#tw mentions of past trauma

[desultory-suggestions]

I would like to give a shout out to the gullible folks. The people who were lied to with some ridiculous story by an abuser and taken advantage of. People who can't describe their situation to others bc they know it sounds crazy, but they have fallen too deep to escape.

You aren't dumb. You're so trusting and so full of love. It is not your fault others take advantage. There are people out there that will not lie to you like others have. Your trauma is valid even if the lies you were told were so outlandish people laugh when you try to explain the terror you lived through.

Don't stop loving. Don't stop trusting. Just... Learn how to be more selective with your trust. Because not all have pure intentions for you.

[sweatandwoe]

After reading some Astarion takes, I can say with full certainty, that I would not trust some of you to not slutshame or insult SA victims for having sex

[waywardsou2]

Drunk!Logan x Drunk!MaleReader: Part 7

Summary: Logan and you are making slow progress in this new found connection. It's good and all you want is to be near him.

Word Count: 800+

Tags: Fluff, comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, Logan is a softie, reader is even softer, talks of suicide but no suicide actually occurs

After your first date you and Logan kept things simple. And on the down low. Neither of you were exactly ready to take what was going on between you any further.

Don't get it twisted thought, both of you definitely had very strong feelings for each other, but it was too soon to make anything official. And the two of the shared that notion.

So, you kept things quiet, and you kept them private. Trying to stay unassuming. Although you couldn't deny that even your platonic relationship had changed and become noticeable to others.

You would still see him in class, but rather than dropping his coffee and leaving like you used to, you stayed for a while. Sitting on one of the cabinets by his desk or even on his desk in front of him during his breaks. Leaving before the children filed in but staying long enough for the two of you to chat. Sometimes you left, giving him a chaste kiss as you went.

Other times he would find you out in the gardens like he had the first night, joining you as you studied the orchids. Committing the view to memory even in the dim light. Moments like those were important to you after spending too many years locked up in a white and grey cell.

Logan would join you, his elbows touching yours as you rested on the fence dividing the properties. But after a while, he began slipping an arm over your shoulder, or even your waist and holding you beside him. It was gentle, his intentions clearly comforting.

And you enjoyed his attempt at getting close to you, it was nice. You only wished you had the guts to make a real move yourself.

And one night you did. You had attempted to actually sleep for once, but as usual sleep never came. But instead of sneaking out into the gardens to walk around in the crisp night air, you made your way to Logan's room.

At first you faltered, thinking this was a bad idea. You wanted to turn away, but you also wanted to knock and just be with him.

Before you could make either decision the door swung open, Logan standing in a white tank top that hung off his frame and blue boxer shorts.

You felt blush creep up your cheeks, had you been that noisy walking down the hall?

He also looked slightly embarrassed himself, there was a trace of eagerness in the way he was looking at you as you stood in his doorway.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" You ask

"Nah-" he replied "-I wasn't asleep...but I smelt ya outside. Was worried something was wrong"

You swallowed at the idea that Logan was so attuned to your scent, but you tried to not let that get to your head.

"Everything alright?" he asked

"Yeah...just, needed some company"

Logan stepped out of the doorway and gestured for you to come inside.

You walked in but now that you were here you felt awkward, you hadn't ever been in another person's dorm room and certainly not Logan's. You stood there, unsure of what to do next

Logan stood there as well, but he was the bigger man out of the two of you and as usual was the one to make the first move. He stepped closer to you and cupped your face in his hand, sighing.

"You sure everything is alright?" he asks again

This time you don't respond. He gets the idea.

He takes his other hand and holds yours with it, and slowly begins to walk backwards and pulls you with him until he sits down on the bed, and you fall down beside him. Your hands still connected.

"I just...-" you try to say something, anything but words fail you. Like usual

You hated to sleep, even when you tried it was hard and when you did all you could hear were the memories of nightmares, the ones you had actually lived. That moment in your school, your time in the MRDA holding facility. The echoing screams of you and your fellow prisoners as the MRDA conducted experiments testing the limits of your mutations. You wanted it all to go away. You wanted to blow your own head off in hopes that the nightmares would stop. But you wouldn't die, and you didn't think that death would grant you such a mercy.

"-I just need you to hold me" you say instead. Like a coward, because you can't face up to the fact that Logan might care about you and genuinely want to know about what haunted you. So, you bury those feelings for a little while longer, shoving them away to be replaced with the warmth of Logan.

He shuffles over to lie down in the bed and pulls you with him. You sink down into the sheets, resting your head on his chest as he tucks his arm under you and pulls you close to him. Holding you tight.

The fuzz on his arms tickles the back of your neck as he rests it just above the neckline of your shirt.

All of him is so comforting and nice. And... exactly what you've been missing. The cold darkness of your past seemed to ebb away with the warmth that emanated from Logan, and not just the physical warmth but his presence was so soothing. The care he showed you, the compassion, the empathy despite your own coldness in the beginning.

You snuggled into Logan further trying to soak up his warmth. To absorb as much of it as you can, for the fear that as soon as he left you would never be able to feel this warmth again. To feel his warmth.

Your eyes began to grow heavy as you listen to his deep breathing. The sound lulled you into a tranquil calm that you hadn't felt in a long time.

As you drifted off you felt Logan move a hand to brush some stray hairs away from your cheek. He lent down and kissed you softly on the top of the head.

He whispered something you only just caught before the darkness overtook you, and you were sure he only said it because he thought you were asleep. But it made your inside warm up in a way that made you feel like you were glowing.

"Goodnight, my little fighter"

Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others but its a filler chapter. The next chapter will be a lot more fun tho

Also keep in mind this is a fic on my Ao3, so if you wouldn't mind checking me out and giving me some support there as well that would be greatly appreciated

[angelxd-3303]

I don't know if you like Angst but if you do I was thinking of Mario hurting his leg and just laying in bed upset, that he can't do much then he starts getting anxiety attacks out of nowhere as shadow figures surround him. A lot of people tried to hurt him and Luigi. Saying terrible things to him but it all goes away after Peach, Luigi, or Dk comfort him after finding him covered in flames from the anxiety.

Can someone tell me why DK is so satisfying to draw??

Tw: blood and injury, as well as anxiety

[skeleton-mischief]

Dream Sans

How could he have known? How could a child understand the sins of selfishness? Well, he's now older, and Dream is tired of it all

Headcanons below, please note some things aren't canon to the actual story because I straight up just changed it for my own idea of the AU.

Some CW is light self harm and mentions of past abuse and distressing panic attacks.

- Official height 5'7

- He/They

- Positive nihilist

- The embodiment and King of Positivity. A God if you will

- They're strict when it comes to the safety of others

- Naturally warm to the touch, he doesn't get cold easily if at all

- He dreams of other versions of himself, but can never find them. He wonders if they're even real

- Has a staff that turns into a bow & arrow or even a harp

- The harp is something he plays as a hobby, but the music that comes out can put normal souls to sleep and dream happy thoughts

- Cries loudly, sniffles and whimpers. He can't stop crying once it starts and he tries to hide his face

- open-minded, carefully optimistic, intelligent, serious, kind, well mannered, loyal, cleaner, creative, assertive, pacifist, honest, patient, charismatic, trustworthy, cheerful, and reflective

- They're self reflective, he reflects on things about the world and about others frequently

- He holds an air of maturity different than others, due to his time in the multiverse

- He does not get close to others, not often anyways

- He used to follow fate, but grew to revolt against it and even "make his own reality"

- Has a yellow powder that can put others to sleep if they're exhausted already or deprived of it. But, if they're well rested, it just soothes said soul

- He can read people very easily, often picking up on body language and details that not even the monster or human is aware of

- He loves any nicknames given to him and he treasures them since that initiates a deeper level of intimacy and gentleness that he lacks in relationships. However, no one is allowed to call him Sunny since that's what Nightmare used to call him. In turn, he used to call Nightmare Nighty

- He feels every emotion others have but can only influence happiness by giving it to others or taking it away

- He has synesthesia, able to see emotions and even smell them

- He loves the color yellow and so he aims for yellow outfits, but his favorite color is actually blue and purple since it reminds him of Nightmare

- The back of his cloak looks like a cloak that was ripped into a scarf, but it can magically form into wings

- His favorite flowers are sunflowers, poppy flowers, marigolds and lilies of the valley. These flowers actually are very symbolic to his past. I suggest looking at flower language :-)

- He is always reminded of his brother when the color purple or blue appears, so he sometimes collects jewelry with gems of those colors

- He encourages rest for others but he himself struggles to sleep and even resents it to some extent due to his bad dreams. He always has nightmares, never dreams. It's always the same scene, but it changes from time to time. It always ends with seeing his brother change due to the corruption

- He is capable of going into other people's dreams and altering them to something more positive. However, he cannot do this for himself and he is almost always forgotten inside the dreams he visits

- He doesn't lie unless necessary, since he hates lying in general

- His hobbies are playing the harp, writing poetry, and making flower crowns

- His favorite snack is bananas or apple pie

- He can't stand being near statues and gets uncomfortable since he has to constantly remind himself that they're not actually sentient in any way. He used to be one after all

- He doesn't understand slang very well since his form of speaking is very formal

- They have a love for architecture, often fangirling over large and elegant architectural buildings

- He has a pet owl, but he has to summon it first. It happens to be that of a golden color, as it appears to be that of a magic species. The creator says he has a fear of owls but y'know what I say screw that!(/hj)

- He is a bit of a germaphobe, but not to an extreme extent

- Very touch oriented, he learns best through touch and sensations. You won't see him without his gloves, however, unless he's healing

- He doesn't tolerate hatred towards others, as it reminds him of how he failed his brother while he was bullied and terrorized by the village of his past

- He is wonderful with children and loves to be around them when possible, he tends to gravitate towards lonely children in order to comfort them though, since it reminds him of himself and his brother

- He is the best at giving advice, as he has to learn the hard way of living by being alone for so long

- His relationship with Ink is complex as both were childish when they first met, but that doesn't mean that they grew apart. They don't hate each other or even dislike each other, but when they talk it's usually heavy conversations and rarely a friendly visit

- Surprisingly, he sometimes drinks, it's when he's beyond stressed and he has to drink a lot or use magical beverages to get intoxicated due to his high ass metabolism

- He's a workaholic, often pushing himself to his limits since it's all he knows

- He hates small talk since why bother when there's more to talk about? He can manage it but he sometimes can't tolerate it

- He loves making gifts for others and has an excellent memory, meaning that he knows what to give others based on their interests or wants

- He is practically a Disney Princess when it comes to animals, they just gravitate towards him and hes excellent with them

- Can be up stupid early and trains frequently

- Is the best at acrobatics and flexibility

- Deeply emphatic, but it was originally due to his magic

- Multilingual, he can speak every language due to his time in this multiverse. (Also, I think it's a cool power that benefits them.)

