#if he gets an ''unnatural'' eye color its usually just as pitch black as possible which is why i included ''semi-unnatural''

[aroaceleovaldez]

re: [this post] / [this post] and thinking about the "usually depicted with unnatural or semi-unnatural eye colors" club

[palbabor-writes]

oh my god! your writing is amazingggg. may i please have a creepy! shiggy, dabi or hawks whichever one is easier for you where they really like the reader so they do yk normal creepy stuff like stealing her underwear and humping her bed and one day they get caught and they thought she’d be disgusted but she’s lowkey into it and she’s just super sweet and praising and a HUGE SERVICE TOP. I think they just need some good pussy 😔 if you decide to do this then THANK YOUUUU

｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ you’re too nice nonnie & tysm. i’m glad you’re here!

warnings: general degeneracy, masterbation, handjobs, SMUT, panty sniffin’   

You make a point to leave your room unlocked.

Oh, you’ll switch it up, every so often, just so he has something to work for, but  you prefer to pressure him with a time crunch instead of a locked door. It’s always so much fun. You make a show of dashing up the steps, feet thudding heavily on the warped wood. Then, right when you’re on the threshold, gosh, how could you be so daft, so thoughtless! You’d left your supplies downstairs, again! You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders. Silly, silly, silly.

The display does what you need it to, namely, giving him the chance to slink away. He’s always whisper quiet when he creeps into your space, it’s a miracle you’d caught him. But, even super-villains find themselves on the back foot sometimes, and boy, was he clumsy about this. 

It wasn’t like him. That was the slip up. No, his one, original, mistake was a simple one.

He’d left evidence of his arousal, of his lewd, heated, heart thudding, want. It was tacky, sticky, absolutely dripping with the milky residue of him. He’d tried to bury it deep, pressing it down into the bowels of your hamper, likely praying that it would remain hidden and you wouldn’t question it further when you did stumble upon it, hopefully weeks later.

You didn’t like to leave your hamper open and you certainly never, ever, left it beside your bed. It had been another long day and, at first, you’d only given it a swift glance, replaying the events of the night before. Maybe you’d lugged it over, too tired to pace the small distance? You had been in a rush. It was plausible.

Kicking your boots to the floor, you raise a hand to lower the lid of your plastic hamper when you spot the cascade of clothing. Again, it’s a tiny, tiny, fragment, but he should know better. It’s your job to notice the small, the obscure. Retcon is your bread and butter and this is too much, too tempting to ignore. 

Fingers follow the hollowed space his arm has left behind and you hit the panties, seconds later. They’re warm, wet, and you clutch them into your palm and pull.    

Fuck.

The lace is soaking. Fresh lines of cum run in thick rivulets, falling down your upturned hand and along your wrist, dribbling onto your bare feet. For a moment, you can’t seem to process the image that’s before you, your mind whirring through the possibilities, the faces. Who...no...which one of them did this?

The next morning, you’re quiet. It’s not unnatural. After all, it’s freaking 7 am, no one at the bar is talking. As you sip on your chilled, canned, coffee, your eyes carefully size up the men who are lounged around you. 

Shigaraki is perusing a newspaper, the pallid hand of father obscuring his face, but you can still catch sight of the red glint of his eyes. He looks bored. He hadn’t even looked up when you walked in, his back bowed and head down, engrossed in his search.

Dabi is perched on one of the dilapidated couches, his long legs curled under him, flicking a bashed lighter, open and closed, open and closed. Like Shigaraki, he hadn’t lifted his gaze to you at first. He had, however, answered a question. Just the one, when you’d asked him if he had found any newbies, any potential recruits. He’d snarked his reply, his cerulean irises latching onto you with a cruel sharpness. No was his answer and you hadn’t pressed for any further elaboration.

Compress was shuffling a deck of cards. Spinner was ticking through his phone. Twice was chittering with Toga. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You finish your breakfast and tell them that you’re heading out. 

No one replies.

******

Unsurprisingly, it happened again. 

It’s a different pair of panties but the glisten of the cum is the same. So is the lowered placement, the bevel of the clothes, and the position of the hamper. However, it’s a little more calculated this time around. The lid is closed and there are no traces of his entry, no cuts or nicks on the door handle or key hole, no scattering of your things, no dip on your bed. There’s nothing. 

Alright. Two can play at this game. 

The hamper is moved, strategically maneuvered into the bathroom that your room holds. You’re careful to leave the lid propped. It looks haphazard, but it takes a precise click of the plastic to lock it into that position. You’ll be able to tell if it’s been moved. 

You tug your panties out of your dresser and count them, noting the colors, patterns, the imperfections in the lace. If you’re going to do this, you need to know what you’re working with. The inventory must be precise, each variant recognized and tallied. 

Every day, it’s a rinse and repeat process. Yank the flutter of fabrics out, spread them across your sheets and count. It’s tedious, bordering on annoying, but you wanna know. It’s like an itch. It sits right where you can’t reach and it tickles at the back of your mind. Besides, you’ve always liked a good puzzle. Although, this isn’t quite what you had in mind, you’ll take it and you’ll solve it, if it’s the last thing you do. 

Two days after you start this mind-numbing task, four pairs go missing. 

******

It’s late when you stumble back into the hideout, padding past the darkened bar and up the steps. The mission, despite its lower ranking, and pay, you think bitterly, had taken almost three days. Thankfully, the information you’d gleaned was worth it, but you’re exhausted. You’re wiping a sleepy hand across your face when you notice your door.

It’s ajar.

Instinctually, you fall to your haunches, tip toeing toward the crack, eyes narrowed, fingers curled into fists. The room is pitch black but there’s something, no, someone, in there. You can make out their outline. It’s a jagged cut that sits upon your bed and you can hear the tiny hitches and groans that they’re gasping out.

As your eyes adjust, you can see more. Your knees fall to the floor, digging into the wood and you steady yourself against the wall, eyes wide. He’s propped along your pillows and his hand is working over himself, using the friction of another pair of your panties to rub himself to completion. You can’t make out the exact shape of his cock but from the rapid fire tugs of his fist you can tell it’s long. It must be thick too, since he needs to adjust his pulls toward the tip.

He’s quiet, but you can still hear the catches and moans he’s making. Your name slips out too and the utterance makes your mouth go dry. So that’s who it is. Well, wonders never cease. 

In the months that you’d known him, he hasn’t paid you much mind. Even through the haze of this strange obsession, he hasn’t altered his day to day routine, hasn’t broken character, hasn’t spoken to you unless the situation absolutely called for it. 

Damn. It’s too much, it’s way, way...no. No. It’s not that it’s too much, you think, mesmerized by the sight that’s splayed across your sheets. It’s nowhere near enough. 

You want to march in there, yank your soiled panties off his dick and hear what kind of noises he would make for you then. Would he shove you off, or would he welcome your notice? Either way, he’s too close now.

His hips have started to rut upwards, unable to resist the rhythm he’s created. The moans have drifted into hisses and his back arches when he cums, those familiar ropes of white splashing across the pastel of your lace. He’s careful to catch the drops, pinching the end of his cock and shuddering at the overstimulation. As he sits up, you cautiously rise, unsteady on your wobbling legs. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when your door shuts. His footsteps recede down the hallway and you can hear him as he thuds into his own space, the click of his lock reverberating in your ears. 

******

Thus, the game of cat and mouse continues. 

Outwardly, neither of you reveal your hand, keeping your cards close to the chest, out of each others line of sight. Your door locks, unlocks, and you keep losing more panties. You’ve marked the one that will make the difference. It’s your new, favorite, pair. You haven’t worn them yet, but they’re a lush item, expensive, luxuriant, an excess that you don’t usually allow yourself. You’d purchased them the day after you’d finally caught sight of him. You couldn’t help it. 

Most people, you reason, would be horrified by this situation, but not you. Oh no, you’re so turned on you can barely sleep. You start to masterbate in the early evening, when you know the others are moving around, your fingers trailing past your dampened curls, a careful fingernail pricking along your clit. You’ve even left your door open, cracked, welcoming the attention of anyone passing by. Once, you could have sworn you’d heard him. The whisper of that gasp, imagined or not, had bowled you over, your thighs clamping around your wrist, your cunt pulsing around nothing, hungry, slathering, desperate for more. 

You want to just toss those panties on your bed and provoke the interaction. Goddamnit, how much longer is he gonna make you wait?

****** 

Not even 24 hours later, they’re gone. 

He’s getting reckless, too. Your hamper is knocked over, the dresser drawer that holds your underwear is a crumpled mess, and he’s deliberately left a vacant hole where the panties used to lay. It’s screaming for your attention and you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your breast. 

Finally.  

The next mission you’re assigned is easy, too easy. It’s mid-afternoon and there’s no reason for you to be back this early. Well, that’s an oversimplification. There is a perfectly excellent reason for you to be back, you’re just hoping the sliver of intel that was dropped for you will pay off. 

Apparently, while the rest of you were out pounding the pavement, he’s elected to stay behind. He had something he needed to take care of. 

“It sounded important,” Toga informed you, her voice lilting, rising with that sharp toothed smile of hers. 

“Why are you telling me this,” you’d asked her, biting your lip and crossing your legs, soothing the throb that’s pricking in your core. 

“He just told me to tell you, didn’t ask him anything more. You know how he is. He can be, prickly,” Toga winks, popping her head to the side, bouncing her golden locks. 

“Alright,” you reply, adding a mask of disdain and disinterest to your performance. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” 

Lies, lies. 

So many fucking lies, but he must know that you realize, that you know. Why else enlist Toga? He hated having to lay things out. No, he must know, he has to.    

The bar is empty and the upper floors are deathly still.

Your door is sensibly shut but you can make out his jerks, his gasps, and those choked whimpers that echo past the flimsy wood. Your hand catches against the knob and you take one, last, steadying breath. 

Here we go.       

When you swing the door open he startles upward, his white hair curtaining the flush of his cheeks. Those vermillion irises land on you and he vaults away, nearly tumbling off the side of your bed. His pants are still bunched around his thighs, so that hinders him from making a true getaway. As he’s fumbling with the dark material, you don’t miss the shake of his hands and the spread of that lovely blush.

Oh, this is too perfect.

Before he can finish tucking himself back in his pants, you’re dashing across the top of your bed, ignoring the discarded panties, ignoring the dark glare that he gives you, ignoring everything but that heated bulge that’s giving him so much trouble. 

Impatient, your fingers curl around his wrists and you use the millisecond of surprise that your swift action has gifted you. With a low gasp, he falls forward, his knees sinking into the softness of your mattress. One hand lowers to brace himself, but he’s careful to keep a finger arched away, preserving the permanence of your bed. Before he can get his bearings, you’re pressing him onto his back, straddling his lean hips and lowering those dark pants back down. 

His cock, badly concealed by the upper line of his boxers, springs out, curving proudly toward his muscled stomach. For his part, Shigaraki squirms under you, his scarred lip set in a forbidding scowl. His deadly hands lower to yours, but you ignore his unspoken threat, knocking his trembling digits away. Your  fingers lace around his cock, squeezing at the heft of him, stroking up the spidery veins and grooves until he’s dropping his defiant head back against your sheets. 

“Wh-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, his raspy voice halting over the question. 

“Who? Me?” you laugh, tugging a few more gasps from his shaking lips. There’s a pale strand of precum that’s leaking from his tip and you brush your thumb over it, gathering it against the pad and using it to ease your motions. His hips buck up and he shoves himself into your fist, a long string of curses slipping through his clenched teeth. 

“I don’t think you get to ask that, dear leader,” you tease, leaning over his prone form. You’re glad he’s forgone wearing that creepy hand. It hadn’t even come into your calculations of how all of this would go. “No, not with the way you’ve been behaving.”

“I-I didn’t...fuck–” 

“What? Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. I sent you on that– ah– that mission for a reason,” Shigaraki bites out, shifting away from your close inspection. You smile at his discomfort and cup your free hand around his chin, yanking him back to you, forcing him to look up. 

“That’s too bad, cus’ I finished early. Looks like I’m just that good, huh?” 

He’s seething up at you, his eyes gleaming in the low light of your room, but he’s not making any attempts to leave. He may want to, but it seems his body has other plans. His cock is swelling as you pick up your tempo, your fingers clenching and releasing as you go, edging him along. 

“You ever fucked a girl?” you ask, leaning back to admire the tense enjoyment of the man under you. The muscles of his stomach, coil and writhe, flexing each time you hit his tip and relaxing as you make the swift pass back down. 

“N-no,” he moans, jerking his hips up, silently demanding that you pick up the pace. 

“Did you want to?” you whisper, lowering to his face again, letting your soft lips trace along his temple. His skin is rough, but you like the contrast. Shigaraki seems to enjoy it too, his eyes slipping behind his eyelids as he turns toward you. When he doesn’t answer, you slow the hand that’s passing over the strain of his length. Shigaraki hisses at the shift and his eyes pop open again. They burn as they blaze up at you, clearly echoing his displeasure. 

“Asked you a question,” you scold. He’s quiet for a long breath, but, after a few tense seconds, he lowers his eyes and nods, his jaw tight. “Should I take that as a yes?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Shigaraki grumbles, flashing a quick glare your way. “Was that clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, one delicate eyebrow arching at his disgruntled expression.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he huffs, grimacing as you lift your hand from him, freeing yourself to yank your shirt off. 

“What do you want me to call you?” you ask, unbuttoning your jeans and easing them down the curve of your hips. 

“My fucking name.”

“Shigaraki?”

“No. Tomura,” he replies, his voice falling into that deep rasp again. He’s watching you closely and you grin down at his frank assessment. 

“Alright, Tomura,” you begin, testing out the unfamiliar acknowledgement. “Let’s make this good for you, hmm? What are you wanting to try first?”

He’s silent and you can hear the grinding of his teeth. “What’s better for you?”

Oh. Well, that’s not a question you were expecting. “For me? Uh, I guess I prefer to be on top. Let’s me control things and–”

“So do that,” he shrugs, finally peeling those dark pants off his long legs. He leaves his shirt on, but it doesn’t matter, if you’re riding him it’s not like you can’t tuck your hands under the tattered fabric.

“After acting like such a creep, you’re being pretty nonchalant about all of this,” your fingers wander along his sides and he shudders again, his neck bowing off the bedding. 

“You’re one to fucking talk. Think I didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Ha! Well, well. No wonder you took my bait so easily. When did you figure me out?”

“That night you sat outside your door and watched me,” his hands raise to your hips and he urges you to hurry up, grunting when your dripping cunt traces over his tip. “Then you left your fucking door open. Not just once, either, no, you did it for days. It was a whole fucking week of that shit. Didn’t even need to steal a pair of your slutty little panties to smell you then. You reeked. I could smell you from my room.” 

