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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 4 months

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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

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whumpshots · 10 months

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Whump ABC #14 - Nightmares

Based on the results of this poll.

A dark frame towers over whumpee. They are in a dark and cold place, it feels familiar, but not too familiar. It feels like they are back, back at whumper's place, but at the same time they are in a newer and different situation.

Whumpee feels their heartbeat race against their chest, drowning out every other sound, even their own breathing. The frame moves, claws instead of hands, each of them as sharp as a knife. Whumper is this monstruous shape, a shadow that consumes all light in the room.

The shadow's claws touch them, whumpee feels the wetness of the blood first, only then the pain reaches their brain and they open their mouth to scream, but they choke on the sound. Whumper comes closer, becomes bigger as this shadow now towers over whumpee.

A hand touches their shoulder, shakes them. Their heartbeat is too loud, but a voice comes through. A familiar voice. Whumpee wakes up when the second hand cups their cheek and caretaker's voice gets louder.

"-ake up, kid! It's a nightmare, just a dream," they hear the other say and whumpee finally hears their own pleading, their own whimpers and shaky breath as tears run down their cheeks and panic shakes their body.

Caretaker wraps their arms around whumpee, who can't stop crying despite not realising what is happening. But the warm hands that softly stroke their back feel too good to question what is happening right now.

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whumpee #caretaker #nightmares #nightmare #aftermath #tw: trauma #tw implied trauma #emotional whump #whump trope #whump prompt #whump abc #whumpshots

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greyslates · 2 years

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oiuugghh

#greyart #homestuck #hs #dirk #dirk strider #dave #dave strider #bro strider #tw implied trauma #shidded this out my ass at 8am #its rlly bad i just wanted the idea out of my head

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bleedingintogold · 1 year

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A leader who is known to be relaxed and level headed. Who is loved and easily approachable with his soft smiles and assuring words. Who is always there for his team and knows exactly what they need.

A leader whose past is unknown to his team.

But his switch in demeanor on the battlefield tells a million different stories. That he's so unrecognizable that his own teammates fear him. He's viscous yet scarily precise. Violent and deadly as he moves through the enemy. Cutting them down with little effort like a hot knife through butter. And when it's over, he'll wait there for his team. Armour splattered in blood and a gleaming red sword resting against the nearest tree.

"Ready to go home, crew?" said so casually that you could almost ignore the fact that he was picking pieces of flesh out of his hair like it was just dust and that his face was covered in dried blood that could not be his own.

"Y-Yes, Captain!"

"Good. I could use a shower,"

#leader #team dynamics #prompts #tw implied trauma #leader whumpee #whumpblr #whump #but not really whump?#what genre is this i have no idea #funny little guy

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cr1ms0nesp3ra-ac3 · 23 days

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Part 2: DAY O2

( Sleep Token Lyric Challenge made by @a-s-levynn )

Undercut for art!

Btw the five glowy red eyes are Sleep's, I may had to draw them in my own concept. Also the left is Jake aka Ace's younger bro-

( I CAN'T WAIT TO ESCAPE ARTBLOCK JAIL CAUSE I NEED TO SURVIVE 😭 )

#art #fanart #oc #oc lore #oc angst #sleep token #sleep token band #sleep token worship #sleep token fanart #sleep token 666 #''madoka pls don't go!“ ahh scene/j #had this dream where my oc and his sibling were just playing outside- til there is something grabbing him beneath.#and when I say beneath- it was Sleep tormenting Ace's younger brother. Jake..#I hc that Sleep can manifest people's dreams by tormenting the target's loved ones.. and that's til he chose Ace's sibling.#fun fact: Jake is the only one who knew that Ace is about to become a new band member because Jake always keeps secret for his old bro hehe #though he didn't know what fate lies unto him.. til a dream traumatized him.#hehehehe... ya'll not gonna like the next one. Cause i'm writing a oneshot angst for these two hehehe 😈#a series of small offerings #tw implied trauma #sleep token oc

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tessathepeanut · 1 month

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I made this silly vintage clown doll a bit ago, and I thought it was perfect to post them!

TW for self depreciation and implied trauma!!

Yeah, of course they're traumatized. Who would it be if not traumatized?

But that aside, this is Quest! An OC inspired by the glorious Webtoon comic: The Dummy's Dummy. My friend has been reading it to me lately, and it may have become a new hyperfixation? And me making this absolute creature is just making it even stronger.