- He's secretly insecure about his aura, worried that people only like him because of it

- He is nostalgic for apples as it reminds him of his mother, but he doesn't really comment on it since it's not quite a trigger, but it's a sensitive topic since he can freeze up if he thinks too long about his past

- He has claustrophobia and a fear of being helpless, the idea that he can't move or do anything is triggering from when he was going through the incident and was a statue

- Sexless, they mainly just like masc or gender neutral pronouns

- Hates smoking, the smell brings them back to that incident

- He barely learned how to read and write as a child, so now that he's the God/Guardian of Positivity, he still struggles. He didn't get the chance to grow those skills, so his handwriting is shaky

- Fire in general is a trigger, he never saw so much in his life when Nightmare was Corrupted. He gets nervous near flames, and the scent makes him lightheaded or fall into a panic attack

- He is a healer, something he learned after he awoke from the stone. However, he has to wear gloves or else it can overflow into things such as plant life. He couldn't heal the mother tree though, he already tried

- His mentality didn't change when a statue, but his body did. He had to stay in his destroyed world and his mind was altered. He has since then grown, but his mental state is in constant distress because he feels like a child in some ways. He didn't know what he was doing when thrown into the world, but since then he's becoming more and more jaded

- On the aroace spectrum, he doesn't have any sexual attraction but it's possible for a romantic sensation to form

- His magic smells like something akin to green scents such as dew grass or fresh flowers, while his magic tastes like sweet citrus or the flavor of sweet lemons

- He noticed that Ink only cares about the AU rather than the souls inside, more attentive to the issues there rather than the overall improvement of AU conditions

- He often has a freeze response due to being in the statue for so long, frozen and unable to stop himself as he feels helpless to react to stress at times. It would only worsen with his own self deprecating nature. It took awhile to improve, however, and now he's better

- He can heal himself pretty well along with others as long as the injury is on a scale of 1-3. 4-5 on the injury level is more challenging. It takes more time and magic, this means that he can actually pass out due to excessive healing and exhaustion

- He follows more of a duty as a guardian rather for himself and finds it his job to fix these AU's. For awhile he just tried to make everyone happy, even forcefully, but as time grew he was able to see how this isn't good. He's better at understanding the flaws of constant positivity

- He's not used to receiving physical affection since he usually is the giver. If he was hugged he'd actually just feel like the sound of Lego bricks falling apart

- (CW: some self harm, skip if you need to) He has hallucinations sometimes, especially after waking up, of his bones turning back to stone sometimes. He ends up trying to chip away at his bone in order to remove that stone, panicking and ending up becoming distressed until it actually ends up chipping his bones. As a result, he covers up a lot and it's one of the reasons why he wears so many layers. He heals himself, but he avoids trying to see his bones so that the hallucination doesn't affect him when waking up.

- Before the Corruption, he lived with a world lacking technology. So, he only had drawings (if they weren't destroyed) or other natural crafts to remember Nightmare's face. He has kept one drawing that Nighty drew of the two happy safe in his inventory, often pulling it out and reflecting on those memories. He's desperate to return to when he and Nighty were happy, but he knows that's impossible and he feels selfish for it

- (CW: Past abuse) He wasn't actually aware of the extent of abuse his brother went through and in fact he was abused as well. He was constantly pleasing others, pressured, and manipulated by the village because he was seen as something "other." He was scared for his brother, often seeing him in distress, and as a result he would sometimes convince others to leave him alone in return to doing favors for them. He always offered physical comfort, and in fact he doesn't even resent his brother for what he did. Nighty was just hurt, and he understands that. Still, he feels like he failed him and feels awful for it. He doesn't know that Nighty doesn't actually truly blame him

- He knows ASL and actually had to relearn how to speak properly, he has a bit of an accent and a rasp in his voice as a result

- Finds Ink weird, especially since he doesn't know that they're soulless

- Never learned how to cook, but hes great for natural gatherings and identifying poisonous plants, berries, etc

- the arrows of positivity can kill due to the excessive amounts, its something he only uses with Nightmare as a result

- Excessive negativity can hurt him because of his soul literally turning into a positive apple

- Because his soul is something else in some sense, he actually can't get his soul grabbed by anyone, including Error. Error is one of the only select few that knows this, since he can always tell if someone doesn't quite have a "soul"

- One of the only things that can hurt him is Nightmare's negativity, and he in turn is one of the only things that can hurt Nightmare

- He can make someone "too" happy if he wished, causing them to smile so hard they're sore and laugh to the point of becoming lightheaded and out of breath. He doesn't do it often, but he's capable of it and it's one reason he doesn't feel even close to being intimidated by others. He's actually rather dangerous when he chooses to be, he just decides to enact mercy

- After eons of having his own happiness taken away by him and dealing with negativity more intensely than he did as a child, he slowly didn't realize that he was becoming something else for awhile and the only reason he hasn't fallen down is because he ate the last golden apple and thus is physically unable to

- He thought Nightmare died when he lost himself to the corrupt apples, and when he came to, he was stuck in his world mourning the death of everyone. The villagers, the only family he had. He tried to talk to the mother tree even when she was chopped, only to cry when no response was given.

- He was only able to leave his world when Ink found him, but there actually would be a single incident before that where he was found by Nightmare who thought he was the stone that was on the ground and crumbled. It didn't end well

- He hates silence. He hates it because when he crumbled and broke free from being a statue, he has never heard such silence ever in his life

Closing Notes: heourgh. Don't look at me, these two have made me genuinely cry before. Don't acknowledge me, don't even know I exist. I love them, always have

[rose-riot-johnson]

Hey Rose! Long time no talk. (Also got a new look)

Was wondering if you'd be down for a angst to comfort fanfic for Hank McCoy?

Hey DJ😃Yes, definitely long time no talk😃👍 Anyways, due to busy schedule, having trouble focusing on completing fanfics in general, and stuff happening in my personal life, it's taking me longer than usual to start on the requested fanfic, such as the fanfic you requested about Hank McCoy😅 However since I have worked on Angst to Fluff and Angst to Comfort for the genres, while also having angst and comfort for the genres for the fanfics I have worked on, an Angst to Comfort genre for Hank McCoy would definitely be something I would be very good about and am confident about completing I will write "y/n" for the reader as I usually have been in the fanfics you've requested and since you haven't mentioned about what gender you wanted for this request the reader will be gender neutral as well😃👍 As for the new look that's cool and I'm happy for you, DJ😁👍

*This fanfic contains pronouns in 1 or more paragraphs and contains 1 or more long paragraphs😅 {Hopefully the pronouns are alright DJ😅}

🧪I'm Sorry For What I Said... I Hope You Will Forgive Me?🧪(Hank McCoy (aka Beast) x Gender Neutral Reader)

Genres: Angst to Comfort (Warning⚠️: Mentions of discrimination, including mentions of remarks and derogatory names (and past discrimination), Mentions of Emotional State, mentions of past trauma, and mentions of break-up (it's angst to comfort, so I felt this time it was needed)

You and Hank have been in a relationship together for a few years ago. About five years and 6 months ago when you first met him, he saved your life from (up to reader's imagination which villain from any X-Men series who tried to attack the reader), then you praised him on how amazing he was, as you were so amazed that he saved your life from the villain. The both of you would both introduce yourselves to eachother, proceeding to exchange cellphone numbers with eachother, then months later the both of you became officially in a relationship together.

As the years went by, while the both of you had your ups and downs, there was nothing heated enough to get either of you to not talk to eachother, until that one night, when you came in the home you shared with Hank, as you seem to be "not yourself". He then noticed as he asked, "(y/n)? Is there something troubling you? Is there anything I can do to help? Will you please talk to me?", giving you a concerned, caring, look on his face. You then answered, "I don't know how else to tell you this, Hank... My friend has had a talk with me earlier and from what (friend name) told me was that I shouldn't bring you in public anymore, because of (his/her/their) friend (name up to the reader's imagination) has been making remarks about mutants and anyone else with super powers, especially using derogatory names while (his/her/their) friend also made remarks that I should break up with you, and (friend name) has also mentioned that despite of the changes in the world that has embraced those with super powers and mutants more, having you in public with me would only cause problems... I'm very sorry to inform you about this... It's really been bothering me all night Hank...".