You laugh, helping him to press up and he glides into you, stretching you, radiating a satisfying ache along the slippery heat of your walls. His legs lift and his hands fall from your hips. Once you’re fully seated, your pelvis flush with his, you give him a few gulping breaths. 

“Ahh, fuck, oh– fucking damn it. Ohh, this feels nice. God, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, his voice falling into a hysterical edge. You bite your lip and raise up on your knees, making sure you grip him tightly as you go. Another mantra of obscenities drop from his lips and his feet brace against the bed, his hips rutting blindly as you begin that slow lift and lower.

“How’s that?” you query, moaning when he returns those broad hands to your hips. His reply is a sharp thrust and you’re tipped forward, forced to sprawl over him, fingers digging for purchase in his dark shirt. He grunts at the weight of you but he keeps his pace up, using the bed as leverage. 

You’re so close to him and you can’t help but reach for his face, suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. He doesn’t fight your hold, but he does let out a long groan when you tentatively kiss him. It’s slow at first and you’re very conscious of those dangerous hands of his. They’re still braced against your hips, but the four digits are starting to dig into your skin, sinking into the vulnerable dips until you’re whining. 

He’s unsure, so you help him along. 

You suck and nip at him, teasing him until he’s raising his head for more. Finally, one of those powerful hands detaches from your waist and he snatches at the back of your neck, insisting that you let him explore you further. After a time, you need air more than you need his lips, so you shake yourself free, pulling away and grinding your hips down as he ruts into you again. 

“Not bad,” you tell him, grinning when he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips, his eyes lifting to peer up at you curiously. “Want me to take it up a notch?”

“No,” he replies sharply. “I like this.”

You snort at his blunt response and give him what he’s asked for. You keep the drags of your lifts slow, enjoying how he throbs and swells inside you. Each time you rise, you roll your hips and he sighs at every minor clench that your pussy does. After a time, you can’t ignore the pulsations of your impatient clit, so your fingers trail downward, delicately rolling and grinding against the bud. 

Tomura tilts his head at this and his hazy vermillion snags your attention. “Does...does that feel good?” 

For a second, you’re unsure what he means, but when his hand ghosts over yours, you realize. “Mmhm,” you gasp, giving yourself a quicker tweak, delighting in the widening of his eyes when your cunt flushes another wave of arousal around him. It slicks between your thighs and pools around his pelvis, gleaming against the dark curls that rest there. 

“Lemme try,” he demands, batting your hand away and replacing your fingers with his own. He’s clumsy and he’s not expecting it to be that slippery, but he’s a quick study and he watches your face expectantly each time he tries something different. 

“Y-you’re doing so good, Tomura,” you praise, lingering on his name, pleased that he reacts so positively to it. “Just a little bit...oh fuck...yeah, right there is perfect.”

You’re not being facetious either, he’s honestly killing you with those earnest looks and careful prods. Each time you gasp, he presses just a fraction more, testing out his new skills and expanding on them. As a reward, you keep the positive reinforcement coming, calling out his name as you fuck him into you, loving how he keeps pulsating and groaning each time you sink down. 

A thin misting of sweat is beading over both of you, but you ignore the heat, too close to care that you’re starting to falter a bit in your rhythm. Tomura is panting also, losing some of that focus as he races toward his own release.

“Harder, ride me fucking harder, (Y/N),” he commands. The sight of him gasping and groaning out your name gives you an idea. You acquiesce to his demand but as you start those quick pumps your fingers reach behind you, searching for something that you think he’ll like even more. 

Ah-ha!

It’s an older pair, not as frilly as the one’s you’d saved for him, but you’ve been wearing them all day, so that scent he was complaining about should be nice and ripe. His eyes have winced shut, so the flop of your lace panties startles him. He tenses for a second, but once he notices what you’ve given him a wicked smirk curls his lips. Instantly, his hand leaves your clit and he presses the fabric to his face, huffing heavily against the crotch. 

“You fucking tease,” he groans, his tongue tracing along the seams, lapping at the thin residue that you’ve undoubtedly left behind. “Ahhh, yes. I think I would have rather had you sit on my face, but this will work, for now.” 

The threat in his voice makes you shiver and you rock forward as you lower, snagging the sharp edge of his pelvis against your clit. Tomura takes in another deep breath at the sensation, his hand still holding your saliva filled panties to his lips. Just a little bit more. Your fingers tweak and pull, rolling the way you need. The heavy sting of Tomura’s cock is helping too and your pussy greedily begins to tighten around him, earning you a sputtered groan from the man beneath you.

“D-do that again,” he sighs, shifting your panties down his face so he can watch you. Obediently, you flick at your clit again and that stimulation, plus the heady knowledge that Tomura is watching, memorizing every move you make, hurtles you over the edge and you can’t help but slump forward as your orgasm crashes over you. Tomura lets out a guttural moan, flinging your panties away and yanking you to his parted lips. His kiss is frantic, nonsensical, more bites and slurps than any kind of caress, but you fall into his arms, overwrought and too turned on to think. 

Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he resumes that steady pounding, his powerful hips canting into you, peppering you with jagged thrusts that leave you gasping. 

“What’s the matter?” he taunts, his voice a wild rasp in your ear. “Can’t take anymore? Am I too much for you?” 

You don’t trust yourself to reply, already seconds away from another shuddering release. All it takes is the feeling of him swelling and the heat of his cum to reduce you to a gasping mess again. This time, a thin line of drool escapes your lips. Delighted, Tomura snags his hand in your hair, tugging until you’re hovering over him. Gluttonously, he laps at your lips, sucking until you’re not sure who’s making the bigger slob of themselves. 

When he’s finished, he rolls you off of him, splaying you out on the bed. As the world falls back into focus, you catch sight of him, leering over you, his white hair cascading around the two of you. 

“I don’t think I’m done yet,” he grins, one hand cupping under your jaw. “Besides, you could have given me this weeks ago. I think you owe me a few back payments. Don’t cha’ think?”

notes: ahaha. this is basically a full fledged fic. whoops. 

did i have anyone wondering if i was gonna pick Tomura or Dabi?                                        

[chaos-societies]

Episode 7, The Spokes That Keep Turning

[x]

There was little light in the small entrance to a cave hundreds of miles from South Island. Chuck was crawling through the small passageway and already had stains of mud and dirt on both his clothes and his fur. He held upright a torch which limited his progress as he made his way deeper.

“You sure you didn’t want me to go first? I am a bit smaller.” A slightly high pitch voice came from behind him.

A smile arose on Chuck’s face. “Wasn’t it you who said whoever gets here first gets to go in first?”

“WaSn’T iT yOu WhO sAiD…shut up.” The girl answered back snarkily. Chuck just smiled.

He came across a small wall of rocks that seemed lose enough to dislodge. He reached his free arm as to his waist and pulled out a small hammer. He got as much leverage as he could in the tight space and began swinging at the wall. After a few hits the rocks seemed to loosen up and he kept swinging. Lo and behold, the small wall collapsed and he squeezed his way through.

He found himself in a massive cathedral. The sound of running water and the occasional drips of stalactites, giving portions of themselves to the pillars below in hopes that they would eventually meet to join the hanging columns, echoed through the chamber. He stood on a ledge and found he didn’t seem to need his torch as much as he thought as beauteous glowing crystals, larger than the tallest buildings in any village or city he had been to, were scattered all around. He didn’t dare extinguish the torch though as they had only succeeded in finding what the party of two were hoping to find. Only now would the exploring begin.

“By the lords…” He said as he gazed upon the sight.

His follower soon emerged from the tiny entrance and stood up to gaze upon the sight as well. “Whoa. It’s beautiful.” She said. The bluish tint of the natural light of the cave, coming from seemingly unnatural sources, washed away the green color of her fur. “So. I guess we found it.” Her awe was paused as she curled a smile and gave Chuck an elbow to the side. “Guess now that we found this place that means we’re forever cursed like the locals said.”

Chuck gave an ‘oof’ with the hit but had grinned at the joke anyway. “Come on, we only just found the cave. Now we got to find that crown. There may still be many curses that we have to look out for.” His partner rolled her eyes.

The two started making their way down to a ledge where there seemed to be enough footholds to climb down with relative ease. Working their way down, they appeared to be mere ants on a wall compared to the size of the vast open room.

…

[x]

“The cave was far to the northwest of the continent. It was bigger than anything I had seen or explored. I couldn’t imagine making a map of the place. I just made a crude trail on some parchment I had to make sure I got back out.” Chuck spoke to the gang as he dipped a biscuit in some black tea and took a bite. He continued. “There must have been miles of passageways, dozens of rooms and chambers that I was not able to investigate or explore. I ended up finding the crown in a crypt, deep in the cavern. I almost didn’t make it out; it was a very dangerous excursion.” His audience of the usual bunch listened intently. “Not being a greedy man, I had no means to keep the thing.” He let out a sigh and a small smile formed on his face. “Ah, I used to be quite the adventurer back in the day. I gave the crown to the archives in Westport. They have many safeguarded secrets in those archives and I still am confident in its safekeeping there.”

“Wow. Sir Charles, I didn’t know you were a treasure hunter.” Amy stated.

“I wouldn’t call myself a treasure hunter. More of a scholar. There just happens to be many scholarly relics of times of old that may be hidden about.”

“Did you go back into the cave to find anything else?” Sonic asked.

“I would have. Oh the wonders that must have been down there! When I went back, I found that a rockslide must have happened and the entrance, so small and hidden, taking me many hours of research and weeks to find, was covered up. It would take a massive crew to undergo the efforts to clear the rubble. No one other than those at the archives, and now you lot, know of what I found there and I find it best for that information to fade away.” He finished explaining.

“Do you think the other crowns were down there?” Tails asked.

“I don’t know. Possibly. But such things of great historical importance such as that are rarely in the same place. Would have made things much easier back then wouldn’t you say.” He answered with a chuckle to finish.

“So you want us to travel all the way across the continent?” Rouge asked a little unsure about the task if that be the case.

“Heavens no. At least…not quite yet. I hope things won’t come to that. But much of my research to find the crown was done in the library at Smithwick, beyond the Greater Area in the Green Hills. But that journey wouldn’t even make sense for you to go looking in old dusty books and then come back after not even knowing what to look for.” Chuck took off his glasses and looked away knowing what had to be done. “No…this next journey I may ask of you won’t be a simple errand. What I am hesitant to ask of you all, if you shall accept the task, I’m afraid may take you away from South Island for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Rouge asked.

“That depends. Weeks for sure. Maybe months.”

“How would we go about doing that?” Tails began to wonder.

“It won’t be easy. You’d have to do certain jobs here and there for tokens. Beyond Cap, I can’t guarantee a place to stay. And there will surely be many nights where you would have to set up a camp between cities in your travel.”

“You think we could take the Syphon to make things easier Tails?” Sonic turned to him to ask.

“I thought of that but it will surely need a good amount of maintenance on the way which I won’t have a means to do unless I am here usually. It can only do so much, I’d hate for us to come to an impasse and have to leave it somewhere, lose it, or it even break down where we can’t get it back up.” He explained.

“Why do we have to go out and do anything?” Rouge spoke up. “The way I see it, we had some kooks play a grotesque prank at Stark Ruins and now we’re chasing ghost stories. Do we really have to do anything?”

The room was a bit silent as Rouge had brought up a good point. There was no indication of apocalypse, there was no threat that they could tell, and other than some loose connections between pieces of mythology they had no reason to make any further action. But Chuck was smart and he wouldn’t be laying out the framework of such undertaking unless he deemed it necessary, and he definitely wouldn’t be asking them to put themselves in danger and leave South Island out of mere curiosity, despite it being embedded in the Cyan way of thinking. But there was another piece of evidence.

Chuck looked around at the lot and saw Amy shyly staring at the ground. “Amy.” He said warmly. “Do you wish to say something?”

She looked up at Chuck and knew he meant well. She could say no and that would be the end of it. But she felt something was awry. She knew answers needed to be found or else something horrible may come to pass. “I do.” She stood up to speak

“Amy?” Sonic said mostly as a reaction.

“I’ve…been having dreams lately. I know what it sounds like but. They have been…different. They aren’t some surreal haze that you forget about shortly after you wake up or even some fictional scenario or collection of events and memories. They have been clear and almost like a message. All of them foreboding.” She was timid at first but then her confidence overcame her. “They’ve been about the recent events, but because of recent events. In fact lately, they have been about recent events before they’ve transpired. Before we set off for Cap the second time, I dreamt of fire and flood devastating the land. Then we came across those runes about god and giants of fire and water in conflict. The gypsy in the street told me we were special. She knew I was having dreams and I hadn’t said a word to her at that time. I’m think something is about to happen and I think we need to act.”

The room was silent again. Finally Chuck spoke up. “Rouge, you have every right to be skeptical about this. I’m glad you are in fact. So many things can occupy your mind and if you don’t scrutinize them to really determine what they are for, you may succumb to falsehoods. Not at all am I ordering you to undertake this task, by any means. This is your choice.”

“When would you want us to leave?” Sonic asked.

“Not for a while. Before I send you off, I need to do much research and further study the Stair na Seacht to give you all the proper amount of information for your investigations and findings. That will give you time to prepare as well. Overall, so that you are not blind to my goals, I think we need to find the other crowns.”

“Do you expect me to join in on any of this?” Knuckles spoke up for the first time in this meeting.

“I’m afraid this concerns you, as well as anyone. But again, that choice is yours to make. You have your chapter of the Red Society on Angel Island to manage. I would never ask anyone to stray from their duties to their Society.” Chuck answered.

There were many wandering thoughts throughout the room. Yet none of them were spoken. “Can we have some time? Some time to think about it?” Tails asked coyly.

“Of course.” Chuck gave him a warming smile. “I am sorry to have burdened you with this request so suddenly. Go enjoy yourselves. Talk amongst yourself if you so please but rest your thoughts for now.” Slowly, they each got up and made their way out of Chuck’s hut. Once they were all gone, Chuck rubbed his eyes and placed his glasses back on his face. “Chaos have mercy.” He muttered.

…

“Up to the Green Hills. Oh I bet that’d be an awesome sight! Not to mention some great solid ground to stretch my legs. I don’t know about you all but I think I’m decided.” Sonic said enthusiastically as the group walked from Chuck’s hut.

“You won’t even need to do any convincing to give Sonic a chance for adventure.” Amy said almost in a derogatory manner if it wasn’t for the light admiration in her voice.

