#matthew and jack mentioned

[beegone-yeet]

While I've seen posts think Kevin is younger than the fandom thinks, or/and is autistic, I'm gonna suggest another alternative I never seen people bring up. I suggest that Kevin has a language disorder. I'd also drop extras in this post about my Kevin too

(My Kevin is autistic too)

I have MRELD and possibly autism too, so I'll talk from experience. A post talked about noticing Kevin has a softer voice than Jack and Matthew, and I'm told to speak up but my voice feels like I'm talking normally, probably due to sensitive ears because I feel like I'm being loud (Everything's too loud. Too loud!). I've also never really talked at all when I was younger, so I resorted to hand gestures mainly being pointing to emphasize my want for an item, because to me, it felt wrong to hear my voice suddenly when it wasn't there before and maybe in Kevin's case as Doey it felt wrong hearinga voice that's not his own (or the others voices). Maybe I'd get yelled at for speaking weird. It was easier not to talk because talking didn't cause people to notice me and then ask more questions I didn't know how to answer which made me feel stupid when trying to respond. Being quiet was a way to not cause myself confusion too and maybe even fear.

At 12 I got mistaken as 10 years old, so that can play into the fandom's perspective of Kevin's age speculation. "But what about how he speaks? Sounds like hes a younger child" I have a limited vocabulary, and based off my rants I notice I don't use a word that simplifies what im saying. Repetition is semi there since I'm trying to add more details to follow up an explanation to what I said (hurt back, always hurt back. Parents, scientists) and (just wanna play a little longer. Play play play). Also how I "put quotation marks so people get an understanding of what the character thinks or said". Not sure if people are gonna use intelligence to debunk it since Kevin's scores are described well above average,- I'm actually considered smart at school and at home, and I think my language disorder isn't noticeable because I had early intervention, and given a reblog of my post's tags said they liked the breakdown rant for my Kevin, so I guess it made sense. In the Report:Void VHS, Kevin's reported to have neural abnormalities from a recent checkup

When it comes to understanding what someone's telling me. If it's vague I can pretty easily misinterpret it which makes me confused and if perceived negative like about my interests I guess I get defensive where I'm like "no this is that because of this and-". I imagine Kevin's confrontational social tendancies stem from this. Because he got used to people demeaning his interests. I need clear specific instructions on what to do, and giving me mutiple tasks at once is stressful and it's why the scripts I make take longer. I'm a visual learner. I can easily mimic an action when shown rather than being told. Also I like specific comments and tags because it helps me understand what someone's thinking and knowing how someone thinks on something is interesting to me. When talking about mimicking, my Kevin mimics his parents aggression and violence, and phrases he's heard. I'm not oblivious to things, I can read people pretty good and also understand their situations when they're talking to me about it which makes them feel understood. Like how example: I guessed a friend had split custody parents because they said "their mom lives here while dad lives here". I wanna ensure people don't think I'm oblivious to signs which is why I'm specifying. Oh- I also just rant sometimes when excited to info dump so incase I info dump to someone they don't think it's me feeling insulted.

I also have a great memory for example: At my first memory I knew the layout of the house despite their being no earlier memories, and I remembered objects which were recently confirmed by my parents that I used to have. I say the memory bit because despite being 10 years after the Hour of Joy plus there being almost 3 more years since project Doey is in 1993 maybe beginning somewhere around March and on 8/8/1995 around 10:30 (clocks in the school stop at that time) thus making around 13 years later, Kevin seems to have an accurate memory of the courtyard back then. In-game where Kevin's talking, and another user pointed out Kevin talks from an experience perspective. I think I format my rants like he does to help present info on a way others could understand and get what I'm talking about. It also sounds like Kevin's like to Player "yeah, this is what you a former employee here caused us" because sometimes when I'm thinking back on something, I, unprompted, bring up what I'm thinking in an indirect way where I don't mention specifically what bothered me to the person but I explain certain things I do which explains my side better. Whether or not the person knows about the past thing or not, I think I still talk relatively the same.

I didn't go over all the dialogue, but those are just examples. Onto my extras

I did make a document rant on how maybe my Joseph and Kevin's friendship started because I had this scenario on it. In general, my Kevin likely kept Joseph around at first because he (hinted in VHS that the scientists likely assumed Kevin had no one who'd miss him) had no one, but like how "I'm not a cat person but I dont mind the pet cat" they grow onto them, so that's the concept.

Practically Kevin just simply tolerates Joseph's presence at first to have someone go up to him despite his reputation, but then actually starts caring about him which is scary to him because of his trust issues combined with abandonment issues which presents itself as being distant, while also not knowing how to navigate vulnerability and a friendship since prior to being surrendered to Playcare, he always chalked other kids up as being stupid, immature, just not likeable to him because the household Kevin was raised in had their values being held on being independent, strong and smart.

I'm putting my Kevin and Joseph through a redesign, and before that I never thought of my Kevin's heritage, but during the process, I thought back to a post which describes how there's a racism problem mainly on Twitter where Kevin's displayed with darker skin while Matthew's featured with lighter skin. This accidentally went just that 🦆 because it had me thinking "what if Kevin was someone of color" and it led me to gather 4 paragraphs worth of reasons why my Kevin would be someone of color, more preferably to me Mexican. Yet again it's in document rant form!

Gonna mention sm regarding the ending of the rant. I've also seen users want others to make diversity in the characters yet complains when someone does because "that's not possible for them to be British because Playtime CO is in--" yeah. That is why I announce a concept that there's a program. Unrealistic? Living toys is unrealistic along with a brain computer, and this is my last resort to make future ideas regarding nationalities making sense.

Forgot to mention (edit) I also think language programs would be implemented into Playcare if they did this which is why the experiments who can talk speak English

I had considered after the Kevin nationality rant whether or not my Joseph could he mixed race or just white, so here's another one! This post was originally gonna be about only the language disorder stuff, but I decided to use this as an opportunity to rant more about my Kevin.

Hehhee anyway

Who's that pokem--

Also some design process stuff for the two

Unofficial

For now I'm keeping my old Kevin design when I draw him, but there'll be a change eventually when I get to his hc art. I'd also say my Kevin's maybe or almost 12 because I consider that the age where you become the worse version of yourself. Also the reason the bigger body orphans are in the double digits usually (theodore and jack excluded) is because "smaller organs in smaller bodies so functioning is harder, older subjects can yield better scores and are more emotionally and physically likely to manage their new body, and that'll lead to less problems"

[kalwithatrenchcoat]

Bluey is Kevin-approved. (This is only HC; adjacent to the Bluey x PPT Crossover.)

|| Last Panel ||

[sunshinetomioka]

More Rdr2 modern AU thoughts no "criminality" in this. I just can imagine them living in some sort of commune centered around a ranch. (this was inspired by Dutch talking about the Paris commune) I changed a few ages so it fits more modern society and like most of them don't really have exact ages. Some aren't as fleshed out as the others but it's not cuz I like them less or more.

Hosea(55) : was the one who bought the ranch with Bessie then slowly Dutch, Arthur and John came to live here too. When she sadly passed away he was glad they were here. Him and Bessie were a foster home, which is how Arthur and John met them. He sees Abigail as the daughter he and Bessie would have had and therefore think of Jack as his grandson. Bessie and him were teachers in primary school.

Dutch (45): got elected mayor of the commune somehow, it doesn't actually do anything but feeds his need of power so it's cool. He is the one talking to the law and intruder most of the time if there's a problem, can't deny he has a way with word. Has like 3 accusations of starting a cult. It is unsure how he and Hosea met and when, everyone gets lost with all the stories they tell.

Arthur(36): lived here almost his whole life but can spend months away on some weird roadtrip and then comeback. Learned many different job to help around. Spend his free time either drawing or enjoying nature. Likes shooting competition too. He's chronically ill/ disabled because of tuberculosis, he's doing better than a year ago but the sequel will follow him all his life.

John (26): hated living here at some point, couldn't find anything he was "good enough" at. After taking a self discovery journey (and fleeing the responsibility of being a father this young) he found out he liked herding the cows or sheep. I can't really imagine him and Abigail still being together in a society that doesn't push women to find men like in 1899. I think there would be tension at first but they'd end up sharing "custody" of Jack, after all they live in the same "town" (and Hosea would kill John if he didn't take care of that kid)

Abigail (24): arrived here with luck, mother of Jack she would have probably aborted if she didn't have a pregnancy denial cuz she feels she's too young to be a mother (which she was, she finished high school only a year or two before!) Hosea loves teaching her the rope of the ranch, she is family after all.

Uncle (67): Came at some point, acted like he belonged and never left. Nobody can tell how he arrived. He usually goes into nearby town to buy or sell or... Well avoid work at the commune.

Susan (49): She knew Dutch for a while now and after some health related issues he decided to offer her to live at the ranch, she greatly helped with setting up everything that the commune became.

Bill (31): after getting discharged by the army he couldn't find any places that wanted him, struggled with homelessness for a while until he joined the commune. He's very helpful when it comes to muscle jobs which they clearly lacked when he joined. He probably works on the day outside the commune to make himself some money, it's mostly helping with manual task.

Javier (26): just like in the OG story he got taken in by Dutch, Trelawny somehow managed to help him get documents so he could be legal. He's an aspiring musician.

Karen (24): She was on a roadtrip when she discovered the commune, she stayed for a while before leaving and then returned a year or so later as she couldn't find anything to please her way of living in the rest of society.

Mary-Beth (23): Met Arthur in one of his roadtrip and absolutely fell in love with the stories he told her, she asked if she could join the commune in hope of finding inspiration for her books.

Tilly (21): She got to be in the commune thanks to foster care after losing both her parents. She sort of grew up with John and loves going into the city and meet people, she spends lots of time with Mary-Beth discussing their respective lives. She probably does tik tok videos to explain how they live in the commune. Her, Karen and Mary-Beth probably take Arthur with them when going to protest march and even tho he's not fond of crowds he always come if they ask.

Molly (27): A rich girl who discovered the commune through Tilly's videos. She decided to live there as a way to rebel against her family. Despite her upbringing she loves the place and the people but never shows it.

Lenny (19): studying in the university in the biggest city near the commune, Dutch met him the day he initially got rejected from uni, he said he could use a guy like him once he'd graduate and somehow found a way to have Lenny accepted. Comes in the commune when he's on holidays or to study before exams.

Sadie (30): After losing her husband in a fire she tried to kill herself, thankfully Dutch and Arthur saw her and stopped her. They took her to the commune, she still suffer from depression but is starting to feel like living again. Spend a lot of her time with the animals. She used to live in the ranch her husband inherited.

Charles (28): When he was only a few years old he was separated from his mother, remembering very little of her and her heritage. He was given to his father who became an alcoholic as time passed. He visited a lot of tribe to try and find his heritage, when passing in the region of the commune he met Arthur and they talked for a while as Arthur guided him to the local tribe. He comes from time to time, stay for a while. It's like a second home.

Sean(24): tried to rob them in order to feed himself when Arthur caught him and brought him to Dutch the latter decided Sean could be forgiven by working around in the commune, he hasn't left since then.

Kieran (28): after an incident in the ranch he worked at, Kieran tried to find a new place to live. He first found a job with the O'Driscoll but didn't like it. He accidentally entered the commune and they thought he was a robber. After he explained his situation they let him go and he decided to stay there.

Pearson (38): he takes care of the general store but it isn't really a general store it's more like where everything is centered to make it more accessible to the rest of the commune. He arrived here after hearing about it in a nearby city, thought it might reminds him of his time in the navy.

Swanson (47): Pretty much like in the game Swanson went through a lot and lost his faith, Hosea and Dutch took pity of him and offered to help him find peace again in the commune. After he got better and decided to serve as the clergyman of the group.

Strauss (53): I think that the canon version still work quite well for him, I can see his family being Austrian immigrants in a big city and deciding he should live in a more rural place and that's how he ends up in the commune. He takes care of everything that falls under bookkeeping (be it money, materials or food)

Trelawny (41): doesn't actually live in the commune but he's a long time friend so he comes by often.

Jack (5): everyone's favorite boy, spent his two first years living with Abigail (who was kindly helped by Hosea and sometime Arthur) right now John and Abigail found an agreement and he spent half his time with Abi and the other half with John. They do some activities all together too.

There's probably lots of inaccuraty since I don't live in the US and like unless it's disrespectful I don't really care lol

[2243]

they did this for me

[lying-on-floors]

What if I tell you that Angela Moore is a lesbian and she dated "Shawn" bc "Shawn" is actually Veronica and she comes out to her and it all makes sense and they're a beautiful lesbian couple? What, then? Huh?

THEY MOVE TO NEW YORK AND "SHAWN" STARTS HER TRANSITION AND ANGELA IS SO PROUD OF HER GIRLFRIEND AND THEY HAVE QUEER FRIENDS AND THEN VERONICA INTRODUCES JACK AND ERIC TO THE QUEER SCENE IN NEW YORK AND CORY AND TOPANGA GO AND ARE SO SUPPORTIVE AND EVEN FINDING EXPLORING THEIR QUEERNESS AND THEY'RE ALL GAY AND HAPPY AND OMFG I LOVE THEM SM I LOVE LESBAINS!!!! I LOVE QUEERS!!! AAAAAAAAA!

[ladylilithprime]

Day 18: Family Business

(Set in the Faerie Court of Avalon, NJ series. Sam is a half-faerie prince, Cas and Jimmy Novak are his husbands, and Jack is their adopted selkie son.)

THE END OF school and the start of summer was greeted with mixed reactions from the students at Middle Township High School. The final days of school were often shortened to half-days that were more shindig than scholastic, and many of the students in the freshman class just didn't bother going. In the higher grades it was a more mixed bag, some kids choosing to skip out so they could get a head start on summer job applications, while others stuck to the school schedule to avoid having to job hunt or, in the case of the graduating seniors, get any last minute help on college applications.

Newly-sixteen-year-old Jack Kline and his best friends, Matt Pike and Kaia Nieves, were a very mixed bag in that respect. All three of them had made it clear to their fellow classmates that they intended to spend the summer working, but the where and when they started was still a bit up in the air.

"Would've thought that was already settled," Krissy Chambers said where she sat straddling the bench at the lunch table.

"Why would you think that?" Matt asked, exchanging a confused glance with Jack. "I mean, it's a summer job, not a career. There's plenty of options, but not all the options are gonna be good fits for padding our respective college applications in two years...."

"Move, bitches," Kaia interrupted, sliding in between Matt and Krissy with an armful of sodas and snack bags. "We're in the final days so the pickings are a bit slim. What's your poison?"

"Cocaine," Jack deadpanned, laughing when Kaia flipped him off and slid a can of Cherry Coke across the table to him.

"I don't understand," Krissy said, absentmindedly grabbing a can of Sprite as she looked around the group. "I mean, I'm going to be working at the marina with my dad, Jack's obviously going to go work at that cafe his dads own--"

"No I'm not," Jack broke in, surprised. "I mean, yeah, Dad would hire me on for the summer if that's what I wanted, but I've actually got a lifeguard gig lined up at the beach."

"What?" Krissy's exclamation was echoed by two other kids, Jason Pond and Ben Braeden, who'd obviously been eavesdropping. Seeing that they were being acknowledged, Jason coughed and added, "Most of us kinda figured your dads would have you joining the family business right out of school, what with all three of them working there."

"And your mom, too," Ben added, which... what?

"My mom is dead, guys," Jack reminded them, getting a wince from Jason and Krissy and an eyeroll from Ben.

"Stepmom, then," Ben corrected himself. "Or whatever it is you call Miss Charlie."

