#just so u know i do take requests on my main account ahaaa

[alfredojesta]

UNTITLED JASON DRABBLE

i wrote this on an hour long car ride purely because i was annoyed at how hungry i was. it's a solo fic, just jason, and there's no real story just a lot of rambling.

CW: Childhood Neglect

Words: Idk it's a quick write

Jason the Toymaker is perfect. Jason Meyer is not.

Jason Meyer wakes up and he feels broken.

It's been months since he got a proper rest. Countless times he woke up after minutes, but this time he might've slept for hours. Because he's worthless and can't even stay up to finish his job.

He forces himself to get up from his slumber; his arms are sore from the wood beneath them and the pressure of his resting head. He sees the projects on the bench, waiting impatiently to be fixed.

But he's tired.

He trudges out of the workshop, stumbling over his own feet, like a bloody idiot. The hallway closes in as he staggers, and all the pictures are watching him. Their eyes on him, watching how pathetic he is. He exhales. His only objective is to splash water on his face, and then he'll have the energy to work again.

So he ends up in the bathroom, and he locks the door behind him, and he grabs onto the counter. His hands — claws — tremble, and he can't for the life of him get them to stop.

Jason Meyer stares into the mirror and he looks broken.

His flesh is rotten; skin peeling from the muscle; bone exposed through the small holes in his body. All of him is bruised. Black and purple spots over his arms, legs, torso. His hair is split, stark white, and jutting out in all different directions.

This is what he looks like.

And he can hide it, but he'll never escape it.

He grits his teeth — fangs — and traces a nail down the line of stitches on his chest. "What a pain..." he snarls. "You'll never go away, will you?" The stitches don't hurt anymore, not like they used to, but they also don't do anything to heal his damaged skin.

Because Jason Meyer will always be broken.

He can wish he had a better life, but that wouldn't do anything. He can wish his parents were there for him, but that wouldn't do anything. He can wish they taught him how to love and how to be loved; wish they didn't get into fights; wish he didn't sit at night, listening to the shouting and the crying, wondering why they didn't get the son they asked for; and he can wish, with every bone in his gods damn body, they never took their anguish out on him — but that wouldn't do anything.

He was born broken — born to be discarded by everyone, thrown out and abandoned. That's what happens when toys lose their worth. The imperfections start to show and their owners don't want them anymore. Even when their owners try so, so hard, nothing works.

Unwanted and abused; unwanted and used; they wanted a perfect son; they wanted their perfect reputation; they wanted fame, money and a child worth living for; but they didn't get any of that. Worthless, pathetic and irredeemable; that child was damaged at the core. An embarrassment and a stain on the family tree. Crossed out from every scrap book; certificates lost in the abyss. All the times he stayed up to win over their love amounted to nothing. Left on the street to rot —

All he does is rot.

He's Jason Meyer and he can't be fixed.

But when his hair reverts to burgundy, and the rotten parts of skin are concealed, and his mind is focused on his work, he's Jason the Toymaker.

Not Jason Meyer.

He's Jason the Toymaker.

And Jason the Toymaker is perfect. Perfect where others are not. And he'll fix what's broken. Fix what he can't fix about himself.

Jason the Toymaker is perfect. And the world will know.

So with a subtle nod at his reflection, Jason the Toymaker decides to go back to work.

Decides to go back to the only thing he's good for.