“Oh you know it!” Sonic responded as he pulled Amy close and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“I still don’t know about travelling hundreds of miles away on foot chasing fairy tales.” Rouge spoke up.

“Come on Rouge! Even if it’s for nothing, can you imagine the places and sights we’ll see? Something other than desert and this dusty old town? Don’t get me wrong, I love it here at South Island. But the world is much bigger than this corner of The Greater Area.” Sonic rebuked.

“Would you be joining us Knux if we decide to go?” Tails asked their pseudo-foreign friend.

He gave a huff and crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Why not!” Sonic answered back continuing his enthusiasm.

The echidna let out a sigh. “I have other things to worry about.”

“Oh? Like what.”

“Like my own island. Besides, you all have to learn to take care of yourselves. Can’t rely on me all the time to save your skins.”

“Oh har har har. You say that but we all know you enjoy our little scuffles, let alone our company.”

“Your company? Pfff, I need a break from your company on the regular!” He shouted back annoyed. “And IF I were to come along on your strange trek for some dead guys’ busted up crowns, I’d have to make it back to Angel Island regularly. Its trajectory goes along your path up north, depending on the time of year, and touches the Green Hills. I’d be coming and going often.”

“Sounds like you already thought it through.” Sonic said with a devilish grin. Knuckles looked over at him as Sonic gave a few raises of his eye brows which earned him a heavy shove from the Red.

The group came up to the tavern as Knuckles began to veer toward the road to the main bridge. “Well like Sir Charles said, we have some time to mull it over.” Amy stated. “Oh, are you heading out Knuckles?”

“I am. Someone’s got to make sure my goons up on Angel Island haven’t killed each other.”

“I’m sure Mighty does at good job keeping them in check.” Sonic added.

“Regardless, I’m looking forward to my own home again. I’ll see you in a few passings. Angel Island should be getting close.”

“See you around handsome.” Rouge called out to him. Knuckles threw his hand in the air in somewhat of a wave as he walked on. “I think he has the right idea though. I need my own place for a bit. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” And with that Rouge also departed the group.

…

“What do you mean, your turn? It’s MY hammock! If my ass is planted in it, it’s not leaving until I decide for it to.” Nack the weasel blurted out as he swung lazily in the breeze on a crudely made rope hammock. He flicked his wrist to ‘shoo’ off Bean, closed his eyes and went back to lounging.

“Kinda rude to make the decisions for your ass,” Bean began crawling on his hands and knees around the hammock. “I’m sure if you let it decide,” by now he was underneath Nack, “it’d want to go UP!” At that moment, Bean sprung up and sent Nack flying out of the hammock.

“Bean! I’m gonna kill you!”

Bark was sitting next to one of the trees used by the hammock, relaxing as well. Nack happen to land close to him so Bark quickly grabbed a hold of Nack’s handkerchief to hold him back from charging at Bean.

“Bark resting on bark, holding Nack back from attack!” Bean cheerfully called out as he swung his feet back and forth while sitting upright in the hammock.

Nack, now defeated as he surely wasn’t going to break free from Bark’s grip, crossed his arms to pout. “Bean, at least could you shut that beak of yours?”

“howms mhis?” He answered with a poor attempt at ventriloquism. Nack just sighed.

“Kn-Knuckles is b-b-back!” Ray came into the scene from above as he glided down to the group.

“Geez, it’s about time. The guy should just hand off the island to us with how little he seems to be up here now.” Nack commented.

Mighty strolled up. “Give him a break. He’s been alone up here for over half his life, if the guy wants to see the world and venture out a bit, he is more than deserving to do so.”

“But why the desert though? He always goes down there instead of anywhere else on the globe. He just wants to hang out in the dirt meanwhile it’s paradise up here! And let alone the treasure that’s supposedly up here.”

“Treasure you still haven’t found but are so sure is here?” Mighty taunted.

“Oh there’s treasure here. Heard it many times from people who see this hunk of land floating overhead.”

“And yet none of them have been up here?”

“Irrelevant. Every treasure hunter knows where there’s ruins there’s treasure.” Nack walked over to Bean as he was lying back in the hammock, whistling an odd tune. He flipped Bean out of the rope bed then quickly hopped back into it. “But nothing wrong with living the good life up here in the meantime.”

“Is he still talking about gold and riches?” Knuckles finally made his way up to the group. Bark just silently nodded his head. “I’ve told you, I’ve seen every inch of this island. The only treasure here is solitude and delicious fruit.”

“Maybe that’s the only treasure you care about.” Nack added.

“E-enough for me!” Ray said as he came down from a tree with a pear in his hands, taking a good sized bite from it.

“Ray, sounds like your speech is improving.” Knuckles said warmly as me moved over to another tree and gave it a hard smack with his fists earning a few fruit to fall from the tree. He tossed one to Bark, another to Mighty then took a bite of one for himself.

“I’ve b-b-been p-practicing!” The flying squirrel said excitedly.

Knuckles leaned over to Mighty and whispered. “Still no luck on jogging his memory about your village?”

“No. And at this point I’m starting to think it’s best if he doesn’t remember. He still is the same cheery optimistic guy but that event definitely traumatized him if it’s entirely blocked out from memory. It did something to him, other than give him that stutter that is. I feel for him.”

“Yeah. You’re a good guardian for him you know?”

“He’s like a little brother.” Mighty said with an endearing smile as he watched Ray devour the pear he came across.

“Heh, you two are like some others we know.”

“Sonic and Tails?”

“Yup. Speaking of them, some things went down not too long ago. They’re going to be venturing out up north at least to the Green Hills. I’ll probably be dropping down to join them quite frequently.” Knuckles explained.

“Nack has been getting a little irritant about your absence you know. It might be good to stay for a bit. The gang down there are tough cookies, I’m sure they can handle a lot of the journey themselves you know.” Mighty spoke his two cents.

“I know. But I’m thinking the crazy events that have surrounded their recent ventures are somehow connected to this place too. While I was down there, there were a lot of strange markings in some cavern north of Cap that matched some here in the ruins. Chuck called them runes and some other ancient markings that I have never seen up here before. Can’t remember the name. O-something he called them. I just…really want to know why I was alone up here and what happened to the others of my kind that used to live here.”

Mighty looked at Knuckles for a good bit and saw how him and Ray weren’t the only ones with some deep seeded issues about their past. Though his past was not a particularly great one, he at least knew his past. He decided to verbalize this to him. “I’ll support you buddy. Ray might not remember our village being ransacked, his parents being killed. But I do. It’s not comforting reflecting on it – that village took me in after I escaped that mad man’s experimentation – but I know where I came from and how I got here. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to not even know that.”

“Thanks.” Knuckles rested a hand on Mighty’s should briefly. “Oh, that reminds me. Amy was talking about some dreams she was having again. One of them mentioned a man with a manic laugh. Not going to lie, you don’t hear much about humans anymore. Not much left. But your captivity with that demented fool came to mind.” Knuckles explained.

“It would be horrifying if she’s having premonitions about the same guy. I will say…he did have a strange laugh that would haunt me for the rest of my life…”

[oc-and-art-review-reblog]

name: wildheart specise: fire element draco-morphiad (explained below) pronouns: she/her

specise info: draco-morphiads are, basically, a specise of sexless magic cat furries. each one of them controls one of twelve elements (although two of them are special); fire (fire elements are also able to control one type of igneous rock, differing depending on the individual), water, earth, air, plant, plague, void (this void being concentrated everythingness and named for its pitch black color, there may only be one void element at a time and only two have ever been recorded), quantum strings (this has been proven to be possible, but never recorded), gemstone, metal, sound and light. draco-morphiads have a unique internal anatomy, their body cavity is filled entirely with liquid magic. this magic contains their consiousness and, when needed, forms organs to keep the draco-morphiad alive. draco-morphiads also have whats known as elemental bits, an extra part of their body made from their element or regular body part modified by it. draco eye color is also generally dictated by their element. just a draco-morphiad generation (they live tens of thousands of years) ago, they had an expansive interdimensional (this takes place in a multiverse) empire. but for reasons now lost to time, it fell. the specise took heavy casualties, although it was nowhere close to extinction. theyre rarer now, and... scattered, to say the least. their natural ability to create interdimensional portals doesnt help that. given that draco-morphiads are sexless, their native language's pronouns were dependant on element, but wildheart was raised by a sexed specise tens of thousands of years after the near extinction of the language (plus draco-morphiads were invented to explain her so i think she should get to keep her pronouns).

apperance: wildheart has brown fur, which turns abruptly black (like, theres a straight, non-gradiant divide between the back and brown) at the waist, so approximately half of her is black and half is brown . she has blood red eyes. fire element eyes are usually orange, but this is explained. she has a pair of half-crescent obsidian wings coming out of her shoulderblades, each one flanked by three floating obsidian triangles. embedded in her chest is a peice of obsidian shaped like a broken heart, and her claws are obsidian as well. she has a couple notches in each ear and a scar over her eye.

story: wildheart is born on a remote planet in a remote universe. save for her and her littermate, their parents and their older sibling squirreltail. soon after the two's birth, their parents die of reasons. unprepared to take care of them, squirreltail opens two portals to random inhabited parts of the multiverse and sends them through, hoping each will be picked up by someone responsible and more able than him.wildheart ends up being adopted by a family of goatlike skeleton monsters, where she stays for the first 13 years of her life (draco-mophiads age like humans up until about their 20th birthday). during this time she becomes incredibly close with her adopted brother, [edit with name later, i forgot it]. shortly after her 13th birthday, wildheart discovered her ability to make portals. with their parents permission, she and her brother went out to explore the multiverse a little.on their little jaunt, the two encountered a creature totally alien to them, and wildheart dared her brother to go poke it with a stick. unfortunately, the creature turned out to be a bear-esque superpreadator and ripped wildheart's brother to shreds while she watched.wildheart opened a portal to nowhere in particular, landing her at a market in the interdimensional void (my imagining of the multiverse is, like space, mostly empty. universes take the shape of enormous white orbs with the texture of frosted lightbulbs. their glow is soft, yet can be seen from light centuries away). scared to go back home, she wandered.and wildheart never stopped wandering. she quickly exanded her scope to universe hopping, trying her best to repress the memories and emotions from her brother's death.during the next eleven years, wildheart developed a routine. explore and universe hop, break gear, plunder something ancient for rare stuff, sell it at the interdimensional market, get new gear, repeat. in ancient tombs and temples, wildheart saw one thing over and over again. carvings of things that looked like her, had the same powers as her. naturally, she assumed she was the last.on the eve of her 24th birthday, wildheart was traveling through the market, looking for something special to get herself. wherever she went, the vendors all talked about one thing. the nearby combat arena had a new champion, a catlike (cats are p much a multiversal constant) calling herself reaper. knowing wildheart, many suggested she challenge her.wildheart was confident in her abilities, both physical and magical, so she decided that a championship would be the perfect gift to herself.

she actually proved a pretty even match for reaper, but in the end the champion won. though wildheart's energy seemed boundless, reapers patience and tactical skill were ultimately able to exhaust her.

after the fight, the two met by chance somewhere in/around the market. they got to talking, reaper asking what wildheart does for a living. finding the prospect of universe-hopping more interesting than beating the shit out of people, reaper asked to join wildheart.

reaper was a tall (for a draco) draco-morphiad with black fur, white patterns outlining the shape of her skeleton (or what it would be if draco-morphiads had those). she wore a grey hoodie. her wings, skeletal things composed entirely of ice, marked her as a water element, though her eyes seemed to contradict that (although wildheart didnt really know that). instead of the slightly desaturated off-teal you would expect from a water element, reapers eyes were pich black with pupils colored a deep, beautiful blue.

anyway, after a few weeks of traveling the multiverse together, the two encountered something strange. a universe with no glow, just a dull grey orb.

portaling inside (and quickly leaving), the two found that the universe was empty. it had experienced a heat death, something totally unnatural in this setting.

wildheart and reaper agreed that they had to find and kill whoever did this.

idk how, exactly, they found him, but that person turned out to be a being calling himself entropy, the incarnation of the void, the nothingness that came before the multiverse. while he was monolouging about a pair of beings called 'chaos' and 'order',  wildheart and reaper tried to jump entropy. entropy did not like this. he used some sort of attack that sent the pair into a strange voidspace.

sat in this voidspace was a pair of beings. a scribbled dragon, with eyes of wildheart's blood red, and a hyperrealistic marble statue of a woman with a buzzcut in a dress, with gemstone eyes of reapers deep, beautiful blue. the two were enormous, the tip of the dragons talon bigger than wildheart's entire body. they were playing chess on a table of equal proportions.

"you're back early." remarked the dragon "did something happen?"

after a bit of confusion, it became understood that wildheart and reaper had no idea who these people were or where they were.

the two giants explained that they were chaos (the scribbled dragon) and order, demiurges of the multiverse.

many googols (a number with a hundred zeroes) of googols of eons ago, there was nothing. out of that nothing arose chaos, pure unbridled creation. but without filter, chaos could not create or take any definite form. and so, it (chaos is they/it) sat as a sort of existance soup for not even they know how long. until, at some point, order arose from the void. order was filter, what chaos needed to truly create. she (order is she/it) could not create by itself either, each dependant on the other to do something they instinctually longed for. order's form was also much different from her current day form, either a ball of quantum strings or a colorless cube of indeterminate material (i havent decided). so, the two came together and created. one of the first things the two created was a pair of souls, one blood red and the other a deep, beautiful blue. each one carved their true name into the corresponding soul in the first language, marking them as the incarnations of chaos and order.t hey were to be sent out into the multiverse together every once in a while, when the multiverse needed saving or just spicing up. of course the current incarnations were wildheart, incarnation of chaos and reaper, incarnation of order. they had been sent out this time for the purpose of killing entropy, whose trail of destruction included countless universes. but for reasons i dont know yet but were probably a mistake on chaos and orders part, they couldnt do it by themselves. they needed two more of their kind (chaos was vague about what 'their kind' was because i want it to be revealed in the narrative later). idk if its the two specific dracos they meet later or just any.

theyre currently in the place behind existance, chaos and order's personal voidspace.

chaos also reveals when talking to order that wildheart and reaper are siblings, before promptly sending them back out into the multiverse. entropy has long moved on, assuming he killed the two siblings.

the story isnt too well planned from here but

after some freaking out/contemplating/whatever over the fact that theyre siblings, wildheart and reaper continue on.

eventually, they encounter Six Of Spades, child of the last draco-morphiad monarch. saen (six of spades uses saen/trah pronouns, the traditional draco neutral/no-element pronouns) is a no-element, a semi-rare mutant with, you guessed it, no element. six of spades percives this as a fault of some sort, and overcompensates for it by playing up the ‘last heir to the draco-morphiad throne’ thing. Technically, saens cousin would have inherited the throne, but saen has no cousins saens aware of. six of spades would actually make a good monarch, if not for saens general neurosis and feeling of being (mostly) superior to those around trah.

six of spades watched saens parent die in front of saen to poachers, who wanted monarch eris (six of spades's parent)'s teeth. the teeth are the only part of a draco-morphiads pure magic core that doesnt simply dissipate after death. theyre an extremely potent source of magic, thus why draco-morphiads were killed for them shortly after the fall of the empire.

apperance wise, six of spades is an average sized (about 4 feet tall) grey draco-morphiad. saen has medium-grey fur down to saens waist, where its abruptly replaced by light grey scales. saen has ear fins like a dragon, and spikes going down saens back that may or may not start with the scales. six of spades has a lizard like tail and long, angular talons. save for color scheme (monarch eris was green), the spitting image of saens parent. six of spades also wears a worn gold crown and carries a worn gold staff with a magic gemstone orb, both posessions of monarch eris

wldheart and reaper convince six of spades to come with them.

eventually, they encounter a young (about 13 year old)

[vincess-princess]

ex malo bonum

behold, the dumpsterfire of a fic i’ve been obsessing over for the last week.

