, long post incoming!

Give me a character and I will answer:

[Miles Upshur]

Why I like them: I like his humour and his rather cynic way of coping with whatever he is experiencing. At the same time, this guy is dead set on getting information and reveal Murkoff’s inhumane practices. Cynic, but with a heart of gold. 

Why I don’t: If he stopped slamming the doors shut when he has an enemy on his ass, that would be great! On a more serious note, I don’t think there’s anything of note I truly dislike about him. 

Favorite episode (scene if movie game): Since this is a video game and he is your protagonist... I like reading his notes. The end sequence is well-done, but really sad. 

Favorite season/movie: Erm... Outlast 1? XD

Favorite line: Every time he describes one of the Variants is great. But I’m going to go with: “[...] You've escaped one Hell, Chris Walker. God help me but I somehow hope you didn't find another.”   

Favorite outfit: He only has one. I think the casual outfit suits his purposes just fine.

OTP: Miles and freedom.

Brotp: Waylon, Blake, and Lisa. :3

Head Canon: Walrider!Miles experiences not only nightmares (or nightmarish visions) related to the trauma he experienced at the asylum, but also those of every test subject who has ever been put through the Engine. It’s a general headcanon I have regarding the Engine and its effect on people.

Unpopular opinion: I do believe this guy has some smarts since his job as a freelance investigator investigating dangerous affairs certainly requires them. He might be stubborn, but that’s due to conviction, not a lack of sense of self-preservation as the fandom sometimes portrays it...

A wish: Should we ever get a sequel to the existing Outlast games, it’d be cool to hear about him or even have a cameo, depending on his true state. 

An oh-god-please-don’t-ever-happen: Hmm... Given the rather vague allusions in the comic, I am hoping his story hasn’t found a definite end after all.  

5 words to best describe them: Snarky, determined, athletic, risk-taker, inquisitive 

My nickname for them: Buddy! Miles is a fairly short name already... I just call him Miles, tbh XD

---

[Eddie Gluskin]

Why I like them: Definitely a fleshed-out character who has an interesting history that ties into the delusion he developed thanks to the Engine. I also like his artistic side. His section in the game, despite being rather long, also creates one of the tensest in the DLC.

Why I don’t: Blatant, old-fashioned misogyny. Although I can’t say I dislike him based on this because few characters in Outlast are without their... dirt. Otherwise the other thing I dislike relates more to fanon interpretations... Oh, his haircut could also use some work!

Favorite episode (scene if movie game): I like the build-up to his encounter to be honest. 

Favorite season/movie: Whistleblower, duh XD

Favorite line: “We've met before haven't we? I know I've seen your face. Maybe... Just before I woke up.” The last one especially is an interesting one to me in context of the Engine. 

Favorite outfit: I think the one he wears during the outbreak is neat enough. Crude, but better than being in underwear XD

OTP: nO.

Brotp: Trager :3 I call them “amateur surgeons”.

Head Canon: Some of the mentality he harbours post!Engine derives directly from his pre!Engine state. Obviously the Engine tends to exaggerate certain traits, but with the murders he had committed he was more likely to put the blame on his victims; if he did not outright deny his culpability. 

Unpopular opinion: Lots. I don’t think he is as handsome as some people make him out to be. Though this is purely subjective. Maybe it’s that haircut. 

A wish: Some kind of an elaboration on whatever was going on with Dennis? I wonder whether Eddie was even aware of him/them and the sacrifices made.

An oh-god-please-don’t-ever-happen: For Eddie to pull through with his goal of having offspring with his victims brides. Thankfully it didn’t, though said victims appear to be horribly mutilated instead...

5 words to best describe them: Persistent, murderous, traumatized, quick-tempered, old-fashioned. 

My nickname for them: The Groom? Eddie? Amateur surgeon number two?

---

[Richard Trager]

Why I like them: He has charisma, humour, and it contrasts the rather morbid and terrifying... everything else around him. He provides one of the most memorable dialogues of the series. I also like the concept behind him of being a former Murkoff executive tossed into the program as a patient and developing this surgeon delusion.  

Why I don’t: I’ve said it before, but I have my gripes with some of his comic characterization. 

Favorite episode (scene if movie game): His cutscene in the first game of course! I also liked that brief interaction with Mr. Langen.

Favorite season/movie: Not many options here. 

Favorite line: All of them are great, including the ones from the Xbox trailer, but for this ask I’ll highlight “Let’s teach you the seven habits of highly eviscerated people.”