"I call her Charlie," Jack said, sharing a bewildered look with Matt and Kaia. "Maybe Aunt Charlie if I wanna tease her for getting old or something, but she's not one of my parents." Frankly, Charlie was way more influential over Kaia than him, the way his best female friend had taken to emulating her whenever appropriate.

"Dude, did you just assume every fulltime employee at Lighthouse CommodiTeas was part of the polycule?" Kaia snorted, unintentionally reinforcing Jack's mental point, and full on laughing when Ben blushed. "Yeah, no. Charlie met Sam because her former girlfriend pointed her in his direction when she wanted to get her jackass corporate boss arrested for crimes against humanity or something. Cas and Jimmy came around for their own reasons and stayed because they fell for Sam and Sam fell right back."

"And all three of my dads also went to college before deciding to work in a cafe," Jack pointed out, bringing the conversation back around to the previous topic. "Multiple times in Dad's case since, y'know, fuctionally immortal half-faerie; I think he's got a couple of doctorates and a handful of masters degrees at this point. But Papa J and Papa C both went to college and got degrees in Communications and Technical Writing respectively, and when they first started talking about getting married Dad sat down with them to figure out ways they could put those degrees to proper use since they wouldn't have to worry about money anymore. And since they're all three functionally immortal, in a few decades they'll have probably found people they like and trust to take over the cafe or buy it and they'll go on to do something else."

"Really?" came from Ben, Jason, Krissy and, surprisingly, Matt.

"I kinda thought the cafe was your dads' passion project or something," Matt admitted to Jack's raised eyebrow, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Eh, for now, maybe?" Jack shrugged. "Dad opened the place originally when we moved here to give us both a touchstone with the broader community, but he only really considered expanding or building up the place a little after Papa C started baking there. So, like, it's a business that's run by my family, but it's not a family business, y'know? Not like the Three Black Cats diner run by the Banes family, or Krissy's dad's place at the marina."

"It honestly never occurred to me to make that distinction," Krissy admitted sheepishly. "I mean, it always seemed like a given that I'd go to school until I graduate and then come work with Dad. I mean, isn't that what most parents expect of their kids?"

Several loaded looks were shared around the table for a moment. Eventually, Matt sighed and set down his grape Fanta. "Look, my foster mom is a selkie sheriff and her girlfriend is a veterinarian, and they both encouraged me to decide for myself what I want to do. Meanwhile, my bio dad tried to sacrifice me to a pagan god to lift an ancient curse on tribal land his company was trying to commercialize, so I figure he doesn't get a vote anymore."

"I don't know who my bio parents were or what they did," Kaia said with a shrug. "And my foster parents were unenthused when my powers manifested, so I don't really care what they think, either."

"My mom works in a morgue," Jason added with a dry look. "With the Revelation and recent protections for folks like us, she doesn't have to, and she says I don't either if I want to do something else."

"Mom's a yoga instructor," Ben offered without elaborating.

"And we just went over what my dads do and why," Jack piped up, covering his cousin's reticence. "My mom was a selkie like me and worked as an underwater environmental lobbyist until my sperm donor stole her coat. She gave me to Dad in exchange for vengeance on the asshole as a way to protect me from being trapped and abused like she was, and Dad's done his best to fulfill that wish. So we all figure what I do is my choice, and being a lifeguard will look good for applying to Annapolis or getting into another college on a ROTC scholarship, get a degree that'll give me a flipper up with the Navy."

"Huh," Krissy sat back, looking a little troubled. "Am I being boring for just going to work for my Dad?"

"Nah," Matt shook his head.

"Kinda," Ben said, holding up his hands when Kaia glared at him, "but if it's what you really want to do, as a long term thing or even if you just want to do it while you look for something else to call to your passion, then our opinions don't mean shit."

"Choice matters," Jack added earnestly. "At the end of the day, no one can make your choices for you. Even if they think they can, you still have to agree to go along with it," he added with a flicker of a glance towards Ben, who ducked his head in a way that could've been a nod.

"Okay," Krissy nodded, looking a bit happier.

For a few minutes all of them just drank their sodas or munched on the chips, pretzels, and funions, each with their own set of thoughts. Eventually, Ben cleared his throat and glanced up at Jack.

"So, since you won't be going to work at the cafe," he said slowly, one finger tapping a finger against the near empty can, "you think your dad might be willing to hire me for the summer?"

"Only one way to find out," Jack said with a smirk. "Just don't call Charlie my mom again, for your own protection. You will get way too much information about her and Miss Dorothy."

"Dorothy Baum?"

"The school librarian?!"

Jack sat back and let his friends have their mental meltdowns over finding out about their librarian's lesbian love affair with his favorite aunt. It was times like this when he definitely understood Uncle Dean's propensity for mischief. Making a mental note to let his Dad know that Cousin Ben might be around looking for a summer job regardless of his mom's wishes to keep him away from their "bad influence", he settled in with his soda to enjoy the show.

[feralboimurphy]

MATT LAWRENCE ON THE POD MONDAY YEAHHHHHH

[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

[fawnwilde]

Taboo .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Masterlist | various x reader

rating: explicit (18+)

Reader finds herself intertwined in the VDL gang after saving some of their members.

There must be something in the air, because everyone seems entranced by her...

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, like seriously this is pure filth, ur fuckin the whole gang, every position every location, will add more as it goes along x

ongoing...

Prologue

I - gratitude - dutch van der linde

II - relief - john marston

III - ecstasy - sean macguire

IV - solace - javier escuella

V - yearning - arthur morgan

VI - favour - charles smith

VII - embrace - hosea matthews

VIII - confusion - bill williamson

IX - gentle - kieran duffy

X - loathing - micah bell

XI - whimsical - josiah trelawny

XII -synergy - arthur morgan & charles smith

XIII - romantic - mary-beth gaskill

XIV - liaison - dutch van der linde & hosea matthews

XV - absolution - sadie adler

I’m taking creative liberties because, even having played the game, the timeline confuses me.

Jack doesn't exist because he is a tiny being and shouldn't be featured in a filthy story like this, in any way. Abigail does exist but isn't apart of this story, only mentioned briefly. Molly isn't here to protect her and my peace x

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn @pumpkin-toffee @littlebirdgot @ripvanwinkleee @straows @bixjan @luzhesrozes @clementine-writes-things @mandalover2023 @el3mentlexpl0rer

[kalwithatrenchcoat]

Lil Art Session featuring Doey's boys in their conscience and human form.

[popcornpoppypop]

Like You

Summary: You're a single mom to an angry teen boy. Jack isn't phased, he can handle the anger. He is there for your son, no matter what. Years later, Pittfest makes them more alike than anyone would wish.

Warnings: Angst, fighting, angry teen, mentions of death, mass shooting, blood, medical inaccuracies, talk of amputation.

There wasn’t a day that passed where you weren’t beyond grateful for Jack Abbot. Most people would have turned and ran the moment they found out you had a 14 year old son. You couldn’t blame them. It’s a lot of baggage. But Jack never blinked.

“Honey, you are the best person I’ve ever met. Why the hell wouldn’t I love someone you made?” He told you the night you had finally let him in.

“He can be angry sometimes, Jack. He might not like you for a while.” You warned, not wanting to sugar coat anything and be left when things got hard.

“I was angry for most of my life. I know what it’s like. I’ll be okay. It’s not about me anyway.” He shrugged.

“Oh my god, just fucking kiss me already.” You sighed as you pulled him into you, his laughter rumbling in his chest,

Your son wasn’t introduced to your boyfriends often. You never really found any that you felt would stand the rough weather. But something in Jack made you trust him. The first meeting went over like a lead balloon. Ended with your son shouting at Jack.

“You don’t care about me! You just want to fuck my mom! Fucking pervert!” Your son,Matt, shouted at him.

“Matthew! Stop that, you don’t speak like to anyone, let alone someone I care about!” You scolded.

“Y/N, it’s okay.” Jack said stroking your arm, trying to calm you down.

“He’s just here to get in your pants! Thinks if he buddies up to me it’ll happen.” Matt growled.

“I know that’s what’s happened in the past, but I promise that is not what I’m doing right now.” Jack raised his hands up like he was calming a wild animal.

“Oh please, you’re just like the rest.” Matt scoffed, pacing back and forth.

“Matt, please just sit down and let’s talk about this.” You plead with the boy.

“Shut up, bitch!” He snapped. Jack stood up fast, the chair flying back from underneath him.

“Hey! You listen to me now! You can talk how you want to me, I don’t care, I can take it. You will never, NEVER, speak to your mother like that. She doesn’t deserve your anger.” Jack growled. Matt stopped looking at Jack in all his intimidating power.

“You’ll never be my father.” Matt whispered before running upstairs. Jack sighed shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I-I didn’t think he’d get this upset. Maybe that was naïve. You didn’t deserve that.” You sighed, head in your hands.

“Honey, I’ve had worst hurled in my direction. He can be angry with me. If that’s what he needs.” He said smoothing your hair from your face.

For months, Jack would come by the house and try to speak with Matt only to be met with insults. Jack saw how it tore you up, tried to console you. You both knew it was part of the process, it didn’t make it easier.

You had to go on a work trip for the weekend, you’d asked Jack to stay at your house to keep an eye on Matt. Matt had broken a glass when you’d told him.

“If I can handle violent psych patients and IEDs, I can handle a teenager.” Jack joked.

Matt had stayed in his room for the most part, running downstairs to grab food and run back to his room. One night, Jack was asleep on the couch, the TV playing old M*A*S*H reruns. His prosthetic leaning against the side table.

Matt watched him for a moment. Seeing the stoic man in such a vulnerable state took him back for a moment. He stalked over, keeping as quiet as he could. He picked up the fake leg and tried to leave with it.

“If you don’t give that back, I’ll have to hop on one leg while I kick your ass and that’ll be embarrassing for both of us.” Jack grumbled as he woke up.  Matt cringed as he brought the leg back. He’d crossed a line he didn’t want to.

“Whatever.” Matt mumbled as he set the leg back down. He stood staring at Jack’s leg for a while. Jack let him, not embarrassed about it, never had been. Occasionally, he’d be insecure when it made certain activities of the sexual nature more difficult. He’d learned how to work around it.

“You can ask.” Jack said, catching Matt off guard.

“What happened? Mom said you were in the Army. It get blown off?” Matt was trying to poke the sensitive parts.

“Yeah. I was a medic on a tour in Iraq. Got shot, blew most of my foot off.” Jack nodded. Matt was somehow not prepared for a blunt answer, even though he got nothing else from Jack.

“What’s it like being less of a man?” Matt hissed.

“I’ll let you know if that happens.” Jack sniffed.

“You’re annoying.”

“Kid, you can say what you want. It’s not going to phase me.” Jack turned the volume up, his ring catching the light.

“Mom said you’re a widow too.”

“Yes.” Jack’s voice ever so slightly tightens, ready for some insult.

“You remember her still?” Matt’s head hung low as he sat at the other end of the couch.

“Every damn day. Always will. Your mother understands.” Jack nodded.

“What happened?” Matt didn’t meet his eyes.

“She got sick. I couldn’t save her.” Jack cleared his throat.

“That’s like your whole thing.”

“Yeah. I know. Some things are beyond our control.” Jack’s eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“My dad watched this shit too.” Matt nodded to the TV.

“He had good taste.”

“He would have liked you.” Matt huffed. Jack looked over at him, bewildered.

“Yeah? Why?”

“You take good care of us. You’re not a real asshole, just like a surface asshole. You want people to think you are but you’re not.”

“I try my best. I care about you too, Matt. I know it’s hard to believe, but I do.” Jack turned to face the boy. He looked like a child more than he ever had.

“I know. It’s…something in my head makes me want to hate you. Like if…if I don’t I’ll forget him.”

“You won’t. He’ll always be around for you. I’m not him, I wouldn’t try to be. Maybe we can try getting along for a bit, see how it feels. I know it would make your mom’s life easier.” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Try it out.” He chuckled as he got up and left.

After that night, Matt relaxed a little. You were so grateful to have some relief to his anger. Jack felt that same relief.

Life got a rhythm to it soon after. Jack moved in and Matt didn’t argue so much. They would watch the Steelers together and you’d pretend you wanted to, mostly you just enjoyed being one family for a moment.

Three years on and things were comfortable. Matt asking Jack’s advise about girls and school. They would go out to the batting cage every Sunday. Jack always made sure he had Sundays off, time to spend with his family.

“Jack, I’ll be fine. I have enough sunscreen!” Matt groaned as Jack shoved a can of sunscreen spray into Jacks bag.

“It’s going to be hot and there will no shade. Melanoma ain’t something to fuck around with, Kid.” Jack said.

“Matt, humor him so you can leave.” You laughed as you walked out of the kitchen.

“Look,” Jack whispered looking behind to make sure you were out of ear shot. “not just sunscreen in there. You be careful, I put a couple sizes so we didn’t have to get that personal.” He winked.

“Oh my god! Stop talking!” Matt whined.

“He’s right Sweetie! I see way too many teen boys at the clinic with STDs. It’s no fun.” You chuckled as you walked back in.

“I tried to be subtle, that’s on you.” Jack pointed at Matt. “Jake will be there, if you need someone go find him.”

“It’s a concert. I think I’ll be fine. You two are paranoid.” Matt laughed.

“It’s our job. I see too many things go sideways.” Jack sighed.

“Matty, we just want you to be careful. Be back in this house by 10pm. A second later and I will lose my shit.” You smiled.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Matt rolled his eyes.

“Hey, listen to your mother. You treat that girl well too.” Jack said.

“Girl? What girl?” You asked looking between them.

“Jack! Come on man!”

“Matt, please be careful. Go have fun.” You sighed, not wanting to give yourself more to worry about.

“Call if you need anything.” Jack said. Matt waved you both off as he ran out the door.

“Is 17 too young for a music festival? Did I just make a huge mistake?” You asked, suddenly filled with anxiety.

“Hell if I know. Things are different these days. I would have snuck out to go, so he was probably going either way.” Jack shook his head as he started for the bedroom.

“You want breakfast before you pass out?”

“No. Rough night. Just want sleep.” Jack said. You marveled at how he never let Matt see how heavy his job was. He watched people die and came home and joke about football with Matt. You worked in the low-income clinic attached to PTMC, never seeing half the things he did.

You sat in the sun, enjoying the quiet of the late afternoon. Your garden was the small way you kept your sanity. The flowers blooming made you feel like you weren’t a complete failure at life. You tried to stay out of the house when Jack was sleeping, allowing him some peace.

“Didn’t I just give the melanoma speech this morning?” Jack stood in the patio doorway.

“The day got away from me.” You chuckled.

“Get in here before you fry.” He said, his eyes twinkling.

“Was that an order?” You smirked.

“Yes, it very much was.” He said, he leaned on the doorway, his biceps flexing in the sun. You felt a little dizzy looking at him. You stood, dusting yourself off as you walked up.

“I’m covered in dirt.” You laughed.

“Never minded a little dirt.” He said tilting your chin up with a finger and gently kissing you. His hand tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss.

“The neighbors are definitely watching.” You smiled.

“Let them.” He said as he pulled you close.

“Take me to the bed, our backs can’t handle the patio bricks.” You chuckled.

“Is that an order?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir, it is.” You bit at his bottom lip. In a swift motion he wrapped an arm around your waist and lifted you over his shoulder.

“Yes, Ma’am!” He said taking you towards the bedroom.

“Oh my god! Do not hurt yourself being an idiot!” You giggled.

“I lift patients all day, you think I can’t carry you to bed? Please!” He threw you on the bed.

“Take your shirt off.” You barked, suddenly desperate to see him. He didn’t waste time, threw the shirt onto the floor. His muscles shining in the sunlight.