Fandom: Motley Crue Characters, pairings: demon!Nikki Sixx, demon!Tommy Lee, demon!Mick Mars, fallen angel!Vince Neil, Nikki/Vince, elements of Tommy/Vince and hints of Nikki/Tommy Rating: Explicit Warnings (please pay attention!!!): violence, non-con, drug use mention, alcohol mention, self-harm tendencies, suicide attempts, murder Summary: Vince thought he knew where fallen angels go and what they become. But he never expected to go through something like that. A/N: I’m not religious at all and my entire knowledge of Christian canon comes from Jesus Christ Superstar and Bulgakov’s Master and Margarita. I was making up lore on the go and I dare assume almost all of it is completely wrong. If you’re offended by this, please don’t proceed!

As always, huge thanks to @polska-tankietka for editing this, love ya!

Chapter 1.

Word count: 2677

Warnings (for this particular chapter): violence, suicide attempts mention, alcohol mention, drug use mention

“Did it hurt?”

“What?” Vince blinked and looked up from his shot of whiskey. He was already on his fifth, but was only slightly tipsy (must have something to do with the quick regeneration thing). The shitty bar where he was drinking himself into oblivion was dimly lit, and he had to squint to make out the face of a stranger standing behind his shoulder. The stranger’s voice was pleasant, but there was something… unsettling in it. Off-putting. Hostile.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” he repeated smugly. His hand crawled onto Vince’s shoulder and clutched it. A hot, blinding spike of something that felt like electric shock went down Vince’s spine, and everything became so clear he wondered how in the world he hadn’t seen it coming. In his defense, they were faster than he thought.

“It did,” Vince raised his head and looked the demon straight in the eyes, curving his lips in disgust. “A lot.”

The first was a car, a truck going down a busy highway with a very convenient pedestrian bridge over it. Vince figured out the right moment and jumped, his white Heaven robes flapping like wings behind his back. When he woke up they were no longer white, but a dark red, the color he would have assumed to be his blood if he had found a single injury on his body. But there hadn’t been any.

He had to change his clothes after that, partly escaping humans too curious for their own good, partly no longer wanting to be reminded of what he had had and what he had lost.

“Drowning your sorrows in whisky, huh?” The demon pulled up a chair and plopped down on it, his hand sliding from Vince’s shoulder down onto his arm and staying there, grazing over the skin with his claws occasionally, oh so carefully. Vince didn’t pull his arm away from the grip, although every fiber of his being protested to the touch. He could reach that one pocket of his jacket with another hand just as easily. “If I were you, I would celebrate.”

“You aren’t me,” Vince retorted indifferently, turning away from the demon and focusing on his almost empty glass.

“Not yet, sweetie.” The demon grasped Vince’s chin with his fingers and turned his head back to face him. Vince shook his fingers off his chin with clear revulsion. “What a pretty thing you are. You know that? Have you already come across the human concept of beauty?”

“No,” Vince said listlessly. He couldn’t care less about the small talk, but the demon’s intentions still weren’t clear to him and asking directly felt weirdly untimely.

“You will,” the demon promised, moving closer to Vince, almost breathing into his ear, and Vince couldn’t help casting a quick look over him. Despite the lack of light, the demon’s eyes looked unnaturally green. “They’re completely obsessed over it. Starving themselves to death, wasting their entire salaries on beauty products, painting their faces until they are unrecognizable, squeezing their bodies into uncomfortable clothes. It’s so much fun. How did you manage to get such a good-looking body, though? All the angels I met looked like middle-aged accountants at best. Heaven is really obsessed over its employees’ purity.”

“Random distribution,” Vince murmured and downed his shot. The demon waved to the barista and showed him two fingers. A few moments later two shots of whisky were sent their way.

The second time, it was the height. Vince stood atop a twenty-story building and looked down at the busy street beneath, and everything was so little and insignificant. He didn’t have his wings anymore, but he could feel the rapture of flying one more time.

Vince woke up in the hole on the pavement the shape of which resembled that of his body. He had only a few scratches and not a single bone broken. He kept touching those scratches for the next hour until they healed.

Last time there were no injuries. Progress.

“I’m paying, baby.” The demon pulled a wallet out of the pocket of his leather jacket and slid two dollar-bills the barista’s way. “Enjoy your downfall. Did you already get the concept of money? Those humans turned pieces of metal and paper into their literal gods. They’re ready to die for it. How many of them, you think, are ready to die for an actual God, like real Jesus Christ, nowadays?”

His name out of the mouth of this despicable creature was like a string snapping in Vince’s chest, badly cutting his insides. “Don’t you dare speak His name,” he hissed, jerking his arm away from the demon’s grasp and moving his chair farther down the bar counter. If his gaze could kill, the demon’s body would already have been sprawled on the floor under the counter.

“Or what?” the demon stretched out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Vince’s elbow again, dragging him back in place. The chair legs gritted across the floor loudly, and Vince felt like all the eyes in the bar were on them now. The demon’s claws, painted in chipped black nail polish, were digging deep into his skin, but this time Vince didn’t try to wrestle away from his grip. This creature isn’t worthy of your anger, he reminded himself. “You’ll tell him and he’ll punish me? Funny. He no longer needs you, honey. That’s why he got rid of you. Threw you out like a toy he got fed up with.”

“Shut up,” Vince bit his lip and looked away. Every word slashed his soul like a sword, leaving deep, bleeding, unhealable cuts. “Stop that. Just-“ too early, a warning flashed across his mind, but he shook it off. The demon was clearly mocking him, and Vince wasn’t going to put up with that. “just tell me what you want from me.”

The third time, there were drugs. He tried regular pills from the pharmacy first - he heard they can cause death when consumed in excessive amounts. He woke up in the public toilet of some fast-food restaurant, in the puddle of his own vomit, with people banging on the door and shouting. Then there were other drugs, which people buy not in clean, white pharmacies with smiling women in doctor’s robes, but in dark alleys and night clubs. People didn’t want to give it to Vince without money, and he could no longer use any of his previous powers, so getting them was one hell of a job. All of which was in vain, because Vince only got a short and sharp sting of pleasure across his body before descending into darkness, and then woke up, this time in a hospital, surrounded by dumbfounded doctors.

“Nothing much,” the demon smiled sweetly and almost gently tucked a stray golden lock behind Vince’s ear. The demon’s own hair was pitch-black and wild, framing the sides of his face and falling onto his forehead, but still not managing to hide the uncanny gleam in his eyes. “You’re a pretty little thing, and I like pretty little things. Let’s hook up, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Hook up?” Vince frowned, and the demon laughed sincerely.

“Sweet innocence. Don’t worry, you’ll learn. It won’t take long. You’ll enjoy it. It’s one of the things humans do all the time, to have fun or kids or both, or aiming for one and getting the other.”

Vince gave him a long, hard look, for the first time this evening. He foresaw that – well, not exactly that, but something of a kind – and the blade dipped in holy water was now warming in the pocket of his jacket, reacting to the demonic presence. Killing a demon was hard and usually disapproved of by the authorities – the privilege of killing belonged only to high-ranked angels, ones who could withstand the temptation of sin inevitably coming with it. It was even harder for a fallen angel devoid of the Lord’s blessing. But it was possible.

His human vessel was shorter and weaker than that of the demon. But he had the blade. He had the advantage.

“Checking me out, huh?” The demon traced his fingertips along Vince’s jawline. Vince didn’t flinch back. “I gotta say, I am extremely lucky with my current vessel. It gets me all the chicks.”

“My human form is male.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re pretty, you qualify. Blond too. Love blonds.” The demon grinned, his teeth slightly sharper than human’s, a little bit too many of them. Devil is in the details, Vince recalled.

“Why don’t you get any other human then? Why me?”

“Honey, what demon wouldn’t want to bang a freshly fallen angel? It’s not every day that we have visitors from up there. You reek of Heaven, blondie. There’s still a lot of it in you. I wanna know how it feels.”

The demon licked his lips, eyeing Vince up as though he wanted to eat him whole. Vince shuddered but didn’t look away. He wasn’t afraid of him, after all.

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna wait for you to come to terms with it. Don’t test my patience.”

“What if I refuse?” Vince carefully moved the untouched shot away, barely brushing the glass with the tip of a finger. The demon didn’t comment on it, but his gaze lingered on the rejected whisky a little longer than necessary.

“Then there will be a very loud and unpleasant scene that will surely feature in every newspaper by the end of the day. I feel like you still don’t fully understand,” the demon leaned closer to Vince and almost whispered in his ear, “I will get you anyway. You can only choose how, by force or by your own will.”

Vince closed his eyes, suppressing the urge to grip the handle of the blade through the jacket. He knew, of course, that demons couldn’t be trusted with a conversation, let alone an agreement. He shouldn’t have answered him in the first place. On the other hand, in this case. the demon wouldn’t have left him alone and would have forced him to answer. He couldn’t get rid of him with God’s power – he was no longer able to use it, neither could he deal with him with the help of simple, brutal force. Because he, as any angel, was against violence in general, not because the demon was half a head taller than him and had claws and sharp teeth.

Maybe it was better to just submit. Maybe the demon would be too distracted during this “hook-up”, whatever he was going to do to him, and wouldn’t notice Vince pulling out the blade. Maybe.

Submit and just let him do whatever he wants? something whispered quietly to him inside his head, something the invisible presence of which Vince could feel but only now got to hear. So you would let the forces of evil run amok because you’re not supposed to beat them?

Yes, Vince cut the something off and turned to the demon.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “It won’t take long, will it?”

“It will take as much as I need, angel, and by the end you will beg for more,” the demon promised complacently and pulled him up from the chair. “Come on. My car is in the parking lot.”

“Isn’t that kinda… uncomfortable?” Vince raised his eyebrow, for a second actually trying to imagine two whole people trying to find enough room on the backseat.

The demon burst into laughter, but the grip on Vince’s arm remained tight. “That’s the point, baby! Quick and dirty, exactly what you angels deserve. Come on.” He headed to the door, dragging Vince along.

Once they were outside, Vince lingered a little to inhale crisp, fresh night air - most of the Earth smells were still new to him, and some of them were quite pleasant. The demon interpreted it differently.

“Nervous? Don’t worry, all virgins are. You at least will probably be the first fallen angel to get rid of his virginity so quickly. Some never even get to experience it.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re ugly as hell, haven’t you heard me? I’m telling you,” he turned to Vince and poked him in the chest, “I’m telling you, this vessel is gonna be your best asset on this Earth. Everyone likes beautiful people. It’ll make your life down here easier. Actor, singer, model, hooker – choose whatever you want. Oh, here’s my car.” The demon pointed at a black, relatively small car in the farthest slot of the parking lot. “Seems small, but I can assure you, it fits our needs perfectly.”

“Your needs.”

“Eh, stop playing Virgin Mary. Mary Magdalene had a much better time before Jesus showed up. The girl was going places.” The demon grinned at the sight of indignation on Vince’s face. They approached the car, but instead of opening the door the demon backed Vince up against it, grabbed his collar and pulled him into a sloppy kiss.

Vince didn’t get to know what it felt like. A belt wrapped around his throat and yanked his body backward, hitting his back against the car roof and pinning him down to it. Vince’s hands flew up to the belt, scratching on it in a fruitless attempt to loosen it, but the assaulter was strong, stronger than him. And a demon as well, because the mere touch of his hands sent another spike of hot, buzzing electricity down Vince’s spine.

“Hold him!” The demon who brought him here tried to grab his wrists, got a kick in the stomach and had to take a second to drag himself off the ground. The second time he tried to grab him Vince was prepared.

The demon gasped and recoiled, his hands jerking up to his chest where the blade was now buried, barely audible sizzling coming out from the wound. The one behind Vince’s back almost rushed to help him, loosening his grip, but was stopped by a fierce glare of then-green eyes, now a solid black. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of Vince’s hair and banged his head on the car roof so hard it dented - the head or the roof, Vince didn’t really understand, because the world blurred in front of his eyes.

The next thing he remembered was lying on the cold pavement, hot blood dripping onto his eyes. A stray lock was hanging in front of his face, all smeared in blood as well. His hands were tied by the same belt that had been wrapped around his neck. Two demons stood above him, both black-haired and tall, their eyes now pitch-black, both radiating rage so intense it heated up the air around them.

“Fucking bitch,” the one from the bar spit out. “Who do you think you are to use this?” he raised the blade carefully by the handle. It was still covered in his blood, which oozed slowly from the cut in his chest and stained his shirt. Apart from that, it didn’t seem to cause much harm. “You’re no longer the warrior of God, blondie. You’re the same as us now. Wanna see?”

He kicked Vince in the side to roll him onto his back and then drove the blade right into his shoulder. Vince thought he knew what it would feel like: he had tried cutting himself before.

He didn’t expect it to burn, the same way it did in the demon’s flesh.

The demons didn’t even let him scream out his pain. They put something sticky on his mouth and threw him onto the backseat. The new, taller one, whose face Vince hadn’t managed to make out, got behind the wheel, and the green-eyed one sat at the back with Vince, his hand gripping his arm firmly, claws digging into his skin and leaving deep red marks.

Vince didn’t notice the pain. Tears streamed down his face silently while he was frantically, desperately searching for that connection he had always had deep inside his soul, the connection to Him.

He searched, and searched, and found nothing.