Hank was very shocked and upset to hear everything that you've told him so far, as he jumped into the conclusion of what he feared, as he replied, "You mean to tell me that your friend is siding with that jerk?! And to make things worse, are you trying to tell me that you're breaking up with me?! I thought I knew you better than that, (y/n)!", in anger, while beginning to have tears in his eyes. "That's not what I'm doing! Please, Hank?! It's not exactly what you think! You gotta believe me!", you replied back, as you began to feel stressed about Hank's unexpected reaction to what you told him. Hank then turns himself around where he's not looking at you out of anger and not wanting to show his sobs, as he replied again, "Well, (y/n)... If it's not like that as much, as you sounded, then you need to get your priorities straight, because I'm starting to feel I can't trust you, because of what you told me what your friends' buddy said about taking (name up to reader's imagination)'s side and you not fighting for me, then I rather not talk, until I can get my emotional state in check and you can figure out what you really want to do with your life! So for now you can sleep on the couch!", proceeding to March into the bedroom he shared with you until that moment. He then locked the bedroom door, before began to sob in privacy and quietly, as he can.

A few days went by, as this became the first time since your relationship with Hank, that neither of you were talking to eachother which is due to a heated argument(?) that you had with him. While laying on the couch, you have been thinking about what happened between you and Hank, as you then completely blame yourself, worrying that you have to make things right, before shouting, "Hey Hank! I need to have another talk with you! I have been thinking about our conversation a few days ago and I sincerely owe you an apology! Please come out and talk to me! I'm really sorry, Hank!". To your surprise, Hank unlocked the door and left the room, as he replied, "I'm listening... What else you need to talk to me about, aside from an apology?", as if he's open ears for what you decide to tell him next.

"Well, Hank... I have been to thinkin maybe this conversation we had a few nights ago, was my fault... If I wouldn't have said anything and waited to decide, if I should end my friendship with, (friend's name) to say anything, you wouldn't have been upset about what I told you... I really made you angry...", you explained as tears started to fall from your face. Hank noticed that you felt hurt from the conversation you had with him, as much as he felt hurt, as he realized that he jumped to conclusions due to his past trauma and horrible discrimination due to being a mutant, and misunderstood what you said. He then proceeded to hug you, as you finally began to sob on his right shoulder, before he calmly assured, "It's okay to let your feelings out... I'm the one who should be sorry... It's not your fault... I just shouldn't have overreacted nor jumped to conclusions the way I did... I shouldn't have let my past abandonment and trust issues blind me the I did... There's no need to feel obligated to lose your friend, because of my anger... I hope you're willing to forgive me, (y/n)... I will let my actions show that I will do better...".

You stopped sobbing, as you noticed that your boyfriend, Hank had tears rolling down his face as he was hurting inside from the heated conversation you had with him a few nights ago, just as much as you were hurting from that night. You wrapped your arms around him, petting his head, as the both of you looked into eachother's eyes, as you replied, "I always forgive you, Hank... No matter how heated our conversations get, how could I not forgive you and how could I not love you? You're not just my boyfriend, not just my future husband, not just my best friend, you're also my soulmate, as our hearts are entwined, meaning we're meant for eachother no matter what life throws at us." Both you and Hank have forgiven eachother, as the both of you continued to comfort eachother, until both you and Hank felt secured with eachother again. (Up to reader's imagination, if the reader actually ends up ending the reader's friend with the reader's friend or not)

Since the day both you and Hank have forgiven and comforted eachother, your relationship has been getting better and stronger, than it ever was before. You even decided to discuss your boundaries with everyone else, including friends and family, especially pertaining your relationship with him. Hank did let you know that it's okay for you to have your boundaries with him, because Hank will definitely respect your boundaries.

One day, you and decided to have a wedding, so the both of you got married that day. Everyone who has been respectful of your boundaries (especially pertaining your love life with Hank), has came to your wedding, invited. After your wedding with Hank, as he became your husband and you became his spouse, the both of you went on a honeymoon together, which that day became the best day of your life and his life, as well.

🧪The💚End🧪

I do hope you enjoyed this requested fanfic, Tumblr Peeps😃👍As for you DJ, I hope I did this fanfic you requested with Hank McCoy in it some justice, as well, as I have finally got motivated to write the fanfic and came up with ideas for it😅🧪😃👍From the bottom of my heart and soul, I hope the ideas that are in this fanfic fits the "angst to comfort" genre🦋😁👍

@writers-requiem

[whoblewboobear]

The way this Cody Ko situation is hitting me.. I’m gonna have so much to talk about in therapy tonight like. I’m fucking haunted by that “we good?” Text he sent to Tana cause like- the longer you live with SA trauma the more patterns your start to notice that are routine for abusers. I remember getting my own little “we good” text from the asshole that SA’d and then SH’d me for months after. Like it is textbook. They do the same shit time and time again. It’s just- it’s hard and I should tune out from it but my mind comes back to Noel too. And I hope this isn’t hitting him as hard as other victims of SA that were/are TMG fans. Like this blows but it blows differently when you’ve gone through it. I hope Tana is okay.

[waxdream]

Trigger warning - adoption, suicide, trauma, objectification.

I need to talk about adoption in Flatland. I'm adopted, so the details of this part of the story are a bit hazy due to dissociation. But like, Abbott has so many little points in his book that it impresses me. I can't tell if he did it on purpose, but if he did, damn am I impressed.

I went to the foundling museum in London a few years ago. I cried a lot, seeing the stolen items, and the exhibition of 'adoptees/orphans/fosterlings in comic books' that was downstairs. That was my favourite museum exhibition ever. My item I had from my birth mother is a candle that sits on my shelf. It's blue, and I didn't know what it was for a long long time, until one day I was about to throw it away. Luckily, I asked my adoptive mother if she wanted it, and she told me what it was. I almost threw part of my history away.

Which leads me into flatland, and the equilateral triangles. A class of adoptees. The only adoptions mentioned in the book are forced apon triangle families by the state for 'angular purity', and in order to give higher class people with an inability to have children the chance to adopt. In a modern context, I would take this as a scathing read of the adoption system. Only lower class, male children with desireable qualities are eligible for this kind of class crossing adoption, and the birth family celebrate it. The lower class is indoctrinated into thinking that 'this is for the best'.

In the UK at the time of my adoption, I've been told the desirable child was a white baby girl with no obvious disabilities, blonde hair and blue eyes. My foster carers were ineligible to adopt me, and the cynic in me believes this was because I was considered an object with 'desireable' qualities. The shadow court in my mind says 'it could have made some rich middle class family very happy' when I'm feeling grumpy and objectified. Luckily, a charity helped fund my foster (now adoptive) family's court battle, and a law change in the second year of it allowed them to win. I got lucky.

I see a lot of parallels between my own adoption and the adoptions in Flatland. People saying 'it's for the best', who don't realise that many adoptions take place because poor, mentally ill and young people can't take care of children because of lack of support and money. The scalene triangles in Flatland could have raised the equilateral merchant class, given enough resources and better schooling. Just like how A square is able to Tutor his grandson Hex - a lawyer teaching someone of a higher class skills he himself does not necessarily need to know.

I can't help but think about how those trinkets didn't stay with the foundlings who lived in that house. How I almost threw my candle away. The triangles have the physical reminder of their shape, and yet still, they are told they are different. They are regular, not like those other triangles, "you're one of us, you always have been", a square father might say to his new son. "We deserve to have you". And then, when the triangle grows up, and his wife (who's own father was a square) gives birth to an irregular triangle, the filth of that triangle's DNA is shown once again, despite the outward appearence of regularity. That's what my own adoption feels like. I always waited to be revealed for the imposter that I was. But I wonder if in a way that feels cathartic for them - like the immense relief I felt when my adoptive mother saved my candle from the trash. It's proof that your adoption exists, that you exist as a complex, multifaceted shape.

I wonder if the pressure of being regular was removed from that man's shoulders when his son was not born a square, but a triangle. Maybe his wife divorced him and he remarries within his original class - a safer, more understand place. Is that a happy ending? Is there a happy ending for adoptees? I never used to think there was. I used to think my life would end soon. Not today but tomorrow, or other similar things I'd tell myself. "I'd be content if I died today" would be said often by the regular triangle.

I wanted to be a hexagon when I thought about what shape I'd be. But no, the humble equilateral triangle is for me. He was not born a girl like I was. But perhaps they're also non binary like me.

Noone is born thinking they are tainted. You're taught that by other people. The regular triangle is told to their face they are normal, and nothing is wrong, that their adoption never affected them. When the regular triangle realised they're trans and autistic, and had that validated, that's when they felt like a real shape. Not a doll. Not an object. I still feel tainted sometimes. It's hard not to when society teaches you your DNA is wrong. And sadly, I think that's a feeling so so many of us feel - adoptees and non adoptees alike.

Your DNA is not wrong. That's a lie. It's a dangerous lie that permeates modern society, not out in the open but under covers. Every time someone says 'it's not the same' in regards to adoption, it's a perpetuation of that lie.

If your feelings are that adoption as lesser, you need to seriously examine your mindset. Because it's a mindset that holds DNA as sacred, as important. And having that mindset is something that easily divides us as a people - it's giving an inch. What's important is who we are, our life experiences, the things that make us different from each other and the points in our lives that shape us. Society shapes us. Racism and patriarchy and homophobia and ableism - these negatives do shape us. DNA has a place in who we are too, but my point is that there's so much more to it than that. The friends we discover, the things we learn, growing as people, the beauty in the world.

And I had to learn that the hard way, because the only thing that society teaches adoptees is that they're replacements. Second best. Whatever other words you have for 'btech birth kid'. Just know, any fellow adoptees, that none of that is true.

