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giantkillerjack · 4 months

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Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.

#social skills #i have a few posts now in my ' social skills' tag #original #maybe eventually I will compile them and polish them in some meaningful way. I know what I want to call the book title #in big text it'll say 'I'M AUTISTIC' and then beneath that in smaller text 'And I Have Better Social Skills Than You'#or something to that effect. and the cover of the book will be me making an exaggerated smug face like the little rascal I am #challenging the viewer to pick up the book and see if they can prove me wrong.#and then the entire first section of the book is about how actually the issue with our society's social skills is the harsh judgment #for people who have trouble communicating and not the other way around. I don't actually think I'm the #most charismatic person in the world by a very long shot. but i do know that I have put more thought into my social skills than #most allistic people and frankly i have surpassed most of them. not because i am more persuasive or smooth or funny #(tho i am persuasive and funny lol) but bc i have questioned which social functions are more restriction than utility.#and instead i have focused my energy on actively learning how to make people feel safe. i feel social rules would benefit all people by #being a little more autistic tyvm. i don't think every person should dedicate themselves to being better at communicating #i think people should dedicate themselves to being kind and patient to everyone regardless of their ability to communicate #I think our society wrongly links communication ability to intelligence and intelligence to level of humanity.#when in fact all three of those things are fucking unrelated and connecting them inevitably leads to #really fucked up views on disabled people that hurt us. and then with that aspect of the book firmly understood and established I would #go on to recommend some ways to make socializing easier and more fulfilling (and less shameful and terrifying) for all kinds of people #it wouldn't be a book about Leaning In To Succeed in Business or 'here's how to avoid being the awkward loner at a party'#it'd be a book about how if you see someone alone at a party here's how to invite them to join your group without pressuring them #stuff like 'hot tip! if someone takes a while to type or speak a full sentence - talking over them b4 they can finish makes u an asshole!'#I know that a lot of people cannot or don't want to dump a lot of skill points into socializing like i did and they shouldn't have to in #order to experience basic dignity and respect. if we treat people like that then we just validate that people - especially #autistic children and elders and disabled people of manu varieties - have to suffer unless they learn all these arbitrary bullshit rules #and a lot of them are arbitrary bullshit! one of the reasons I throw people off so much is because I harmlessly break a lot of social rules #but I know I'm doing it and I'm not ashamed and people just don't know what to do with that! but a lot of them like it actually!!#i think it's a relief to be around someone so openly and unrelentingly weird bc what am I gonna do? judge you for being weird??#I only care if you're kind. not necessarily 'nice' or passive. Kind. Brave enough to care about people being treated well. Kind.#also I recognize that at least some of my ability to be openly weird is white privilege so that's important to acknowledge too

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grim-faux · 4 months

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X8 _ An Unfortunate Side Effect

First – A Small Quiet

Trigger Warning for bad habits and harmful habits around children. Please do not smoke or use other controlled substances that are not given by a licensed professional. Read on with caution.

And reiterating that smoking is not condoned or considered/portrayed as cool or beneficial to people who struggle with addictions. The Thin Man does not understand such concepts, smoking is simply something that he is 'supposed' to do, and he does use the affects to mellow him out. He's a grown ass man who was raised by an a flesh monsters disguised as a Tower. End PSA

Who could have thought routines would be detested by one who had spent countless decades (if not centuries) trapped within a perpetuating cycle?

No, the Thin Man wandered the roads, he chose paths at his whim or stalled at his fancy. He was not confided to a set route; he held no obligations to the repetition of a loop he fought to untangle from – if tentatively at this point. Though he still felt confided to the hypothetical cycle unyielding, he was liberated in some manner to meander into this room or judge that building, and decide the next course to take. He could scrutinize the signs on buildings, ascertain if the mark speek elaborated upon the contents within, and deduce if they might yield insight of his situation, or if it would be a probable location to give a pause and reconsider his life choices.

It was rare that the Thin Man lingered for any duration of time, if only to allow a particularly challenging wave of storms to pass, or allow the small creature huddled in his shadow the opportunity to nest down and find some food. It was usually when said creature had sufficed all interest in the specific zone, that the Thin Man returned to his wanderings. He could infer this, typically by when the smallers harassment intensified to unbearable levels.