#art #oc #my art #the dummy's dummy #the dummy's dummy oc #shoutout to all you unhinged clowns out there <3 #tw self deprecation #tw implied trauma

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satans-left-cornea · 9 months

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#traumacore #hello kitty #bandaids #tw implied trauma

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maestro-of-clockwork · 8 months

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Have you noticed anything strange about yourself lately? Catching yourself reacting in ways that are perfectly irrational?

Those spikes in your adrenaline when you realise you're alone with a stranger, even when you know that they could be harmless...your mind locking up in panic at the thought of being in a cramped space...and even stranger, your muscles tensing and nerves fraying whenever you hear any sort of ticking sound...

Have you ever wondered why your mind does this?

Why it defies all reason, despite the fact that you know nothing is wrong?

You will, in time...first, allow me to paint a picture for you. Close your eyes and imagine it with me:

You are in a quaint and vibrant two-story house, living with your father, uncle and older sister, along with other curious people. Everyone treats you very kindly, they all love and care about you and your family...but your father and your uncle act oddly afraid of one them. You don't yet understand why, but all you know is that he is bad and that you shouldn't go near him.

One day, you do, though. You don't exactly do this on purpose. You want to watch television and he happens to be in the living room already. He looks right at you, smiling and greeting you...but it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong.

Is this sounding familiar?

No...?

Let's continue, then.

Although the man seems nice, your mind and soul are screaming out for your father to come upstairs already, the fear leaving you robbed of a single word.

He offers for you to sit by him, which you do - you are terrified of making him angry - and the two of you chat for a while, as little words as you have. Then, he tells you of a special power that he has...of course, being a child, you're curious and ask him if he could show it to you.

Smiling kindly, the man removes one of his gloves and reaches out to touch your arm when your older sister suddenly grabs your arm and hurriedly drags you with her as she runs into the kitchen. Hyperventilating, she makes room in the lower cabinets for you to hide in and urges you to get inside.

You do, terribly confused and afraid, your heart beating out of your tiny chest as she closes the cabinet door.

"I'm going to get Dad," she whispers, "stay here and don't move."

You hear her run off somewhere...and then someone else enter.

"Brendan, my boy, where did you go?" the man calls out to you, as friendly as could be. "Your sister didn't hide you again, did she?"

His footsteps start coming towards you, and at the same time, this ticking sound has made itself known to your senses. You don't know where it's coming from, but it's getting closer...and closer...and closer...

That look on your face...do you remember now?

Wonderful~...

It was a shame that your father and sister interrupted our conversation that day. I was truly looking forward to rotting you alive...

But, you know what they say:

'Better late than never.'

#sit and i shall tell you a story. {{ memories }}#from the typewriter. {{ t e x t }}#tw implied trauma #[[ brendan is an adult in this so this takes place in the future ]]

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gremlin-writes-angst · 2 years

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Knowing is Safe CH.2

Chapter 2

Fandom: Redacted ASMR

Couple: Geordi/Cutie

1.9 k Words

90% angst 10% comfort ( I actually did the math)

Intilizised words like this are cutie's thoughts. and the way there formated is important so pay attention ( if you have questions don't be afraid to ask)

Also, the beginning might seem a little confusing because I was trying to keep cutie gender neutral which was hard considering the subject.

For the TW I'm putting a lot of it in a category, still listed but I want it to be clear that the things aren't actually having and are just cuties paranoia and anxiety

TW/CW: Paranoia (Robbery, kidnapping, home invasion, intruder, murder, death, blood, being followed, being stalked, being attacked, abandonment)Cursing. Hinted homophobia and transphobia. slef doubt and hatred.

Let me know if I missed a trigger or if you spot any spelling mistakes.

Feedback is encouraged

Click here if you want to see more of my work and follow me for more!!!

PAST

You looked at the page, unsure why it was so enticing. One of the people looked like you. Or what you want to look like.

Beautiful!

Handsome!

Cool!

Confident!

The other person, the same gender as the other. They were, attractive, you focused on their lips, the ones connected to who you wish to grow up to be.

I want that.

The love?

The kiss?

the body?

All of it.

You want to kiss someone.

Yes.

Anyone?

I think so…

You could experiment!

Experiment?

Kiss girls!

Kiss boys!

Kiss people who want to kiss you!

Do people want to kiss me?

There has to be.

I can kiss anyone, of any gender?

I can kiss anyone, of any gender!