I'm happy to answer questions, because I doubt my point is coming across as well as I wanted. The triangles have got me feeling sad, and I haven't even researched phrenology yet. To clarify all my points, adoption feels sucky, racism is awful, you are more than just what society tells you you are, I am the triangle (apart from all the marriage stuff - replace that part with learning I'm trans and autistic, it serves the same purpose in my narrative).

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Never Let Stiles Pick the Movie

liam dunbar x theo raeken

summary: an innocent pack bonding night goes south when something in the movie reminds theo of his past. luckily, liam's there to remind him he's not in another nightmare.

tags: pack bonding, movie night, based on the movie: the ring (2002) [i have never seen this movie, bare with me], emotional hurt / comfort, mentions of tara raeken, mentions of dread doctors, theo's nightmares, trauma, & ptsd, panic attacks, concerned liam, deep conversations, theo needs a hug (but he gets one!), mutual pining / they're in love they just don't know it yet, couch cuddling, emotional with a happy ending

word count: 4.5k

a/n: i intended to post this on halloween, but while i got it up on ao3 in time, the same cannot be said for tumblr, because i got distracted. apologies! let's just pretend it's still october, though, and besides, isn't every day spooky day for these poor teenagers?

also, i saw a post a while ago that was like, "how would theo react to seeing the ring?" and i can't find that post, but i haven't been able to let it go, thus producing this fic. if that was your post, thank you for the idea, lmao

Theo swears he’s never seen a pack do as much bonding shit as the McCall pack. It seems like every other night, they’re at their alpha’s house. Once every week, they’re sleeping over. And almost every single time, some stupid movie is played, and everyone’s expected to stay for the entirety of it. He is tired. 

Not of the pack, necessarily. Theo’s just tired in general. He’s grateful to be included, actually, he just never expected there to be so much demand involved in being part of a pack. Theo’s gone from being the only person his age, hiding out in dark tunnels with the Dread Doctors, to his three more-or-less authoritative figures being erased from time, and him being plunged into civilization with a rowdy pack of teenaged wolves for company. And while he’s not complaining - he promises - it is a lot to take in. Especially considering half of the pack’s still unsure of his presence, and one person in particular is just too sweet to him. 

Theo’s snapped out of his thoughts as that particular person is now waving him over to the couch, a bag of candy in his unoccupied hand. He takes a deep breath. The last thing Liam needs right now is candy, considering how bouncing off the walls he’s been for the past three hours. 

“Theo!” He calls out, after unsuccessfully coaxing the chimera the other way. 

“What?” He doesn’t mean to sound as tired as he is, but it’s exhausting to keep up the facade he works so hard to maintain. 

“Come watch a movie with us!”

Mason turns out all the lights but one in the kitchen - the one right beside Theo - and shrugs at him playfully. 

“Didn’t you guys watch a movie just the other day?” Theo asks, eyes bouncing back and forth between the close friends. 

“Yeah, but this is a different one.”

“C’mon, dude, it’s Halloween. If you don’t give in, Liam’s gonna be upset,” Mason urges, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s getting better with Theo. Slowly. 

The older boy rolls his eyes. It’s no secret how he feels about the young wolf - no matter how oblivious Liam himself may be. 

“What is it, a horror movie?”

“Probably.” 

Theo wants to comment on how he clearly heard Mason say he hates horror movies in the beginning of October, which contradicts the casual tone he uses about them now. Obviously, he just wants Theo to give in and join them, no matter his own reservations about the spooky tradition. 

“Alright,” he groans, knowing he’s not winning this fight. Mason’s smile grows and he turns on his heel. Theo follows him to the living room, then nestles himself beside Liam and the arm of the couch. Mason goes to the couch’s opposite end, Corey beside him. Theo would try to avoid touching Liam’s leg, like he’s currently forced into doing, but the couch meant for three is occupied by all four of them, and no one seems to be itching to move. Liam and Corey look to have no qualms about practically sitting on top of each other. In a second, though, Corey shifts to sit on Mason’s lap, giving the beta some wiggle room, and Theo can meld a bit more into the couch and curl a little closer into the arm. 

Across the room, Nolan and Alec are in a similar position. At first, Alec seated himself on the ground, but then Nolan coaxed him into the seat with him, making for a tight squeeze. Neither boy seems to be complaining, though, and are now sharing a bowl of popcorn much easier than they would be if Alec was still on the floor. 

“What movie are we watching?” The youngest beta - now beating out Liam - asks. “The Conjuring?” He has a hopeful tone that Theo doesn’t understand in the slightest. 

“No, no,” Corey waves him off, “The Ring.” Alec makes a face, prompting Corey to continue. “Stiles’ choice, from afar. We asked in the group chat earlier. He was the first to respond.”

Mason shudders. ���I haven’t seen this movie in years. Remember, Liam?”

Liam frowns, seemingly agreeing. “I didn’t sleep for weeks.”

“Your mom was pissed.”

The troublemaker then laughs at that, as if bringing his mom emotional turmoil is something to be enjoyed. He’s just playing, though. Theo knows that about him. 

“What’s it about?”

“Demon girl that kills anyone who watches a specific tape,” Mason replies vaguely, unwilling to spoil it to the unsuspecting chimera. 

Theo raises an eyebrow but doesn’t reply. The movie begins, causing Nolan to shush no one in particular - no one had been speaking at that moment - and bringing everyone’s eyes to the screen. The familiar scent of trepidation takes over the pack, but the territory is safe. All rising heart beats and pauses of breath are to blame on the film as the narrator continues, introducing the scene. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fear lingers in the air, but they’re used to it now. It carries a different scent - one Theo’s not too keen on - that holds a bit of thrill in it, like the pack is terrified, but they’re enjoying it. Theo’s not quite sure he’s enjoying this movie. 

His whole life has practically been a horror movie. He doesn’t need to see one, he’s lived one for ten years. The only reason he agreed to this dumb thing was to be close to Liam and to bond with the pack. The more stupid shit he agrees to taking part in, the more accepting of him they’ll be. 

Right now, though, he’s regretting that decision wholeheartedly. The moment he sees the girl - Samara, he thinks her name is - his blood runs cold. Her hair is long and black and covers her eyes. Her skin is pale and covered in grime. Her face is sullen, almost unreadable; he can’t tell if she’s more disappointed or angry. She reminds him of something seen only in nightmares. Something that haunts you in your darkest moments, when you’re most tired, but unable to close your eyes, because she’s there, waiting. She reminds him of Tara. 

Theo tries his hardest to watch the movie. He tries to focus on his heartbeat, regulating it, keeping it steady, but he can hear it accelerate with every passing minute. He tries to calm himself, count sheep, focus on Liam’s scent, squeeze his eyes shut, but nothing works. His breaking point is when Samara finds her way out of the well. The sun has completely set now, making the McCall house dark, omitting the one light in the kitchen. Samara spots the man she’ll make her victim and rushes towards him. She crawls on her hands and knees before grabbing him. Theo springs up the minute she starts to crawl, the nightmares he thought he was finally pushing away resurfacing at the sight of her. He pays no attention to the way Liam instantly panics, reaching a hand out to him. He misses the concerned drawl of his name on the boy’s tongue, the worry in his eyes. Theo scrambles off the couch and out of the girl’s sight as fast as possible. He finds himself in the bathroom and shuts the door quickly, flicking on the lights. His breathing is erratic and the panic attack is inevitable. Theo clutches at his chest and throat, claws out, ready to attack, or rip her off him, or something, anything, he has to do to keep his heart.

He misses the short sentence Liam tells the rest of the pack: “I’m gonna go find him.” 

He fails to hear the boy’s footsteps, or his nearby breathing, or his scent at the door. 

He doesn’t acknowledge him until Liam’s right in front of him, grabbing his hands to pull his claws away from his delicate skin, whispering, begging to know if he’s okay. 

“Theo,” he mutters, frowning, “talk to me.” 

Tears form at the edges of the chimera’s eyes, worrying the beta further. Theo doesn’t cry. He never panics, and he certainly never cries. 

“What happened? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

He trusts him, Liam. He trusts him with his life. He trusts him with the truth. He just can’t get the words out, can’t form them on his tongue. Theo opens his mouth to say, but nothing comes out. Nothing but air. 

“Theo,” he urges. “Breathe. Settle down with me, okay? You have to breathe.” He looks around, still holding the boy’s fists in his hands. “What color shirt am I wearing?”

The older boy knits his eyebrows together. “What?”

“What color shirt am I wearing?” Liam repeats, providing no context.

“I don’t know, I can’t see.” The color swirls around in his mind. He thinks it’s green, but his vision’s too fuzzy to tell. 

“Okay… What color are my eyes?”

Theo blinks. He knows that, of course he does. He knows it by heart. He knows it in his dreams. A beautiful light blue. Where the sea meets the sky. “Blue,” he says, wanting to say more, to be more descriptive, but limited by his dizzy mind. 

“Good. That’s really good. Okay. What color are yours?”

“Green.”

Like moss agate, Liam wants to add. He doesn’t. “Good. Can you tell me what shirt color I’m wearing now?”

“Green, I think.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re doing really well. Can you name three other things in this room that are green?”

Theo narrows his eyes, but doesn’t question the prompt. “The walls, I guess, are green-ish. That shampoo bottle up on the shelf.” He scans the room once, then twice. “The curtain has a little bit of green in the design, if you look closely.”

“Good! Those are the same things I noticed. That’s great! Alright, how are you feeling?”

Theo pauses, contemplating the question. He almost answers terribly, and that he’s out of breath, and it feels like he’s going to die, but then he stills. He notices his heart isn’t beating so hard that it might jump from his chest, and his vision isn’t so fuzzy, he can actually see Liam in front of him, and the slight pain from his claws emerging from his palms is now absent, because his claws have retracted back into his hands, making him safe from himself. 