The room was in bearable shape, bone dry and scarce of all vermin (save for one). This good quality had saved a few books from utter dissolution, which allowed his focus to preen through the pages. Some of the letters had faded, and the pages were a slate gray, yet he could make out enough. Which he stubbornly threaded through.

“Are you done ransacking the kitchen?” posed the arched figure. The desk was unforgivable short, the chair had faults as well – it wobbled nefariously, until he had mended the issue. He could not mend the owner of the face, peering up at him from beside one tall stack of books. Nor did he anticipate an answer.

He could sense the boy was in one of his moods.

“Did I not pose a question?” he prompted, once more. This time, the gaze wavered and the child inched back beside the books. “Ḥ̸̪̋m̴̩͈̀̕ṃ̶̽̇?”

The boy huddled down beside the corner of the books, fiddling with the sleeve of his coat and concealing his face under his latest hat. It was possible the location had nothing that the child could make use of, nonetheless, he would not know for certain unless he was given speek.

The Thin Man adjusted the cigarette in his fingers and took a slow drag. “Do you need something? D̶̯́ǐ̸̪d̴̟̽ ̷͇͝ Ȳ̸̥o̴̪͠u̵̹̿ find ̵͛͜S̵̯͋ö̸̦m̸̼̒e̸̮̿t̴͉͐ḫ̴͗i̷̹̒n̵̰̈g̶͇͐?” He worked to press his focus into the tome, rather than the scrap of fabric that blew after his heels across all the streets.

For whatever reason, the child shuffled away from the books and ‘tiptoed’ closer to where he was propped up on his elbow.

S̷̪̍i̷͉̒g̷̥͐h̶͓̄.̷̩͝

As per tradition, he pretended to be unaware of this movement. In fact, the child ceased to exist altogether. Unless he made speek, the Thin Man was not interested in decoding the cryptic needs.

A tug came to the sleeve of the arm, which held his more interesting book aloft. Not a sound though. Hence, he gave the boy not the moment. The child’s emergence was progress, was it not? Not that he cared. His acknowledgment of the child was to brush off his sleeve, and sweep away the boy.

This had the negative desire, as now he had a child latched onto his fingers and biting.

The Thin Man exhaled smoke and tried flicking the vandal away (this never worked). “I have Ṋ̵́ỏ̶̞ ̶̭̒ I̷͍̐n̶̛͍t̸̼̽ē̷͍r̵̡̄e̴̟͂ș̴̈t̶̖̀ in your ̶̗͌T̷̤͋ŗ̵̕i̶̹̿ṿ̵̚i̵͔͑ą̵͛l̷̻͌ nonsense.” Usually he got a hiss or some calamity of gibberish, but the boy was being rigidly hushed. “What is the M̸̰̉e̵̗͊a̷̖̽n̴̤̐i̶̺͐n̴͖͝g̷̞̍ ̷͚̒ of T̵̖͘h̵̻̄ị̸̑s̸̤͗?”

With his hands occupied by book and cigarette, he was left with no functional way of dealing with the boy. He set aside his reading, then reached over and peeled up one of the legs hooked around his pinky. An effort was made by the child to latch onto his cufflink with his teeth, but with a firm tug that scheme was dismantled. Now, he had his hand liberated, though he was likely in the same predicament. The child was brutish about taking a hint and leaving well enough alone, he should know.

Dangling the boy by his ankle, he leaned onto the desk with his elbow supporting him and watched, amused, as the boy curled up to grapple with the fingers pinching his ankle. Still not a noise or anything. That was interesting, at least. Well, aside from the audible Plop! the hat produced when it smacked the desk’s surface. It was comical. He could feel the laugh track roar in his head.

“D̵̲̓ŏ̸̘ you even K̴̡̾ṅ̵̦ọ̷̈́w̵̥̎ ̷̜͝ why you are T̷̈́ͅò̸̜r̷͙̈́m̴̻͌ē̴̖n̶̘̄t̵̠̔i̵͉͒ń̸͔g̶̫̾ me? Or is this S̵̢̎ö̷͍́m̷̠̐e̸̼̊ ̶͕̈ S̶͕͌ō̴̼r̶͙͑t̸̥̓ ̶̡̚ of Í̶̗m̵̰͌p̶̀ͅų̷́l̸̹̔s̵͖̓e̴̹̾ in your ̴̱̈́M̷̞͝e̵̡͘n̶̥͝a̶̋͜c̶̙̊e̷̗̓ criteria?” He doubted the boy knew, let alone understood that sting of sounds. The Thin Man fancied twirling the child, which kept him from prying at his narrow ankle.