“Now you.” He was practically drooling as you undid your shirt and let it sink to the floor. He stood between your legs, running his hands up your arms, across your collar bone, taking his time tracing his fingertips up your throat.

“dispatch sending all available units, Signal 36, Pittfest. Shots fired.” The police scanner buzzed with the warning.

“Jack did that just say-”

“Call Matt.” Jack dropped his hands fumbling to find his phone. You scrambled to find your phone, dialing Matt.

“It’s going straight to voicemail.” Your voice shook.

“Dammit! They probably took over the cell signal.” Jack growled.

“Jack, what do I do!?” You’re breath picking up.

“Honey, breathe. You gotta stay calm.” He said, holding your face in his hands. “You keep trying to call him. Once he gets away from the festival grounds, he’ll be able to reach you. You stay here, let all your neighbors know to watch out for him.” He told you.

“What are you doing?” You looked confused as he started dressing.

“Baby, I gotta go into work. They’ll be overwhelmed with patients. He might head there first, I’ll be there if he is.” Jack sighed.

“Jack, what if-”

“No. Don’t go there.” He stopped the thought before you could finish it. “I’ll have someone monitoring my phone if I can’t. You call me the second you see him. I love you.” Jack kissed you as he grabbed his bag and ran out the door.

Jack was right, The Pitt was overwhelmed almost immediately. He kept his head down, going from patient to patient. Kept asking Dana for updates.

“Jake? Jake, where’s Matt?” Jack ran up to the boy, his leg oozing blood.

“I don’t know, man! I lost him in the crowd. I tried to find him.”

“Okay, it’s okay. Sit down, we’ll fix you up.” Jack said as he assessed the leg and ordered treatments,  running back, seeing the state Leah was in. Robby wasn’t going to handle that well. He kept working, all he could do was keep working.

“Jack…” Dana’s voice brought him back, looking over as Robby crumbled.

“Come on man. You’ve done more for her than anyone else. If this was a different day, she still wouldn’t have made it.” Jack said.  Robby kept pushing meds and doing compressions for a moment, Jack’s words settling into him.

“Stop compressions.”

“Want me to call it?” Jack offered. Robby shook his head.

“Time of death 2104.”  Robby shook his head. Jack patted him on the shoulder.

“I got another red! GSW to the abdomen and right leg! Lost a lot of blood in the field.” Shen called as he wheeled in another patient. Jack tossed his gloves off and grabbed new ones. When he turned he saw the shoes. The shoes he bought Matt for his sixteenth birthday. The shoes he had begged for, never giving you or Jack peace until he had them. The white shoes now red.

“No.” He whispered as he ran over. The pale face of Matt knocked the wind out of him.

“Dr. Abbot, IO is placed. Should I start giving blood?” Princess asked. Jack froze. “Dr. Abbot?” Princess asked, looking at him confused.

“uh…yeah, yes. Start giving blood, we have to get his clothes off.” Jack’s voice shook. “Dr. Mohan! I need you here!” He called, his voice sharp and broken making everyone face him.

“Oh god.” Dana gasped.

“Dr. Abbot?” Samira questioned. “Do you need to step away?” She asked.

“I-I…Robby! I need you!” He cried out. Robby turned, his face red and confused until he saw Matt’s face. He ran over, pushing Jack away.

“Dr. Mohan start intubation.” Robby started barking orders. Dana came over and dragged Jack away.

“Call her.” She handed him the phone and ran over to help.

His hands shook as he hit your contact.

“Jack? What’s going on? Is he there?” Your voice is thick with worry.

“Honey, he’s here. He’s hurt.” His voice was so broken, you’d never heard him like that. The fear ran up your spine and grabbed your heart.

“Oh my god. Okay. I’m…fuck. Okay, I’m on my way.” You cried as you hung up the phone and ran to your car.

Jack watched as his friends worked to save his stepson. Watched as Robby did everything he could after just coding his own stepson’s girlfriend. He felt like his heart was in his throat and he was choking.

“Dr. Walsh, admit this one to surgery.” Robby called.

“He’ll be next in line, we’re finishing up with the other now.” She nodded as she walked with the nurses towards the elevators with Matt.

“Dr. Abbot, he’s okay. He’s going to surgery. Damage to the bowel, his right leg has some pretty bad damage, but he’ll survive.” Dr. Mohan told him.

“Jack, get some air.” Dana said. Jack stood, going straight to Robby.

“Brother…thank you…” He said.

“Yeah. You did the same.” Robby nodded. “Jake’s leg is okay?” Robby questioned.

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll be okay, won’t need amputation.” Jack cleared his throat. Robby nodded and walked off.

“Jack! Jack, where is he!?” You came running in, the blood on the floor almost stopping you. Jack ran up and wrapped you in his arms.

“He’s okay! He’s okay! He’s in surgery. Robby saved him.” He told you as you sobbed into his chest.

“Oh my god, thank god!” You cried.

“The leg was pretty bad, Honey. I don’t know if they’ll be able to fix it.” Jack sighed.

“He’s alive, that’s what matters to me.” You said, finally taking in the state of him. You brushed the sweat soaked hair from his face.

“I froze.” He said, his voice catching as he looked away.

“You got the right people to help him. That’s all you needed to do.” You told him.

“I’ve never froze like that.” He said, trying to stop the tears.

“Jack, your son was on the table in front of you. I would have too. Everyone would have. He’s going to be okay, Right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what we need to hold onto right now.” You kissed his temple.

“He’ll be in surgery for a while, you can sit in the break room until I can take you up.” Jack nodded.

“I can help.” You said.

“No, not tonight.” He said as he walked off.

“Hun, come sit with me.” Dana said pulling to the nurses station.

“He’s in shock.” You muttered.

“Yeah. We all are. He loves that boy.” Dana sighed as she handed you a chart to start entering, knowing you’d go crazy if you didn’t do anything.

Jack powered through getting his patients charts in and dealing with any last treatments. His mind clouded but functional.

“Dr. Abbot? Dana said to let you know they called down from surgery for you.” Javadi said.

“Okay. Can you make sure that the patient in bay six gets another round of O-neg.” He ordered as he walked off towards the nurses station.

“He’s getting moved to a room right now. They said Room 314.” Dana told him. You jumped up and followed him to the elevator.

The ride up to the third floor felt like an eternity. The door opened and the quiet on the floor was stunning. You both took a breath before leaving.

“Dr. Abbot, we got your boy over here.” Walsh waved over. “Some damage to the small bowel, we were able to correct, made the repairs to the liver. He’s got a broken rib from the impact. He’ll be on strict rest and NPO for a few days, IV calories strictly so those bowels can heal.” Walsh rattled off.

“Thank you.” You said, wiping the tears from your face.

“Course. I do need to warn you. We did everything we could to save the leg. The damage was too much. We had to amputate. Half way up the shin, like yours.” Walsh nodded. Jack squeezed his eyes shut. He never wanted this for him. He wanted to keep this pain from him.

“Okay. Thank you.” Jack said as if he was still holding his breath. You both entered the room. The breath caught in your throat as you took him in. His face so pale and the wires sticking off of him. The way he lay so still.

“Jack…” You sobbed. He wrapped you up in his arms. His eyes never left Matt’s right leg.

“He’ll be okay.” He said, burying his face in your hair.

You both sat next to him, refusing to leave. He didn’t wake for two days. The agony of waiting was obvious on your face. You were dozing off, head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Mom…” Matt groaned. You both shot awake.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” You said as you held his face in your hands.

“Mom.” He started to cry. You wrapped him up in the arms. Jack kept a hand on his leg.

“You’re okay, Matty.” You sobbed.

“it hurts.” He groaned, he tried to sit up. Jack put a hand to his chest and pushed him back.

“Take it easy. You gotta stay down for a while.” Jack said as he hit the call button.

“I remember the shots, I heard everyone screaming. There was a burning in my belly and then nothing.” Matt’s voice shook.

“Dr. Abbot?” a nurse came in.

“He’s in pain. Have Walsh put in an order for more morphine please.” He ordered.

“You got shot in the abdomen, Matt. They repaired it, you’ll be able to eat solids in a few days.” Jack explained.

“Okay. My leg hurts though.” Matt looked confused. Jack shook his head looking at the ground.

“Baby, you got shot in the leg. They tried everything, but they couldn’t save it. They had to cut it off at the shin.” You explained, trying to take the burden from Jack. It was heavy, too heavy for anyone but more so for Jack.

“I lost my leg? It’s just gone?” His voice filled with panic and confusion.

“If they left it, you would have been in so much pain.” You told him.

“We’ll help you through this, Kid. You’re strong. Stronger than I was.” Jack told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m like you?” Matt looked up at Jack, he looked like a child.

“Yeah.” Jack nodded, trying and failing to stop the tears.

“Right now, we focus on getting you better. Then we focus on your leg.” You told him.

“You’ll help me, right?” Matt looked at Jack.

“Always, Matt. I’m always going to help you.” Jack pulled him into a tight hug. The two clung onto each other and cried.

You watched them, your chest tight. The healing would hurt, but you knew your family would make it.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Sorry this snippet is later than the others! (Even though it's the first one I've managed to complete before sunset so far, but y'know.)

Hope you enjoy!

___

Terminal Case of the Ol’ Switcheroo [Part 3]

(Disclaimer: only one of the EgoPats in this snippet belongs to me. For more information about Caliban, go here. And if you’d like to learn about the mob he works for, go here.)

(One more thing: I’ve actually written a full character analysis on the dynamic between Mad and Caliban. If you’re interested, please feel free to check it out here.)

(Trigger Warnings: violence, blood/gore, knives/blades, implied kidnapping, talk of murder/death, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of illegal business, eating/drinking, implied stalking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Part 1  Part 2 Part 4 Epilogue

___

Ness wasn’t quite sure how long the newest fog of silence had hung in the air (his eyes still felt sore and swollen, but it’d been a while since his sobs had tapered down to hiccups, and then his hiccups down to steady breathing).

However, the way both he and Caliban flinched at the doorbell-esque text notification gave him an idea.

Without taking his eyes off the road, Caliban fished Ness’ phone from his pocket, passing it over. 

Ness gingerly took it, unlocking the screen; a small spark of relief managed to worm its way through his brain. 

“It’s from Mike,” he announced. “He says Jack just picked up Abby.”

Seeing Caliban raise a questioning eyebrow, he clarified, “My roommate, I mean. He’s a good guy—and with the distance between, he should just barely be back at the apartment by the time we get to Mike’s place.”  

“Let’s hope. We’re just about back to the woods. Still have a ways to go,” Caliban replied with a nod before holding out an expectant hand. 

Ness suppressed a sigh as he passed it back, anxiously pursing his lips as he watched the cannibal hide it away once more.

“. . .When exactly are you gonna let me hold onto it again?” He blurted. 

“When I’m able to hold onto my original target,” Caliban answered, using a chipper tone that just dripped with sarcasm. “Because then we’ll both get to go back to our lives: I get to enjoy some carnage to keep my reputation, and you get to pretend that none of this ever happened.”

Ness fidgeted in his seat, absentmindedly playing with Snare’s ears. The hare only encouraged this, craning his neck in order to keep his head touching the waiter’s palms. 

“I just—I feel like I’ve proven that I care more about helping you track that bear-onesie-psycho down rather than potentially ratting you out.”

Caliban snickered, a gleam of appreciation flickering in his eyes at the insult. “Yeah, well, that might be true, but I haven’t survived and climbed the underground ranks this long by being gullible.” 

“But you’re holding pretty much all the cards here,” Ness pointed out. “Your target looks similar enough to me to get a pass; as far as my immediate circle knows, I’m with Mike. Nobody saw you take me. Even if I were to try and call for help, odds are you’d find out, get rid of me, and cover your tracks before anything really came of it.” 

“There’s more to it than that.” Caliban clicked his tongue. 

Ness’ eyes wandered to focus on the glove compartment. He didn’t try to keep pressing (because that came with the risk of getting on Caliban’s nerves, and good things never happened to anyone who got on a contract-killer’s nerves. Especially a cannibalistic one).

But as he thought, he realized that he. . .sort of understood. 

By keeping him alive and giving him a chance to help, Caliban had already lowered his shields; from the sound of things, a bit more than he could usually afford to do. 

Pictures from the past flashed in Ness’ mind—memories of all the various places he’d lived before getting hired at Sparky’s, before moving into that apartment with Jack, before meeting Mike…

Various places with varying levels of safety or danger. 

Some had been surprisingly calm, while others had vibes that were on-par with, say, a malfunctioning garbage disposal. 

He hadn’t just been rambling to stall for time back in Caliban’s den: he’d seen a thing or two in his life. He’d caught glimpses of illegal business, of the secretive world that existed just below the surface of normal society, right under the authorities’ noses. 

But as dark and sinister as that world was, it still had rules.

Sometimes it was hard to distinguish the rules made for them, and the rules made for outsiders like Ness. But one thing was always, always clear: so long as you were quiet and kept from sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, you’d be fine…for the most part. 

A little voice in Ness’ head chastised him for that thought.

Oh, yes. The same guy who made a legit red-string-corkboard on all the rumors about that old animatronic-pizza-jamboree-creepshow knows when to just let sleeping dogs lie. Why, you’re the last bastion of looking the other way!

Another little voice popped up in Ness’ defense.

Freddy’s has been dead for years. It’s just another thing for the true crime books. Not like it harms anyone to try and study the place’s history—BuzzFeed Unsolved does that all the time, and Shane and Ryan are doing great! Just because the stories are so tragic…and the fact that one nightguard went missing on his first shift…and the way Mike always goes pale and won’t make eye-contact at mere mention of the place…that doesn’t mean…

Damn, he really just couldn’t win tonight, could he?

Thankfully(?), that particular train of thought met with spontaneous combustion when Caliban spoke up again.

“Hey, can you grab something from the backseat for me, please?”

“Uh…sure, sure.” Ness, caught off-guard as he was, obliged, pretzeling himself around the side of his seat.

“The white pack,” Caliban clarified. “Right next to the duffel bag.” 

It took no time at all for Ness to find the object in question—it looked like one of those lunch totes he always saw at the stores. He grabbed the handle that had been sewn to the top, lifting it up and setting it down on the center console. 

It was only then that he saw the words on the container’s side, set in a bold, dark red font:

HUMAN ORGAN FOR TRANSPLANT

Ness’ heart dropped. His stomach began to churn with fear and revulsion. 

Oh God, he thought. OhGodohGodohGodohGod, not again. . !

He shuffled to the far-side of his seat, practically leaning against the passenger door, shakily clearing his throat. “O-okay, there it is.” 

“I can’t open it without swerving the car, can I?” An eye-roll was evident in Caliban's tone.

Something cold and clammy coiled its way about Ness’ ribcage. Swallowing the bile that had manifested in his throat, he slowly reached over to the white pack’s zipper. 

What could possibly be inside this thing? Tongues? Appendices? Stray chunks of skin carved from arms or legs or torsos? More finger-treats for Snare?

Against his better judgement, Ness thought back to the Anat. & Phys. course he’d taken in college. The pack wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny, either—and excepting the lungs and intestines, most human organs were somewhat smaller than one might think. The average liver was comparable a football. Kidneys typically grew to the length of your palm. Hell, a person’s heart could only be about the size of both their fists combined!

Ness knew he couldn’t just let himself get sick. 

He knew that if he wanted to protect Mike and Abby, then he needed to cooperate until he could change places with that monster. 

He also knew that the safest cannibal (which was the oxymoron to end all oxymorons) to be around was one that had already been fed. 