Favorite outfit: I can’t say I’m a fan of that preppy look he has in the comic per se going by my own aesthetic preferences, although it’s oddly fitting, so this leaves me with... an apron. Yeah, while I have taken a like to the comic design after some time getting used to it, nothing beats his in-game version :D 

OTP: No.

Brotp: As above, Eddie Gluskin. There is little content for it, but what I’ve seen in most cases is lovely.

Head Canon: Rick doesn’t like having his hair touched, pre!Engine and post!Engine, unless it’s someone really close to him (heh). This reaches back to his childhood.

Unpopular opinion: I honestly don’t consider the coke thing to be as funny or trivial as the fandom sometimes portrays it...

A wish: An epic comeback! And generally more canon information on how he came to be the Variant we see in-game, and how Billy’s premonition ties into it.

An oh-god-please-don’t-ever-happen: He’s dead so... It’s a bit difficult to say at this point. There is a thing that ties into my NOTP, but that’s more of an unpopular opinion and fandom thing.

5 words to best describe them: Funny, talkative, gruesome, corrupt, scissors.

My nickname for them: Rick, Ricky, the surgeon.

Thank you so much for the ask! ^^

[stabbylambchop]

Okay yeah I was a HUGE simp for Eddie Gluskin, but-

for over a year now I've grown to REALLY like Trager. He's always been my favorite to draw, but now it's like...hey 😏

...and let's be real here, with how fuckin queer, gnc, alternative, and foul-mouthed I am, I doubt Eddie and I could ever work. That himbo would open his mouth about housewife shit and pregnancy and I'd be like "HA bitch you THOUGHT". Luckily I'm tiny enough that I could hide anywhere and his Supreme-Sized Dumptruck would get stuck tryna grab me.

Now, ol' Rick on the other hand...I honestly feel like him and I could get along. His voice and personality are so damn disarming, I don't think I'd even be scared if I bumped into him.

I'd ramble out some awkward, polite introduction, and hopefully I'd amuse him enough that he'd spare me....maybe I could act as bait for more "patients" and fuck with 'em enough that I could herd 'em right to him.

Idk, he just had that vibe that he would not give a single fuck about your sexuality or gender identity or how you dress. Yeah, he might playfully poke fun at your fashion choices every now and then, but like...have you SEEN pre-engine Trager...? Bitch don't got a leg to stand on, LMAO.

Anyway I wanna sit in Richard's lap and trace my fingers over his scars while he writes down his thoughts and experiment results and shit is that so much to ask for??

[hereticalmother]

[I used to rp as Eddie Gluskin for years and years before Outlast 2 ever came out, and I find myself drawing a lot of differences and similarities between him and Val as I explore her character more. Mostly, Val is fucking feral, while Eddie is not so much. (Though he is more feral post riot/engine vs. pre.)

I feel like their upbringings and origins were similar despite the stark differences; Val’s position beneath Knoth is a parallel to Eddie’s relationship with his father and uncle. While the details vary, they were both very much groomed into the submission and obedience. 

I see this clouding Eddie’s responses to things as an adult. He knows when to drop back into obedience to save his own ass, even if it’s more of a trauma response than a conscious reaction. You see it in the way that he only preys on smaller and weaker victims (especially with the women pre-game, while in Mount Massive he has less room to be selective) and the way he is so quick to try and tell the doctors at Mount Massive what they want to hear, that the dream therapy is a huge success (even though it’s not working at all) etc. He wants to be good for them, he thinks that if he does everything right they won’t hurt him.

Val, meanwhile, is in a similar mindset pregame. But, by the events of the game, she has absolutely shattered this barrier. What has being good, and loyal, and obedient ever gotten her? It was working for awhile, but now all her children are dead and her obedience didn’t save them. She is done being obedient. She reacts to every threat like a feral cat, no nuance. If you stand between her and her goals she will scream and bite and claw your eyes out no matter how big and strong you are. Val would rather die than go back to what she was under Knoth’s guidance.

(Also I would love for this to be a discussion if anyone else has opinions on the matter.)]

[outlustings]

I don’t know if this is allowed, or might be boring af. So if it’s any of those things please ignore. But I was wondering if you could do some headcanons for the following characters if they had a younger sister. Like, says a sister in their early 20s so there was a bit of an age difference.