[spinaxxx1]

BATIM: Nothing Comes For Free

“No, no, no! You’re doing it all wrong, Alice!” Susie snapped. The ink angel stopped in her tracks and looked to the female human. She had been trying to perfect the song and dance routine that Susie Campbell had written for the new cartoon that was to be filmed the very next day. But no matter how hard she tried, her efforts just wouldn’t please the human. Alice’s black hair plastered to her head and hung around her shoulders in a defeated fashion. Her normally glowing halo dimmed to a mere shimmer when Susie yelled at her for the twentieth time in the same hour.

           Alice let out a sigh of anguish. For she knew that Susie would not give up until she had done the routine just how she wanted.

           “From the top again!” The lady commanded and leaned against the wall of the animation studio. Ms. Campbell had been given a large enough room for which she could mentor the ink angel in acting skills, particularly in dancing and singing.

           The petite ink girl raced back to the corner of the room and began the routine again. She stepped forward rhythmically and began the song once more.

           Here it comes again, Alice thought. The very part she always messed up. It was a difficult twirl and leap that Susie wanted her to perform. Nonetheless, Alice Angel tried her best to please. She had almost made it through the twirl when her high heels bumped against one another. The girl went to take a step forward to keep her feet from tangling. But it was no use. The pointed bottom of her shoe got caught in a crack in the floorboard and she pitched forward. Alice fell right on her face with a screech of fear. But that fear was not from falling. It was from how the human was going to react to this latest mess up. The ink angel cautiously lifted up her head. Ms. Campbell was coming over. Did she finally feel guilty for making her do so many rounds of the dance? That was not likely.

           Susie knelt down and helped the ink creature up. Alice knew that she didn’t do that to be nice. That just meant she had other things to complain about.

           “Oh, Alice! Look what you did to your bow!” The human pouted. Alice looked down to find her white bow knocked askew. It was very noticeable since her dress was a dark black just like her shoes and hair. Susie adjusted the garment and then noticed another flaw on the girl. “You smudged your makeup, too!” Ms. Campbell had put some pink blush on the angel’s cheeks in an attempt to give them some color. Otherwise, her skin was as white as paper. The human roughly rubbed her fingers on the ink girl’s slightly chubby cheeks.

           “Sorry, Susie. It won’t happen again.” Alice replied, not making eye contact. She discreetly tried to pull her hair away from the small white horns that protruded from her head. Unfortunately, the lady took notice right away.

           “I do wish you would keep those covered, Alice.” The human’s greedy fingers proceeded to cover the undesirables over with the hair again.

           “But they’re part of who I am. You can’t change that, Susie.” Alice softly argued. She knew that raising her voice at the woman was not necessarily a good thing.

           “Perhaps not.” Said Ms. Campbell. “But they’re still not very angel-like. Anyway, let’s get back to practice, shall we?”

           “Susie, could you possibly give me a demonstration of exactly what you want me to do?” The ink angel probed. She had a feeling that the woman was asking something impossible of her.

           “Sure, you need to do it like this.” Susie proceeded to perform the routine. She did just like Alice had done right up to the point where the difficult stunt came in. The human stopped halfway through the twirl and stared at the cartoon character.

           “Well?” Alice probed but not surprised in the least.

           “Yes, well, you know what I mean.” The lady said shortly.

           “You can’t really do it, can you?” The ink girl asked. Susie huffed and turned red. It was clear that she was insulted that she couldn’t do it either. And that it pained her to admit such a truth.

           “Maybe not.” She said with puffed up cheeks.

           “But if you can’t do it, then how do you expect me to?”

           “It’s simple, Alice. You’re an angel. Angels are supposed to be perfect and flawless.” Susie explained.

           “But that’s not the truth!” Alice interjected. “I make mistakes just like you! Why can’t you see that? I’ll never be what you envision a perfect angel to be.”

           The woman shied away, pretending to be sad. Like the angel had hurt her feelings. But it was just her way of manipulating the poor ink girl into feeling bad and getting her to apologize.

           “Oh, come on, Susie.” Alice said sympathetically and reached out for Ms. Campbell with her oversized gloved hand. “We’re friends. We shouldn’t be judging one another on what we can and can’t do. Henry always taught me to be kind and forgiving. So I’ll be patient with you as long as you agree to be patient with me.”

           Susie turned back around with her fake teary eyes.

           “Thank you, Alice! You’re always so understanding of me!” She beamed and hugged the ink girl. “Let’s take things nice and slow, my beautiful angel.” Alice’s halo started to glow brighter as a smile came across her face. The light seemed to illuminate the short and stubby horns that protruded from the dark hair. Susie tried her best to overlook those growths to the best of her ability. The lady wrapped an arm around the angel’s shoulders and held her close. “We need each other, you and I. Sometimes I feel that we’re more than best friends. Like we’re part of the same person but in two different bodies. Inseparable. You feel this too, don’t you, Alice?”

           This kind of talk made the ink creature uncomfortable. Her smile drooped as she hesitated to answer her mentor. The truth was, Susie envied Alice so much for her beauty. They had spent so much time together that Ms. Campbell had convinced herself that she was really Alice, the true voice and inspiration behind the angel. Susie wanted nothing more than to be beautiful and treated like Alice was by the rest of the staff in the animation studio. Her boss, Mr. Joey Drew, seemed to encourage this fantasy that she was truly Alice Angel. He even mistakenly called her Alice a few times, but didn’t bother to correct himself or his employee. As long as the employees were able to manage their workload, nothing else seemed to matter much to Mr. Drew. The success of his company was his top priority. Anything else was much lower on his totem of responsibilities.

           Just when Alice was about to be pressured to give an answer, the door to their practice room opened. A young girl pressed the creaky door open until its handle bumped against the wall.

           “Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Campbell, but Mr. Drew wants to see you.” She squeaked out, clearly not comfortable in Susie’s presence either.

           “Thank you, miss. Tell Joey I’ll be there in a moment.” The woman answered her. Alice watched as the young girl gave a quick nod and moved herself away as quick as possible. Susie then turned her attention back to the ink angel.

           “Go take a break, Alice. We’ll pick back up later.”

           The petite girl gave a sigh of relief as Ms. Campbell released the hold on her shoulders and went to leave the room. Her voice didn’t have any hint of anger or annoyance at giving the angel a break. This was most likely because she knew that Mr. Drew would say some words of encouragement to her. Compliment on what a good job she was doing in mentoring Alice.

           As soon as the door closed behind Susie, Alice wasted no time in rushing out of the room as well. The ink girl was desperate to get away from the place that caused her negative thoughts. She was usually very calm and collected, hardly ever showing signs that people were getting under her skin. But there were times, like now, when the stress got to her and she couldn’t hold in her feelings any longer.

Alice raced to her favorite window that overlooked a small parking lot and the busy streets of New York. White gloves plastered against the glass as she stared out, longing to be free from the animation studio that seemed more like a prison nowadays. A small thud noise accompanied the collision of her forehead on the upper left pane. She wasn’t the only one that wanted freedom from the studio. Her ink siblings also longed to see the outside world. But they were not allowed out there. Joey Drew didn’t want them to be influenced by the real world and feared that they would not want to come back if they ventured out there. He would not hear of any talk of wanting to leave the studio. Leaving could very well expose the truth of the unnatural births of the ink creatures and result in Mr. Drew losing his precious ink machine to the hungry, greedy world.

Alice sunk down to the floor, curling her legs up to her chest and began to sob inky black tears. She realized that being born from the ink machine didn’t give her or her siblings the most knowledgeable brains, but she was not stupid to the fact that most of the humans were using them to gain benefits for themselves. When would this stop? When would they start being treated as equals? The only one that truly cared about them was….

“Are you okay, Alice?” Came the warm voice of Henry. He was their true creator. Not Joey, who claimed ownership of anything and everything that he could. Henry had brought his creations to life with love. Mr. Drew believed that they were alive merely because of the ink machine. Sure, it helped to mold the characters, but it’s certainly not what gave them their personalities or hearts. That was the result of Henry’s dedication to his work and the true love that only a father could give.

The ink angel looked up to see her fatherly figure looking very concerned for her welfare. She immediately tried to rub away her tears and be happy for the man that she so dearly loved. Unfortunately, her gloves only succeeded in smudging the black streaks across her face.

“I’m fine.” Said Alice tersely.

“You sure don’t look it.” Said the male human. “Tell me what’s going on.” He proceeded to sit next to his ink daughter.

“It’s Susie.” The angel said with a sigh. “She’s getting so much worse lately. All she wants from me is perfection. Perfect dancing, singing, acting…. I just can’t do it.” Her eyes shot down to the floor as her body tensed up as she thought of how Susie kept pressuring her to do things just right. “She’s jealous. I know she is. But I don’t understand why. What is it that I have that she doesn’t?”

“I think it’s because you are ten times the person that she’ll ever be. And it drives her crazy that it just comes naturally to you.” Henry described. “She can only dream of being like you.”

“But what’s so special about me? I can’t do anything she wants me to. I always mess it up!” A couple inky tears went down her face again. “Maybe I should just shave my horns down and become a real person like Susie wants…”

“No!” The man scolded and scooped the girl’s hands into his. Alice looked surprised at this sudden gesture of kindness. “Don’t ever change who you are, Alice! Bendy, Boris, and I love you just the way you are. You’re already perfect to us. And that’s all that matters. Who cares what Susie or anyone else thinks! And if you don’t believe me, just ask Bendy or Boris. They’ll tell you the same thing.”

“Thanks, Henry.” Said Alice, wiping away a tear. “That makes me feel a little better. But that doesn’t solve my problem with Susie. I said that we were friends – and we used to be – but she’s just changed so much….for the worst. It’s not even fun to practice with her anymore.”

“Perhaps I should try talking to her about it.” Henry suggested.

“That won’t work.” The ink angel hung her head in defeat. “The only person she listens to is Mr. Drew.”

“Then it’s settled!” The man beamed, startling his girl. “I’ll talk to Joey first and tell him that Susie needs to tone down the criticizing of you.”            “Do you really think that’ll work?” Alice was skeptical of this plan.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

The ink angel gave a small smile before it ultimately disappeared again. Henry tried and tried to turn his ink daughter’s frown upside down. But this time it was proving difficult.

Just then, a pair of footsteps came their way. Both of the people recognized the heavy plodding of the shoes could only belong to one person: Boris the wolf. The black and white cartoon wolf was walking slowly to balance the plentiful cans of bacon soup he had just swiped from the pantry. Boris’s room had enough bacon soup in there to last a normal person nearly a year. But for the wolf, that stock would only last two months at best. Alice often had to scold her ink brother for eating too much food in one sitting. For he was constantly munching on any snack he could get his paws on. His behavior often started bad habits in his younger brother Bendy. The two of them liked to played pranks in which to snatch other peoples’ lunch. It usually ended okay if Bendy was the one swiping the food as he would give it back after he got a good laugh. Boris, on the other hand, would just eat it and forget about giving it back. This often got them in trouble with the studio’s employees.

As soon as the anthropomorphic wolf came into view, Alice and Henry saw the large stack piled up in his arms. Boris was so greedy with his food that he even carried one in his white muzzle.

“Boris!” Henry scolded. The ink wolf’s ears shot straight into the air as he realized he had been caught. His guilty muzzle drooped down in their direction as he turned to face the person that was reprimanding him. When he turned, the man noticed yet another can resting in the back pocket of his white overalls. “That’s too much food for one wolf!”

Boris attempted to give a justification for his actions, but his response was too muffled by the can for the human to understand any of it.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

The wolf was surprised at who was scolding him. Usually it was his sister. But she wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Her sullen expression fell to the floor again. Boris cocked his head to the side, confused as to why Alice had not said a word to him. He had never seen her so sad. She always did such a good job of being strong for both herself and her family. The ink wolf all but forgot what he was doing and dropped all the cans to the floor. They clanged loudly and rolled in every which direction. He then came down to his sister’s level. Boris moved himself on his hands and knees up to the ink girl. His gentle eyes stared at Alice, who had not looked back. The wolf realized he still had a can in his mouth. He promptly took it out and offered it to the angel.

“Want some soup? It will help a stomach ache.” His friendly voice sounded.

“No thanks, Boris.” She said and hugged her legs even tighter to her chest. “I’m not hungry.”

“She’s having some issues with her mentor.” Henry told his wolf child. “Not meeting Susie’s ridiculous expectations.”

“Gee, I’m sorry, Alice. I know how that feels.” Boris admitted. “Sammy’s got a new song that I can’t seem to perfect either. The notes are just too difficult to perform correctly. I don’t know what he was thinking when he wrote it.” A man named Sammy Lawrence was Boris’s boss. He had taught the wolf to play clarinet and allowed him to be in the orchestra. However, most people in the studio would call that man weird – or even crazy – due to his unusual habits. For example, there were times when he told all of his employees to clear out from the recording studio and then he would mysteriously go turn on the projector that pointed at the back wall of their stage and then run back into the recording room like a madman and lock everyone out. No one knew what he did in there when that happened. They all knew better than to ask the madman that was Sammy. And that was only one of his odd habits.

The wolf’s ears perked up as he thought of a grand idea to cheer up his sister.

“But there’s always one song that I could never mess up. Not even in my sleep.” He then stood up and offered a gloved hand to the petite girl. “Come with me, Alice. I want to show you something.”

The angel slowly looked up to find her brother staring down at her. She slowly met his hand and let him help her up. He ushered her in the direction of the elevator. Boris then helped up Henry as well.

“Good job, buddy.” The man winked as he went past. For Henry knew the very song he was referring to. “She’s going to love it!” The wolf put a humble smile on his face. He had only taken a couple steps after his family when he wheeled back around and reached down for a few cans of bacon soup. Boris had only managed to pick up three when he received a gruff “Ahem!” from behind him. His white muzzle looked up at his father. Henry raised a single eyebrow, watching what his ink wolf would do next. Boris snatched up a fourth can without even looking where his gloved paw went. He then resumed his path to the elevator with his family.

The three of them settled themselves into the elevator when yet another pair of footsteps came running (not walking) in their direction. Around the corner came the little ink demon himself. If his family’s voices had not attracted him to their location, the sound of the bacon soup cans crashing to the floor certainly would have done the trick. His little boots pounded quickly against the studio’s floor in an effort to reach the lift before it descended.

“Wait for me! I’m coming too!” Bendy cried. His round head bore his usual big and toothy smile. Being the youngest of the ink creatures, the little demon was not even half the height of his siblings. The little black boots moved as fast as they could go. He dodged and weaved through the soup cans littered on the floor. Bendy thought he had gotten past them all and didn’t see the last one as his boot came down on it. The can went flying backwards as the ink child pitched forward and ultimately slid across the floor.