I can be anyone, of any gender.?

I can be anyone, of any gender!

If it'll make us happy!

I want to kiss-

“Pumpkin! We need to talk!”

Shit!

Was she listening?

She's always listening.

I hate her.

I love her.

She protecting us.

She's spying on us.

You make your way down the stairs, your mom has a sour look on her face.

“Pumpkin, you can't be having those thoughts. It's umm- those thoughts are not good for you.”

“Why?

“BECAUSE!”

Your father's hand lands on your mom's, calming her.

Thank you, dad.

“Because they lead to… experimenting, and we don't want you to get caught up in that kind of stuff. It’s not for you.”

PRESENT

“Everything’s normal. Human, unpowered normal. Our relationship went back in time, we both kind of ignored that I'm a telepath, that we’re just two normal people in a normal relationship. We’re happy."

No, we're not.

Yes, we are.

We have to be.

For Geordi.

It makes him happy.

So it has to make us happy.

Does it make him happy?

It has to.

“But what about those thoughts you mentioned last week? You mentioned how you don't ever feel safe. Could you elaborate on that?”

He remembered?

Of course, he remembered it was his job.

But we don't want him to.

Then lead him away.

Say it was an accident.

Say it was a lie.

Tell him the truth.

DON'T!!

Tell him you forgot your meds!

“Oh, did I say that? I actually forgot to take my anxiety medication, so we can move on from that.”

He sighed.

Why did he sigh?

He looks disappointed.

I should read his mind.

NO!

Geordi hate’s that.

Hates you.

Just focus on the session.

Wait whys is he on his phone?

He's texting someone.

Does he know?

Is he going to tell someone?

Will I be fired?

I'm gonna be fired.

That doesn't make sense.

They don't trust me.

What if they see me as a threat?

What if they lock me away?

Then Geordi wouldn't be safe.

He'll miss me.

Not if they erase his memory.

They wouldn't.

They would.

If they did it'd be good.

Good?

Geordi would finally be free.

Of you.

Of your powers.

Of the magical world.

You hear that?

What?

You zone back into the world, hearing your work-assigned therapist clear his throat.

“ Even if that's the case your supervisors have started to take notice of how you've changed. Your paperwork is hard to understand and when speculating on a case you jump to wild conclusions that hurt the case. You're less social than before and you've become very panicked by the smallest things. You've also refused to use your powers. These actions have been recorded by D.U.M.P for the past two months. It's clear to me that your recent mood isn't the cause of missed medication but something else.”

Your breathing rises, you try to steady it, hide that what he's saying bothers you, your thoughts are so jumbled you can't make much out other than panic.

“ And from what you've told me I think the cause is the absence of using your power. Up until 2 months ago, you were in constant use of your power. And from what I understand that was the result of your mother's abuse-”

“She didn't abuse me!”

Did she?

No.

But he's the expert.

He didn't live it.

He doesn't understand.

Maybe that's good.

What?

She was protecting us.

That's what you think.

Because she taught you that.

He's right.

NO, HE'S NOT SHE LOVED ME!!

Yes, she did.

Still does.

But what she did is still wrong.

“I'm sorry for using that word. Let me restart. Your mother raised you with a toxic belief, that you could only be safe if you knew what others were thinking, she used this as an excuse to constantly be in your head, not giving you a moment of privacy. When you applied this belief to your relationship you learned how this belief hurt others, so you tried to stop, cold turkey. This has caused you to become extremely anxious and paranoid. As your therapist, I think you do need to become comfortable in your own head, comfortable not constantly reading people's minds. I would also suggest you talk with your partner, I think couples therapy would benefit your relationship. Oh, it appears that our time-”

You were out of the room before he could say goodbye. You rushed to collect your stuff. You always had therapy right after work so you could leave right after. You rush to the parking garage.

Car? car!? where’s my car!?!

It's over there.

Where?

I don't see it.

It was stolen.

It was broken into.

No, it's there.

I see it.

Hurry!

Wipe your tears.

Call Geordi.

No!

Wipe your tears.

Calm down!!

It's not that serious.

Wipe your tears.

You can't drive like this.

Slow your breathing.

Call Geordi.

Ask him to pick you up.

Phone, where?

Purse.

Dial his number.

No contacts are faster.

Wait!

What if the car is bugged!?

It’s not.

But it is!

All your gonna do is call Geordi.

But that's how he knows.