“What should I do with this child? What should I̶̡̥̅̎̆̉͛ ̵̭̗̞͈̖̃́̍͘͝D̷͈̄̀̏ơ̵̢̩̬̻̰͗? Hmm…” The boy had no input, other than to spin. “Nothing? Not even a G̵̛̠͒̾̌̆r̷̡̯̪̥̥͔̾͐͊̊̓͝ơ̸̡̟̠̤̗͒͂̅̌w̵̛̥̣̟̙͛l̵̼̼̺̥̔͌̿́͝ͅ?̷͎̒̾́͝ͅ? Grr….” He enunciated it, but this received no reaction. Not that the Thin Man could tell with the way the child was twirling.

“W̵͕̟͋ͅḣ̸͕̣̓͝y̶̤͗͊ ̷̩͕͌́̍Ḛ̷͋͐v̶͓̩̱̈́̓̋ȇ̵̙̝n̶̤͚͆͠ ̷͙̋͠ͅ put yourself T̸̫̆h̸͇̋r̵̻̟̃̅̀ō̶̫u̸͕̯͒͌̇͜g̶͓͇̾̉h̸͙̆̔ ̶̭̖̼̉͘ T̸͎̉͠h̶͉̭͊͂̈́ị̸̧̅̈́̇s̵͓͋̕, if your are not going T̵̜̔o̴̧̗̊̋ ̵̩̬̆͗ E̸̥͊n̷͚͔͑͂g̷̲̒a̵̢̠͑͗g̷͉̑e̵͈̽ those powers you N̶͙̔e̶̼͝g̷͎͑l̷̖͋ẽ̵͉ć̶̯t̵̪̏?” The boy could easily, very EASILY relocate to a different location altogether. If anything, the child could escape his grasp with a flicker. He was certain. The boy refused. “You F̴r̴u̴s̸t̶r̶a̷t̶e̵ ̷M̷e̵.” The child continued twirling. He had no right to look offended, affronted, or whatever.

Until he let the vandal drop onto the tables surface. He made sure to lower the boy a tad bit before releasing him. “Why not H̴u̴n̶t̶ ̵D̸o̵w̷n̸ ̶ some other C̴r̶e̴a̷t̵u̸r̸e̷ ̴ to T̵o̵r̷m̸e̸n̸t̶?̷” It appeared the child would not be frolicking off to dismantle the abhorrent Viewers or whatever sort of fiend he might have the misfortune of crossing paths with.

Right away, the boy launched to his feet. But fell over. He rolled over and tried once more, only for repeated results. Again, and again. And. Again. The child stumbled sideways, pivoted on his toes, and toppled to his knees. Before he could even begin to recover, the boy tipped sharply to his side and flopped to his back.

The Thin Man practically face palmed. When he looked down again, the boy was still tipsy but managed to stand on his two feet and glower up at him. He had to emphasize that “glowered up”, since the child looked ridiculous with how he wobbled. The Thin Man took a deep draw on his cig and leaned down. He was disappointed when the ruffian did not tumble down the way he anticipated after the cliché puff, though the alarmed expression was worth it.

“Ĺ̷̬ē̵̖ä̵͙r̸͔͂n̶̖̊ȩ̴̌d̸͍̎ ̴̪͝ your L̸̝͒ĕ̵̥s̵̪̀ś̶̝ó̵̖n̵̙̆,̵̈́͜ ̴̭͐ yet?” he smirked. The boy snorted and snarled. At last, some noise! “There W̷e̵ ̶G̷o̷. When I ̴W̵a̵n̷t̸ ̴S̷p̴e̶e̴k̴,̶ you ̴W̶i̸l̵l̵ —” He cut off, when the child crashed to the table and continued snorting and hacking. Wetly. That did not sound right.

The Thin Man tilted his head and arched his brow. “B̸o̵y̸. Why must you be so ̸D̷r̶a̸m̴a̴t̷i̵c̷?” If anything, this was insulting. Though by increments, it began to dawn on him this could be serious.