Henry, Boris, and Alice watched as the boy came belly-whopping right into the elevator. The human moved his foot so that it would block his boy from colliding with the old lift’s cage wall. Bendy immediately popped himself up and fixed his white bow that had been knocked askew. Gloved fists balled up and were placed on his hips. He wore a big smile across his face as he proudly lifted up his chin to the ceiling. With eyes closed, he pretended like his slip-up was a grand stunt.

“I meant to do that!” The child boasted. “It’s a new thing I’ve been practicing for next week’s cartoon!”

            “You plan to slide across the deck of the pirate ship?” Henry chuckled and teased his youngest ink child.

           “Sure! It’ll knock the Butcher Gang right overboard it will!” Bendy still gloated. The man laughed a bit more before turning to Boris.

           “Is everyone ready?” He asked. The wolf’s white muzzle gave a nod. A gloved finger then went for the correct button.

           “Where are we going, Boris?” The ink demon asked his big brother.

           “To the music department.”

           “Oh.” Said Bendy, his smile immediately vanishing.

           “Don’t worry, little B. Sammy isn’t there right now. He’s out on break.” Boris explained. Had the ink demon known that was where they were going, he would have thought twice about stepping into the elevator. Bendy didn’t like going down there unless to work on a dance routine that was required by one of Joey’s cartoons. The truth was that the little ink demon was afraid of the music director, Sammy Lawrence. It was clear that the man did not care for his job that much, especially when he had to work with the ink child. For Bendy annoyed him to no end. The ink demon’s incessant pranks and tap dancing around really got to Mr. Lawrence. And he got an awful look in his eye when Bendy got on his nerves. The worst part of it was that the ink demon often got that look when he had not done a thing at all. That the human had judged him before they even got to know one another.

           Bendy’s little heart pounded in fear as they descended to the music department. He stuck closely to his father’s leg. Alice watched her younger brother nearly begin to shake at the thought of being caught in there by Sammy. She knew how much Bendy was afraid of that man, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. And neither could Boris. Even if they tried to talk to the music director, that was all it was. They couldn’t convince him otherwise that it was mean how he singled out Bendy and tried to punish him every chance he got. Neither Boris nor Alice were treated like that to the extreme. Just the ink demon.

           The elevator creaked and jerked to a stop. Boris was the first to step out once the gated doors opened before them. Alice followed behind, and then Henry. Poor Bendy hesitated to leave the lift. His round head peered out to make sure no one was around.

           “Come along, Bendy. It’s okay.” Henry urged. The ink demon scampered over to his father’s leg, nearly hugging it as they entered the studio. All four of them looked up to their right to find the projector room overlooking the stage where all the instruments were. Each of them were placed on or next to their respective chair. Music sheets were left on the stands where the members had left them. Some were on break like Sammy and others had a day off. It was rare to find the music room completely empty like this. Boris knew that such an opportunity had to be taken advantage of. He put down his soup cans on his music sheet stand after sweeping the paper booklet on the floor. For that would not be needed for what they were here for. Alice watched as her brother brought a chair over for her and placed it upon the spot where the conductor would stand.

“Sit here, Alice. And make yourself comfortable.” The ink wolf then walked over to his chair and picked up his clarinet. Henry found himself a chair that had a violin lying in its case next to it. Bendy, however, stayed standing. That way he could make a quick exit if need be. The ink child greatly feared of being caught in there without permission. His round head nervously looked around, expecting to see Sammy come through the doorway at any moment. Inky splotches of sweat started to form between his two blunt horns. His little gloved fingers wove around one another, physically showing his worry. Henry saw this and felt very bad for his boy. How horrible it must be to feel that scared every time Mr. Lawrence was mentioned, he thought. Time and time again the man had told the music director not to physically lay a hand on his boy in punishment. But he just never cared. It was clear that if Henry was not around, that madman would certainly make poor Bendy pay for all the times he had annoyed him.

The room sat in total silence for a couple seconds as Boris fumbled his clarinet up to his muzzle. Upon arranging his fingers in the correct position, he started to play a familiar tune. The frown left Alice’s face as she realized that her brother was trying to remind her that not everything that happens in Joey Drew Studios is bad. For the song he played was the very melody that she sang in her debut cartoon titled “Sent From Above”. The ink angel began to sing along. It was just a natural response for her to sing beautifully to her own tunes. Alice started to get lost in the moment, all but forgetting the hardship she had just had with Susie. Her eyes closed as she drifted into a state of euphoria.

Henry smiled brightly at her. For she was truly happy in this moment. Her halo started to glow a vibrant white. It was as if waves of happiness flooded over the studio when her garment shimmered in the dimly lit room. Everyone around her seemed to become overwhelmed with a positive sensation as she sang to her heart’s content. Even Bendy started to forget his fear. He began to mouth the words and reenact the scene in which she sang the song, replicating her movements exactly how they were in the cartoon. His father had a hard time not laughing at the little ink demon’s antics. Henry couldn’t help but chuckle and snort a bit. This caught Alice’s attention. She opened her eyes to see what was so funny but did not stop singing. The angel nearly laughed herself when she saw her little brother passionately carrying out her role as if it were his own. It warmed her heart to know that he had memorized her parts as well as his own. That meant he really cared about what she was doing. There were times it seemed that Bendy did not pay attention, but Alice realized that this was clearly not the case.

As the song came to a close, the angel gave a sigh of content. Warm feelings resonated throughout the room. Everyone smiled in her direction. Alice was very grateful for their effort to cheer her up. And it had worked. No longer did she feel drowned by negative feelings about what her mentor had said.

“Thanks, Boris. That was very kind of you.” Alice praised the wolf, who gave a humble nod. “Thanks to all of you.” Her gaze swept to her father and little brother. Bendy gave a dramatic bow in her direction.

“Anything for you, my lady!” He said. Henry and the angel laughed at the boy’s theatrical personality.

Boris put down his clarinet and offered up the food that was still staring him in the face. The way he saw it, there were four cans and four of them. He knew there was one for everybody if they desired. However, he had a feeling that his father would decline the liquid sustenance. That meant two for him!

“How about some bacon soup now, Alice?” The wolf questioned.

“Sure. All this singing has really stirred up an appetite.” A can was gently passed from one gloved hand to the other. The angel took care in peeling off the lid and prepared to take a sip.

“Toss one over, buddy!” Bendy shouted as he hopped around waving his hands in the air. “I’m open!” Boris didn’t hesitate to throw a bacon soup can his way. The young ink demon jumped and clutched the object to his chest as it came right for him. Upon planting his little boots back on the ground, the boy threw his arms in the air like he had just scored a goal in a competitive sport.

“Touchdown!” Henry bellowed in encouragement.            “Touchdown? Nah! That was more of a slam dunk!” Bendy tried his best to recall the different scoring methods of the various sports he had heard about from the studio’s employees.

“Slam dunk is for basketball, Bendy. Touchdown is for football.” Henry explained.

“Oh…. I guess it was more of a touchdown then. Heh!” The ink demon got a bit embarrassed for mixing up his sports. He then started to gnaw on the can’s top, using his teeth as a personal can opener. None of the ink creatures had ever played any sports before, so it was a bit difficult for them to remember something that they couldn’t practice in the walls of the animation studio. Access to TV was also pretty limited in this environment as well. Joey had said that it was only a distraction that would keep them from doing their work.

“What about you, Henry? Want one?” Boris probed, just waiting for the resounding no.

“No thanks, buddy. You know I don’t really like that stuff.” The man waved it away.

“Suit yourself!” Said the ink wolf, smacking his lips in anticipation. His greedy fingers popped open both of the soups at once. Boris poured them down his gullet at the same time. This was a mere snack for the wolf, not a meal. Bendy made audible slurps as he began to consume his share. Alice, on the other hand, took her time. She slowly and politely took dainty sips of the thick liquid, even placing it down on a music stand for a break. Henry watched his ink children consuming their food for a good couple of minutes before realizing that they should be making their way out of there. The musicians’ break would surely be up soon.

“Well, I guess we should be getting you out of here and back where you all need to be before people start missing you.” The man said as he stood up.

“Yes, you should.” Came a voice from the music room’s doorway. Everyone knew that it was Sammy without even seeing the man. There was no mistaking that agitated tone. Boris’s ears shot straight up in alarm. Alice quickly stood up, ready to get out of the music director’s way. The ink angel quietly shuffled her way out of the conductor’s seat and instinctively went to her father. Bendy didn’t hesitate to hide behind Henry either.

In came Mr. Lawrence. A bunch of music sheets were piled in his hand. He shot a cold glance over to the intruders as he stopped before the stage. His gaze then went to the papers in his hand. Sammy shuffled through them impatiently, waiting for the people to get out so he could do whatever weird and creepy thing he desired. The ink wolf motioned to his family to move out. That he would handle his boss, hopefully without much consequence.

“It’s my fault, Sammy. I let them in here.” Boris confessed. “We were just having a little break of our own.”

“And what did I say about having guests in here without my permission?” The man snapped back. “You’re lucky that I don’t take your clarinet away for the rest of the afternoon. And it’s Mr. Lawrence to you!”

The ink wolf whined a bit as he hung his muzzle in shame. Thin black ears drooped around his cheeks. Now he’d done it. Boris may have done something nice for his sister, but now he would have to pay for it from his boss. One could never do anything for free at the studio. Especially not if you’re one of the ink creatures. It always seemed that much more was expected from them. The wolf awaited what his punishment was going to be.

“Boris didn’t do anything.” Came Henry’s voice. “It was my idea to come in here.” Boris quickly looked to his father as he lied for him, surprised that the human would do so.

“But Henry-!” The ink wolf tried to interject. But the man saw to it that the music director should do nothing of the sort.

“Boris is not to be punished. Not for helping his family with something they asked him for.”

Sammy averted his gaze to the other man. The wolf could tell his boss did not believe Henry. But Mr. Lawrence knew it was best to hold his tongue in front of the number two person in charge of the studio.

“Very well.” He grunted. “Just please close the door behind you.” Alice shuddered as his piercing eyes laid on her. “Susie is looking for you. I suggest you get back as soon as you can. Didn’t seem in the best mood.” The angel sighed as all of the light in her halo drained on the spot. All the happiness that had filled her heart faded at once. Her eyes drooped closed as her chin pointed to the floor. Henry hesitated to leave his wolf child alone with this man. Sammy behaved himself while the artist was around. But that may not necessarily remain so if he left the scene. Boris saw this and silently urged them once more with a gesture of his muzzle.

“Come on, guys. Let’s get you back.” The man gently ushered the other two ink creatures toward the door. He took a glance over his shoulder to make sure Mr. Lawrence was going to react accordingly. Sammy, however, wasn’t even paying attention to anyone. His focus was still on his music sheets that he was thumbing through. Henry watched as he set them down upon the stand and began to walk toward the recording booth that was a little way off to the stage’s right. A single sheet of paper fluttered down from the stack. It swayed back and forth like an autumn leaf as it glided to the floor.

“Oh! You dropped one. I’ll get it for you.” Henry stepped up to retrieve the paper. He always tried his best to be on Sammy’s good side. That way there was nothing Mr. Lawrence could be mad at him for. The music director came stomping back to the pedestal when he realized someone unauthorized was about to touch his property. But Henry had already picked it up and read the title. A confused look came over his face. Never had he heard of this title in any existing Bendy cartoons. Nor had he caught wind of it for a future skit either. Could it be that Joey had told him to compose this song far in advance of its corresponding cartoon? In fact, the notes themselves looked rather complicated even to someone that was not adept in music composition.

“The Lighter Side of Hell…?” Henry read aloud with a questioning tone. “What cartoon is this song for?”

“That’s none of your business!” Sammy snapped and snatched the paper back. “Forget you ever saw that.”

But the man was only more curious about what this song meant. He remembered that Boris had mentioned a particularly difficult song to master. His gaze went to the wolf.

“Is this the song you mentioned, Boris?”

Poor Boris only looked worried for he and his father’s sake. His head and ears drooped down in an attempt to hide behind his stand.

“What?” Said an exasperated Sammy. He wheeled around to face the cowering wolf. “What did you tell him, Boris?” He demanded.

“Boris only told me that your new song was a bit difficult to play. Didn’t say anything else. No spoilers. My buddy knows not to give away information like that. Isn’t that right, Boris?” Henry chuckled in the ink wolf’s direction, trying to lighten the mood. The ink creature only remained spooked at where this conversation was going. A dangerous look came to Sammy’s eyes. All of Henry’s ink children had learned to fear that glare. To run away as fast as they could when it came upon him. Mr. Lawrence tossed this glance at the cartoonist.

“I didn’t ask you!” He growled and gave a shove at Henry’s shoulder, whom narrowly missed it by backing away. Unknown to him, Bendy had been hovering right near his leg and squealed when his father bumped him quite suddenly.

“Oh, Jesus! I’m sorry, Bendy!” Henry apologized to the little demon. The round-headed creature stumbled out into the room, trying to get his bearings from the quick bump that had winded him. The man looked between his boy and the music director. They stared at one another with quite opposite emotions. Sammy’s was pure hate and Bendy’s was pure horror. The poor ink demon looked like he was on the verge of tears. His whole body shivered in fear. Tension rose within the room. Boris and Alice held their breath at what was going to happen next. For the music director’s stare said he wanted to hurt something – and that something was Bendy.

“Tch! Just get out of here!” Huffed Mr. Lawrence as he reluctantly held himself back from committing violence against the child. “I have songs to write.” The man turned back to his music stand. He looked up and down it for something. “My ink! Where did my ink go?” His cold gaze whipped back to Bendy. “You took it, didn’t you? Come here, you little-!” Sammy pounded toward the child. Henry acted fast and picked up his boy. The ink demon clutched onto his father’s shirt and buried his face into Henry’s chest. For he was too afraid to even look at the irate man. His little inky body heaved as he tried his best to hold in sobs of fear.

“Whoa! Whoa! Let’s not jump to conclusions here!” The cartoonist protected his creation. He turned so that Bendy was not within reach of Mr. Lawrence. “Instead of accusing him, why not ask? Bendy will tell you the truth.”

“Hmph!” Sammy snorted. “Well, if you’re so trusting of your boy, ask him yourself!”

Henry looked a bit put off by the music director’s attitude. But he asked the ink creature anyway.

“Bendy, did you take Sammy’s ink?” He asked in a gentle voice.

“No, father. I didn’t take anything.” The still trembling demon answered.

“See?” Mr. Lawrence roared. Poor Bendy cringed at the harsh voice and only clutched onto his man even tighter, horribly wrinkling the dress shirt. “That’s always his answer! That he didn’t do nothing!”