The therapist.

He's listening.

He's not a telepath.

Isn't he?

No, he's a stealth.

So he’s watching.

No!

He's not doing anything to you!

I can't drive.

Take a taxi.

No, I'll be kidnapped.

Train!

Ok.

Where's the train station?

Right.

Left!

I look lost.

You look like an easy target.

There! train station!

Did you lock the car?

Yes.

No!!

Someone will break in.

Steal your car.

I locked it.

No.

You should have driven home.

I can't.

I'm…

Crying.

Not trustworthy.

With?

My self.

So? You don't matter.

SHUT UP!

People are looking.

No their not.

Read their minds!!

No.

They want to hurt us!!

No.

You missed your stop!!

When!?!

Just now!!

No.

map! map! map!

I didn't, it’s the next one.

People hate you.

You should run away!

Just start taking random trains!!

No.

Why?

Because people care for me.

Do they?

Geordi-

He doesn't.

My coworkers-

Are just co-workers.

You don't even have friends.

It's our stop!!

Get off!!

Go left!!

Right!!

Are we lost!?!?

No!

I know this place.

Behind you!!!

What!?!?!

Were being followed!!!

Don't look!!!

Read their mind!!!

No!!

Keep walking home.

Grab your pepper spray!!!

I can't find it!!!!

Hurry they're getting closer!!!

There’s another one!!!!

In Front of you !!!!!

They're gonna attack you!!!!!

Hurry!!!!!

I got it!!!!!

Wait

Their friends.

Meeting each other.

Of course.

Stupid.

What a fucking selfish idiot.

Not everything is about you.

Nothing is ever about you.

Wipe your tears!

Look.

Geordi’s car.

He’s home!

Is he?

“Geordi?”

Nothing.

Silence!

He’s not here!!

But his car.

He was taken!!!

He's dead!!!!

You couldn't protect him.

You killed him.

You ruined his life.

No! He is alive!

He's alive.

You yell out for him again, your voice shaking heavily as you walk toward your bedroom door.

Open the door.

Don't!

His dead body is behind that door.

Blood everywhere.

NO!!!

He's here!

He's alive!

I know it!

How?

I just do.

No, you don't.

You don't even know if there's an intruder in your house.

Is there an intruder?!

No.

Yes!!!!!

How else would Geordi die?

Open the door!

Wipe your tears!

You open the door, relaxing for a second when you find it empty, but then your brain starts working again.

Where is he?!?!?!

He's hurt!!

He ran away.

He was taken!!!

He left because he hates you and couldn't stand to be around a selfish idiot freak

Selfish idiot freak.

Selfish.

Idiot.

Freak.

Unlovable.

Alone.

Don't wipe your tears.

You deserve this.

You are a monster.

Monster.

Disgusting.

You're so far in your head you're unaware that your thoughts are now words. Unaware of everything happening around you. You don't hear the door to the garage open of Geordi talking to you.

“Cutie, is that you? I heard you come in, but I didn't hear your car. I passed a farmers market on my way home earlier, I got a deal on your favorite fruit. I went to go grab it from the garage. Where are you? Oh there yo-”

Your trance loosens when you hear a wooden crate fall on the floor, wiping your head around to see your boyfriend quickly trying to get over the fallen boxes. He's rushing to you.

He's going to kill you!!!!!!!

No, he wants to help.

Why?

You ruined him!

Ruined everything!

I love him!!

He loves me!!

He's safe.

He's my safe space.

He not gonna hurt us.

He is safe.

You fall into his arms when he gets close enough, your arms wrap around his squeezing him as you cry into his chest, repeating his name.

“Cutie, cutie? What- what wrong?”

“I thought you were dead. That, someone, broke in, and killed you, and- and I couldn't- I- you were dead.”

“What, babe, what made you think that!? Were you threatened? What happened?”

Geordi tries to look for any sign you were harmed. the movement is sudden, startling you into raising your voice, trying to let out your frustration, trying to shut the voices up.

“I Don't Know! I just - they- I just- nowhere is safe- I can- it hurts! I don't want to hear it anymore- it hurt so much i- I can't stand it- i- please- please help!”

“Okay- okay cutie, why do I do, what do you need?”

“I don't- I don't know-maybe-no I can't -i - but it hurts- he hates it-but it hurts. I-can I? In your head?”

The worry that stained his face started to blend with surprise.

“Yes, yes, go ahead.”