Theo looks at Liam and swallows hard. He feels a bit vulnerable, but the boy isn’t looking at him in a way that makes him feel like he has to hide. He looks at him with pure concern and care, and almost love, if Theo isn’t mistaken. He shakes that thought away. 

“Theo?” Liam prompts, leaning closer, squeezing his hands a bit harder, but still gently.

“I’m okay,” he finally responds. His mouth is dry and tastes faintly of blood, like he was biting his own cheeks, which he probably was. “I’m okay,” he repeats.

Liam visibly relaxes, posture deflating. “Good.” He squeezes his hand again. “You startled me.”

“What happened?” He remembers the questions, remembers the feeling, but can’t recall the trigger. It’s like a gap in his memory, despite just occurring. 

“You had a panic attack. Maybe from the movie? I knew it was a bad idea to let Stiles pick the movie. Mason and I watched it when we were kids, and it scared me to death.”

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Theo remembers. It was the movie. It was her. Tara. 

“Theo? You okay?” Liam senses the sudden anxiety rising in the other boy. “What color are my eyes?”

“Blue,” Theo replies, own eyes closing. “And the rug you’re sitting on is blue, too.”

Liam smiles, clearly elated that Theo’s caught on to his game. “Very good! You’re a quick learner.”

“So I’ve been told.” Theo finds himself smiling, but then remembers the memory that brought them here. He frowns. Liam cocks his head to the side. “The girl in the movie.”

“Mhm?”

“Reminds me of Tara.”

Liam’s mouth goes dry. Nerves bubble in his stomach. “Your sister?”

Theo nods. “When she escapes the well and goes after that guy… that’s what it was like in hell.” Liam’s face changes for a split second - a look of fear, to curiosity, then back to fear. He knows Theo’s time in hell had been… unpleasant, to say the least. He knows about hell from what he was taught as a kid, that it’s not a place of rest, but instead somewhere one atones for their crimes, and no matter how much they pay, they never get to find peace. He also knows Theo was desperate not to be sent back. He never gave details on what had happened to him, but he knows it was something horrible. Something for which Liam feels so guilty about; something he wishes he could wipe from Theo’s mind, erase his slate, as if he’d never been there at all. 

Theo doesn’t talk much about his time in hell. Liam always wondered if his sister was down there, too. He gets his answer now. 

“Every day was the same. I’d wake up in the hospital, in one of those beds in the morgue where they’d put the dead. I’d climb out, gasping for breath, confused. And then I’d wander into the halls, wondering where I am, what I’m doing in the hospital, and then she’d find me. She’d attack. She was pretty fast for, for, someone in her condition. She’d push me down and climb over my body, then rip her heart out from my chest, and watch me bleed until she became fuzzy to my eyes. She never stopped, no matter how much I begged. I know she was just taking back what was hers, but it hurt so goddamn bad every time.”

Liam stares, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as Theo talks. The revelation of what occurred in all those nightmares sends a jolt up his spine. The realization that he hadn’t been able to protect him from his own sister, his own nightmares, makes him choke on a sob he doesn’t know he’s trying to hold back. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurts out.

“What? Why?” 

“For us watching that stupid movie! I didn’t think about how it could look like Tara. I didn’t know-”

“You weren’t supposed to know, Liam,” he interrupts. “Have I ever even told you what she looks like? That’s not your fault.”

“She looks like you,” he assumes, “but, like, a girl.”

“Are you saying that Samara looks like me? Because I’m actually a little offended that you think that,” he jokes, desperately trying to rid the boy from his falling tears. 

“No.” Liam hits him playfully, then wipes his eyes with his sleeve. But I should’ve been more aware that she could look like Tara. I hadn’t considered that.”

“That’s not your fault,” he repeats. “You didn’t even know Tara was in my nightmares. You knew something was haunting me, but I never told you what.”

“I should’ve given you a better synopsis of the movie,” he mutters.

“You’ve gotta stop finding ways to blame yourself for this.”

Liam’s quiet. He has so much to blame himself for, no matter what Theo’s saying now. The older boy was supposed to be his responsibility. He wasn’t only supposed to keep him in line, he was supposed to keep him safe. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Theo asks, trying to meet his eyes, realizing he’s been silent for much too long. 

“You kept waking up in the hospital?” That’s not what he meant to ask, but it seems his curious mind and tongue are conspiring against him now. 

“Yeah, Beacon Hills Memorial.”

Liam replays the flashback of the time he and Theo were tasked with distracting the Ghost Riders. As soon as they entered the hospital, something overtook Theo. His body was flooded with fear and his mind was hard to reach. Liam had to call his name several times, urgently, to snap him out of whatever trance he fell into. 

Liam then remembers his plan of hiding in the morgue. He remembers the older boy’s resistance; fear, which quickly turned into defense. 

“I think whatever happened to you, you deserved it.” He had regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, but stubbornly, couldn’t take them back. They were already out, chilling the room even colder than it was. Maybe he thought them for a second, believed them to be true for a moment, rehashing in his mind all that Theo had done to him and his pack, ripping them apart at the seams, but in reality, he always knew it wasn’t deserved. Everyone is at least worthy of trying to be redeemed. If hell is really the hell he was taught in school, Theo didn’t deserve that fate, when all he was doing was trying to survive. 

“Liam,” Theo repeats, shaking the younger boy’s hand vigorously. Too deep in thought, he hadn’t heard the three previous times he’s called his name, but Liam finally responds now. “C’mon. Snap out of it.”

His touch brings him back to the surface, out of the memory. Theo had been hesitant to touch him, he always is, but it will always be the thing they both crave from each other. 

“Sorry.”

“You okay?”

Liam shrugs. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

“What?”

“Hell, Tara haunting you, even the fucking Dread Doctors… you didn’t deserve any of that pain. You should’ve gotten to grow up like a child does, scared of a horror movie because it’s a horror movie, not because it reminds you of your past. It’s fucked up.”

“Liam-”

“If you’re gonna try to convince me I’m wrong, don’t even try.”

“The Doctors chose me because I had the potential to be evil.”

“That’s bullshit. They took you because you were a child, and children are easy to manipulate.”

“That’s why they took Mason,” he corrects. “I was never meant to be anything good.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re good to me.” Theo looks up in disbelief, frustrating Liam even more. “You anchor me, and you’re always there for me, and you’re my friend.”

“But-”

“And look at Corey. He trusts you now, because you’ve earned it. You’re a friend to him, too. And Alec, he looks up to you.”

“Alec looks terrified of me.”

“Well, you can be a little intimidating, but you’ve never given him a reason not to trust you. You’re older than the rest of us, but mesh better with us than the older pack. You’re like the most authoritative figure we have when Scott’s gone.”

“That’s scary-”

“You’re often the voice of reason in unknown situations. You protect us, all of us, sometimes from ourselves.” He drags a finger along Theo’s open palm, carefully, and relishes in the way his shoulders unconsciously relax. “I think Tara - the real Tara, your sister, not the deranged manifestation of her from hell - would be proud of you. I know I am.”

Theo sucks in a breath and knits his eyebrows together in confusion. “Liam-”

“You can’t convince me otherwise. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You survived ten years with those fucking freaks. You did what you had to do to survive, and yeah, you did some bad things, but we’ve all done bad things, but none of us have paid for them as horribly as you have. And now, all those things aside, you’re doing better. Emotionally scarred, yes, but physically? They deprived you of so much, but you’re learning now. They taught you nothing but pain, how to live in fear, how to ignite fear in others, but no one in this room’s afraid of you anymore. And you’re safe. We’re all pack, and we protect each other.”

“Nolan’s still scared of me.”

“Nolan’s scared of everyone.” Liam stares into Theo until the boy finally meets his gaze. “You didn’t deserve any of the literal or figurative hell you’ve been through, and I’m proud of you for surviving it, and turning out the way you have. In fact, I quite like the way you’ve turned out.”

Theo wants to let the words sink in, wants to let himself enjoy them as they fall off the other’s lips, wants to let them warm his heart, but he still isn’t used to receiving praise - no matter how often Liam seems to give it - and gives a slight chuckle instead. “How do you think baby Liam from a year ago would react to hearing you say that?”

Liam frowns. He chooses to ignore the baby part and answers honestly. “I think he’d be glad, because he never wanted you to be the bad guy. He always hoped you’d be good.” He shrugs. “And now, given different circumstances, you are. So, he wins.”

Theo’s shoulders deflate, as if being proved wrong for the fiftieth time in ten minutes is finally getting to be exhausting. “You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it. I don’t lie, Theo. Check my heart.”

“You’re a horrible liar even without listening to your heart. Your eyes are always trained to the floor, and the side of your lip curls up, and your hands are restlessly clasped together.”

Liam looks up, stunned by the detailed observation. “You’re just proving my point.”

Theo sighs, then smiles. He tries to catch a sound from beyond the bathroom door, but the screams of the characters that once filled his ears are now replaced by a haunting melody. The movie’s wrapping up to close. The demon, hopefully, was defeated. 

“Are you okay to go back out?” Liam asks, also listening. “I think it’s finally over.”

Theo nods once. “Sorry to make you miss the end.”