“Bendy may be a practical joker, but he isn’t a liar.” Henry explained, still being very calm despite the other man’s attempts to escalate the situation. The fact that the cartoonist could keep his cool so easily only made Sammy madder. “Look, if it really means that much to you, I’ll go get some ink from the art department for you.”

“No! I don’t want just any ink! The ink I use is special! I can’t get it just anywhere!”

“So where do you get it?” Henry asked. A look of horror came over Sammy. His mouth moved faster than his thoughts and now he had nearly boxed himself in a corner. It was a secret of his that he got his ink directly from the ink machine’s pipes. The machine was supposed to be off limits for everyone except Henry and Joey. Mr. Lawrence certainly couldn’t let word get out that he had been smuggling that ink for his own purposes. The music director was aware that there was something special about the ink used in the machine since it actually brought cartoons to life. Sammy had been experimenting with it on his own body and had become addicted to it. That’s why he was getting so desperate that his supply was gone and for the fact that he almost exposed his secret.

The man spun around as if to try and hide his look of fear.

“Just get out of here! I have work to do.” His voice wavered like he was truly worried about something. “That includes you, Boris!” He snapped without even looking at the wolf. Boris, however, was relieved that he didn’t have to endure any punishment from his boss at this moment. The ink wolf hurried after his family that was preparing to make their exit. Henry didn’t argue further and helped his children escape the eccentric music director. Bendy ventured a peak above his father’s shoulder to see what Sammy was doing now. The ink demon watched as that cold glare was shot back at him again. But that was not what shocked him. Thick streams of ink were coming out of the man’s eyes and nose. Hands tried desperately to wipe it all away so that the intruders would not see the result of his experimentations. The black substance smeared across his face, turning his cheeks black. A wicked smile stretched as far as humanly possible. It almost looked like Bendy’s smile when he was extremely happy. Only it looked creepy on the human that desired violence against the child. The ink seeped into his mouth and started to turn the teeth black too.

Bendy forced his face into the man’s chest yet again to be spared the horrible image of the mad music director. They all exited the room silently and made their way to the elevator. None of them said a word. Henry merely let his gaze sweep over each one of his ink children. Boris’s ears drooped as he uncomfortably rubbed his arms with gloved hands. The man could only imagine that the wolf feared what would happen when he ultimately had to go back for clarinet practice and recordings. Alice looked quite similar. Her halo hung low over her head and hair clung dryly over shoulders. She stared at the floor wondering what Susie was going to say when she returned from such a long break. And Bendy still clutched his father tightly, not looking up or moving at all.

The elevator jerked to a halt and the cage door opened. They slowly stepped out one by one starting with Boris. Henry exited last. The angel and wolf cast a sorrowful glance at the man. All of that progress to make them happy was gone. Like it never happened.

“It’s okay, guys.” Said Henry. “I promise I won’t let anyone unfairly punish you for being gone during this time.” The man crouched down as he talked and tried to get Bendy to let go. But the little ink demon wouldn’t budge. For he clung to his father like a leech. “In fact, you should never be punished for being yourselves. I’m going to see that you all get treated like real people….because you are. I think they sometimes forget that you three are actually living, breathing creatures like us. But that’s no excuse for anyone to be so harsh. From this point forth – Bendy, will you please let go? There’s no one here that’s going to hurt you. And Sammy won’t dare hurt you. Not while I’m around.”

The ink child finally let go and stepped back, giving him the same sorrowful look the other two were. They stood in silence for a moment. And then Henry sighed, realizing they all wanted a physical form of reassurance.

“Come here.” He motioned. Three pairs of inky arms wrapped around the man, holding onto the little hope they had left. Four bodies huddled against one another for moral support. The ink creatures knew that they could only trust the very people that were in that group hug. For they were not lucky enough to be able to escape the studio’s dark and inky grip like the humans that worked there. Not even for a second. Henry knew this and it only made him feel even more guilty that his children were treated this way.

“Bendy, Boris, Alice, you are my children. And I will do anything to protect you from harm. I will always be there for you….”

[somekpopfics]

Sara (ChanyeolxOC)

Mystery/Slight Romance ChanyeolxOC, ~7k words. I hope you enjoy~ 

This is the story of Park Chanyeol. This is the story of Sara. It can be one’s like it can be both’s, or maybe it simply belongs to no one.

In the end, only the faint memory of it remains, the past snatches it away and the story becomes its to keep.

If one was to ask him where he found his inspiration, Chanyeol would answer them the night.

He would answer the light from afar that is reflected by the moon to brighten up the darkness just enough to see through the night. He would answer the shadows that every of his steps make as he walks under the numerous streetlamps and as he made his way on the empty sidewalks. All that the night offers to the ones who still dare peeking from their blankets, everything that the darkness envelops outside the comfortable and heated rooms of our homes, all of what is hidden from most of them human beings.

It was all for Chanyeol to welcome. Midnight walks were where the most mysterious, uncanny, and puzzling ideas would bloom in his mind. For stories like his, everything was to be considered. Every little aspect and detail was extremely important. Realism is key, but so is the unknown, the supernatural that brings and ties everything together. One may not believe in things that aren’t explained by the science, but it was Chanyeol’s goal to make the most scientific of them all doubt the so-called theories that rule this world.

…That’s what he liked to think.

“Mister Park Chanyeol, the newly found short stories’ writer that brings you uneasiness and shivers with every words he puts on paper!”

The corner of his lips twitched inwardly as Chanyeol reminded himself these words over and over. Yes, one day, Park Chanyeol was going to be a known author. Even though he had to start from the complete bottom, he would find the perfect story and any publisher would fight to print it and have it under their name.

The sound of a rock hitting the sidewalk brought him out of his thoughts and he finally dared to look up. Chanyeol wasn’t sure what time it was, considering he’d been walking for while and the clock showed midnight or so when he left his apartment. He surely was the only one around, though. The sidewalk was all his to walk on and the neighborhood seemed almost begging for him to kick on a rock again, just so the sound of it could fill the empty atmosphere.

It was almost too quiet. Usually, the crickets would at least make an ambiance, as eerie as it was. At least there would be something to hear. But at that moment, there was simply nothing.

Quietness… Even the most comfortable silence can become the most unpleasant until it becomes unbearable.

Out of uneasiness, Chanyeol quickly found another rock to toss away and he did just that. He heard as it fell down the sidewalk and on the asphalt of the road beside him, the clapping echoing, the surroundings welcoming the new sound, wanting to make it last as much as possible not to fall into the complete silence once again…

“This could be interesting…” He mumbled to himself, only then continuing his walk toward wherever his mind was bringing him. Like every night Chanyeol decided to go hunt for ideas, his steps brought him to the park not too far away from his apartment. One that, during the day, was filled with screaming children, couples on date and parents talking. One that was so lively when the sun shone on it, but when it was the moon that took its place, none seemed invited to step on its grass.

Except the ambitious writer. The delusional Park Chanyeol that wished to use his uneducated hand to write something worth the attention.

The thought was pessimist, but almost realistic. How could a man with poor parents and no education come up with bright words and fancy sentences that linked to a powerful climax and shocking ending?

Well, Chanyeol, hopefully.

It was one of the main thought that kept him going whenever he made his  way to the finely cut grass of the park. He didn’t have all the courage in the world and it did take him some to disappear between the trees to reach the middle of area where a small pond, benches and a large playground had been installed for everyone’s convenience.

There was a bitter wind blowing once the man made his way to the vast area and he quickly put up his coat’s collar to cover his neck from the freshness of the night. There was a creaking sound in the distance and when his eyes followed the nature of the sound, he noticed one of the swings was slowly moving back and forth. The wind maybe?

It would have been a plausible reason if it wasn’t for the two others on each sides staying completely still, totally unphased by the weather.

Chanyeol felt a shiver running down his spine. Even though he had come for the suspicious actions of the night to warm up his neurons and hopefully find the subject to a new story, something in the corner of his mind yelled at him to get back home as soon as possible. He preferred not listening to it and continued his way deeper into the area, eyes roaming around, attracted by every move of the branches that danced with the wind.

The cold bursts stopped after a while and it was like everything came to a halt. Once again he was trapped in the heavy silence of the night, only his figure moving in the darkness. Everything else seemed to be put on pause. Even the clouds seemed to stop moving, the moon free to cast back the sinister light of midnight.

Chanyeol’s attention was brought back lower at that moment. Enough to see where he was going, but still high so he could catch any glimpse of any unnatural movements. His senses were on alert, his mind still begging him to turn around but he was simply too stubborn to.

He had to find something. An inspiration.

The shadows of the nearby trees made the grass darker, drawing a clear line between the gloomy green and the darker one hidden from any source of light, but his eyes still caught it.

It was darker than the grass itself, making it a pitch black hole in the ground. Curious, Chanyeol took a few steps toward it even though his mind created many “WARNING” signs displayed around. He was a few feet away when he finally stopped in his track, frowning. It was a hole. A dark hole in the ground and, from where the man was standing, he was unable to see the bottom. It must have been at least more than one meter deep and he started wondering as to why in the world someone had dug up a hole in a public park. During the day, anyone that would pass by would clearly notice it.

What was unusual about it, though, was the lack of dirt pile beside it. There was none. The one who had dig it must have brought the dirt away, probably. Like this, it looked like it had simply appeared there out of nowhere. It was a simple hole… yet it seemed to scream something to Chanyeol.

Come and look at me, what if I can help you find an idea? Anything?

Any rational person would have simply walked away and continue their way as if nothing had happened. No, actually, any rational person wouldn’t be out past midnight in such a place. That said, though, Chanyeol was not a rational person, and so he stepped even closer, taking the liberty to take his phone from his pocket and turn on the flash to have a better view of what was hiding inside.

What was in there was clearly going to give Chanyeol inspiration. That and way more. Ideas would have jumped at him, he probably wouldn’t have enough limbs to catch them all. They all pushed their ways up his mind so abruptly he felt his stomach turn and his throat constrict. His last meal was ready to be propelled out of his body, but it decided to stay well hidden when a voice filled the deadly silence.

“H… H-Help… Ple… P-Please…” And it came from the corpse Chanyeol thought dead laying down the hole.

It wasn’t so deep, probably around 4 or 5 feet down and just big enough to fit the body of the young woman that was inside, her clothes torn and stained. With the flash of his phone, the male could discern brown from the dirt and bright red from blood. Several cuts decorated her body, some deeper than the others. They filled her arms, which were bare because of the light t-shirt she was wearing, and her legs were just as filled, her shorts barely covering anything as one stronger line had been drawn on her left thigh. She must have been freezing, so lightly clothed like this. And hurting, too, considering the number of cuts covering her body.

Her brown hair was a mess and Chanyeol quickly realized her face might have been spared from all the knife play. Only a few droplets of blood ran down her chin from her probably busted open bottom lip. Her eyes were closed but her lips were moving, words pleading.

“I-I know there’s someone… ple...p-please…”

Chanyeol knew he was not supposed to be there. What he had just found was very worth calling the police, or at least an ambulance, so they could help and he could go back home and try to forget the bloody sight down there. Yet there was something, a very little something that forced his feet to stay where they were. And then, a few seconds later, this same force pushed him to jump in the hole.

His feet landed with a thud on the dirt. The hole wasn’t so deep and, with his height, he wouldn’t have any problem climbing up again. He was quick to kneel down and looked at the woman, noticing that, this time, her eyes were open and staring at him.

Chanyeol was first struck by the paleness of her eyes. They were a beautiful blue color, which was a strange sight if you combined them with her almond eyes that showed a clear hint of her origins. His eyes then went down the rest of her facial features, finding her lips had curved in a small smile. He felt something cold landing on his knee and when he looked down, he saw her frail hand probably seeking for some kind of comfort.

It seemed that he wasn’t at all bothered by the morbid scene in front of him. Chanyeol took a hold of her hand, holding it tightly before giving the woman a comforting smile. “I’ll get you out of this.” He said confidently, though he had to convince himself some more about it as well.

The woman tried nodding her head and Chanyeol was quick to spot the pain in her eyes when she did. Something seemed to cloud her sight and the male realized that he very probably needed to hurry. Being the most careful possible, he shifted in a better position and slid his arms under the body in front of him, slowly lifting her up until she rested in his arms. She barely weighed anything at all, he noticed, and all sort of questions started filling his mind.

Why was she there? Who put her there? What happened to her? Where was she from? Too many scenarios filled his mind, all more disgusting than the others and a sudden rage built up in his chest. Who dared to hurt someone? A woman that seemed so vulnerable? It was stronger than Chanyeol, all the upsetting thoughts about giving whoever had done this the same treatment.

Chanyeol wasn’t really the type of getting angered to this point and his sudden desires surprised him. It must have been the shock of seeing someone in such a situation. He wasn’t being himself, in the first point, for daring to jump down and not mind his own business, so he might as well think things that weren’t characteristic of himself either.

Slowly, very slowly, he put the body of the woman on the grass at the surface, making sure she was still awake before climbing up as well. He wasn’t surprised to find his own jeans turning brownish nor his coat to turn a dark red color, but he still felt his heart skip a beat. The small whimper of pain coming from the woman at his feet brought him back to reality -even though the events seemed more out of a dream than his simple and monotone life- and he was quick to take her back in his arms bridal style, looking around to find the park as empty and quiet as he had found it mere minutes ago...

Yet it felt like hours since he had found the hole.

Chanyeol started taking a few steps ahead when he stopped in his track again. Where was he supposed to bring her? The hospital, probably… but it was at a rather long walk distance and he cursed at himself for having the immensely smart idea to jump in the hole and take her out instead of calling for help. He clearly couldn’t let her there and leave, but if he was to call, they would ask why he had the not so brilliant idea to get her out of there in the first place. With blood now tainting his clothes and his fingertips all over the woman’s body, there wasn’t much the police could do for him if the real author of the act had done his job well. Being a writer about these kind of stories, Chanyeol was supposed to know very well, yet the first thing that had come to his mind when he found the woman was to jump.

Foolish.

The next rational thing that came to his mind -which wouldn’t even be considered rational- was, at this point, to simply bring the poor woman to his home and hope his own medical kit would do. While inspecting the cuts real quick, the moonlight making them a bit more visible, his general knowledge about medicine told him they didn’t seem that deep and would be considerably okay for him to clean. So to his apartment he would be going.