You look into his eyes wanting so hard to just jump into his head, to leave your thoughts behind, but you can't.

Don't.

He'll hate you.

Don't!

He'll hate you!

Don't!!

He'll hate you!!

Don't!!!

He'll hate you!!!

Don't!!!!!

He'll hate you!!!!!

You start to slide down Geordi falls you down, gently holding you, not controlling you just supporting you. You cry harder.

“Ok- ok cutie, I've got you.”

“I just- I don't - I'm so lost- I can't- i- fuck!”

“Shh, it's ok, love- I'm here ok? You don't need to talk. I- you can tell me everything when you- when your calm down and you're ready.”

Geordi gently places his hands on either side of your face, lightly guiding your face to his. You can see how his eyes water and the way his lip quivers.

You did that.

You hurt him.

You try to look away but Geordi prevents that.

“Cutie, don't go there. I don't- I don't know what you thinking but- but don't. Stay here, I've got you. Okay”

You nod as tears sting your cheek hot. Geordi moves his hands, engulfing you in a hug. His arms on your back, moving up and down. You focus on it, the feeling, the sound, focus on Geordi.

He's here.

He's holding us.

He's here.

Here.

Safe.

Home.

He's home.

He loves us.

Your eyes drift closed, exhausted, you let sleep take over, finally feeling safe enough to be vulnerable.

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gloomiivi · 2 months

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Headlines

an original poem by me :3 this poem came from a freewrite exercise i don't if ill add more to it but for now this is what yall get!!^^

🪼🌀🪼🌀

TW!! Implications of fostercare, very very light implications of childhood trauma/abuse

You promised,

You promised I wouldn't be just another kid in the news;

That there wouldn't be headlines after headlines letting everyone

Know that I was just another victim of the system.

And sure– maybe there aren't headlines about it,

But in the confines of my mind the newspapers on my porch are all yelling at me.

“System fails another child”

I know the world doesn't care about me,

It’s not like my trauma was as bad as it could have been; but momma you promised.

Everyone I care about now knows that I am just another systematic failure.

You promised that by five pm we would be home celebrating.

Celebrating our success– but look at the headlines, momma.

We failed.

🪼🌀🪼🌀

im not very happy w this poem but wtv!!

#original poem #poets on tumblr #poetry #tw fostercare #tw implied trauma #free write #pls interact

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thecitythatdoesntsleep · 2 years

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I wanna write a fic where the whumpee is physically stronger then the whumper- so do you have any advice/ideas on ways a whumper can keep the whumpee under their control/bound besides sheer force? — 🐌

Hello snail anon! 🌼 Garden greetings to you friend and I’m pleased to try and help you with this situation.

Without any faffing, let’s get to the content.

(TW: gaslighting, implied abuse, manipulation, restraint, implied medical whump, drugging, threatening, dehumanization, shock collars, degradation/humiliation, implied intimate Whumper (only in brief reference, no elaboration or heavy focus), psychopathic Whumper, implied torture, heavy reconditioning/mental reconditioning)

When it comes to working with out of balance physical dynamics, the best route I can offer you personally, is mental challenges.

This means that whatever you can have Whumper do, to mentally destroy Whumpee's, the better. I will do my best to break things down into possible categories and give examples as I go along of what I might do in this kind of scenario. (Teehee, I work with really strong and really frail character pairings as is, so this is right up my alley.)

When it comes to someone that can obviously take Whumper down at a battle of strength, I find it a necessary in my writing to balance it with wit; this doesn’t always mean what you think it means though. Sometimes sitting and taking a punishment is a smart, power move, that can buy them time to do something more grand.

Especially if Whumper is unhinged and a bit of a loose/unpredictable cannon. If Whumpee is strong but also smart enough to know when they can act and when they can’t, this alone can be an easy enough reason for Whumpee to be taking a certain kind of punishment. Keep that in mind if you please, I use it occasionally to press more focus on a smart, cunning and more detached Whumpee.

If the Whumpee is in fear, it’s not as easy to pull this off, unless they are suited to do so given the story. Fear makes humans and brains in general, messy and unsure. People get sloppy and a few others can become very precise. It’s all up to what you’re doing with the individuals in the situation.

Try to take each instance and think: If I was Character A-Whumpee, in this situation, what would their reaction be to this tactic? Go with your gut because in an intense, high-adrenaline situation, there is a large amount for human error. If they aren't human? Fear is a wildly versatile emotion to play with. If Whumpee is afraid, judgement can be clouded enough to react poorly and off beat. Or on the other hand, act recklessly and make Whumper increase their intensity to keep them under wraps.