Still…it’d been years since he’d done anything even remotely like this. And the questionable comfort only got colder because that one instance had been dissecting a fetal pig in that very same college class.

Could Ness try to find something to cover his hands? He doubted there’d be any latex gloves in the glovebox, but then again, considering both Caliban’s habits and his affinity for puns—

“Sometime before New Years, please,” Caliban mentioned, drumming his fingernails against the steering wheel.

Ness’ trembling hands rested on the white pack. He grit his teeth, turning his head away, preparing to wrench his eyes shut. He braced for that infamous metallic stench to seep into the air, for the faint-yet-unmistakable sound of slick tissues quivering against one another.

(Although…how exactly would the organs be kept in this scenario? It was clear that they would decidedly not be used for a transplant anytime soon, unless winding up between someone’s teeth and in their stomach was a somehow its own type of technical transplant. There was no way Caliban hadn’t already cooked them; would that make their texture more dry, or..?)

Ness shook his head, fighting the nausea and silently cursing himself out for asking questions that he already knew he didn’t want the answers to.

The soft growl of the pack’s zipper seemed so much more deafening and slow-moving than it had any right to be, but Ness still guided it on its track around the top with such speed and force that it was a wonder he didn’t rip it right out of the fabric. 

The pack’s lid popped open with a light crinkling sound, and he tore his hands away as though he’d been trying to defuse a bomb.

“Thanks,” Caliban said, his tone a little brighter than before. 

In his peripheral vision, Ness saw the cannibal reach into the pack. 

Before he could stop himself, he was watching him fish out something very small, covered in bright red skin that glistened in the dim moonlight that was still filtering in through the car windows.

Before he could clamp a hand over his mouth to try and suppress the upcoming gag, however, he noticed a tiny patch of green pinched between Caliban’s fingers…as well as how the morsel was covered in little yellow seeds…

Ness almost physically felt the presence of a buffering wheel manifest right above his head like an angel’s halo. 

Caliban raised the snack to his mouth, his teeth sinking into it with a uniquely soft crunch.

That crunch, the pinkish-white pulp inside, the tiny drops of red juice…

Those all contributed to how it took at least ten whole seconds of shocked blinking to convince parts of Ness’ brain that it really was just a strawberry and that his fear-addled senses hadn’t cooked up any hallucinations (yet). 

As he chewed, Caliban glanced at Ness out of the corner of his eye. Seeing the look on his passenger’s face, he just barely swallowed that first bite in time to avoid choking as he began to cackle.

“I got you, didn’t I?” Caliban crowed as he deposited the strawberry’s top into a small garbage bag that hung just below the steering wheel. “It’s usually better when I can play tricks with the fun stuff, but damn!” 

He reached back into the pack for another strawberry. Ness’ eyes followed along with the movement, and he saw…a collection of completely normal food. Fruits and vegetables. Lunchmeat that was actually legal since it’d clearly come from a turkey or chicken or cow. 

Ness’ brow furrowed a bit. It was so strange to feel blindsided by something that was so casual.

“Just needed a little sugar,” Caliban continued once the quote-unquote hilarity of the situation wore off.  “Oh, and there should be spinach in the bottom—give some to Snare. He’s been needing a little extra iron lately.” 

Ness numbly nodded, searching through the pack until he found a ziplock baggie of dark green leaves. 

Snare perked up, quickly taking the leaf he was offered and munching on it in a very adorable way.

“I feel like you gave him plenty of iron a while ago,” Ness murmured, thinking back to Caliban’s den, to that severed arm, to the fingers…

“Sure, but you can’t just get all your nutrients from one source alone. You’ve gotta keep everything balanced and varied,” Caliban explained. He then raised an incredulous eyebrow in Ness’ direction. “What, did you really think I eat nothing but people?” 

“...Maybe just a little bit?” Ness replied, the words leaving his mouth before his brain could authorize them. He rushed to add, “If you really want to be fair here, I can’t be blamed for that! Once you see someone eating an arm, everything else just kinda goes out the damn window!”

Caliban shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. “All I’m hearing is that you’re the type to judge a book by its human-skin cover.”

“Yes, I am! I try not to most of the time, but I think I get a pass for when someone feels the need to add human-skin to that metaphor!” Ness contended. 

“Hey, just be grateful it’s about a book,” Caliban replied. “Books are small. Imagine if that saying was about a house’s wallpaper.”

Ness’ shoulders slumped. He leaned back in his seat, engaging in a staring contest with the car ceiling. 

Caliban snickered. “Yeah, let that roll around in your head for a little while.”

And so Ness did. The terrifying idea still lingered even as they finally reached the woods that looked so foreign despite the fact that he’d only gotten lost in them a couple hours ago. Even as he explained the directions to Mike’s place. 

It only seemed to let up when Caliban was maneuvering the car onto a somewhat more familiar road.

“...Look, weird stuff has just been on my mind, okay?” Ness eventually muttered. “The trends certainly haven’t helped.”

“‘Trends?’” Caliban echoed.

Ness hesitated before answering, “Yeah. Y’know, the carnivore diet and all that stuff the online gurus are preaching.” 

Caliban squinted at nothing in particular for the next few seconds, mulling this over before recognition and disappointment flared in his eyes. 

“Ah, right. All those guys being dumbasses and giving themselves legit scurvy because they’re convinced that eating anything without a face will make them all sOfT aNd SqUiShY aNd gAy!” He shook his head, heaving a guttural sigh. “Just makes actual butchers like me look bad.”

Due to fact that most butchers (hopefully) didn’t practice the same way Caliban did, Ness was extremely surprised to hear a light laugh bubble up from his throat. But it did, along with a tiny memory that he never would’ve expected to flash in his mind at a time like this. 

“Ironic. Reminds me of some teacher back in highschool,” Ness blurted, “who tried his hardest to tell me that I was attracted to other guys because I just wasn’t eating enough vegetables.”

Caliban gave pause, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. It truly seemed to be the first time all night that he’d been left briefly speechless. “. . .No. Nuh-uh, no way! You can’t be serious!”

“I am,” Ness insisted. “It was a small school in a small town. He really thought being queer was some chemical imbalance caused by lack of certain vitamins.”

Caliban blinked, then sputtered a laugh that was nothing like the mirth he’d shown before. It was clearly a cope-laugh, more flabbergasted than unhinged. 

“. . .Oh my God, why are people so stupid?” He wondered aloud, his face twisting into a cringe-smile.

“Search me,” Ness replied with a small lame gesture.

Fear still had a stronghold over his heart and lungs, but this made it seem to loosen its grip just a teeny-tiny, eensy-weensy bit. He wasn’t sure why, but he certainly wasn’t about to complain.

Caliban continued driving, making sure to avoid the warm, flickering glow of the streetlights here and there. Ness began to recognize more and more of his hometown: the park, the animal shelter, restaurants that were bigger than Sparky’s and yet somehow had less personality. 

Another silence settled over them. This one wasn’t quite as tense as the last, but Ness was certain that would change. 

In fact, his filter decided to malfunction and make it change, because he found himself timidly asking, “What does it taste like?” 

Caliban titled his head to the side, a mischievous grin creeping over his features. “What does what taste like?”

Ness immediately wanted to take those words back, but he couldn’t. He wanted to just keep his mouth shut and abandon these new vibes altogether, but the odds weren’t in his favor. “...You know.”

Caliban pursed his lips with a sarcastic hum. “I don’t know, actually. Context is key; go ahead and clarify.” 

Ness folded his arms across his chest, trying to send all the regret and discomfort he’d brought on himself into his reflection. Because if his reflection was conscious, it’d probably be very smug at his plight while it was lucky enough to not have to deal with things like this.

“Fine, fine. Don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it—morbid curiosity’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Caliban chuckled.

Considering morbid curiosity was probably at least somewhat to blame for Caliban’s eating habits, Ness couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. 

“It tastes amazing. Delicious, prime-grade, top-tier gourmet stuff,” he began. “You can’t exactly place it, but it feels like…like eating a strand of liquid electricity, or molten gems. Your heart races, your mind spins. Your teeth feel sharper and stronger.  No two cases are the same: one body might have a sweet aftertaste. Another might be saltier than you’d expect. The experience always manages to be unique. I do like some other types of meat, but that’s what really makes human so much better than anything else.” 

Caliban sighed happily, eyes glinting like those of a ravenous hyena prowling in the dancing shadows of a bonfire. “And don’t even get me started on the texture. Sometimes it can be a gamble, but as long as you know what you’re doing, you can make it so. Damn. Tender.”

Ignoring how that technically only answered a quarter of his question, Ness shakily nodded.

“...Does it really taste like pork?” He inquired. He tried not to be too obvious with how he squirmed in his seat, because WHY, why in the fresh hell did his impulse to learn have to act up now, of all times?!

“If by that you mean a thousand times better than pork, then yes.” Caliban proclaimed. “I guess there is some similarity with the flavors, but once you’ve had enough experience…” He trailed off, a jagged-yet-silvery chuckle leaking through his jaws. 

“I–I guess I can see that,” Ness tried. He seriously, honestly couldn’t—and he was glad he couldn’t, thank you very much. But part of his brain reminded him of the different culinary practices in other countries. 

Hell, the States seemed to be the only place on Earth where insects weren’t considered delicacies, or even just casual street-food. If you ate anything for a long enough time, you’d get adjusted to it. That was just how things like taste worked. 

(Except for the part about how they shouldn’t sometimes, but he wasn’t going to bring that up right now.)

“I mean—I’ve just heard some historical professors say that people way back when called it long pig.”

Caliban hummed affirmative.

“But…well, it still really can’t be compared to anything in grocery stores,” Ness continued. The awkwardness was agonizing at this point, but there was no stopping that anyway. Not on a night like tonight. 

“You’re damn right it can’t,” Caliban replied, his eyes growing wide and contemplative. “Have you ever taken a good, close look at those slabs of ham in the deli?” 

Ness had no idea how to respond to that, but Caliban interjected before he could even try to think of a way.

“They have no bones, fat, or connective tissue. They’re amalgamations of the meat of several pigs—emulsified, strained, and inexorably joined into unholy meat obelisks.”

Caliban snarled, clicking his teeth together. “Whatever higher being rules over the universe, I guarantee that it has no hands in the creation of abhorence like that. The very fact that those ham monoliths exist is proof that any god out there is either dead, too afraid to alter their own elements, or just ignorant to the horrors of this world.”

He reached up to knead at his temple, as though his brain was about to bash its way out of his skull. “Those prisms of pork in the stores aren’t just deli meat. They’re physical declarations of mankind’s contempt for the natural order. They’re hubris manifest.”

Snare, like a good, emotionally-tuned boy, moved from Ness’ lap to stand on the center console. There, he carefully leaned against his owner’s arm, almost in the semblance of a side-hug.

Part of Ness felt the urge to ask if Caliban had rehearsed all of that sometime before the events of this evening. Ness pushed it aside, because frankly he'd had just about enough of all the existentialism.

And yet…

“So, do the low sodium varieties make that situation any better, or..?” He wondered. 

All the deep, unnerving rage that had laced Caliban’s voice like some kind of horrific drug-cocktail up and vanished. To that last question, he merely shrugged with a non-commital, “Meh.”

Ness chewed his lip and sighed. He turned away, propping his elbow against the passenger door and resting his cheek on his hand. 

But any slight relaxation never really had a chance to kick in. 

(That would be cheating, wouldn’t it?) 

Because as Ness looked for all the world through the window, he realized the car was now slithering through an area that was even more familiar to him than the others. 

A small neighborhood that, while pretty calm and tidy for the most part, could somehow still be described by the term scruffy-looking. A precious few houses were two-story, but most of them were smaller, having been built on slab foundations with ranch-style architecture. 

Especially one that the car was growing closer and closer to.

One whose exterior walls had a white brick trim, having been painted a calm shade of grayish blue that fit well with the green door on its small front porch. 

Mike and Abby’s house. 

“Is this the place?” Caliban asked, his voice low and careful.

“...Yes,” Ness replied, straightening his back like a solider called to attention.

Home, a voice whispered from somewhere in Ness’ chest. Home, home, home…

Did it really count as his home? He’d stayed over there quite a few times, but he and Mike had agreed that they weren’t ready for such a big step as moving in together. 

Not yet, at least. 

I hope to God we can still have that chance after this. The thought seemed to ache, like the first pangs of a head-cold. I hope to God. 

He blinked, and the car was suddenly at the street corner. Not too far from the house, but not too close, either. A chill raced down Ness’ spine as soon as the engine stopped rumbling. 

Caliban picked Snare up and gently set him down in the backseat. “You stay here, buddy. Maybe you can get in on the action later, but right now, you stay. Got it?”

The pale hare titled his head and sneezed, which was probably a close enough answer. 

Caliban took another moment to dig through his duffel bag, fishing out an assortment of sharp things that glinted in the shadows and sliding them into the interior pockets of his leather jacket. After that, he returned his attention to Ness.

Adrenaline was obvious in his dark eyes, but something else was flickering in there as well. Ness wasn’t sure he could read it. 

“...Ness,” Caliban announced. 

Ness flinched; something prickly seemed to manifest in his guts. This was the very first time the cannibal had actually said his name. 

“Look, before we go in, you need—”

“I won’t let Mike see you,” Ness interjected. “No matter what happens, I’ll keep him in the dark. I–I promise!” Ness hoped his honesty was clear. It didn’t matter if they weren’t on the best terms right now. He was not going to let Mike get hurt. Not when he was so close to returning to him. 

“It’s not just that.” Caliban shook his head solemnly. “We can hope for the best right now, but we also need to prepare for the worst.” He licked his lips thoughtfully. “I can’t afford to let you go until I have that dirtbag where I want him. And I really need you to understand that.” 

Ness’ heart ever-so-slightly sank. Fear festered in his veins. 

What could go wrong? How quickly would things move?

What if they were already…

A stinging, burning sensation almost took root in his eyes, but Ness squashed it down. He ground his jaw, feeling his knuckles turn white. 

If he wanted to go back to his normal life, then he needed to go along with this. 

“Fine,” he said with a nod. “Whatever it takes.”

Caliban nodded back. With that, he hauled the driver-side door open and stepped out. 

Ness followed suite. The cool nighttime air felt so fresh. 

The two of them strolled down the sidewalk at a quick, quiet pace. 

“Any entry-points besides the front door?” Caliban murmured. 

Ness nodded. “There’s a side-door in the kitchen. I think it used to be some kind of closet? No idea why it was modeled that way, but it’s there.” 

Caliban sucked his teeth. “Not as discreet as I’d like, but it’ll have to do.” 

Time seemed to slow down as they approached the house. The lawn muffled their footsteps as they crept around to the side. True to Ness’ word, a door stood waiting just before the backyard fence.

Ness realized too late that he didn’t have a key, but that turned out to not really be a problem. Caliban reached into his jacket and produced two tools that honestly resembled a combination of scalpel and crochet hook. With expert hands, he pushed their edges into the keyhole, turning his wrists here and there to maneuver them until a soft click rang through the air. 

With the lock now thoroughly picked, he grasped the doorknob and turned it slowly. Miraculously, the door didn’t wail with a high-pitched creeeeaaaak when he pushed it open. It made Ness wonder if Mike had finally gotten around to oiling the hinges. 

Caliban slipped inside, Ness right on his heels, leaving the door open just a crack with very clear intention. 

The space they’d entered was a cramped little compartment right in the corner of the kitchen. From where he stood, Ness could see some of Abby’s crayons still littered about her side of the table across the room. Something sharp and rough scraped against his lungs.

She’s not here, he reminded himself. She’s with Jack. She’s safe; she won’t have to get mixed up in any of this. 