The child hunched over on his hands and feet to hack full bodily into the surface beneath him, choking and wheezing with every grasp for the musty air. Never had the loathsome environment given the child such a reaction – none of the dust, putrid air, or fouled crawlspaces the boy navigated, ever put him into such a fit. And the lad was buckled forward, croaking with every iota of his being while also fighting back the sounds he could not feign off.

“What have you done now?” Clearly, the child had gotten into something. This explained his reluctance for the speek. “M̴o̷n̵o̵?̸ ̶What D̷i̷d̷ ̵ Y̵o̶u̶ get ̶I̸n̶t̶o̷? Make some speek for me.”

That was likely an impossibility, as the child choked back another retched snort. This was the Thin Man’s cue to crush out his cigarette and scoop up the boy. He glitched out of the room, bypassing the short – but at this time infinite hall – locating the kitchen space in a few pops. His outlined sputtered as he set the child on the counter, he dragged open the drawers with a glimmer of his powers. When he found a rag, he hastily drenched and rinsed the musty compress before applying it to the child’s face.

“What I̸̦͝n̶̠͋ ̸̰̚ T̴̟̾h̸̳͝e̷̠̿ ̸̙̑ T̵͎̂ò̷̝w̶̻̄e̴̖̓r̸͕̂ ̴͙͂ did you do? How do you M̷̩̓ạ̴̾ǹ̴̯a̸͖͐g̶̖̍e̴̹̐ ̴̣͝such events? Huh?” The Thin Man did not wait for chirps or utterances, he did his best to wipe the coat and matted hair of anything that could be the cause of this irritation. “Are you L̵i̴s̷t̵e̵n̸i̷n̸g̶ to me?”

Probably not. He gave the child a brief glimpse, seeing only watering eyes twisted shut and a nose that was a faucet. And of course, more of that retched rattling gasps. The squeaks devolved into creaking whimpers that barely sounded like an animal, never mind a child. The child was a repulsive mess. “What have I told you about being C̴̺̃ạ̴̓u̸̡͆ț̶̑i̷̹͆õ̶̡ũ̸͕s̸͍̑ ̸̩̐W̵̨͛h̶̻̿e̷̜͊r̴̳͌e̷͕͛ you ̷̯͒R̸͕͛u̸̖͆m̵͉͆m̷͕̄ḁ̸͗g̷̯̈ê̷̪?̷̭̃ ” The dread that the child tumbled into a child trap laced with toxins now festered in his head.

What would he do?

“Hold on. I’ll make you better. Hold on.” The Thin Man did his best to clean the scum off the child’s face and fix him up. That did succeed in subsiding the hoarse choking and most of the hacking. He draped the boy over his palm and rubbed his back, working to massage out the gurgling phlegm sounds hitching and gargling. “There. Let it out. That’s right. There we go. Try breathing….” It unsettled him how the boy struggled for the barest of breath. “Easy…. Slow breaths. Slower. Like I showed you. Deep breath in, and then exhale. That’s goo—”

He shut up when the boy pitched forward on his hand and vomited. Or dry heaved. Nothing came up, but it nonetheless sounded grotesque. Ew.

“There,” he grimaced, struggling to control the obscene crackle in his voice. “That… er, that should make you feel better.” Nothing really came out, but the child’s breathing at last eased. Sort of. The harsh quaking racked through his ribs, and the body persisted to rasp and convulse. “Easy. Easy there.” Once the child’s gasping settled a bit more, he gave him a few careful pats. Just to make certain all the foul was worked out of his child.

“Feeling better?” Without lifting the child, he leaned close to the counter to check the boy. He was given no response, aside from a sniffling-wheeze. “You look leagues better.” A wet sneeze smacked his palm. His lip twitched, yet there was nothing to do about it.

Raising himself and the child up with him, the boy settled against his collar as he began to move. The Thin Man continued to rub at his back while he searched around the kitchen, hunting for whatever put the child in such sorts. With a flick of the transmission, he forced doors to the cabinets open, and wrenched open the cupboards beneath the counter. One handed – he kept Mono secure to his collar – his hand rifled through, seeking out any spore or dust that must have contaminated the boy.