“I don’t mind. If you hadn’t run out, I probably would’ve.” Theo begins to stand and Liam follows, still talking. “Mason and I both screamed when she climbed out of the well. My mom came running so fast, heart beating out of her chest, and soothed us both before settling us into bed. Then, the next morning, we got the worst scolding of our lives.” They stand in front of the mirror, Theo’s hand on the doorknob, Liam’s pinky finger inching towards his free hand, suddenly not ready to leave. “When I told her we were watching it tonight, I could already hear her heart starting to beat. She got that warning look in her eyes and wasted no time reminding me of how that went last time. The fact that Mason would be here, too, was no comfort to her, considering how equally scared he was. I was honestly surprised she even let me come, because even though she trusts me, she’s still super protective, y’know?” Theo nods, understanding, though curious as to what he’ll say next. “But then I assured her the whole pack would be there, it wasn’t just Mason and I. I told her you’d be there, and that’s when her posture relaxed and her rambling stopped, because she trusts you. She knows you keep me safe and grounded. She knows you’re good.”

Theo swallows. He suddenly becomes aware of Liam’s pinky grazing his, and fights the urge to take his hand in his own. He tries to ask, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Can I hug you?” Liam asks, somehow having the same question Theo did. He nods, and immediately, Liam’s reaching up on his tiptoes to hug the boy around his neck. Their bodies press close. Theo sneaks his hands around the smaller wolf’s waist, inhaling his scent at his chest. Liam nuzzles his nose into the crook of his neck, and before pulling away, plants a small kiss there without even realizing it. A shiver runs up Theo’s spine and the air around them changes. The gentlest shift of something that was once small growing into something more noticeable. Neither complain, but neither explore it further. 

“Ready?”

The skin on Theo’s neck tingles, as do Liam’s lips. A dizzying, sweet scent floods their noses, overwhelms the room. Theo opens the door, letting the unfamiliar scent rush out into the house. Liam links their pinkies as they re-enter the living room, ignores the looks from the pack, and plops back down into his seat on the couch. Theo follows, but is careful not to touch Liam’s side, despite their hands still clasped together. 

“You guys good?” Corey asks, pushing Liam with his socked foot. Liam rolls into Theo for a split second before Corey retracts his foot, giggling. 

“Yeah. Did Samara crawl back from where she came?”

“No, they defeated her,” Alec supplies, eyes on Theo. He sits on Nolan’s lap still, but his shoulders are tense. He isn’t quite comfortable being so close, despite having such a painful, obvious crush on the human. 

“Why was she so mad?” 

“Thought you guys watched this movie before?” Corey asks instead of answering Liam’s question.

“Mom turned it off before we finished it,” he reveals.

Corey looks at Mason, jaw dropped. “You told me you finished it.”

Mason raises his hands. “I wanted to sound cool!”

Corey pushes him playfully. “You suck!”

“Well now I’ve finished it. These two are the only ones that haven’t.” He points to Liam and Theo. “Want me to rewind it?”

“No, no, no, we’re good,” Liam says quickly. “In fact, I’m good to never watch it again.” He pauses, watching the screen as something else dark and spooky fills it. “Okay… What’s this?”

“Chill out, it’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. Since you two big, bad werewolves can’t handle an actual scary movie.”

Liam sneers playfully at the younger chimera, who just throws his hands up unapologetically. Conversation ceases as the music begins to play, and everyone begins nestling further into the couches, getting comfortable for another film. Beside him, Theo’s heart rate is calm. He still smells slightly sweet, and seems to be making an effort to avoid getting too close to Liam, but Liam decides to quickly change that by putting a hand on his arm. 

“What are you-?”

“C’mere,” he interrupts, keeping his senses out for any signs of him being uncomfortable. There’s none, but there is a fresh scent of the sweetness they both had earlier. “Cuddle me.” He puts up no fight as Liam nests himself into his personal space. Their thighs touch completely now, Liam enveloping his body with his own. He kisses the side of his head, causing the chimera to practically melt into him. Both heartbeats quicken, then relax as they settle into their new position on the couch. 

Their closeness crosses the already thin line between them, but it was only a matter of time before that happened. Corey and Mason share the quietest of high-fives. Nolan stares, but isn’t complaining, as Theo relaxing into Liam seems to cause Alec to finally relax into him, as if the older boy nonverbally assures the other, it’s okay. 

“What’s this movie about?” Theo mumbles, tired still, but satiated in Liam’s arms. 

“Skeleton wanders too far outside of Halloween-town and ends up in Christmas-town, where he causes a major ruckus,” Mason offers. 

“My mom used to play this movie all the time when we were kids,” Liam adds.

“So it’s Mom-approved?”

“Mhm. No creepy-crawly girls.”

He can feel Theo’s chuckle reverberate through his body. “Good.”

Liam smiles, then presses his lips into Theo’s shoulder once more. “You’re safe,” he mutters softly. The boy beneath him relaxes under his touch. 

[riisume]

Is there a specific reason to why you deleted your old blog?

I hate that I woke up to this ask, but I’ll answer it since so many people ask and it’s frustrating.

It was a mix of wanting to avoid groups of ppl I wasn’t friends with anymore/cut off in the community and not wanting to prune my account for minors when it dawned on me how weird/normalized part of the tumblr community’s feelings about that were despite the sfw accounts.

I just figured it’s be easier to delete my account and originally I didn’t plan on coming back to tumblr. But I missed the askbox feature.

It’s mostly the former tho cuz pruning is so easy. When people scare me in the community, I run away and probably come back later because of past trauma when I was in it. :/ But that’ll all I’ll say on that cuz that’s too personal.

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

Love is an open wound

Zevlor x Rolan, past Zevlor x Kanon.

Inspired by this post, which I misread. 🤦‍♀️

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers, mild canon divergence for Act 1, panic attack, nightmares, horror, body horror, semi-graphic depictions of violence, PTSD symptoms, nonconsensual enthrallment, nonconsensual use of the Calm Emotions spell (consent is given after), survivors guilt, (minor) character deaths, canon character deaths (more like Kanon character death).

______________________________________________________________

The Absolute had been defeated and peace, or as much peace that a city such as Baldur's Gate could hope to have, had been restored. Ravenguard had managed to purge the worst of the corruption which had infested the highest reaches of government, and the city had been rebuilt.

The tiefling refugees were thriving in the port-city. Alfira had almost a dozen music students. Dammon's forge had months worth of commissions lined up, with more coming in everyday. Rolan had become the Master of Ramazith's Tower and business was booming at Sorcerers Sundries. He had also recently opened a free public library that anyone was welcome to use— so long as they treated the books and scrolls with due care. Bex and Danis had recently adopted a cat. Zevlor had refound his faith and was a paladin once more.

Zevlor was also in a committed relationship with Rolan. To say he was shocked when the mage had approached him after the elder brain had been defeated and asked him on a date would be an understatement. Zevlor was dubious anent the younger man's desires; why would a powerful, young, handsome man like Rolan want an old, washed up, soldier such as him? But Rolan was nothing if not determined, and after much reassurance Zevlor allowed himself to give into his "selfish" desires, and now (just over a year and a half later) they were living together in Ramazith's Tower.

Zevlor had fretted about how Rolan's protective siblings would react to their brother dating an older man, but Cal and Lia welcomed him with open arms (after giving him a shovel talk). "He's had a crush on you since he hit puberty." Lia had told the old Hellrider, much to Rolan's chagrin.

Zevlor was elated to find that he got on well with the mage's siblings. Cal was delighted to have another level-headed person to diffuse Lia and Rolan's constant bickering. While Lia was eager to train with the old Hellrider. She had even privately thanked Zevlor for being a calming influence on her bristly brother.

"Rolan isn't as pissy now that the stick that was shoved up his ass has been replaced with your great sword."

(Zevlor couldn't look her in the eyes for 2 tendays.)

The commander had also befriended the local population of stray cats. Zevlor was fairly certain that most of them only saw him as a meal ticket, but there were a few who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

Life was good and Zevlor was content, most of the time. But sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of Rolan out of the corner of his eye, or he'd see the younger tiefling approaching with the evening sun brightly blazing behind him, and for a split second he'd swear that he'd seen Kanon.

The two young men were very different people, in both their looks and their personalities— but both of them sported shoulder length hair, and their horn structures were almost identical; making them look just similar enough that, in the right light, Zevlor would see brief glimpses of Kanon when he looked at Rolan.

These bittersweet moments made Zevlor's heart ache. Guilt and anxiety made his stomach churn. Zevlor was worried that he was somehow cheating on Rolan in his wistful reminiscing on his prior swain. He worried that he was trying to replace Kanon with Rolan. He worried that his previous feelings for Kanon were preventing him from fully loving Rolan in the way that the man deserved to be loved— wholly and without question.

Compounding his guilt, Zevlor hadn't told Rolan about Kanon— but there wasn't really anything to tell. He hadn't been in a romantic relationship Kanon. In truth they were nothing more than friendly acquaintances... But there was an undeniable mutual attraction between them, and they'd been getting closer. Their relationship had just begun to blossom into something more when Kanon was killed.

Unfathomable remorse filled the old Hellrider. Kanon should have never been on the ramparts with him, but he was because he and Zevlor were flirting. Gods damn it, the man didn't even have any armor on! How could Zevlor have allowed himself to be so negligent in his duties!? If Zevlor was even half the paladin that he thought he was in Elturel, then Kanon wouldn't have died on that wall.

Despite his best efforts, Zevlor often found himself ruminating over his actions on that fateful day.

As soon as Zevlor had spotted the goblins nearing the Grove he yelled out an order to open the gate— he had directed the order to Akra, who had armor on, but Kanon was closer to the windlass— and so he took it upon himself to try to save Aradin's sorry backside from certain demise.

Zevlor saw the goblins nocking their arrows, he should've realized that a man who was a tailor by trade wouldn't have the reaction time of a trained soldier. But instead of diving on top of Kanon to shield him from the incoming volley of arrows, Zevlor had crouched down and covered his own hide because he (incorrectly) assumed that Kanon would also duck for cover.