Caliban kept moving; hell, he almost seemed to glide along the floor with all that terrifyingly quiet speed. Ness tried to keep pace—only to nearly collide with the cannibal when he suddenly halted just before the dining room’s threshold. He held up a hand, silently commanding Ness to stop moving as well. He glanced at the waiter over his shoulder, then nodded toward the next room. 

Ness took a deep breath before glancing around the other man. 

It took everything he had not to scream, not to sprint all the way back across the kitchen. 

The living room, as usual, was in a state of functional chaos. One of Abby’s famous blanket forts took up space in one corner, just beside the television setup. A few of her well-loved stuffed animals lingered around the coffee table, which sat directly in front of the sofa. 

Through the darkness of the house, he could just make out the silhouette of Michael Schmidt draped along said sofa, unconsciously stirring under the weighted blanket Ness had given to him last Christmas, his chest rising and falling as he dreamed.  

And hovering beside the couch’s armrest, looming over him…

Ness’ stalker. 

The same man he’d seen in the parking lot back at Sparky’s. 

The same man who’d left all those horrifying packages for him to open.

The same man who’d signed each of the gruesome, nonsensical letters he'd sent with the name Mad.

Even with his back to him, Ness recognized him automatically. 

It didn’t even take long for him to see the bloodstains marring the fabric of that godforesaken bearsuit. 

He was rocking back and forth on his heels, shoulders shaking. 

If Ness concentrated, he could almost hear…something. The maniac’s voice was too low, too soft to for him to make any sense of his words. Was he talking to himself? Did he think Mike could hear him?

All questions sank through the floor as Ness’ gaze wandered down, giving him ample time to see something clutched in Mad's gloved hands. 

His instincts already knew without a single shadow of a doubt what it was. He didn’t even need to wait to see it caught the light with a metallic gleam. 

A knife. 

THIS MONSTER WAS STARING AT HIS SLEEPING BOYFRIEND AND FIDGETING WITH A GODDAMN KNIFE. 

Heart painfully writhing in his throat, Ness looked back at Caliban. 

Caliban simply gestured over to the corner of the nearest wall. 

The message was clear: Don’t let him see you.

Ness cradled his arms together, only realizing just how badly he was shaking when he dug his nails into his own skin. He nodded, backing away until he was, for the most part, out of sight. 

He still had a vantage point into the living room; even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself from watching.

He watched as Caliban stalked over to the other killer, each step cautious and deliberate, his heartbeat ringing in his ears so much that he felt compelled to count each tick of the rhythm. He didn’t even bother questioning how his mind could keep up with the speed of that organic drum.

It almost reminded him a scene from a nature documentary he’d watched a couple months ago: it’d revolved around a snake hunting a wild rat. 

Thirty heartbeats

He remembered how the rodent had clearly seen the snake approaching, only to be pitifully frozen in place. 

Forty heartbeats

It was as though the snake’s piercing eyes had truly drilled holes into its prey’s brain as it crawled closer and closer, moving with such patient, sadistic slowness until the very last second…

Fifty heartbeats

…And then it finally rushed forward, wrapping its jaws around the rat’s neck and thrashed, pinning it to the ground as it wound its coils around it. 

He watched as Caliban came to stand directly behind Mad. 

He held his breath as Caliban slowly outstretched his hands, his fingers almost resembling a clutch of claws in the dark. 

Sixty heartbe—

In a swift, fluid blur of movement, Caliban used one hand to clamp Mad’s mouth shut and force his head up. The other hand, meanwhile, wrenched around Mad’s side, pinning his arms to his torso, not allowing him any true reach with that knife.

Mad immediately started struggling. He swayed back and forth, kicking his legs, frantically shaking his head to and fro to try and escape Caliban’s grip. But it was obvious that Caliban was no stranger to snatching people up. 

Somehow still managing to be relatively quiet, the cannibal dragged the stalker away from Mike, away from the couch, out of the living room and into the kitchen.

As soon as the two of them passed by, Ness’ muscles screamed for him to move. He just barely caught a glimpse of Mad’s eyes—they were bloodshot, rolling about in his head, wild and furious. Caliban’s eyes held an energy that was pretty much the same. 

All at once, Ness’ stealth got the hell out of Dodge. 

He raced into the living room, nearly tripping over his own feet as he skidded to a stop by the sofa. 

Not a second too soon, one of those infamous full-body twitches paid Mike a visit. His features twisted into a light grimace as his deep brown eyes fluttered open. His mouth gaped open in a yawn; his expression grew less and less bleary as he blinked in Ness’ direction. 

“...Ness?” Mike asked, propping himself up on his elbows, his voice still rough with sleep. “Is everythi—”

He’d been mid-stretch when Ness cut him off, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. 

A few long seconds jeered at the couple before Mike reciprocated.

“Ness?” He repeated, gently tapping the other man’s back. “What’s up?”

Ness couldn’t answer right away. He wanted to, but when he opened his mouth, a tiny sob was all that came out. Another followed…and another…and another…

Mike didn’t seem to hear them at first, but he definitely picked up on it as his boyfriend’s shoulders started shaking. 

“Hey–wait, why are you crying?” Mike shuffled in Ness’ hold, craning his neck to make eye-contact. Confusion turned to worry at breakneck speed.  “Are you still upset about what happened earlier? Oh God, I should’ve known—I’m so sorry—”

“No!” Ness finally found his voice again. It took so much effort to keep his pitch down. “No, that’s not—I’m over it, okay? I-it’s water under the bridge, trust me. I’m—” He hiccuped, thinking back to the sunset-stroll that had put everything into motion.

What had he and Mike even been arguing over? It felt like weeks had passed since then.

It didn’t matter. 

It didn’t matter what had started it or who had raised his voice first or who was in the wrong. 

All that mattered was that Ness kept holding onto Mike at least until Abby was ready for highschool. 

“I’m just so happy to see you,” Ness murmured, tears quickly meeting their end against Mike’s shoulder. “I’m so happy that—that you’re safe.”

Mike stayed quiet for another few seconds. Then, in spite of his obvious disorientation, a small smile etched its way across his features. His hand found one of Ness’, and he linked their fingers together. “Of course I’m safe. And you are, too.”

Ness nodded with a little more force than he probably should have. He scrubbed the tears away and tried to smile back. 

This was it: he was back home. His found-family was safe. Everything would go back to norm—

TSHSSHSK

The sound of shattering glass stabbed through the air. 

Both of them froze in place at the exact same time.

Two mouths dropping open.

Two pairs of eyes bulging from their sockets. 

And then Mike was on his feet, rushing past Ness, who tried to get in front of him before he reached the dining room…but it was too late. 

Mike and Ness however in the kitchen doorway.

The room appeared quite empty at first. But the mess of glass shards glinting devilishly on the counter, in the sink, on the floor seemed to be mocking them. The jagged hole in the kitchen’s main window didn’t help matters at all.

“...Holy shit,” Mike breathed, reaching up to tangle his hands in his hair. “Holy shit, someone tried to break in!”

He raced over to the sink, narrowly avoiding stepping on the broken glass, trying to look through the window and into the weed-infested alleyway outside. 

Ness, meanwhile, moved to stand between Mike and the side-door alcove. He got the feeling that his boyfriend wouldn’t react to well to a stranger hiding over there. Especially considering how said stranger had managed to climb up the former closet space’s walls and was now straining to hold himself up right against the ceiling. 

A flood of different emotions could be seen in Caliban’s eyes: rage, anxiety, desperation for his wrists and ankles to not give out for at least another minute or two.

Ness held up his hands in a defensive gesture, trying to show that he’d keep his word.  

Thank God Mike was too preoccupied to notice. 

“We need to get someone over here!” Mike shouted. “We need to call—!”

“NO,” Ness interrupted him once again. “No, we can’t!”

He saw Caliban’s eyes grow even wider than before. He desperately gestured for him not to panic (though he already knew it was too late for that).

He couldn’t afford any cops getting involved right now. 

That would only make things much, much worse. 

“Why the hell not?!” Mike replied, his voice shooting up several octaves. “Aren’t you seeing any of this? Imagine if Abby had been here when it happened!”

“But she’s not!” Ness insisted. “She’s somewhere safe, and we can defend ourselves just fine!”

“That doesn’t make things any better!” Mike argued. “Aren’t you the one who's always saying that we need to watch our backs around here?!”

Ness stammered, trying to lead Mike out of the kitchen, away from Caliban. “No, we—we can’t—I need—!”

Concern washed over Mike’s face. He slowly began shaking his head, suddenly stepping in front of Ness and back into the living room.

“Something isn’t right,” he declared. 

YEAH, NO KIDDING! a voice in Ness’ mind hollered.  

Mike heaved a shaky sigh. “Look, panicking won’t get us anywhere.” He turned away, walking down the hall at a quick pace, gesturing for Ness to follow. “Let’s—let’s just go to my room, okay? We can barricade ourselves in there, and once we’re both calmed down enough—”

His voice was quickly muffled by the distance, but the sound of shoes roughly touching down against the kitchen’s linoleum floor was a strong replacement. 

Ness saw a flash of dark red leather before one of his wrists was locked into a vice-like grip. And then he was being tugged along just like he had been a few hours ago. 

Through the kitchen, out the side-door, down the concrete path outside. The world was a blur around him until he was tossed back into a car that was still so foreign. 

A rapid string of colorful words burrowed into his ears as Caliban took his seat behind the wheel, twisting the key in the ignition. By the time Ness finally registered what just happened, they were already speeding out of the neighborhood. 

“...What THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Ness shouted, twisting his neck to look through the back window as though Mike’s house hadn’t already vanished in the distance.

“I waRNED YOU EARLIER,” Caliban snapped back, glaring at him for a split-second before looking back at the road ahead. “We had to prepare for the worst, and the worst just happened! That son of a bitch GOT AWAY!” 

Ness’ heart plummeted. “What if he’s going back to Mike’s?! What if he—”

Caliban cut him off again, furiously shaking his head. “I saw him running off down that alley; I know where he’s headed, and it’s not back there!”

In the midst of this new chaos, a flash of white shuffled around in the backseat. Snare hopped up onto the center console, nose twitching a mile a minute. His long ears were pinned back, his dark amber eyes wide—there was no doubting that even he knew something had gone wrong.

A couple more deep, ragged gasps for air leaked through Caliban’s clenched teeth. He kept a fist curled around the steering wheel for another few seconds, then lifted it away to absentmindedly stroke Snare’s back. 

Ness stared, unable to get any words out, still terrified beyond almost anything. 

Eventually, Caliban rolled his shoulders and clicked his tongue. He didn’t look any calmer than before, but he still seemed a bit less on the verge of literally biting someone’s head off. 

“I know where Mad’s headed,” he repeated. “But he has to get there on foot—we’ll beat him to it, no problem. We’re going to Plan B.”

“. . .What do you mean?” Ness finally asked, his voice giving the impression that he’d swallowed a whole sheet of sandpaper. “How do you know?” 

“They say the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime. One way or another.” A sharp, bitter chuckle gnashed at the air on Caliban’s part. “Been there, done that. Mad has no attachment to anywhere else in this town. Going by what you told me earlier, there’s only one place here that’s significant to him.” 

He glanced at Ness again. A shiny, dangerous grin was spreading on his face like a pool of blood. Mayhem sparked in his eyes. “You still have a key to Sparky’s, right? He's doing all this crap because he's mainly focused on you. And that diner is the place he's seen you most often. He's already made up some weird plot involving you; in his head, it just makes sense that you'd be over there. Even in the middle of the night.” 

Understanding came crashing down. 

Ness nodded, his eyebrows on a collision-course for Mars as he subconsciously reached down to his pocket, feeling the familiar shape tucked away inside. 

“Perfect!” Caliban barked a laugh, nodding as the wheel spun in his grasp. “I’ll get him this time. That’s a damn promise.”

Ness lowered his head, trying to keep his breathing even as he scrubbed at his eyes.

This time. The words echoed between Ness' ears, quickly becoming a little mantra. This time. This time for sure. 

His focus went back to the windshield, to everything that was still shrouded in darkness all around them. 

We’re almost there…I’m almost home…Just need a little more time…

His hands curled into fists so tight that it was a wonder his nails didn’t leave a set of bloody crescent moons lining the skin of his palms. 

Mike, he thought, his internal voice sounding so damn exhausted. Please…please be smart. Please keep trusting me.

Please.

___

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @lexusinsannus @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @lampsforsocks @forestcouncil

Sorry if this was late than the last post, but it was a good reason (there isn’t Lmao). But here we are with the comic portion of my and @wouldntyou-liketoknow’s little collab of writing and drawing. @crazy-obsessed-enby @iswmperson @lexusinsannus

Abby is truly a smart kid, and picks up dangerous situations quickly when, especially when it comes to her brother. Unfortunately, that caused more problems to not only the Schmidts, but “Ness” as well, who isn’t really handling things well. Good things she’s able to make friends everywhere, so she isn’t alone of saving Mike and “Ness”.

Mike, take the hint and find out soon that he isn’t him, and save your family. (Also SURPRISE Jack is here too)

[stagtorccio]

teen lottie NSFW alphabet?

i always assume these requests mean pre-crash yall have to specify if you want wilderness or post rescue ... but yes anon

LOTTIE MATTHEWS — NSFW ALPHABET yall already know the rules... template from here! warnings: general kinda crude language, mentions of mania and kleptomania? nothing too insane though

mdni, 18+

A = AFTERCARE (WHAT THEY’RE LIKE AFTER SEX)

deeply emotional. threads her fingers through your hair, tucks close to you. soft murmurs that are usually nonsense pillow-talk, cheek to chest, heart syncing with yours.

loves showering with you after, because she’s got sensory issues and doesn’t like when the good sticky turns to bad sticky… gross!

B = BODY PART (THEIR FAVORITE BODY PART OF THEIRS AND ALSO THEIR PARTNER’S)

on herself, her eyes– loves it if she can just throw you a look and turn you on, loves making eye contact

on you, your thighs– especially wrapped around her waist. but honestly just flash her any skin and she’s trying to drag you to the nearest closet

C = CUM (ANYTHING TO DO WITH CUM, BASICALLY)

total little freak… she’ll smear it across your belly, kiss it off your lips, lick it off her fingers… sometimes she’ll just make it a point to be as messy as possible so you have to help clean her up.

D = DIRTY SECRET (PRETTY SELF EXPLANATORY, A DIRTY SECRET OF THEIRS)

gets off to the idea of being watched, just a little. mirrors, windows, the edge of public places.

sometimes she fingers herself in her walk-in closet imagining someone stumbling in. cums fast as hell. freak. 

E = EXPERIENCE (HOW EXPERIENCED ARE THEY? DO THEY KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING?)

more practiced than you’d expect. not in the “tons of partners” way, but she's kinda intuitive. it only takes her a few minutes to get patterns down (and subsequently weaponize them).

F = FAVORITE POSITION (THIS GOES WITHOUT SAYING)

lotus— something about mutual closeness, locked thighs, eye contact, etc etc... likes it when you're tangled up in her lap, likes even more that you have nowhere to go.

G = GOOFY (ARE THEY MORE SERIOUS IN THE MOMENT? ARE THEY HUMOROUS? ETC.)

if she’s like INTO it into it, not very silly. more focused on the task at hand. catch her a few drinks in though? giggling the whoooleee time because she’s having so much fun.

WILL say some absolutely fucknasty shit and then laugh hysterically right after because holy shit I can’t believe I said that. she did in fact say that though and probably meant it

H = HAIR (HOW WELL GROOMED ARE THEY? DOES THE CARPET MATCH THE DRAPES? ETC.)

bare or a neatly trimmed landing strip. keeps it soft because she gets irritated as fuck being itchy (me too, girl).