It all depends on how strong you want your Whumpee to be in this situation they've met with Whumper. It also depends on how cunning your Whumper is, how much they truly want to keep Whumpee under wraps and how much they can work with physically and mentally.

Play around with several situations and use an easy failsafe, like tranquilizer darts or a cell that's electrified. That way if you feel like Whumpee would have a different reaction to what Whumper is deciding to try; there's always something keeping Whumpee captive there.

Don't be afraid to simply knock them out and tie them up. No matter how Whumpee got there, when Whumper starts doing what they do best, it's always going to be great.

-Humiliation

+Force feeding

Starvation alone can make a strong Whumpee, used to getting lots of healthy protein, collapse in exhaustion when exerting themselves. Lock them in a room and starve them. Then Whumper can come in and offer a tasty totally-not-drugged meal that if they refuse, they can stuff down their throat anyways. Maybe it’s spoon feeding, maybe Whumpee’s pride is too strong and it’s a hand around their throat and food crushed on their lips.

+Shock Collars

If Whumper has the time or direct contact moment to be able to latch one of these bad boys on Whumpee’s neck; do it. If they go to take it off? Crank it up to 10 and give them a warning zap. They’ll learn quickly and this can be a great center for control as it’s incredibly uncomfortable and tends to be a wireless control. They don’t need restrained if they can’t make it off the ground after a few painful shocks.

+Forced to restrain Themselves

Make them tie themselves up if they don’t want hurt. Give them handcuffs, make them immobilize themselves with fear and do the dirty work for Whumper. Whumpee might try to keep from harming themselves and Whumper can add a little 'help' tightening knots or tension on knots. If they don't want mean old Whumper doing it for them, they can save some of the brute force and do it themselves.

+Public entrapment

Bind them to a fence, a pillar, put them in the stocks. Pass them around to the group to torment, leave them in the basement of a gang HQ. Throw them into a pit with monsters. Strap them to a chair and leave them in the rain. Keep Whumpee at the power of strangers, poor weather or sudden danger. Then have Whumper save them or take them back to a 'safer' space for contrast. Whumpee will be begging to not be put in the barn, in the middle of a snowstorm in no time. No matter how strong they are.

-Threatening

+Family/Friend Threats

If Whumper knows anyone related or in Whumpee’s friend circle, this alone could be a big enough selling point to keep them under thumb. Giving hints and small details about them that they shouldn’t know. Telling Whumpee their address, phone numbers or where they work. Anything that sells the fact that they could actually pose a threat to them. If Whumper is the type, have them get more physical and bring back locks of hair or tears of clothing, pieces of body parts. Make them think that it belongs to that person but it's a faked decoy. If Whumpee isn't allowed to be able to confirm it's not someone they know, Whumper can do a lot of trickery with enough information.

+Lover Threats

Similar to Family/Friend threats, any kind of significant information on their significant other is going to be a pinpointed devastation. Bringing them back a piece of their hair, a piece of clothing or a special item. Even coming back smelling like them, could be enough of a context clue to make Whumpee mind their manners and obey whatever it is Whumper wants of them.

If Whumper knows their partner, imitating them or treating Whumpee similar, could be a damaging part to how Whumpee views them and complies. This could be as simple as mimicking gestures, imitating phrases, pet names or speech patterns. But it can form a connection to Whumper that Whumpee doesn't realize is there. Perhaps when they lash out at Whumper, they hold themselves back because of this. It is also a surefire way to establish an intimate Whumper and have grounds to terrorize Whumpee all the same. If Whumpee ever returns to that person, the chances of them being trusted become very low.

+Physical Harm Threats

Threatening them with pain and bodily damage can be an effective way of keeping someone within grasp or in Whumper’s isolation. If Whumper has shown signs of aggression before, or is more of a loose canon personality; Whumpee could be put into enough fear to be made compliant. Especially the more that they believe Whumper will be good on their threats. Sometimes simply threatening to do something awful will get into their psyche enough to prevent them from attempting to escape.

+Descriptions of Harm

If they are told enough that they'll be hurt, chances are they'll start believing it. Have Whumper talk gratuitously about harming them, what they 'might' or 'would' do to them, can pain enough of a picture that Whumpee might think twice. Describe what kind of torment the last Whumpee suffered, plot intentions not even Whumper plans on carrying out. Whumpee doesn't have to know they're not serious and won't go through with the gratuitous gore they'd promised to turn them into.