Helm's unsleeping eyes, he remembered Kanon's death in perfect, agonizing, detail. The horrid sound the young man had made when the first arrow struck him. The sickening squelch as it effortlessly pierced his unarmored flesh.

Kanon may have been able to survive the initial arrow, had the second arrow not struck true by slotting between his ribs and piercing his heart.

The anguished wail that Kanon's sister, Akra, emitted upon seeing her brother's demise haunted Zevlor in his dreams.

Zevlor's night terrors had been intensifying as of late. His nightmares had started to combine the horrors he experienced in Avernus with how he had failed his kinsfolk in the Shadowlands.

In his dreams the refugee tieflings were being slaughtered by demons while he dispassionately stood by, watching as their souls were dammed to perdition in the hells.

The felled tieflings surrounded him, and the only thing louder than their wails of pain and terror were their loathsome screeches of blame and anger. They demanded to know why he had let them die when he had promised to protect them. They castigated him for his cowardice. They lambasted him for his audacity in thinking that he deserved happiness. He didn't.

Other nightmares solely featured Kanon. His bloated and decaying corpse loomed over Zevlor as blood poured from his mouth while he stared accusingly at him with his dead, hate filled eyes. Kanon didn't need to say anything for Zevlor to know that he was angry with him for idlily standing by as his sister was murdered, to know that the young man (correctly) blamed him for their deaths.

And then a familiar sneer would twist Kanon's reddening face until it morphed into Rolan's unmarred visage.

"How long until you cause my death?" Rolan pointedly asked Zevlor as his face began to decay, sloughing off in grotesque chunks as 10,000 tormented voices emanated all at once from Rolan's rotting mouth when he accusingly screamed at Zevlor. "ł'₥ ₲Øł₦₲ ₮Ø ĐłɆ ฿Ɇ₵₳Ʉ₴Ɇ Ø₣ ɎØɄ!"

"NO!" Zevlor yelled as he shot up from bed. He couldn't breath, he couldn't seen anything other than the static that filled his vision. His ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn't hear anything else.

He was dead. He was dead and he was dammed to relive his failures over and over again for the rest of eternity. He had never actually escaped the hells. Tav hadn't rescued him from the mind flayer pod at Moonrise Towers. He was dead. He was-

A gentle wave of calm washed over the old Hellrider. He could suddenly breath again as the ringing in his ears quieted and the world around him came into focus. Rolan was in front of him, saying soothing words to him.

"He looks worried." Zevlor distantly thought.

"Just focus on my voice Zevlor. Good. We're going to breath together now, follow my lead." Rolan instructed him.

"Breath in." Rolan inhaled as Zevlor copied him. "And breath out."

They repeated the breathing exercise several times until Zevlor had fully returned to his body.

The former commander was drenched in sweat, his skin was clammy and cold. Zevlor's whole body was shaking from the aftershocks of his night terror.

It wasn't until Rolan carefully wiped the tears from his face that Zevlor realized he was silently crying.

A sudden, wretched sob erupted from the very depths of Zevlor's soul. Years of repressed emotions spilled forth from, unfettered by shame or pride.

Rolan held him tight. It felt as though his love was the only thing holding Zevlor together as he was soothingly rocked in the mages arms.

Zevlor must have fallen asleep— as an indeterminate amount of time later he was gently roused from his slumber by Rolan, who handed him some water and softly ordered the old soldier "Drink."

Zevlor nodded in both acquiescence and a gesture of gratitude as he silently accepted the cool glass of water from the other man. He hadn't realized how parched he was until he started drinking. It took more restraint than he'd like to admit to swallow the refreshing liquid at a moderate pace instead of desperately chugging it.

When Zevlor was done drinking he handed the glass back to Rolan, who put it on the nightstand.

"You didn't put a coaster under it." He told Rolan.

"What?" Rolan asked.

"The glass," Zevlor said as he pointed to the offending object "you didn't put it on a coaster, it'll leave a mark if you leave it like that."

Rolan's face skewed in... confusion? Incredulity? Bewilderment?

"I know that you don't like water rings on the furniture, that's why I pointed it out." Zevlor lamely added, fearing he had offended his romantic partner.

"Zevlor, dear," Rolan said slowly, as though he was speaking to Minsc someone whose mental faculties were chronically understaffed. "I don't give a cranium rat's ass about potential condensation rings right now, I am worried about you." Rolan replied in baffled, albeit fond, exasperation.

"You are?" Zevlor asked.

"Yes." Rolan answered while looking at Zevlor as though he'd grown another horn. "I woke to you thrashing around in your sleep from terrible night terrors, I tried to wake you but I was unable rouse you. Then you suddenly bolted upright while screaming in a terror-stricken, anguished voice."

Rolan took a deep, steadying breath before he continued.

"You were nonsensical, saying that you were dead and being tormented in the hells or that you were still trapped in a mind flayer pod. Your eyes were open but they weren't seeing." Rolan shakily told him.

"Oh." Was all Zevlor could think to respond.

"I couldn't get though to you, so I used Calm Emotions on you in the hopes that it would free you from wherever your mind had you trapped. I'm sorry I used my magic to to control your emotions, but I didn't know how else to help you." Rolan said.

It was Zevlor's turn to look at Rolan as though he had grown another horn.

"Why are you apologizing?" Zevlor asked, but continued to talk before Rolan could reply.

"You pulled me out of a very unpleasant place. You shouldn't be apologizing, I should be thanking you." He said as he gently thumbed Rolan's bottom lip, stopping him from worrying it between his teeth.

"I..." Rolan started, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I used a spell to control you, to control your emotions, without your consent." He said.

"I was hardly in a place where I could consent Rolan." Zevlor dismissively replied, then, upon seeing guilt fill Rolan's eyes, quickly added "But I am glad that you did! Your spell helped me immensely!"

When Rolan responded it was with carefully chosen words, though whether they were purely for Zevlor's benefit, or if they were a byproduct of Rolan working though his own emotions, was hard to say.

"You've told me some of what happened in the Shadowlands. I was... concerned that my actions may have been similar to, or reminded you of... the time when you were nonconsensually controlled by the elder brain."

Zevlor blinked in surprise, and even as the familiar feelings of guilt and remorse bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, the warmth that filled him from the younger man's tender concern caused Zevlor to softly smile.

"I promise you, the circumstances here are very different from... that instance." Zevlor said, causing a small grimace to flash across both of their faces.

"I don't feel as though you violated my autonomy." Zevlor resolutely told Rolan, as he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss between his pinched brows.

Rolan sighed with palpable relief, his face smoothing.

"Do you want to talk about your night terrors?" Rolan asked.

Zevlor sighed as he responded, "Not particularly, but I probably should."

Rolan kissed the old Hellrider's forehead and then told him "Take all the time you need love." as he intertwined his and Zevlor's tails together.

After a few minutes of gathering his thoughts, and his courage, Zevlor began to tell Rolan about his nightmares. The younger man listened attentively, holding Zevlor's hand all the while.

"Before I continue relaying the contents of my nightmare, there is something you should know. Someone that I haven't told you about yet." Zevlor cautiously said.

After Rolan nodded in acknowledgment, Zevlor began to tell him of his and Kanon's not-quite-relationship.

"You remember Kanon, yes?" Zevlor asked, continuing after Rolan nodded, "Well he and I... We... We weren't together, but..."

Zevlor trailed off, his courage leaving him as his self doubt began to overwhelm him.

"Zevlor, are you trying to tell me about how you and Kanon danced around each other as you both obliviously, and obviously, pined for one another?" Rolan asked with a bit of amusement slipping into his voice despite his efforts to rein it in.

Zevlor's eyes were as wide saucers when he asked "You already knew!?"

Rolan let his smile slip as he answered "Zevlor, everyone knew. It was painfully obvious that you two had alchemy with each other. I'm fairly certain that Mol's gang were running a betting ring on when you two would finally start dating."

Embarrassed, Zevlor indignantly asked "And no one said anything!?"

"No." Rolan shrugged. "There wasn't much entertainment to be had on the road. Of course I didn't partake in such jejune activities. But I knew of your feelings for him, and his for you. I think everyone except you two knew."

Zevlor stared at Rolan as though he had just told him that the sky was lime green.

"You knew that I had romantic feelings for Kanon?" He asked, needing to clarify what he had just heard.

Rolan looked at Zevlor with a mixture of sympathy and tenderness. "Yes Zevlor, I knew."

"It... it doesn't bother you?" Zevlor hesitantly asked.

"No, Zevlor. It doesn't bother me." Rolan reassured him.

The floodgates opened once more as Zevlor began sobbing.

He told Rolan of what had happened that day. How he blamed himself for Kanon's death. How he was worried that he was using Rolan as a replacement. How he sometimes saw Kanon when he looked at Rolan.

Zevlor came clean about everything. His fears, his doubts, his regrets. How he didn't think he deserved to be happy when he was the reason so many had died.

And Rolan listened without judgement. At times he looked shocked, or angry at the circumstances life had put Zevlor in, or sadness for what he had lost— but he was never resentful.

Eventually Zevlor had confessed everything he'd been hiding from Rolan to him. Despite feeling exhausted Zevlor felt lighter than he had in a very long time.

But of course the reprieve from his self-flagellation only lasted for a few moments.

As Zevlor's senses returned to him so too did his shame. He was a commander of the Hellriders, damnit. How could he be so weak?

HIs self-loathing was unceremoniously interrupted when Rolan none-too-gently flicked his forehead.

"Stop that." Rolan firmly told him.

Zevlor did not pout as he snuggled closer, embarrassed at having been called out for his self-denigration— causing the mage to quietly chuckle and kiss Zevlor's forehead in apology.