“What in the Tower did you stumble into?”

A wet hiccup spared no insight. While the child wiped his muggy nose on his collar. Never mind. He dismissed the kitchen area and prowled into the other rooms. It was not uncommon for food offerings to get laced with toxins in the denizens efforts to ‘fix’ the pest infestation. Though he expected his boy to be savvy about such dangers – most children knew better. At times, the corrupt offerings could be disguised and at others, children were desperate. This was not the typical MO of a toxic contaminate, but who knew all the effects of poisons.

“Did you fall into something?” No response. Slight snorts and whining were the only reply, accompanied by a faint snorting and a faint ‘tweeing’, whenever the child wheezed. “What did you get into, child? It is important that I know.” The boy did begin to burble something.

“C̴o̷m̵e̵ ̵A̸g̷a̷i̵n̶?̷”

The boy did not reiterate or adjust his speek. It was more incoherent grumbling. He should be gratified by that amount of speek in leu of the total absence of noise.

“Focus on your breathing,” he rumbled. Searching through the remaining few rooms absorbed a good portion of his focus, but the Thin Man did manage to enforce his point by stroking Mono’s back. None of the obscure corners or out of view spaces under a cabinet or bed proffered any sort of contaminate that might explain the child’s reaction. The fear that the child may have chewed on something arguably nonedible did weight on his thoughts, yet he held out hope that he would discover some clever ruse that would have duped a desperate boy. He resisted interrogating the child further for the time.

“That is better, is it not?” A croaky hiccup was the most optimistic noise. “There-there. No more W̶h̷e̵e̸z̶i̵n̸g̵.̴” He really did not evaluate if there was much improvement, instead opting for another patrol of the common spaces in his last gambit to locate some clue. None of which was forth coming. And the child had nothing coherent to supply for the broiling mystery, aside from wet sniffling.

The Thin Man once again wandered into the kitchen, and once again stood before the sink. He adjusted the tap for a fine trickle and took a ‘fresh’ towel from the open drawer. The fabric was stiff and dank from centuries of forgot, but once liquid was applied to the fiber it softened considerably. Setting the boy down on the counter, he kept the vandal caged by his hand while scrubbing off the stale layer of yuck.

“C̵e̷a̵s̷e̴ ̶ M̵o̷v̷i̸n̸g̵.̶” The boy was going nowhere, but his wriggling made it impossible to scrub. “The more you fight T̴h̴e̶ ̶L̷o̴n̶g̸e̸r̷ ̷ this T̶a̸k̵e̸s̸.” This warning went unheeded, and the child had his teeth latched onto the rag. With a croaking growl.

The boy began chewing the rag and wrestle it, while raising one leg to kick at his fingers. The Thin Man utilized this time to reexamine the flushed face, and rake his knowledge over any insight if this was a normal complexion. Nothing about Mono’s complexion was normal, even for a child. The boy might have resembled the typical child for now, or not. The man in the hat could not say with certainty. The feisty boy still fought the rag, even though he retired the item and let the ruffian clutch the thing in his arms. He had a habit for rassling anything he could get his arms around – plush animals; a sock, his hand when set on a table.

“What are you doing?” he posed. He did not move his other hand from the child’s backside, though he was no longer restraining the boy. To the inquiry, the boy dipped his head down and bit more onto the rag. “It is not alive. Nor is it further harassing you.”

The child pressed further back against his palm and kept his head down. Nodding. A residual wheeze creaked beneath the buzzing from the Thin Man's residual suspicion. The Thin Man crinkled his brows. Was the ailment still complicating the speek?

“Still U̷n̶w̶e̶l̷l̸?” Not expecting any form of noise, the Thin Man scooped the child up and placed him against his collar. As expected, the boy abandoned his battle with the rag in favor of latching onto his shirt. It was quite typical for children to huddle into their little child clusters for warmth during the rest times, but the excessive clinginess persisted to disturb him. It was wrong for the boy, this particular child, to behave in this way. This dependency should have been weaned off him ages back, when the girl abandoned him to his fate.

“This is unbecoming B̴e̷h̵a̶v̶i̵o̸r̸. You cannot be reliant on others. It never E̸n̵d̸s̶ ̶W̷e̶l̷l̷ for you.” The child burbled against his collar. Really.

“Keep.”