+Attachment Items

If they have an item they're fond of; a necklace, a teddy bear, a comfort item, use it. Take it, hold it hostage and threaten them with it. The last family photo they've hidden under their pillow? The necklace that's an heirloom or last puzzle piece to their memories about their past life? The life before Whumper, their connection to the outside world through a single item. Keep it hostage and use it as bait. Whumpee might submit easier if they know Whumper isn't kidding. Damage the item in small amounts if applicable, threaten them with the intent.

+Information Leaking

Threaten Whumpee with their own humiliation. Publish photos of their battered bodies, print news articles about their missing persons reports. Send emails, video tapes, locks of hair or clothing items to their lovers or families. Hack into displays and livestream them for the whole city to witness.

Another way to do this can be leaking information to Whumpee that Whumper knows where their families/lovers/friends live. Clueing them in that Whumper has been tracking them for a long time and knows where they work, who they know and how to find them. This kind of threat could be enough to make a Whumpee compliant despite any kind of size difference. The more details Whumper knows about things in Whumpee's life, the people Whumpee knows, the more it will set the tone for intention and premeditation. - See more with Family/Friend Threats.

-Degradation

+Mental/Verbal

Call Whumpee names. While it may seem childish, even if it annoys Whumpee at first, it will eventually grate on them enough psychologically that they are affected. Especially if that’s all Whumper calls Whumpee and they aren’t associated with their own name anymore. Distance them from humanity as much as Whumper feels the need to do so. The less personalized they are, the more it will force other senses of detachment. It can bleed into Whumpee and work to help Whumper program them back to their lizard/survival brain.

Gaslight them, play good cop bad cop. Switch up Whumper as much as you please because the more hot/cold, the more wild card personality Whumper displays; the better. Don't let Whumpee predict them if they pose a threat to combatting Whumper. Feel out Whumpee's personality and question their memory in the present situation. Could Whumper pretend like nothing happened? Could Whumper tell them they were saving them from something else? Tell Whumpee that they're over reacting and they shouldn't be scared. Threaten their natural responses and question every move they make, if Whumper is able to do so. This will root uncertainty in Whumpee and eventually lead to room for more mind games.

+Mind Games

Drive Whumpee crazy with information. Have Whumper give them a whole fake persona, intimate backstory, connect with them on a deeper level. If Whumper is inclined, create a desperate or even intimate relationship with them. It sets up the betrayal of punishment that much easier, when Whumpee starts to try to empathize or can relate to Whumper. Even if it's entirely fake. Instill a false sense of security while Whumper has Whumpee. This is even easier if Whumpee has no idea how they got with Whumper in the first place.

Make Whumper treat Whumpee differently every day. This works especially well if they are stuck in one room or area/enclosure. If every time they come through the door, Whumpee doesn't know how they're going to act, this can drive a sense of instability into Whumpee. It can scatter their decision making and make it harder for them to properly handle or react to situations Whumper presents them with.

Insist that they're always lying and punish them for it. No matter what they say, it's a lie and they're getting punished. If Whumpee becomes afraid to speak or answer, Whumper can start to order them to speak and get information that way. They can also use this to teach Whumpee what Whumper wants to hear for certain responses or buzzwords. It will also make them distrustful of themselves, eventually believing that they're lying or always going to be considered a liar. This would make telling people about their situation or needing to escape, very unlikely after enough teachings.

+Forced to beg for needs (bathroom, food, water after long periods of entrapment.)

If it’s a tactic Whumper would go for, make Whumpee’s every movement dependent on them. When they eat, when they sleep, what they do. Put them in a closet, a suitcase, a locker or safe. Strap them to a bed, tie them to a chair. Whatever keeps them hostage and just let time make them submit to Whumper. They’ll have to need something, soon enough and if that need is great enough, they might cave and be compliant for Whumper. Even if it’s just long enough to eat poisoned food or drink a little tea laced with a little paralyzer.

+Kept physically disgusting (dirty, bloody, left in excrements.)

This is along the lines of locking them in a room as well as forcing them to beg for needs. However, depending on how injured they are, infection is a real danger to a Whumpee kept in a filthy surroundings. Have Whumper leave the blood on them, leave them in the same small enclosure for as long as they like. Keep them away from hygiene, let wounds fester, give them newspapers as a bathroom in the corner of a cage. This can drive sanity down and make Whumpee emotionally fragile enough to negotiate.