Would they be close, or indifferent? I just wondered how you thought they might get along. This is kinda a self indulgent ask nyan ha! And say the sister got caught up in the Outlast and Whistle Blower events.

The characters I’d be intrigued for would be Jeremy Blaire, Eddie, Trager and Waylon.

Thank you x please ignore if you don’t want to do this 🌸

(this was a fun ask! got to write some of my fav characters from a different perspective so that was c00l! also made me rack my brain on how to insert reader into the events of the games. your ask was awesome babe <3

warnings for implied childhood abuse and not very nice things happening. also alcohol use and uhhh mild violence? mostly as wholesome as i could make it though but like. kind of sad. idk.)

×

JEREMY BLAIRE

Jeremy and you weren't really close growing up, but once he could consider you a proper grown-up, he starts to spend more time around you.

He used to be the kind of big brother who hated you until you both made it to your twenties and finally made peace. Well, not exactly made peace - just started coexisting.

Now and then he takes you along to a bar crawl which always ends up with you two drunk-dueting "Piano Man" or "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" in some dodgy ass karaoke bar in downtown Leadville. These little trips bring you closer together.

He's secured you a job at Murkoff.

You're his baby sister and he's made sure no one fucks with you. Not when he can fire anyone who slights you in any kind of way.

Officially, you work for as a consultant for some daughter company of Murkoff, but in reality, you spend most of your days just taking the piss with the folks at global development.

You don't mind the nepotism. Makes all of your vacations flow a lot smoother when your bank account is filled to the brim. And you don't really have to spend time at that creepy asylum, which is a plus.

Sometimes you'll come and visit though, on some semi-official business. It just so happened that you chose a really bad day to pop in for a morning meeting.

You're at Mount Massive when shit is going down. Alarms blaring. People running and screaming and the pungent smell of blood creeping into your nostrils.

You quickly start to understand that everything is going wrong, hard and fast. But before you could even reach up to grip his wrist, you're swept away by security.

"Get her out of here, for fuck's sake!" his voice was sharp, it cut through all the noise.

The evacuation is a hopeless effort. All you could think of is "Where's Jeremy?" That's what you heard yourself scream at the guards that tried to push you towards the doors.

But they got you. Found you. You were one of those Murkoff sons of bitches, weren't you? You were. They could smell it.

Jeremy found you shivering and bloody underneath a desk in the security control room with your head in your hands.

You didn't even know what time of day it was - for all you knew, the sky could be orange at night in his hell. You felt his strong hand on your forearm, wrenching you towards him, out of your hiding spot. You shook your head.

"Come on, we gotta go," he rasped, "Now. Let's go."

Tears streamed down your face.

"I can't," you breathed out, eyes flicking to the busted door as you sniffled.

"Sure you can if I can," Jeremy grunted with the effort of tugging on your arm, his other hand still cupping his side, dark blood staining his pale fingers, "Get up. Let's go."

He was right.

You rose up on wobbly legs, smoothed your torn skirt down and watched his face carefully as he winced in pain. You wrapped your arm around his waist.

"Lean on me," you whispered, taking a deep breath as you faced the door. Hoped to god the Variants were gone. Yo7 had heard some gunshots earlier.

"Fuck - okay," he slung his arm around your shoulder, you felt most of his weight against you as he accepted your offer. You adjusted his arm around your shoulder, began dragging him to the door with newfound determination.

He frisked you away as best as he could. You could hear his heavy breathing, heard his little whimpers as every step made his guts shift. You weren't even sure if they could fix him - who was they, even that you weren't sure about. You just wanted out. God, you wanted to be out.

You reached the entrance hall. Open doors. He leaned against the doorframe with a groan.

"Wait," he hissed, closing his eyes, letting go of your shoulder, slumping against the door, panting.

"Jer?"

He was silent for a while. Then he cracked his eyes open.

"You lost your shoes," he remarked.

Your eyes moved down to your toes.

"I stabbed a man with the heel. In the eye," you heard yourself say to the ground in a monotone voice.

"That's fucking sick," Jeremy gave a slight chuckle, "I'll buy you a new pair once we get out."

You smiled. Felt the stickiness of your tears on your cheeks. You heard footsteps behind you. You snapped your head back.

A tall man in a tattered jumpsuit, dirty blonde hair rustling in the soft thrum of air conditioning. Wide, horrified eyes. You felt Jeremy tense beside you. Then he let out a soft, little laugh, all he could muster with his weak lungs, broken ribs and god knows what else.