“N̸o̵t̶ ̶ F̶o̷r̴e̶v̵e̴r̷. You will T̴i̶r̵e̶ ̴of M̵e̵ and run away. That is what you A̵l̵w̷a̶y̸s̵ ̵D̵o̴." Following a brief stall, he added, "That is how all children are.”

“No….”

“Y̷e̶s̸,” he fizzed. The boy kept his face pressed into his collar, hiding as the Thin Man peered down to the best of his ability. “I̵t̵ is ̵W̴h̷a̸t̵ ̵ you A̴r̸e̵. I̵t̵ ̸ is W̵h̶a̵t̵ ̴ you B̴e̷c̷o̷m̶e̶.”

And what would the boy become? That was the pondering query which haunted him the long hours he spent roaming the soddened roads. The boy left to his own devices would become the thing, the creature, the only thing the Thin Man feared. Hated.

The man in the hat.

He sighed, and the child hacked into his shirt.

“T̷h̶e̸ ̶ S̵t̵r̴a̶n̶g̵e̶ ̵ C̶h̶i̸l̶d̴.̴” He hated being the one child that was different. It was cruel that despite all that he fought for and wanted, was thrown aside. “So ̵U̷n̷h̸a̸p̷p̸y̷.̴ ̶M̷i̴s̵e̴r̴a̶b̴l̵e̶.̸ I will never U̶n̷d̷e̴r̵s̶t̷a̶n̷d̶ you, little one.”

The boy that knew not of his fate, of the destiny awaiting him at the end of the hall. Not until the latch clicked, the door handle dropped, and all the secrets he ever had engulfed his entire being. He had felt everything in that short span of time, aged faster than a child of this world aged. Experienced every stage of emotion, felt the burden of loss and regret unlike a child of this world had ever felt. It destroyed the boy he once was.

Lost in his musings, the Thin Man had wandered through the corridors until he was in one of the spare rooms of no interest. It was one room the child spent time scratching around, placing marks all over the lower walls – odd symbols with curves and squiggly lines, a figure of some four legged animal.

“W̵h̴a̷t̶ ̸ D̸i̵d̷ ̶ Y̴o̶u̸ ̷ E̴v̶e̸r̵ ̸ H̴o̷p̷e̷ ̸ T̵o̸ ̵ G̷a̵i̵n̸?̶” The boy did not offer anything, except dig more into his collar. “Nothing to offer to O̶u̸r̸ ̵C̷o̶n̸v̷e̶r̸s̷a̵t̷i̵o̴n̷?̸” Another burbled murmur spurred from the boy. How very enlightening.

He could not help the chuckle. “What was that?” He recoiled when the face reared up at him yelping.

“Not small.”

“O̶h̴ ̸N̵o̶?” The chortle vibrated from him without, prompting another dour glare from the child. “You are.”

“No.”

“You cannot argue with fact.” He was not necessarily being mean, but he had to give the scruffy hair a brush with his finger. “Someday though. That A̷l̶l̸ ̷C̷h̷a̴n̸g̸e̶.̵” The angry scowl on the child melted into one of… he could not say curiosity. It certainly was not concern.

He arched his brow. “What is that face you make?” The boy pressed his check against his shirt and gazed at him. And blinked.

“Sad.”

Not this again. “And why D̶o̸ ̵ Y̸o̸u̷ ̴B̴e̷l̸i̸e̷v̶e̵ I am sad?”

The boy shrugged against his palm. “Have story.”

Ah yes, the story. The unfortunate truth of his fate as the fallen ‘hero’. Though the idea of hero was far detached from the boy’s understanding, there were no villains or saviors in his sordid tale. There was only he and Her, against the terrors that inhabited the world. The children were no more heroes than a crab overcoming a leech. Heros and fallen saviors existed nowhere, survival was the only payoff from vanquishing the latest foe.

“What of T̸h̵i̷s̵ ̷S̶t̸o̷r̸y̵?”

A long and deep breath filled the little body tucked under his hand. The child slipped his gaze down, stared at something beyond the Thin Man’s line of sight, before turning his strange stare back up to him. “Speek make y’child? Hmm?”

Speek. You child. Question.

“Yes. O̴n̸c̵e̶. What of it?”