I = INTIMACY (HOW ARE THEY DURING THE MOMENT? THE ROMANTIC ASPECT)

super intensely intimate. eye contact so deep you feel like she’s trying to soul-suck you. touches like she wants to merge bodies. she wants you to see her and understand her and vice versa.

J = JACK OFF (MASTURBATION HEADCANON)

does it rarely. slowly and trying to enjoy it on good nights, quick and just trying to cum on bad ones

very visual, often picturing the same person over and over again, sometimes imagining she’s not alone in the room or that it’s someone else’s hand instead of her own. it helps to distract from less pleasant thoughts

K = KINK (ONE OR MORE OF THEIR KINKS)

control and power play — loves taking the reins, coaxing surrender. it helps her to feel in control of something. vice versa, she sometimes wants to be the one giving up control so that she doesn’t have to think so hard about everything. sort of like cleaning the slate. factory reset if you will

sensory play — blindfolds, silk restraints, dripping wax… sign her right the fuck up

praise — sad lonely girl who likes when you talk sweet to her. fork found in kitchen. unsurprising. but also specifically saying you’re proud is what does the charm because you know this mf needs validation like plants need water… she will implode

L = LOCATION (FAVORITE PLACES TO DO THE DO)

anywhere that feels aesthetic. she’s got a Thing for aesthetics. forest clearing, the floor of her father’s study with incense burning, bed lit by moonlight slashing through stained glass. wants to make it cinematic (like that one sex scene in mulholland drive, rip Lottie you would’ve loved naked in manhattan)

M = MOTIVATION (WHAT TURNS THEM ON, GETS THEM GOING)

vulnerability. seeing you open up, confess a secret, (and, embarrassingly enough, cry in front of her). it’s her blossoming cult leader instincts kicking in sorry. 

also, unspoken glances across crowded rooms… she will literally drag you to a closet by the back of your shirt like a kitten

N = NO (SOMETHING THEY WOULDN’T DO, TURN OFFS)

anything detached or performative. hate sex? casual hookups with no emotion? not her thing. 

definitely craves connection and using sex to get in someone’s head– not maliciously, just to understand them deeper than she already does

O = ORAL (PREFERENCE IN GIVING OR RECEIVING, SKILL, ETC.)

giving, reverent with it. adores eating someone out slowly, eyes on your face the whole time, dragging her tongue and tasting everything. 

receiving? rides the actual fuck out of your face, like literally almost suffocates you a little. doesn’t pull your hair but does push your head down until you have to tap out to catch your breath. good luck soldier.

P = PACE (ARE THEY FAST AND ROUGH? SLOW AND SENSUAL? ETC.)

usually slow and sensual. wants to enjoy it and make it last. but when she’s manic or spiraling, she fucks like she’s exorcising literal demons. maybe she is. who knows.

Q = QUICKIE (THEIR OPINIONS ON QUICKIES, HOW OFTEN, ETC.)

will do them, but only if the tension was already there first or it’s a “public” place—bathroom stalls at school, back of a parked car before a party. she finds it more exciting when there’s the chance of getting caught.

R = RISK (ARE THEY GAME TO EXPERIMENT? DO THEY TAKE RISKS? ETC.)

risky. gets off on risk. being forced into a perfect little bubble your entire life has its side effects. nerves heighten everything else and she likes it that way

S = STAMINA (HOW MANY ROUNDS CAN THEY GO FOR? HOW LONG DO THEY LAST?)

two or three rounds MINIMUM, especially if she’s feeling manic. will go until you're limp and breathless then ask if you can go one more… good luck babe

T = TOYS (DO THEY OWN TOYS? DO THEY USE THEM? ON A PARTNER OR THEMSELVES?)

yes, but like, classy about it? keeps a little box under her bed– vibrators, a harness, glass dildos…

uses them more on partners than herself, and also just likes collecting them because she’s a kleptomaniac

U = UNFAIR (HOW MUCH THEY LIKE TO TEASE)

when she feels like it. will absolutely edge you until you’re begging, kiss just below where you need her, keep eye contact while she denies you over and over and over…

and does it all while smiling, telling you how good you’re doing. fuck dude

V = VOLUME (HOW LOUD THEY ARE, WHAT SOUNDS THEY MAKE, ETC.)

whispers, whimpers, ecstatic chanting of different phrases if she’s deep into it. moans are drawn-out and trembling. will stutter out that she loves you while taking three whole fingers, she may be a freak but she isn’t a neglectful one

also the louder you get, the more it turns her on… she loves hearing you lose your composure

W = WILD CARD (A RANDOM HEADCANON FOR THE CHARACTER)

has a small collection of polaroids of herself. you know exactly what type of polaroid. 

X = X-RAY (LET’S SEE WHAT’S GOING ON UNDER THOSE CLOTHES)

slender, subtle curves, surprisingly toned legs, BICEPS.

also sometimes doesn’t wear panties because she likes the freedom

Y = YEARNING (HOW HIGH IS THEIR SEX DRIVE?)

pretends it’s manageable but aches constantly. daydreams in class, zones out while brushing her hair. quiet about it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t noticeable

Z = ZZZ (HOW QUICKLY THEY FALL ASLEEP AFTERWARDS)

falls asleep quickly after because her mind is finally quiet for once 

insists on being big spoon because she likes holding onto you. and she has to have at least one hand under your clothes for that skin to skin, obviously 

if you get up in the middle of the night, she pulls you back. you don’t get out of bed until she does, rip you if you have to go to the bathroom

[kiana12113]

⁺⊹RED DEAD REDEMPTION HEAD CANONS⊹⁺

➤ Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, John Marston, Kieran Duffy x Fem!Reader

Note: I’m not quite sure if these are still considered “head canons” since I’ve definitely made this wordy.

(ﾟﾛﾟ;) This is my first post here in Tumblr, despite lurking here for a while. XD

Also Author, a month later: I’ve posted this merely a month ago and I feel inexplicable cringe. thank you for reading

WC: 5.7k

Warnings: Major Character Death (Spoilers), Illness, Profanity, Mentions of Injury, Sex, Alcohol, Violence

References:

♥︎ ; fluff ♣︎ ; angst ♦︎ ; general ♠︎ ; smut

ARTHUR MORGAN

♥︎ ; When he is offered to go somewhere, or to do anything in general, he always says his signature comment. “Hmm, I’m not sure. Let me ask my wife first.”

♥︎ ; He says it every single time. There is no day he doesn’t say this statement. Some people find it annoying, like, per sé — John, when he asks Arthur to go steal something with him and Arthur isn’t in the mood. He rolls his eyes in annoyance, and crosses his arms, “Oh, are you comin’ or not?” The other half, though, do like it, like Mary Beth — who smiles and chuckles, “Of course, Mister Morgan.”

♥︎ ; One time, he was out in Saint Denis without you. He just came for the trapper and some things in the general store, when a woman came to talk to him. She walked slowly along the wooden plank floor, and whispered, “Oh aren’t you just what a lady dreams of?” Arthur immediately knew what she was after. He looks at her with a deadpan expression, saying, “That so? Damn, it might be true. I should ask my wife for confirmation, huh, madam?” And she got the message. It pissed her off, while Arthur chuckled and shook his head.

♥︎ ; He also likes flashing his wedding ring a lot. He thinks it’s some trophy (which it is). He never takes it off, even in showering.

♦︎ ; Ever since you got married, he’d become more reserved in missions or going outside. He didn’t want to lose you. Didn’t want to lose the peaceful life he was close to getting. Plus, every time he did, you would reprimand him.

♦︎ ; He met you at a café and bakery shop that you owned. He was entranced the moment he met you (which was closing time, and he was covered in blood). That night, he’d become a loyal customer, always getting to order the same coffee and bread every week.

♥︎ ; At that time, he’d often come back to camp smiling, and they’d know. “Who’s the lucky girl, Arthur?” Hosea asks, with a small smile as he lifts his head from the newspaper. “Nothin’, Hosea.”

♥︎ ; “Hey, miss… I’d reckon the coffee’d taste better if it was served with you.” He tried to flirt once, and you thought it was assault. He was almost permanently banned that time. When he told this story to Karen. The girl laughed her ass off. “Arthur… You’re a lost cause.”

♥︎ ; He constantly has baby fever, when he’s with you, you’d find him staring at Jack often. “Now imagine one of our own, I’d… I’d be so happy.” He’s smiling like an idiot. You refuse and he pouts. “Oh, come on, darlin’…” But he never forces you. It’s just sometimes he’s so cute it feels as if you need to do it.

♣︎ ; He is often unaware of his own looks and looks down on himself. When he gets sight of a mirror, he can’t help but sigh and comment. “Yer becoming old. Old and ugly, Morgan.” It’s one problem you two are working on together.

♣︎ ; “You just… don’t get it. Of course you think that. Yer my wife, darlin’…” He frowns. It’s a heartbreaking thing to hear, since you’d do just about anything for this man.

♦︎ ; People would describe him as an angry old man. Well, back then. When you and him became a thing, he tried his best not for his emotions to get over him. The only thing he screams “Damn it… for God’s sake!” now is when the animals are eaten and escaped again (since you two live in a ranch.)

♠︎ ; Arthur likes to guide you through sex, praising you quietly. He’s quite nonverbal other than that. But trust he will always make sure that you are comfortable, and your needs are being fed. “Ah, good girl.”

♠︎ ; He’s on top of you while his right hand is gripping the headboard of the bed, to which it is shaking. He’s not rough, though, he makes sure he’s gentle enough and has a fear of accidentally hurting you. He’s slow, taking in every moment and every inch of you and how your body twitches and arches. When he’s drunk, though, maybe it’s a different story. It brings out a different Arthur. A little wobly in his actions, but delivers either way.

♥︎ ; When he found out you were pregnant, it was the happiest day of his life. Oh, he smiled like an idiot, holding your hands and repeatedly saying “Really?” “Seriously— are ya serious?” “Really?” “Yer pregnant— really?” You laughed, nodding and nodding and nodding. “..’M sorry, love, I… I jus’ I can’t believe it.”

♥︎ ; He’d plan so much. Like he’d be very overreacting to the point he already bought clothes for BOTH genders. He didn’t care. A boy, a girl… It doesn’t matter. It was his child. With you. And that made him the luckiest man in the planet.

♥︎ ; When you two are laying in your shared bed, he’d put his head on your stomach (even if it wasn’t even that big yet) and coo. “Are ya… Are ya there? Oh, pa’s… pa’s excited to meet ya. So much,” He murmured, kissing your stomach gently. “Pa loves you and ma so much.” He added, circling your stomach as he sighs, smiling. It’s heart warming. He’s so excited.

♦︎ ; The journey of pregnancy wasn’t easy, of course, but he was always there. He’d wake up in the middle of the night to accompany you to relieve yourself, or would offer to clean and cook. You almost lost your life in giving birth, and it scared the hell of out Arthur, holding your hands and pleading. It seemed he wasn’t that bad of a man, though, as you live and have a healthy baby girl.

♥︎ ; All the pages of his journal contain you, your face, pretty much. He never lets you read it, though. “No, darlin’, it’s private,” He says gently, but when you give him about two long “please”s, his resolve would probably crumble then.

♥︎ ; He is a girl dad. Proudly so. He would lift your little girl (and you too) and spin you both around, laughing. He would learn how to tie pigtails for his girl. He would teach her the colors of the rainbow, how to draw and write, how to identify animals for when she’s old enough to go hunting. But oh, boy, he’d be one hell of a protective dad, though. When miss grows up into adolescence, he’d make sure no boys are near her. “No boys? Alright, you can go.”

♣︎ ; The day he finds out he has tuberculosis, though, he doesn’t say it to you and your daughter. He keeps it inside, hoping that you two wouldn’t find out — he didn’t want you stressing over him. He knew his time would come, so he’d rather spend it all with you without worrying you.

♣︎ ; But it doesn’t get better, it gets worse. And you notice, but he shuts you off. “It’s nothin’, darlin’… Just…” He coughs, clutching his chest. “Arthur… You know you can’t hide this from me. Tell me, please.” You pleaded, hand on his back as you waited for his coughing fit to finish. His palm had blood. “I… ‘m sorry, darlin’… I jus’ don’t want you to worry ‘bout me.” “Oh, you fool… You should have told me, Arthur. You…” “I’ve tuberculosis— says the doctor. I—I don’t want you to raise her alone… I don’t wanna die, but…” You hug him, tears flowing down your eyes. “Shut up, will you? You’ll live. You’ll live, Arthur.”

HOSEA MATTHEWS

♦︎ ; After Bessie, he never thought he’d like— let alone love someone again. You; who had reminded him of her in so many ways. At first, when you had found out he used to be married, you closed yourself off in respect. He respected this decision, after all, it was what he wanted. But he found himself growing restless. He saw her in you. But you were you, different, and yet, so alike.

♥︎ ; In some warm, nice mornings, he’d dance with you.

Put Your Head on my Shoulder

Can’t Help falling in Love with you It would be sweet and romantic, even though both of you are now a little slow.

♥︎ ; He calls you ‘darling’, and doesn’t fail to compliment your beauty first thing in the morning. “Good Morning, Darling…” He grunts a little as he pushes himself near you, kissing your forehead. “Beautiful as ever.”

♥︎ ; He loves to braid your hair, or any other hairstyles that he’s learned. “Mhm… this one looks good on you.”

♦︎ ; Honorable mention, he’d be the type to wear those wizard blue pajamas at night. You, on the other hand, would wear those fluffy extravagant night dresses.

♥︎ ; Before sleeping, he’ll likely be reading mystery novels. Both of you like them, but instead of reading it individually— you found that him explaining the plot to you was easier and better. He’s a bit of a nerd, and you like seeing his face light up when you ask, “So who do you think did it?” He’ll gladly explain to you for hours before finding out you’ve already slept halfway through his ramblings.

♣︎ ; “I’m getting old, darling,” “So am I, Hosea. We both are.” “Fair point… I just…” “I just want to live out the rest of my days with you. I imagine I’ll probably leave you first.” “Don’t say that.” “When I do…” “Hosea.”

JAVIER ESCUELLA

♥︎ ; He loves singing songs he made for you while playing the guitar. “This one’s for you, hmm?” He smiles, and that look of surprise in your face always gets him. It brings a warm feeling to his heart that can’t be explained.

♥︎ ; Pet names! Pet names! Pet names! He just can’t get enough of it. But oh, when you do the same to him, he suddenly loses all his charm and flare, and turns into a puddle of putty. That’s how bad he has it for you.

♥︎ ; Despite playing the guitar for years, he’ll often complain about the pain in his fingertips after he plays. It doesn’t really hurt, of course, due to the built up callouses, but he just wants your care and attention. He especially likes it when you kiss them. “Ow, ow… My love, my fingertips are bleeding.” They aren’t. “Will you please kiss it to make it better?” He says dramatically. You, of course, indulge.

♥︎ ; He’d teach you to dance. “You don’t know how to dance? Well, come here, I’ll teach you.” “My ma taught it to me, told me… I should know how to. It’s a skill. And to swoon women, ah?” He chuckles. You roll your eyes, as your fingers are intertwined and he guides your feet through the pace of Dutch’s music. “You’re a natural, hermosa.” (You were stepping on his feet the whole time.)

♥︎ ; He’s quite protective of you, and even though he doesn’t show it, gets jealous easily. One time, you two were in a saloon due to a mission, and this one guy approached you— his gaze revealing his intentions already. “Hey, darling. You look like a real fine woman, hmm?” Javier immediately notices this but knows you can handle this yourself. He tries to play it cool, nonchalantly observing the interaction. You reply with a lifted brow. “Not interested.” “Aw, come on, darling. Aren’t you at least a little lonely?” And in a swift action, Javier is next to you already. “Didn’t you hear her, asshole? She’s married, okay?” He was ready to throw hands.