"Mr. Park?"

You heard a distant buzz, could feel something was wrong. Horeczy.

"Jer, let's go..."

"No. Wait."

×

RICHARD TRAGER

He's fun. Kind of a dick, but a fun brother nonetheless. The kind of sibling you secretly kind of hate, but once you are spending time with them, you forget every bad thing about them.

He teases you about you being the little sister. He's just a dick. He thinks you're permanently ten years old, acts like he's so much better and more mature than you - even though he's the big baby of the family.

He's spoiled as all hell. Your parents' oldest son, he always got the most opportunities as a kid. You try not to be bitter.

Rick always acts like he doesn't like you. But he does. Sometimes. He might not be in contact with you all that often, but every now and then, he'll send a long email, trying to catch up at 10pm on a Saturday night. You can almost smell the scotch through the screen.

Then, just like that, he goes no-contact. You get worried. Scared that you did something, yet, when he didn't answer your messages, your brain overrides that anxiety and focuses on him.

You decide to do a little digging around. Investigation. His phone is disconnected, his number disabled. LinkedIn deleted, social media dead. His house has been leased out to a bunch of frat boys who say they don't know a Richard Trager while eyeing you up and down with warm cider on their breath as you shiver on the porch.

You try to call Murkoff. They won't redirect your calls - as soon as you mention the name Trager, you might as well just hang up. It seems like they don't care.

"Ma'am, I understand you're frustrated," the clerk said with little to no understanding in his voice, "But I can't disclose that information."

"I need to know if my brother's missing, Christ, are you deaf or just-..." you bit your lip, trying to avoid profanities, "Can't you please help me? Please? Get a supervisor or something?"

"Have a good day, miss."

"No!" you yelled into the receiver, "No - wait!"

Dull beeps. Dead line.

You slammed your phone down on the passenger seat of your car.

"Fuck!" you hissed, your hands flying to your head. Something was going on. He'd gotten into some real trouble - surely. Worry and frustration swirled in your gut.

You tried to rack your brain - Mount Massive, it was only about a twenty miles ride, right? They couldn't turn you away from the doors, right?

The crackling radio makes you nervous as all hell - yet you won't turn around. It's stupid, naïve to even think so, but maybe, just maybe he's in there. Right? You have a gut feeling he was still in Mount Massive.

You drive up to the open gate, park cautiously next to the booth, popping your head out of your window to yell at a guard to lift the pole up - but there was no one. An eerie silence tugs at your nerves.

You get out of the car, walk over to the smaller gate, slide your fingers against the cool iron and push it open. Think. Your eyes scan over the building, you'd been here. Right? Everything felt numb and cold as you listened to the wolves howl. You jolted when you noticed someone in the window, up above. An old man, maybe. He waves at you. Beckons you. You hear the rumble of gravel behind you. You turn around and see the blinking headlights of a red jeep. You turn your head to the window again. The silhoutte waves at you again.

"Hey!" you turn on your heels and run to the car, waving your hands at the driver. A young man. You watched as he opened his door, exited his car, straightened his brown leather jacket.

"What's up? You need help?"

×

EDDIE GLUSKIN

You were always close.

Eddie would always protect you, being so much older than you.

You didn't remember a whole lot of it. Nothing, really. But when he moved out, he took you with him, took you to your grandparents and made you swear you wouldn't go back to mom. You didn't really understand. You didn't have to.

He'd visit you every fortnight. Bring you those little teddy bears that smelt of grease and carpet cleaner, the teddies you'd get from an arcade. Or maybe those impossibly tough gumballs from the machines in the corner store. Plastic rings. Knock-off dollar store Barbies. Anything.

He'd write you letters on fancy paper, decorate them up with cheap, glue-y stickers.

When you grew up, the letters came in less often. He visited only rarely. Your grandmother always said that Eddie was just busy. And so much older than you. She'd pinch your cheek and nudge another hunk of dry bundt cake onto your plate as you leaned against your hand, holding back tears. Eddie had forgotten your birthday for the third year in a row.

In your early twenties, you decided to find him. You had an address - and you went on from there. Found him in a suburb with rows and rows of nice houses and weary-eyed housewives calling their kids inside way before sunset.

You guys became close again.

You took him to a fair, repaid his little teddy bears with a big one this time. Made him eat cotton candy until he almost puked in the ferris wheel with you cackling like a maniac beside him. You teased him about being single in his forties, watching in poorly concealed awe as he made the empty cans of those scammy games fall over like they were nothing.