The boy kept those eyes fixed on him, unwavering. Strange child. Cursed boy. Always hiding his face under hats and masks. He was not hiding now.

“Smol?”

“H̴m̵m̸?̷”

The boy scrunched up his face, probably untying more convoluted inquiries from the depths of his scratchy thoughts.

“R’smol. You n’child?”

He sighed and lifted a finger to sweep the matted hair out of the boy’s eyes. “Y̴e̶s̵.̷ All children are small.” That frustratingly slow blinking persisted.

“Smol.”

What was the boy not getting?

“Yuh?”

It was his turn to reciprocate the slow blinking. “O̶n̶e̶ ̵ T̸i̶m̴e̸.̵ A long - ̸L̶o̸n̶g̵ time ago.”

Long-long ago. In an era that had since died and reverted to dust. The boy fell and was forgotten, left by the one he cherished. Oh how he mourned the lost friendship, the companionship, the cohabitation with someone that was once his world.

“For happen?”

Ah.

The floor creaked as he shifted his weight. He realized he was swaying ever so slightly. The child’s eyes drooped, but he caught himself and forced alertness back into his stare. Only to have his eyelids dip down once more.

“S̶o̶ ̷M̷u̸c̷h̴.̵”

“Su’much.” The child hummed, and nestled down more into his jacket. “Sum….” A small wheeze and hack popped from the boy, but he smothered it easily enough. “Story.”

The Thin Man hummed for the child. “It is a P̶o̵i̵n̶t̷l̴e̸s̶s̵ story.”

“Poin’ess….”

“It means, it has N̸o̵ ̶ P̶l̴a̴c̷e̴ in this world.” Much like the existence of children. He brushed carefully over the boy’s back and continued humming a melody. It had no rhythm, the tune was flat, but the child’s eyes fluttered shut.

The search for the mysterious irritate was long forgotten. If the child had another violent fit later, he might have an apt opportunity of discovering the source. For now, he meandered into one of the rooms that had nothing but a table with some chairs. No books or pages, or the other odds and ends that enabled him to constantly scribble through the pages of endless nothing to offer erudition or redemption to the husk of a world. Just a dusty table with a tattered table runner. It fancied him to take his place at one chair and lean back by a margin, only to set his heels on the tabletop.

For whatever reason he was still humming off key, to no one in particular. It was dangerous to… he was no longer a child. No more, than the boy cupped in his hands was he.

“Was child,” mumbled the voice. Some time later when he made no acknowledgment, the child shifted under his hand. “Have friend?”

“H̵u̸h̶?̷” The boy nudged his finger with his forehead, but he resisted the urge to glance down. He was not strong enough to meet those eyes so like his own.

“Y’child.” The wriggly thing was easy enough to control, though the squirming did not cease. “Am Mono r’friend. Y’child? When smol.”

“N̸o̸.̴ Never.” That was the blunt response. The only correct reply. “It W̷o̸u̷l̶d̶ ̵N̷o̵t̷ have ̵W̸o̷r̸k̶e̶d̴ out.”

“Yu'lie.”

“Do not be D̶e̸l̶u̴s̴i̵o̵n̷a̴l̴.̴”

No wonder why S̷h̶e̶ dropped him. Who in this Tower forsaken city could ever tolerate this spiteful splinter.

“What’s y’like?” muttered the voice. “N’child? What y’done?”

Fool child.

“Smol,” he replied, to the boy. “W̴e̴.̶.̴.̸ I was….” The words and stories all slipped away, or never existed in the first place. The boy never existed. It was all a lie. His dreams, the adventure, his friendship with H̴e̷r̶.̷.

“I went on many adventures. I saw such terrible things.” The Thin Man brushed his fingers over the child’s back, trying to recall how the coat felt so heavy on his shoulders. How mighty and fierce he felt with its snapping around his ankles, how it protected him from the sharp flint strikes of rain.

“Trick?” came the muffled voice under his palm.

“Mm. Many tricks. Many.” He tussled the child’s hair. “At times I was very frightened, and did not know if I would wake up. But I was resolute in my mission.”

“Mish-shun.”

“A very important task you undertake.” The Thin Man could feel those eyes burning into him. He zoned out on the warped, tattered ceiling where plaster and wood hung downward. The upper floors ceiling was visible through the gloom, and somewhere a bulb bristled its waning shimmer.