♥︎ ; “Oh, I wasn’t aware we were married,” You said jokingly the way back to the camp, striding on the horses at a calm pace. He scoffed. Every time he got reminded of the interaction, he could swear a vein would pop out. “No, no yet.” He replies.

♥︎ ; Another moment you remember is when you two went to fetch something for Pearson. You were buying something, and it seems the shop keeper had taken a liking to you. “You want that one? Sure, it’s for free, my lady.” Javier’s ears perked, his eyes from the sky suddenly to you two. “I don’t mind a little other payment.” The shopkeeper continues, the underlying statement obvious even for an idiot. Javier, irritated, walks closer in a fast pace. “Ay, ay! That’s my wife, pendejo! ¿Eres una idiota, ah? ¿Tienes un deseo de muerte? Do you want a knife in your throat? Ha? Fucking— Hijo de puta!” You took him away, whispering to him, “Ay… Javier, be quiet. We’re supposed to keep a low profile in Rhodes,” He mumbles back, “I can’t be quiet when these assholes think they’ve got a chance.”

♥︎ ; He often is very conscious on how he looks. This man has a wide selection of clothes in his wardrobe, and they are all equally loved and important to him. When people in camp start to realize his beloved poncho is not being worn, he just points a finger at you, since you wore it. He didn’t mind if you stole his clothes, rather, it was a quite intimate thing that he cherished. He loved seeing them on you.

♥︎ ; Carves your initials in his precious knives. This means a lot to him.

♠︎ ; This man cannot keep his hands to himself, never. One moment you’re doing something niche around the camp, like reading a book— and the next he’s right behind you, hands snaking on your waist. He tugs you closer to him, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, squinting his eyes a little as he tries to read the printed words. “What’re you reading, querida?” He murmurs, his warm breath tingling around your neck. From the get-go, you knew what he was trying to do. “That book more important than me?” He takes the book swiftly as you look at him in confusion. “You know I wish those hands were doing something else.” His gaze darts over to your lips, as he licks his own in response. God, this man. He finds that the risk of getting caught while in the act is more exciting.

♠︎ ; He likes when you tug his hair, his little ponytail behind him. His favorite thing to do is murmur sweet nothings in your ear, all dirty and the sort; as he hands work magic on you and his lips nibble on your ear’s shell. He couldn’t care less if you two were still fully-clothed, as well. In fact, it was better for him. His hands are the best part of him, capable of letting out noises from your mouth you didn’t know you could make. His eyes bore into you, half-lidded, while his mouth is slightly agape, struggling to make any words while his fingers push in and out in a rhythmic manner. It feels so good, the sound of wet skin against itself added more heat through your lower abdomen.

♠︎ ; Javier loses it when he’s about to finish. The only thing he can do it mumble and occasionally moan out a few incoherent Spanish words, repeating your name over and over again. “Ah.. mi amor.. E-estoy… cerca, Dios mio…”

♣︎ ; His loyalty to Dutch blinded his own decision-making abilities. So when you died in the middle of the gunfire’s chaos, he knew it was his fault. The way your lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud, and yet, the world still kept spinning drove him insane. And he couldn’t rush there to cradle you in his arms, since if he did, he would die, too. He thought about it. He remembered everything, and in that moment, it was as if the world was cloudy, hazy, and he didn’t know what to do. He felt empty.

♣︎ ; He didn’t say anything. He looked at the corpse, but he couldn’t hold you. He couldn’t. He fled, and ran away — back to Mexico, and then one quiet night while hiding away he would finally reveal his tears. “I… was selfish, mi amor. Please. I can’t…” He looks at the ring in his fingers. He can’t make an excuse. He’s torn between his loyalty for Dutch and you. He’d remember all the promises he made, and all the ones he failed to keep. After this whole thing was over, he would marry you, and he would live with you quietly along some river or forest. It didn’t matter, as long as it was you. Maybe even a little girl, sure. But now that was all gone.

♣︎ ; All he has now to carry is the burden of guilt and some silver ring. He knows he’ll die, too, at some point - but he’s not sure he’ll meet you. “Ah, mi corazon… I’m sure you’re up there. I’ll probably rot in hell for my sins.”

SEAN MACGUIRE

♦︎ ; Sean is a dirty man. Both mentally and physically— so he wouldn’t imagine even after ten bottles of beer that someone like you would tolerate him, let alone like him. You fell first, he fell harder type of situation. He dropped the bottle of Whiskey he was holding when he heard Arthur say something. “Sean, come on, listen to Hosea. Get up, will ya? Can’t believe [READER] likes this sack of shit.”

♦︎ ; “Huh? She does? She likes me? [READER]?” He says in a dumbfounded expression, as Arthur clicks his tongue, puts his palm over his forehead and shakes his head slowly in disappointment. “Of course she does, you damn idiot. And I can’t believe it, either. I could’ve sworn she liked smart men.”

♥︎ ; He isn’t well-put together, in fact, he’s downright nasty— reeking of alcohol, unwashed clothes for days, and unkept hair. But when he finds out this information, he suddenly learns how to take a shower once in a while, and people notice that, often making knowing faces to each other. “Hey, mister MacGuire, you’re looking real fine today,” Javier starts, wiggling his eyebrows. “Well— yeah I am! I always am!” Sean replies, fixing his hat.

♥︎ ; Sean describes himself as the woman charmer, though in reality, when he’s faced with you, he can’t help but stutter — his Irish accent making it more unintelligible. It doesn’t make him cool. One time, he tries to flirt (given the beer has granted him confidence this time) and leans on the empty barrel next to him with a grin. He falls down, “Ow!” and he rubs his head. He couldn’t look up at you. For the next few days, he appears to avoid barrels every time he sees them.

♥︎ ; “My lady,” He says, bowing down with a smile as he lets you go first in this venue he’s gotten to somehow weasel his way in. He takes your hand in his, as you two act as if you’re a wealthy couple coming here in their regular dinner. Times like these he always remembers to cherish. Because although he wished to, in this life, he can’t spoil you the normal way.

♥︎ ; This man gets piss-drunk and makes a beeline to your tent, occasionally bumping into other gang members in the process. “Sean, watch your step…” Lenny says, sighing and shaking his head. When he gets there, he plops his whole body down your cot as you jolt up in surprise. “Sean?” This is normal — you felt the weight and you knew it was him. It’s either he’s already asleep, or you hold his chin and look at his sad face. “Darlin’… You’re leaving me?” He lips curl into a pout, and his eyes swell. “I love you still… Don’t, please.”

♥︎ ; Loves getting a rise out of you. He knows what you like and don’t like, and uses it to his advantage to mess with you just because. He loves annoying you, and is always oddly proud about it since you’re one of the calmest people in the camp. One time, he enters your tent with that grin of his, holding something in his hand. It was a really stinky plant. You frowned. “Sean, get that out of my face, you’re disgusting,” He puts it even closer. “Sean!” He laughs, jiggling it in his hand. “What? Ye don’t like it, me love? It’s a great present from handsome ol’ me,” When he sees you about to gag, he puts it away. And you look away, refusing to talk with him any further. “Er— sorry, I… Sorry…” He gets all guilty and quiet. He then asks for your forgiveness the whole day.

♥︎ ; Has the most stupidest laugh ever. It doesn’t help that when he sleeps with you, he often giggles and speaks incoherently, shifting around and occasionally kicking you. He doesn’t mean it. “Mmh… Heh,” He snickers quietly. “No, John… She’s me girl. We can’t share.” And his Irish accent gets even stronger, if that’s possible. “No, get away, Arthur…”

♠︎ ; When he sleeps with you, every limb is tangled as if you two are now one entity altogether. A hand usually slips inside your shirt, in need to feel your skin. It’s rarely in a chaste way— you know Sean. It usually lowers down to your abdomen, his index finger circling the surface softly. And he’ll just keep going. When you notice what he’s about to do — you grumble and he laughs quietly. “Aw. c’mon. I’m not even doing anything.”

♣︎ ; Sean’s convinced no one really believes in him. The confidence he displays is usually for show, to make himself believe that he really does have a contribution and worth to himself. He’s seldom quiet — but when he is, he’s usually away thinking about it.

JOHN MARSTON

♥︎ ; The scar on his right cheek at this point is his signature. It doesn’t hurt anymore, as it’s fully healed, however - he still asks you to put ointment on it. Just because he likes you touching his face, and that little face you make when you’re deep in concentration. “Stop moving, John,” You say, and he straightens up, eyes on you. “Of course, darlin’. You know… I like this view a lot.” He says with a small grin. You should have put the ointment in his mouth.

♦︎ ; Running away with this man wasn’t easy, but at least it didn’t end up like Dutch and Molly. Oh, dear.

♥︎ ; His favorite thing to do with you is to place your hand in his, bring it up to his lips, and kiss your soft knuckles gently. “M’lady.” “Ah, shut up. You know I’m not.” “Anymore— ‘cause of me.” He replies, but there is no teasing glint in his eyes. You sigh briefly, tucking the loose strands of his behind his ear. “You know that doesn’t matter to me, John.”

♦︎ ; Your parents and life were miserable. You could say John saved you, when the gang went to the mansion and stole everything in sight. You pleaded, when you saw him, “Please. Bring me with you. I… I can’t live here.” And John was the first guy to convince Dutch to let you come with them. “What’s goin’ to do us good bringin’ a princess with us? It’ll only make the bounties on our heads bigger.” Arthur butts in, but Dutch shakes his head. “No… No, I’ve got a feeling she’ll be useful.”

♥︎ ; John can’t swim — and apparently, the water is his biggest enemy. This makes him not bathe for weeks. You force him to, most of the time; and he will keep on refusing you until you come up with a consensus. “No— no, darlin’— the dirt makes me stronger and resistant to—” He hears your sigh and the sees the way you pinch your nose bridge. “I’ll take a bath with you.” “…Okay.” It’s as if he’s some child.

♥︎ ; He likes your nape very much. He kisses it gently, leaving a chaste trail down until the tip of your spine. When he sees your hair up, exposing this delicate part of yours, he’ll come like a moth to a flame, hugging you from behind. He loves your smell, — he finds it comforting. “Mm… My Angel.”

♣︎ ; He swears to you he’ll be a better man, to be not a fool, to get you out of here and live the normal life you deserve— with him. You can tell the poor man is trying, but sometimes, it annoys you because it gets to a point where he disappears for days and comes back with a new scar. He knows you’re worried, but it’ll always be the same excuse from him, “It’s for the better.”

♥︎ ; You two had an argument about him acting brash and reckless, and it lasted for a long while, maybe a week or so. That time, he was barely seen in camp, and so were you. “They’re fighting, aren’t they?” Charles would ask Arthur, and he’d nod. “Yeah, well, look at jus’ how much John is out. He’s probably robbed all of Valentine at this point.” Fighting with you makes him act more stupider, actually. He comes back to your tent with another injury, and this time, you couldn’t keep it anymore further. “John, what the hell?” You ask, walking over to him and inspecting it. He looks like a guilty dog. “You’re… Just come here.” You tend to his wound, as silence ensues for a while. It was tense, before he sighed. Both of you speak up at the same time, with a mutter of “Sorry.” This earns a mutual stare of surprise, and a dumbfounded look painted on John’s face. “Oh, darlin’…”

♠︎ ; John rolls his eyes in pleasure, mouth slightly agape as moans threaten to leave his mouth. You were so good, so sweet, sucking his cock as his body leaned behind him for support. It made his knees weak, and you just about were doing the best job. “Ah.. Ah.. Darlin’…” He feels himself reach the back of your throat, as you took in every liquid that came from him. At this point, your mouth had memorized every vein and put it into memory, and your hands held his hips tightly. He lets out a string of cusses, holding your head as his fingers dug through the strands of hair in need. “Yeah… God, just like that…” He pushes you further, and he feels your throat tighten upon the action. You were taking him in like a drink, and he wouldn’t complain. The fluid that stains your lips are licked upon contact, and he can’t help but sigh at the relief. “Fuck…”

♠︎ ; John doesn’t say it out loud but you know he enjoys being under you, while you give him handjobs. Your hand cups his length, moving in a just pace while you murmur how pretty he looks. He’ll be all whiny, and needy, asking for you. “Ah, yeah… I’m… I need you, [READER].”

♥︎ ; He proposes to you and tries to be romantic. It’s been a week since the two of you were staying in this hotel, and you were contemplating if it was your birthday since he was with you the whole time. No missions, no going out… just with you. You’re both sitting quietly away somewhere, by a lake, and the sun is almost set. He holds your hand gently, and you wonder why he actually looks clean today. In reality, he’s been planning this for months, and he’s brought out his best suit and his hands are practically shaking in nervousness. He’s talked about this with Hosea, Arthur, even Mary Beth. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. “Just be yourself, John.” They’d all say. Now, he looks at you, smiling while he kisses your hand. Kneeling down, he shows a ring. “I… [READER]. I know it’s not much, but… I’ll try to make you happy. Will you marry me?” And he tries to be romantic, he really does, but he can’t help but shift himself awkwardly and try not to evade your eyes that were now swelling up. “Oh, you idiot,” You say, urging for him to stand up. “Yes, yes… I will. I’ll marry you.” His face lights up like a Christmas tree, as he holds your waist and spins you around acting all giddy. “You do? You will?” He can’t believe it.

♣︎ ; And you knew one day that the mistakes, the crimes, and overall bad he’d done would catch up to him. You were having a baby to be delivered. You hadn’t told him yet, hoping to surprise him and get a reaction out of him. You’d bet he’d cry. But Bounty hunters were coming, and they couldn’t care less. They opened the house’s doors with urgency and force, the guns’ barrels pointing at you. “Found the wife,” One said, eyeing the ring on your finger while you tried to protect yourself. “Where’s John Marston? Listen, we’re in a hurry here. I’ll blow you brains out if you don’t tell me where he is, woman. Don’t try anything funny.” In a panicked state, you grabbed a nearby hidden revolver and shot the hunter by the abdomen, as he groaned in pain and fell to his knees. The fellow bounty hunters pulled their triggers in unison, though only one bullet manages to pierce you. Unfortunately, it placed itself by your stomach. John barges through the door, horrified, as the hunters dropped to the floor. All you could hear were bullets flying, your own fast, ragged breathing, and John repeatedly calling out your name. “No, no, no, no… [READER], look at me. Don’t go. [READER].” He says softly, as his hand tries to stop the blood from flowing any further. You could see in your blurred vision that he tears were falling from his eyes. “No… No, please. Please.” He says again, and you manage to speak despite the blood coming out of your mouth. “John… John, I’m pregnant.” Everything is shattered for him. He freezes. “I love you, okay? We love you.” You add weakly. He wished he came sooner. Regret, guilt, and fear began to fill his heart when he saw the light in your eyes fading away. “No… Please… I—I love you. I love you both. Don’t… Stay with me, please.”

KIERAN DUFFY

♥︎ ; You caught Kieran plucking the petals of a white flower, sitting down on a rock as he mumbled quietly to himself, “She loves me… she loves me not… she loves me. She does?” He says, and realizes you were listening. He turns red and nervously throws the flower stem away, coughing. He had a cute little crush on you. It was painfully obvious — he knew that equally.

♥︎ ; He would stare at you from afar, talking to Branwen absentmindedly. “Ain’t she just… the prettiest girl you’ve seen?” He says, like the horse could understand.