+Injured and submitting out of survival.

Injuring Whumpee with a ‘timer’ injury, where Whumpee could perish if untreated, is a great way to earn the submission from a larger Whumpee. Put them in so much pain they can’t breathe, think they’re going to collapse. Give them an ultimatum; they submit to Whumper or they meet their doom. This can scare a Whumpee of any size, to comply with whatever will save them.

-Physical (Etc. Restraint)

+Drugging

A needle to the neck, or a dart, or being forced to take pills. Any way of subduing Whumpee without having to restrain them is ideal with large Whumpee’s and size dynamics. Crushing pills into a spoon and force feeding them, knocking them out and giving them a shot. Anything that could paralyze or induce a sense of strength imbalance is optimal. The kind that when they go to smack Whumper away, they barely land weak little fists at their shoulder.

+Surrounded by harm

Suspending them over acid, water, a pit or sudden death is effective. Trapping them in a room of monsters. Trapping them in a room with nothing but themselves. Surrounding them by danger is a good way to keep a Whumpee at bay without Whumper having to really be involved. What if what’s outside the house, is worse than what's inside the house? Whumper’s torment doesn’t seem so bad if there’s a bigger threat outside. Or if Whumpee is at least made to believe there is.

+Self-imposing bondage (Stress ties)

By tying Whumpee up in such a way, their natural relaxation hurts them elsewhere, it’s an effective way to restrain someone capable of breaking their binds. If they loosen that position at all, it perhaps tugs on their neck or cranes their arms back in a painful bend to the extreme. If they stand off the balls of their feet but when they rest, it wrenches their limbs out of socket, it’s an impressive leveling ground. Making their restriction based on posture or holding a pose can fatigue a Whumpee enough that they no longer pose a threat at any given mass or size. This is an effective stamina drain.

+Injuring tendons*

Injuring tendons in the back of the legs is a *permanent way of keeping a larger Whumpee submissive. Although it’s entirely irreversible, it’s entirely binding and will ensure that they’re unable to run or escape without gratuitous effort in doing so. This is a method I encourage if it’s a last resort and you can afford your Whumpee to be disabled from that point on.

+Magnets/Implants

Surgically implanted magnets or fixtures on the bone itself, while it would take a long time to heal it could also prove to be a quick and thorough method of restraint in the future. Bed frames, cell doors, metal crates, even magnetizing to themselves for tie-free restraints. This could also be in the form of handcuffs, wrist bands, ankle cuffs and collars. Waist cages/belts, garters, chastity devices and more can all be made in such way they're magnetized and lock to each other. If the setting is futuristic enough, make it so Whumper has a remote that can cause the polarity to change and stick and unstick at the press of a button. If the floor is metal, think of the possibilities. : )

Essentially, I think the best route for working with a Whumpee that poses a threat to being managed by Whumper, it's going to include a lot of psychological manipulation and actual restraint. Medicines, poisons, darts that paralyze them; Whumper will need to get a little creative.

At least until they're able to get another form of control in position to take over. Be it chains, restraints or charms, seals and spells. There are many many ways to keep someone down, already down.

Don't overthink it and don't worry if you think something is 'too cliche' or 'overused' or maybe even just 'too simple'. Sometimes, working smarter is the easier option for both the story line and what Whumper would realistically need to do in their circumstances of intent.

Some sleepy time tea that paralyzes them while they're fevered and sick. Or starving them until they're too weak to fight and being nursed back to health.

The simple solutions are often the most fun and engaging to read and it can keep more story progression going while unsticking some of the harder moments. My favorite trope is just a good old spiked beverage or laced gruel and shock collars always give me whumperflies.

I hoped this gives you a little help snail-anon and I wish you the best in your creative journey~ Please come back and see me again sometime, send some asks, tell me how you're doing if you'd like.

Thank you so much for the ask, to all the readers who see this and lots and lots of love from this fruit-filled, colorful garden we've all created here.

xoxo,

The Mayor

#whump #writing help #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #whump scenario #whump prompt #whump prompts #pet whump #writing resources #writing tips #tw whump #tw drugging #tw implied torture #tw implied violence #tw implied gore #tw implied abuse #tw implied trauma #tw gaslighting

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