“Am Mono s’mish’un?”

That caused him to falter and turn his gaze down to meet the boy’s. “You?” He was on the verge of laughter, but the eyes were so imploring and uncertain. “Yes,” he choked, on reflex. “You are a very important mission.”

The child turned his head the other way, and pressed is cheek against his jacket. “Have friend. Am Mono keep’yu. Mm?”

The Thin Man worked through his ancient memories, of what togetherness meant when he was a child, with nothing but a soft hand in his own. The world against them him, the dangers endless. Scavenging beside a second pair of eyes, the rasped speek beneath the creak of walls, the chatter of rain. What was a friend, but another threat to bypass. She must have felt the same sentiment. Why else would she condemn him? He would never know. He didn’t care to know.

“I think you would have been a good friend for me,” his voice snagged, and stammered. “I don’t know for how long, but I would have cherished… it would have meant the city to me.” The child hummed against his palm.

“Am prot’ck. Am Mono does. Y’safe.”

“Sure.” The Thin Man reached up with his free hand, and tugged his hat down to shelter his eyes. “Now hush it and recuperate your strength. That was a nasty fit.”

Mono grumbled, but tucked up into his coat. “Not hurt.”

“Shh.” No nonsense argument here. “For a short spell, stay still and rest your head.” And no refute came from the boy. Just a steady finger, tracing the creases in his hand.

“Make story?” came the messy grumble. “Y’am’um Mono? How story?”

It took a dreadful long moment before the Thin Man put together the soft twitter, but when it struck him, the world felt dark and strange. He shut his eyes and tried to recall a long era lost in the miasma of is confinement to the Tower. How long did the roads stretch? Where in the skyline did towering buildings fade? Did they hold up the sky? What hazards lurked in the musty black corridors?

“Two L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̸ ̶ B̵o̷y̶s̴,” another sputtering scratch tattered his words. “They crept through a murky room, listening to the creatures pawing at—”

“Was speek? Am Mono. Him?”

The Thin Man paused to regard the question. “One was Mono. We do not remember the other boys name. It was not important.” The child snorted.

“S’portant. Have call. What speek?”

The Thin Man brushed back his hat and glared down at the child, who matched the smoldering frown with one of his own. “Let me continue. Maybe he will remember his name.” For now, that satisfied the child. He turned his face away and shifted around into a more comfortable heap. Or perhaps he was soured by the Thin Man’s disregard for the important, unnamed child.

Regardless, the Thin Man resumed. Softly, he spoke, “They came from a vehicle on a railway track. The unsteady vessel crashed into a wall and splint in two – one of them was pinned. But without losing the other, and risking great harm when a fire spread through the wreckage, they found their way out of the tunnel. This happening made them realize how much they needed the other, and how important together was.”

“Mm. For impor’ant.”

“O̶f̷ ̷C̸o̴u̵r̵s̷e̵.̷” He traced a finger along Mono’s back, working the knotted kinks from the child’s spine. As Mono relaxed further against his jacket, he went on about the grand adventures that the two children shared. The dangers they overcame, and how they learned so much about being more than just travel companions.

It was not quite the togetherness he thought was the most important link he shared with Her. It was bigger than company, impossible to convey in the span of cohabitation. When he thought about these illusions with the boy, it made a sensation so warm and painful swell inside his chest. As if he might have the gall to risk banishment to the Tower ten times over, to certify this child never saw a single solitary chair locked behind a door.

“From then on, they always had each other,” he finished.

Mono had fallen into silent rest forever ago, but it felt critical to his shaken thoughts to reach the end of this journey with that little boy.

#little nightmares #tw for unhealthy habits #lil nightmares #little nightmares fanfic #thin dad #the thin man #mono #feral mono #such a feral lil boy #smoking parent - do not smoke especially around children #fanfic #fanfiction #little nightmares fanfiction #important end note - the Thin Man is really stupid and really has no idea the negative affects smoking can have on small kids.#he eats ten cigs an a hour) and hasnt suffered because eldritch being or whatever #he didnt intend to harm Mono he just doesnt understand what harm cigs pose on others health but in ways he does understand #really he is not a good parent to any child but this is a dystopia world so there arent many alternatives

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