"I've covered you with my snot and tears." Zevlor pointed out.

Rolan's voice betrayed his disgust, "I am aware."

Zevlor snickered at Rolan's disgruntled tone.

And by the next morning all traces of Zevlor's bodily secretions had been magicked away.

Zevlor woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

"About time you've woken up, you slugabed." Rolan lovingly teased.

Zevlor hid his smile underneath the blanket as he replied "You young people these days, so disrespectful to your elders."

Rolan made a noncommittal noise as he drank his coffee.

"Mmm, I am very disrespectful— so disrespectful that I graciously brought you a fresh cup of coffee to lazily enjoy in bed." he said good naturedly.

The promise of caffeine inspired Zevlor to fully wake up.

Rolan tittered as he handed the now awake Hellrider his coffee.

Their eyes locked as Zevlor accepted the warm cup from him. The adoring look Rolan gave him soothed his soul in a way that words could not.

He knew that they were okay. They'd probably discuss what he'd revealed the night before, but they would be okay.

They were more than okay. They were good.

Life was good, and it was going to get even better.

[whoviandoodler]

one of the things that makes mdzs SUCH a great story is the fact that it's a tragedy with queer protagonists, but their queerness isn't the cause or the center of the tragedy. it's not even related, really. it's a story about love and loss and wrong and right, about what we owe each other and what we owe ourselves, about how you can find joy even amidst chaos and grief; its complexity and tragedy is what makes it so profound and touching. sure, there's 'casual' queerphobia in the story, but with everything else going on, it's not really relevant- wwx's mostly like, 'oh, i like guys? i like lwj? i love lwj? fuck, what if he doesn't love me back? am i being presumptuous to think he returns my feelings? what do I do now?' followed by 'wait, he loves me back??? we're getting married IMMEDIATELY', and that whole attitude is very refreshing because sometimes you just want to read a queer story that isn't about queer suffering but that's still incredibly miserable, and i think we as a queer community deserve it

[weaverpop]

What if what happened between JE and Jing was what caused Jing to take a good, long, hard look at how he treated Nezha and realize exactly what he did to his son?

The thing about abuse is that it’s a cycle. Jing grew up in a very different time, especially under confusionism (why he doesn’t cut his hair).

But while Jing loved Nezha, he DID do some awful things that will need to be addressed. Like when he burned Nezha’s tenple, refused to listen to him, the progoda, and a lot of season 5.

And to his credit, Jing is trying to be better. He actively listens and considers Nezha’s words, the progoda is broken so they settle their fights with words instead of fists, and Jing apologizes when he says or does something that may upset Nezha. But it’s still hard.

They have bad days. Days where they scream at each other. Where they can’t stand to be in the same room at the same time without it turning into an argument, a fight, or both. But those days are slowly getting further and father apart, becoming less and less frequent.

Nezha is learning to tease his dad the way his brothers do. Jing is re-learning how to interact with Nezha as a son, and not a warrior. They are getting better.

But yes, when Jing looks back on it, he sees the similarities. And he hates it. It keeps him up at night, gives him nightmares, and makes it hard to look Nezha in the eyes on their bad days.

[godly-rambles]

I AM A MINOR.

sorry this post is kind of an eyesore (i like pretty colors)

Hello, my name is Ohesis. The purpose of this blog will be to share my experiences as one who identifies physically as a lesser god and as a divine being.

THIS IS NOT DELUSION. FAKECLAIMERS WILL BE BLOCKED.

bodily a teenager (13-17), but my divine form is thousands of years old.

pronouns: he/him/it/it's/void/void's/star/starself's/ae/aer/holy/holyself/ halo/halos

DNI - therian/otherkin antis, fakeclaimers, people who call others like me "fakers", hardcore christians (hardcore religious people in general idc who you are), k!nk and nsfw blogs, proshippers (this isnt a fandom blog, but I would still like to keep unsavory types away). endogenic/mixed origin "systems" and anybody who supports them gguuuuhh ill update this more later

PLEEASE block me if this offends you

DESPITE THE DNI, I BLOCK FREELY!!! Directed towards anyone who doesnt fw this blog, or at least tolerate it.

Submissions and asks - submissions from anyone else who identifies as divine, nonhuman, winged, etc will go up- as long as they relate to this blog and would make sense for me to display.

I DO NOT POST GOFUNDMES scams are far too common on tumblr. because of this i wont be posting any fundraisers on this blog.

I also don't do tag games. this isnt my main, its purpose is to be a place where i post about my identity. do not tag me in tag games. this doesn't mean that i'm gonna be serious all the time, it just means that the intent of the blog is to home my godly-related thoughts.

Asks will be answered from those curious about my identity as a minor god (and otherheartedness in general, I've been in the community for 4-5 years and consider myself knowledgable enough to answer.)

Excited to get to know others in the otherhearted and divine community, thank you for reading this <3

Now Playing: Youth - Glass Animals

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart. 

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to). 

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner. 

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books. 

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near. 

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table. 

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude. 

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.” 

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another. 

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their  jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things. 

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity. 

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds. 

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills. 

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that. 

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting. 

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.” 

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation. 

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off. 

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds.  Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight. 

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight. 

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.  

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five. 

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features. 

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight. 

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart. 

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises. 

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.” 

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement. 

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it. 

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome. 

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . . 

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil. 

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again. 

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on. 

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ. 

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm. 

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick. 

Something seemed off. 

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers. 

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again. 

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids. 

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think. 

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t. 

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason. 

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in  gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better. 

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least. 

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.” 

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales. 

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug. 

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?” 

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!” 

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried. 

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.) 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!” 

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling. 

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself. 

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded. 

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to. 

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside. 

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face. 

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?” 

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned. 

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked. 

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate. 

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.  

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white. 

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

[jadzio-writing-prowess]

PP characters and their scars:

imma put some tws, cause this feels heavy enough to warrant em, here so beware: tw eating disorder, tw scars, tw mentions of suicide attempt, tw mentions of past abuse, tw of trauma and ptsd

Inspector:

His body is deteriorated. He has always been a bony person, thin with skeleton hands. But ever since he lost his most recent job and got to work at the border, he has been disappearing in the eyes.

His ribcage started to slightly show. 

It's easy to not notice. Winter had hit in its full swing, during that time. It was easy to hide it all, under layers of clothes.

His skin was slowly getting more pale. He got more tired with each day, and went to bed sooner.

He feels faint a lot more and his voice gets weaker.

He shivers in the cold more, from the lack of protective fat.

He got more unfocused at his work, which only made his problem worse.

Altho in January things finally started getting better financially, he couldn't help, but feel more and more pressure.

He usually managed to wave off most concerns, by giving from his plate to his kids and other family members. Or by just storing some of the food ‘for later’, so it can be eaten by someone else.

He fought his hunger by drinking lots of water. It's cheaper than food.

The only scar on his body is on his right hand, from firing, from his killing gun, for the first time, during the terrorist attack, when Elisa came. His inexperience with weapons and much heavier caliber hurt his hand.

Calensk:

He has small scars all over his hands, from working different manual jobs.

Anyone would be hard pressed to see more than that.

He wears long sleeves and sweaters, all the time. Prefers ones with golf covering his neck. Not an unfamiliar sight, with the rather colder climate.

In bed, he shys away from intimacy.

He is not the best at communicating his discomfort and anxieties, with his wife. This only deepens the already existing wages in their relationship.

Under his clothes, he's hiding a plethora of big and small scars, he collected from all over the place.

Some he got from work. Something fell on him, something went wrong when handling machinery. Not an unfamiliar sight in Arstotzka, known for its less than stellar labor laws.

Some were carried from the war. He wasn't serving for the whole war and thankfully never got hit as hard as Sergiu, but he got a bullet or two in the arm. The living conditions were the biggest contributor to his scarring. Bullet wounds got infected often. The brutal terrain and unhygienic conditions, caused a leg or an arm to get cut and scar weirdly. He was glad that at least, he never stepped on any mines.

Some were smaller or blended well with others, indistinguishable as different among everything else. But these carried the most pain.

Calensk's childhood wasn't easy. Filled with labor helping around the family home. Easy to get a cut here and there, not a big issue.

But his parents. They weren't much different than most, but that didn't change much, did it. But they taught him the way of life and to keep it all to himself. For the only thing left that would show, was his body and skin. And that was easier to hide, to excuse. The teachings came in handy in the war anyway…

Sergiu:

Got a lot of scars all over his body, from the war and constant attacks at the border.

His arm and side didn't have time to properly heal before Elisa came, so he started to wear long sleeved shirts, all the time around her.

Tried his best to not flinch in pain, when she hugged him too low, tugged at his arm too hard…

Did his best to keep the wound clean, after Calensk's intervention. He kept hiding in the bathroom in the evening.

But the biggest scars decorate his psyche.

Thankfully he didn't need to hide those as much. Elisa dealt with the same war pains as him.

Loud sounds, gunshots at work and screams, are so easy to trigger him.

Nightmares and guilt waves hit him hard.

His hands tremble sometimes for no reason, destroying a lot of things that were in his hands at the time.

Sometimes all of this is just too much. He wants to just curl up with Elisa and disappear.

Sometimes the smell of gunpowder makes him feel sick and dizzy. It makes him wish they used tranq guns, like the Inspector. Sadly, that's not an option for them.

He has a scar from trying to kill himself during the war, before he met Elisa. He will never tell anyone what it's really from.

He'd like to forget that. He genuinely thinks he moved on from this now. Finding purpose in the people he loves.

The scar is an ugly reminder that stares at him in the mirror.