Then you'd go to the help desk, renew your tickets, come back again tomorrow, bask in the smell of the fireworks in the air, not saying the obvious: this should've been your childhood. This was the one you deserved. But it was too late.

You crashed on his couch a couple of times before making it back to your college town.

You couldn't stay for more than a few nights at a time. There was a strange smell in the house. Eddie always said it was the plumbing.

Ever since he'd gone to prison, everything was fucked up. All the reporters swarming your front lawn, all of the glares from your neighbors, kids on bicycles egging your house, teens spitting their cigarette stained insults at you in front of the store - it was all too much.

He kept on sending you letters. Rambling, long letters with faded stamps.

You never replied, though. Out of guilt. Disgust. You thought it'd be better for you both if you just ignored it all and kept your distance.

You'd stared at that return address so many times that you knew it by heart. Mount Massive asylum. Wasn't it in Colorado? In the middle of nowhere, the kind of woods people would go to hunt 'squatches - you smiled to yourself, thinking about all the times Eddie told you about monsters in the woods. In the pillow fort. Flashlight tucked underneath his chin. Vaseline and frozen pea packs on the cigarette burns on your legs. Your smile faltered.

Mount Massive wasn't that far, right?

×

WAYLON PARK

You two are very close. And you're the best kind of auntie to his sons. You spoil them and dote on them and he lets you because the boys love you just as much as he does.

As Waylon moved after his new job, you promised him you'd come around to say hi in Colorado some day.

You had your reservations about this new job - it was all just so sudden. It seemed somehow wrong.

"So, wait, what exactly are you doing?" you didn't raise your eyes from the TV as you mashed buttons at some Mario Party minigame with the boys roaring in laughter at your failure.

Waylon just kind of shrugged, "Software consultation."

You furrowed your brows. Adjusted yourself on the carpet.

"Really?"

"Yeah," you heard him sip his coffee behind you on the couch.

"Well, Way, I did some research on that company, that Murk-hoff or whatever. It's kinda sketchy," you turned your head back to your brother, ignoring your nephews squealing for you to press A.

"Why, does it have bad Yelp reviews or something?" Waylon grinned behind the rim of his cup. But you could see his smile was too taut to be entirely natural.

"I'm serious, dude," you sighed, giving him a stern look.

"Da-a-ad, tell her to press A!"

"Press A," Waylon gestured to your controller. You clicked the plastic with your thumb, holding his gaze.

"Are you sure you know what you're getting into?"

"Yes," Waylon chuckled, "Listen," he lowered his voice ever so slightly, "I really need this job. I'm running low on gas."

Gas. The codename for money in front of the kiddos. You just nodded. Tried to push away your anxiety.

"Lisa's worried too," Waylon mumbled, opening his arms as his younger son climbed onto his lap with grunts of effort.

"Once again, she proves to be the smarter of you two," you mumbled, but you couldn't help but grin when Waylon ruffled his son's hair before wrapping his hands around the tiny ones on the controller.

"Why don't we beat auntie? You're the green guy, ain't ya?"

You just let it be. You're happy he's getting paid, if nothing else.

It all seemed to go well until Lisa called you.

"Waylon's missing," her voice broke as you scrambled to your feet from the bed, ignoring the sleepy grunts of your one night stand as you kicked your sheets onto the floor.

"What?"

You drove to Colorado immediately, went to Lisa, tried to console her, tried to squeeze information from her as she showed you all the emails, all the letters from Murkoff. Blackmail. Something. Your head was spinning. This couldn't be.

"You have to swear you don't go up there. They're just looking for an excuse to hurt us. I'll handle this with my attorney," Lisa sighed.

But you had to find him. Had to at the very least go punch that bastard Blaire in his stupid fucking face, if nothing else. You had to find him.

You arrived at the asylum. Eyed the scaffolding and how it all swayed ever so slightly in the mountain wind. You ducked underneath the bent gate, trying not to think what had made that kind of a hole in solid iron.

"Just get Waylon and get the fuck out."

You could've sworn you saw someone disappear into one of the windows upstairs before their form was engulfed in the darkness that a popped lightbulb had left behind.

"This is going to be the death of me," you grumble and swipe at the gravel that had stuck to your knees before you straightened your back and eyed the rickety ladder up and down.

[outlustings]

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)