♥︎ ; Flirting with him (or attempting to) was a comical and cute sight. You’d say something completely innocent and blood would rush to the tip of his ears and dust his cheeks immediately. “There he is,” You say. “How’s my lovely Kieran doing?” He forgets to breathe.

♥︎ ; The mere act of fingers brushing would startle the poor guy, however, he tries to make amends for his terrible nervousness with trying to at least make small advances to you. “Hey, uh, [READER]. You’re… looking really… pretty today.”

♥︎ ; His hands are sweaty and shaky when you hold them, but he manages to always gently caress your knuckles with his thumb.

♥︎ ; Kieran loves the feel of your lips. It gets him giddy and excited inside, and he looks all shy and cute on the outside as well. He loves when you plaster kisses all over his face, especially on the bridge of his nose, like a little branding. He always looks a little dizzy after the assault.

♥︎ ; “I… ain’t ever had a relationship before, but… I know I ain’t leavin’ you. Ever.” He mumbles, with a small smile as he hands you a necklace. “I… I love you.” He says, for the first time, and it makes you the happiest woman in the world. “I love you too, Kieran.”

♠︎ ; Gets hard really easily. One moment you’re fishing with him, and the next you see him urgently facing his body away from you, having a hard time holding the fishing rod. You could swear he was shaking, clutching it with a grip of an eagle. “What’s wrong?” You ask innocently, but he refuses to indulge in giving you an answer. “N-Nuthin’…” He manages to get out.

♣︎ ; The last thing Kieran ever says to you is “see you later.” It’s a simple statement, a short promise, that he broke soon after. He always had that nervous smile when he departed with you, scared that something unpredictable might happen. Life was going good to him, at least, when he met you. The man had a whole life to live ahead of him, albeit his past posing as a shadow. The news of his death didn’t register in your mind until a few weeks later, when you had yourself on your knees, clutching the necklace he gave you in your hands. And it hurt twice as much when you realized you were practically the only one mourning him.

[doppel-doodles]

That illustration is making me want to slam my head against solid concrete, Art block said no, and I know when to pick my battles so fuck it we ball-

A normal post about Matthew Hallard from Poppy Playtime

I briefly mentioned this in the Jack post, the fact that I didn't think I had anything new or particularly interesting to say on Matthew as I always thought the Fandom had a lot of the bases covered.

But the more I actually thought about him, the more I wanted to talk about one thing in particular:

Let's talk about Doeys tape.

In game we find a vhs tape recorded by Doey, talking about how he almost ditched everyone in favor of running away, ultimately deciding to go back for them instead. It reveals a lot about how he truly feels about the responsibility that has been given to him.

I think it was so important to include this and the reason why is quite simple:

It humanises Matthew for me.

Why I point him out specifically is due to reasons I mentioned in my other analysis, Jack's control is mostly passive, Kevin only really comes to the forefront when he feels like there is a threat to assess or deal with and it has been confirmed that Matthew is the oldest of the children as well as having been a leader of sorts since he was still a human child, so in the tape it's basically him venting.

Which is great as it makes something crystal clear: He is not a perfect saint.

Matthew is a teenager who has been parentified from an incredibly young age, places immense pressure on himself, is suffering from more burnout than a college kid and not to mention the horror that is his current existence and life-

He doesn't WANT this responsibility, he only takes it on because nobody else will or can.

And nobody even thinks to ask him ONCE how HE is doing, no,no it's him who has to do that, he is not allowed to have breaks.

For godness sake he literally tells us in the tape that he is recording it because he feels like he can't talk to anyone about his problems!

The toys- The children having someone like Doey or more accurately Matthew is not a guarantee, it is a privilege but it's a privilege Matthew needs to!

And you rarely ever see kind characters COMPLAIN about having to be kind all the time, truly looking after everyone else drains you, it's exhausting to fulfill the needs of others, more often than not you'll have to put aside your own and when you really pull the shit end of the stick you get more complains then appreciation for your troubles.

It is such a CHORE and I think a character struggling with being so selfless actually can have such a massive impact instead of just being able to handle everything, it's that tiny bit of realism I love.

Despite how exhausted and miserable Matthew was over being stuck in this position in the end he turned back. Because he loves his friends that much, and he should get massive props for that.

And to think he still did so much but didn't think anything he did was good enough is just painful, like no honey you are enough, more than enough-

Also Poppy having once been the leader makes you think that maybe Matthew might have been hurt the most by her disappearing.

Like her leading was the closest thing to a break he ever got- and then she just up and disappears?? And it's all up to him now? Not to mention the concern? The worry??

Boy it speaks volumes that he doesn't seem to display more hostility towards her considering Poppy doesn't even EXPLAIN herself on why she left or why she couldn't come back.

He is even civil in discussing the fact that she demands for them to be okay with being blown up(also correct me if I'm wrong but didn't Poppy also include in her plan that SHE will get to live? If I heard that I would be flabbergasted.) But that's something I should discuss in another post.

For now that is everything I have about my boy, if you want to see what I have to say about other characters here is Kevin annnnnnd Jack, plus some extra stuff on Doey

[loser-mobile]

Future Lover - Jason Todd x Reader

Synopsis: Trying to make it in the Big City, you are dragged clawing and screaming into a time travel mess with a man who claims to be your future husband.

Author's Note: This is my first fic in like.....years. plese be kind :)

Also this was loosely inspired by another writer's headcanon/work (that i can't find :((), and this song. I will continue to search for the fic and link it when I find it, bc it's really good!

I hope I do the idea and the character justice!

Content: Jason Todd x Reader, timetravel, swearing, mention of injuries, blood, more to come :)

ANywaayyss! Hope you like it :)

Word Count: 2k.

You’ve been daydreaming again. A third - no, fourth cup of tea, left to turn bone cold. 

Fuckin dipshit

It’s a warm day for Gotham. City of recurring nightmares, for some. For you, it’s home. A chaotic, fucked-up, yet charming-in-it’s-relentlessness home.

At 22, you’re at that crucial stage of your 20’s where it feels like you’ve seen it all, and yet done nothing of note. Job-hopping, relationship-failing, nothingness. Anxious to make something of yourself, yet not quite sure what that something would be yet.

Ambition currently took a backseat to survival. You worked for a federal community services program, which helped your clients find and access vital resources, like housing, healthcare, and food. You were a jack-of-all-trades for many in this role; a big sister, a life-coach and a friend, all in one. A soft landing. It was hard, but rewarding work. 

But damn if it didn’t drain you.

You let out a huff as you pour the cup into the sink, letting the stale chamomile brew be swallowed by the drain. You’re alone in your sharehouse, with all four of your housemates all out and about, taking full advantage of the sunny weekend. It’s a rare occasion. You gaze up, over the sink, through the window in the kitchen. Outside, sunshine beams down through silvery clouds.

It is a nice day.

Oh shit. What’s the time? And why do I feel like I’m forgetting something?

You rush back to your room and glance at your phone screen. 12:48. Oh shit!

Coffee! With your coworker, Matthew! Damnit!

Rushing around the house as quickly as you can, you damn near turn into a blur as your grab the necessities haphazardly. Jacket, keys, wallet, phone…. Where’s the damn phone, you just had it, dumbass! 

Slamming the door to your townhouse behind you, with your belongings all shoved into a low-slung leather shoulder bag, you rush three blocks down to the bus stop that will take you further into town, managing to just catch the bus before it leaves. Slotting yourself behind the other passengers from your stop, ignoring the glare that the bus driver gives you, and squeezing through the sea of patrons, that’s when you spot it. A seat. Yes! Perfect!

Collapsing into the plastic seat with a soft thud, your head tilts back and you exhale, catching your breath. You close your eyes in relief. Phew! At least now you’ll make it to coffee with your friend and former colleague Matthew on time.

Glad I got this seat. Free seats on buses in Gotham, especially on sunny days like this, are few and far between. 

Come to think of it…. Free seats in Gotham, on PACKED buses like this one, are exceedingly rare…

You glance to your right side, towards the side window. The man who sits beside you is, and there really is no way to put this lightly, huge. He looks straight forward, and it’s like he hasn’t noticed you at all.

A hulking presence, you can see he lurches forward ever so slightly. Broad shoulders that filled a dark brown leather jacket to the brim. Arms that squeeze into the worm sleeves. You glance away, folding your bottom lip into your mouth as you are prone to do when nervous or awkward. Inhaling, you steal one last glance up at his face, before quickly looking forward, and inwardly cringing.

Now it all makes sense. That scowl. Fuck me. This man might be a local crazy.

None of the other passengers are anywhere near him. Well, near either of you, since you foolishly decided to take the empty seat without first looking to see who it was you’d be sitting next to. Dickhead.

His face is a storied one. The first thing you notice are his eyes. Cliché, you think to yourself, Noticing the handsome stranger’s eyes first. But in all honesty, it’s quite hard not to. They’re a bright, piercing green. Almost…. glowing? Well, the left one is. You can’t see the right, as he’s facing forward. His disinterest in you is such that you think if you were to drop dead in front of him, he’d hardly blink.

His face, side on, is straight and chiselled, but aged. A large thin scar reaches from his left jaw, pointing like an arrow towards his green eye. And his hair, oil black, voluminous and wavy, with a streak of platinum white in his cowlick. It would be adorable if you weren’t so bloody mortified right now. 

His thick black brows are furrowed in deep concentration, or frustration. You can’t tell which. His glowering face, tense and focused, betrays the deep thought he is in. It’s not clear what exactly it is this man wants to stab the life out of right now, but it is clear that this man does not want to be spoken to right now. Hence the empty seat, you figure.

You squeeze your arms around your brown bag, the soft leather a small comfort in this awkward situation you now find yourself in. Oh, if only you could sink through this shitty plastic bus chair and splat onto the road below.

You take a deep breath, finally steading yourself. Finding yourself in close proximity with an unstable person in Gotham is like finding yourself in an enclosure with a lion. No sudden movements, and you might find yourself walking out of this with all limbs intact.

Without warning, the bus lurches forward, and you with it. Your arm shoots out to steady yourself on the metal pole in front of you, a small groan escaping your lips. You remain seated.

The man beside you, seemingly weighed down by rocks, doesn’t budge, but grunts softly. It’s probably all those damn muscles keeping him locked in place. 

You look to your side, observing the other patrons with mild curiosity. Across the small aisle from you, sits a small child and her father. Hand in hand, and she can’t be older than four. Blonde hair sticks out in tiny pigtails, and in her hands sits a stuffed giraffe toy. 

She looks over at me with large brown eyes, and smiles. You smile back, and offer a small smile. “I like your giraffe! What’s his name?”, your chirp, just as the bus enters a dark underground tunnel.

She opens her mouth to speak, a bashful smile on her face, but is interrupted by the bus skidding to a halt. You don’t even have time to turn my head forward, when, quicker than you can comprehend, hands move. Her father’s hands, and your left arm, both reach towards the small child. Your hand instinctively spreads out to cushion her small body, whilst your right reaches out for the pole in front of you. And completely misses it.

But you don’t flip head over heels onto the bus floor. A large arm has blocked you, reaching in front of you like a human seatbelt. The man beside you, still facing forward stoically, stopped you from breaking your teeth on the bus floor.

You softly curse, mouth agape. Your fingers find your bag, which has dropped unceremoniously to the sticky floor. That was quick. The bus doesn’t move. There isn’t any movement outside the bus, as far as you can tell. Instead, you hear chatter and confused mumbling from the other patrons on board, who lean and peer at something you can’t quite see.

But you feel it before you see it. A human body slams into the front window of the bus. One of the layers of glass completely shatters, sending shards of glass propelling towards you and the other passengers. 

You don’t get a chance to gasp before you are squished under the chest of the stranger beside you. His arms cover your back and you feel one of his hands on your head. You hear a thick heartbeat and a rumbling pair of lungs, and feel the warmth and softness of his black hoodie.

Seems like the weird stranger beside you had the same instincts as you; to protect people.

The bus rocks back and forth for a second, but once it has steadied, the stranger is gone. You see a flash of dark leather slip through the ajar bus door, and he is gone.

Holy shit. 

The body that landed on the front window of the bus is gone, a large indent of curved window glass in its place.

You hear screams, close ones and distant ones. To your left, the giraffe girl is tucked into the lap of her father, screaming in terror. You glance over at him, and he meets your gaze. Both of you, wide-eyed, communicate without words. We gotta get outta here. 

You reach out a hand to help him up, as he clutches his baby girl to his chest. A wave of patrons exit the bus. There’d probably be more injuries through the panic and distress of getting off the bus, if not for the complete shock that everyone is now in.

Your hands reach up to rub your face, and you quickly check yourself, then others around you, for injuries. Other than a light scare, and a few cuts and bruises, the bus of about 40 people seem to be mostly unscathed. You allow yourself a breath, and release a bit of fear.

Glass crunches underfoot, and patrons usher each-other through the doors. It’s like organised chaos. It’s Gotham, so as with every weird and horrifying event, there are naturally leaders and carers who always step up. Good people. Kind strangers whose motivation is just to get everyone home safe that day. The unsung civilian heroes of Gotham, along with the nurses and doctors, you think to yourself. 

As the last few people exit the bus, you stand, leaning a hand on the backrest of your bus seat. Giraffe-girl dropped her little giraffe toy in the chaos, and you slowly stooped down to pick it up.

Slowly picking shards of glass from the yellow and brown fur of the toy, you cautiously step towards the exit of the bus. Outside, there’s a fair amount of darkness, and you can hear distant gunshots and sounds of violence and chaos. 

Just before you reach the exit, the bus lurches violently once again, and as if possessed, you are tossed to the stick bus floor, landing amongst the glass shards. Crunch! Your thin jacket does nothing to stop the damage, and it’s like a thousand tiny knives have plunged themselves into your skin. You groan and cry out. Fuck!

The giraffe toy is still in your clutches, when you can feel the bus begin to lift into the air. It’s like that feeling of an elevator rising, you can just tell. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

You crawl and clamber to the door of the bus, clutching the sides and peering out below. You’ve been lifted barely six feet in the air, but you can’t see who’s doing the lifting. There’s a loud jarring scraping noise that comes from above you, and you glance upwards. It’s the roof of the bus, touching the concrete ceiling of the road tunnel above you. Metal pressing against concrete isn’t a wonderful sound, but at least you can’t go any higher.

But the crushing sound doesn’t stop, and the roof buckles. You are jolted around, as the bus begins to fold in on itself like paper. That’s when you cry out for help, as loud as you can.

“Hey! HEY! Stop! Please, somebody help!”. Your voice calls out, but there’s no immediate answer. “PLEASE, HELP!” You desperately cry out. Your heart pounds like a drum in your chest, and your head feels heavy with fear. Your eyes stretch wider than you thought was possible, and you begin breathing quick and shallow breaths.

Clutching at the sides of the bus door frame, you peer out below you. The gap between you and the ground is getting bigger and bigger. If you’re gonna jump, you’re gonna break your legs. But if you stay here, you’ll break… well, you’ll break your everything.

Fuck it.

With a panicked grunt, you launch yourself downwards… and lend somewhere soft. In someone’s arms. 

It’s the guy from before. Wait - no… is it? He looks older now. Grayer hair. More scars. And he looks at you with a grin and a glint in his eyes, almost like he recognises you. His red muzzle rests around his neck, low enough to show his black stubble.

That muzzle.. looks a lot like the one Red Hood wears....

He looks at you and smiles warmly. “Hey, honey!”.

A/N: AHHHH HE MAKES ME FEEEEEL. Hope you liked it? Also, reader kinda hinted at being neurodivergent, like myself, very forgetful and distractable and high energy.

Let me know if you have any feedback!