Chanyeol started walking again, this time with a more confident pace. He felt the woman shift in his arms but he couldn’t take too many pauses, risking to aggravate her injuries more than they already were. Instead, he kept his eyes on where he was going, being careful not to trip over anything. He felt the woman’s weak arms move up and her fingers slid, cold, around his neck. She then rested her forehead against his chest for support and Chanyeol wondered if, like this, she could hear his incredibly rapid heartbeat.

If she did, the woman didn’t say anything about it. It was hard for the male to make sure he could hear her exhaling when his own lungs worked so rapidly, his warm breathing forming steam in the cold air of the night. When they reached the edge of the park, Chanyeol looked around to find the street once again completely empty. There was absolutely no cars passing by nor midnight walkers. He hoped it would stay this way until he would reach his apartment. After a few more looks left and right, Chanyeol cursed to himself and crossed the street, feeling completely naked in the open air with a bloody stranger in his arms.

***

Taking out a key from his pocket while holding someone was way harder than Chanyeol expected. His shaking fingers weren’t helping either, the fear of someone walking into the corridor and witnessing the scene made it all more stressful. A loud sigh of relief finally left his lips when he closed the door shut with his feet quickly after entering his place, bringing the woman to his couch.

The apartment was, to say the least, incredibly tiny. The door gave to a small living room on the right where a small tv and brown old couch sat. The low table between the two objects was filled with all sort of papers, some with flashes of ink that formed sentences he ended up abandoning while others had traces of unreadable pencil marks that he called brainstorms.

On the left, a small fortune kitchen with the simple necessities, the sink empty and clean like he preferred it. The door to his bedroom was further passed the tiny area and, on the other side of the kitchen supplies stood another door to the small bathroom. Knowing he would never have the place -or money- for a suitable dining table, his living room was where he had the luxury to eat every of his meals.

Chanyeol looked down at his clothes once the woman was laying down his couch and he groaned, quickly heading to the bathroom, removing his coat, and dropping it in the shower for a further clean up. His pants were mostly dirtied by the grass and ground, so he dismissed it, rinsing his hands from the blood that was staining them before searching for his medical kit he kept in there.

All things gathered, Chanyeol made his way back to the only main room of his home, finding the woman eyes opened and staring at him. Again, the blue of her eyes left him speechless for a second before he hurried by her side, kneeling down to face her. “Can you speak?” He asked in a whisper, to which the woman nodded ever so slowly. “Alight… Alright..”

Chanyeol opened the kit, first searching for something to dress the deepest cut on her thigh with. It had continued bleeding while they reached his apartment and he had to stop the it before cleaning it. He reached for the biggest bandage he had, wrapping the tissue around her leg tight enough to prevent the flow of blood from continuing.

After tying it up, Chanyeol went back closer to the woman’s face, fumbling in his box to find something to clean the cuts with. He took out all that he had, knowing by the number of places to clean that he would probably need more than he actually had. “What’s your name?” He said, keeping his voice as soft as possible.

“S… Sara.”

The scratching sound of the cleaning tissue’s envelope being ripped off filled the room, almost muffling the woman’s quiet voice. Chanyeol looked up at her and he gave her a smile, nodding slowly. He reached for her arm, deciding to start from up and to go down, but when he was to grab her wrist, Sara tensed and the male quickly moved back. “I’m not going to hurt you, I only want to help.”

Chanyeol couldn’t not see the fear in the woman’s eyes when he looked back at her. Even slower than before, his fingers went to her small wrist, only brushing on her skin ever so slowly, showing he meant no harm. When she untensed, he simply lifted it up like he would lift a porcelain doll, moving her arm so he had a better reach of the several wounds.

“I’m Chanyeol, by the way.” His voice filled the room, hoping she would trust him a bit more if he talked about himself. “I write stories in newspapers. Nothing really amazing, though. But I try! I um… Midnight walks usually help me find inspiration for my stories. I needed to think about something to write about, so I went out and-” He stopped in his words and frowned a bit. “You know the rest…” He added simply and Sara nodded. Her eyes went down to his hand holding onto the alcohol-filled tissue.

“It’s going to hurt a bit.” He warned and she nodded slowly again. Her eyes stayed glued on Chanyeol’s hand as the other, very carefully, moved the wipe to one of the cuts near her wrists. He expected her to hiss when the cold tissue met her cut, but there was nothing, not even a flinch. When he looked up at her to see her expression, Sara was still looking at his hand on her pale skin.

His heart skipped another beat.

It went on for a while, Chanyeol making sure every cuts were clean before applying a baum. The deeper cuts either had a bandaid or a bandage around them while the smaller ones were left to the open air. Sara stayed completely quiet as he worked his way down to her legs. It surprised him how she seemed unphased by what should have been a burning and itching sensation from the alcohol sanitizing the cuts. Maybe she was used to worse pain than that…

When he arrived to the most horrible part, he sighed, seeing some red spots had formed on the exterior of the bandage. “I hope it stopped bleeding…” He mumbled, reaching to unfold it when a hand reached his own. It was a bit warmer than before and it meant Sara had gained at least enough strength to heat up her body, which was a good sign. She was still cold, though, and would probably need a lot of rest. Chanyeol instinctively held the hand back, crawling back to face her properly again.

“It can wait, I feel a bit better.” She whispered to him, her voice seeming a bit stronger, which made the man smile immediately. Sara tried to smile back at him and he felt like she tightened her grip on his hand. “Thank you..” She added and Chanyeol could feel her thumb doing small circle pattern on the palm of his hand.

Minus the messy hair, the cracked lip, and the dirt covering her face, Chanyeol realized how stunning she was. Her blue eyes seemed surreal, her porcelain-like skin could have her being mistaken for an angel. Chanyeol could imagine her smiling brightly at him and the simple image of it made his stomach curl in a both pleasant and unpleasant way. Knowing he shouldn’t be feeling like this, his eyes quickly diverted away and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You… Do you think you can tell me what happened to you?”

His voice was soft as he attempted to know a bit more about what had happened. He simply couldn’t comprehend still how such a person could have been treated like this. The least he wanted was to scare Sara, though, so he needed to weigh every of his words. Watching her eyes, he was relieved to see no negative reactions from her, though the lack of reaction itself wasn’t what he had wanted to see.

“I… Don’t really remember…” She mumbled, her thin eyebrows furrowing. Sara closed her eyes, forehead creasing as she seem to think about something, anything, but in vain. She simply sighed and opened her eyes again. “I remember… there was a flash of light, then it was all dark and when I opened my eyes, all I saw were the stars in the sky. A while later, I heard steps. My body was hurting… And I called for help.”

Chanyeol never expected her to put so many sentences one after the other. Her voice was a bit hoarse and he took it as a quiet demand for, maybe, water. He was about to let go of her hand and stand but Sara kept her grip on him, not letting go. “Stay, I don’t need anything, it’s alright.” She said simply, her eyes begging and Chanyeol couldn’t even think about standing anymore. He nodded his head and, this time, sat down completely to be more comfortable.

The room stayed quiet for a little bit more, the ticking of the clock by one of the walls the only faint sound in the living area. Chanyeol allowed himself to stare at Sara’s deep blue eyes again, seeing how she seemed to lose herself in his as well. There was something odd in the air, filling his home. It was stronger than him and it seemed to have created some sort of bond between the two of them.

Even though the context was very far from convenient for this kind of things.

“Tell me about you.”

Chanyeol was surprised to hear her break the silence first. Her voice threw him out of his daydream and he hummed, nodding slowly and trying to think about something to say. His eyes scanned the room, trying to, maybe, find some inspiration in whatever personal objects he had in the livingroom. There wasn’t much, though. The only things that could really relate to him were the panoply of papers filling the low table beside them and the small frame on top of the tv, in it the picture of two close friends: one with eyes filled with hope of a bright future and the other seemingly hiding horrible memories behind her faint smile.

Chanyeol found himself smiling a bit at the sight, his own memories replaying in his mind. “There isn’t much to say. Nothing really exceptional happens these days. I’ve been living by myself for a while, now… I used to live with my best friend, but now she is gone.” He said, his smile fading. When he looked over at Sara again, he noticed she had followed his eyes and was staring at the frame. There seemed to be something passing through her blue eyes, but Chanyeol couldn’t figure what emotion it was.

“What’s your favorite color, then?”

Very soon, the topic changed to something else, something more cheerful. Both shared their likings, some anecdotes and experience. The two even cracked a laugh a few times. It was like the atmosphere had taken a complete turn. There seemed to be so much to say, so much to learn about one another considering that had just met a couple hours prior. Chanyeol never realized his hand was still linked with Sara’s as they talked. Everything seemed to be forgotten and put aside, the male even witnessed sparkles in these pale blue eyes whenever she talked.

This sight, he would never forget it.

It was getting early in the morning when the talks became less frequent, Chanyeol’s head laying on the edge of the couch, eyes fluttering close. “Chanyeol.” Her voice was soft to his ear, it felt like he had known it for years and would recognize it anywhere. The male simply hummed, keeping his eyes closed out of exhaustion. The room stayed quiet for a while, though and, curious, he finally opened his eyes.

She was staring back at him, though something in her eyes seemed to have change. Fear filled up the man’s chest and he went to sit up straight but she didn’t let him, smiling and ushering him to stay where he was. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.” She reassured him and he simply nodded.

“Thank you… For everything.” She whispered, her smile not leaving her lips. “I really thought I would end up dying alone in there..” Sara admitted, her hand that wasn’t holding Chanyeol’s reaching for his cheek. Her soft fingertips brushed against his skin and the male instinctively leaned in her touch.

“We should get some rest, I’ll finishing cleaning your wounds in the morning, then everything will be alright, I promise.”

Her fingers didn’t seem willing to leave his cheek, lingering some more, her thumb doing swifting motions by his cheekbone, as if wiping nonexistent tears. Chanyeol closed his eyes again, the soothing movement only drawing him closer to his well-deserved sleep. At this point, he couldn’t even find the strength to lift his heavy eyelids anymore. It didn’t take long for sleep to take over, enveloping him in a warm blanket.

“Yes… everything will be alright.”

***

Chanyeol woke up to the sound of the television. He was completely lost at first, his surroundings familiar when he opened his eyes but the context completely forgotten. It took him a few seconds to remember all the events that had happened the night before, his sore neck confirming he had fallen asleep sitting on the floor with his head by the edge of the couch.

The news were playing, the male recognizing the monotone voice of the man reciting whatever had been happening either the day before or during the night. When he turned to the couch, he expected to see Sara staring at him with her hypnotising blue eyes, but she wasn’t there. In fact, there were absolutely no traces of her. The couch was clean while it should clearly hold at least some red stains here and there.

Frowning, Chanyeol stood up slowly, inspecting his surroundings. There was no sound coming from the bathroom and, from his position, the male could see the door was opened. Everything seemed exactly as it was. What surprised him the most, though, was his coat. It was clean and nicely hung on one of the plastic hooks by the entrance door.

Was Sara able to stand, clean everything and disappear like nothing had happened? Chanyeol wasn’t sure she would have had the strength to do that after mere hours of rest. Especially because he hadn’t taken the time to clean the wounds on her legs yet.

Feeling his own get wobbly due to the odd feeling floating in his chest, Chanyeol sat, the corner of his eyes spotting his cellphone on the low table in front of him. Sure he hadn’t even taken the device out of his pocket, Chanyeol took it and unlocked it as an habit, looking up at whatever news was being told on the television.

It felt like his heart stopped beating when he recognized where the journalist was standing. Behind him, police and other security employees roamed around. It was the park Chanyeol knew too well. Under the man’s upper body, at the bottom of the screen, he could read:

Breaking news : Dead body of a woman found in a hole of municipality park.

“It was a pretty hard morning for the city. Thanks to an anonymous male who called to prevent the police a bit past midnight, we found the body of a woman in a hole dig in the middle of the city’s public park. The authorities haven’t pronounced themselves about the event yet, but we got to learn the death occurred during the evening yesterday. She was found with many cuts on her body but we haven’t been told if it would be the reason of the death or not. More information to come, this was-”

Chanyeol turned off the television with shaking hands, letting go of the remote immediately after as if it had been burning his skin. This couldn’t be. It was simply impossible. He had found her! He brought her to his house and cleaned her wounds. She wouldn’t simply go back there while he was sleeping, would she? But then again, hadn’t the authorities mentioned she had already been lifeless way before Chanyeol even put his two feet in the park?

Taking his phone in his hands, Chanyeol found it unlocked still where his previous calls were listed. He didn’t remember leaving it there when he last used it, but most importantly, he didn’t remember calling the police a bit past midnight, yet it was there on his screen, listed white on back.

Chanyeol would have laughed it off if he didn’t feel the soft yet cold feeling of Sara’s fingertips lingering on his cheek still, more vivid than a simple dream.

***************************************************************************

When I sent this short story to publishers, it was simply out of curiosity. The story always meant more to me than its content might have attracted a public, so I was rather surprised when I received a call, around a month or two later, saying someone wanted to meet me to talk about it.

I was surprised, but also incredibly happy. Usually, when publishers call you, it’s because they’re happy with what you delivered them, right? It means they want to meet the author and have a further talk about the words they finely aligned and, maybe, some contractual talking for a further printing process.

Out of punctuality -and also nervousness, I arrived 20 minutes early, sitting in the waiting room while my fingers absentmindedly tapped a recurrent beat on my lap. The place seemed rather nice, people fancily clothed walking around with piles of files in their arms, going from doors to doors. The women’s heels on the wooden floor, the ringing of the phone at the secretary’s desk as well as the low talking filled the room and I was relieved it wasn’t a complete silence that accompanied me during the wait.

“Mister Park Chanyeol.”

I quickly stood when my name was called, wiping my moist hands on my pants before heading to a lady and bowing at her. Her eyes scanned my figure before she smiled and stretched her hand toward me, which I warmly shook. Act professional, your career might follow a turning point. I reminded myself.

“Mister Jung is ready to receive you, please follow me.” She said and turned on her heels, stepping inside the other room and I followed her. Again, many doors aligned on each sides. We turned a corner and passed by an open area that seemed like an employee’s snack space. The hallway stopped at a door with ‘Director Jung Minjun’ written on it.

The lady, probably the director’s assistant, knocked two times before opening the door and peeking in. “Park Chanyeol is here, director.”

“Yes, let him in.”

The door opened wider and the woman let me in. I stepped inside, seeing just in time as the director replaced the cover page of a pile of stapled papers. Dark ink on the white paper formed words that I had stared at for so long before having the courage to mail it.

Sara

A short story by Park Chanyeol

The director stood and walked to me, his hand reaching for mine and shaking it confidently. “Ah, I’m finally meeting you in person! I’m glad you accepted a meeting, please take a seat.” The man spoke and I nodded, sitting on one of the two chairs in front of his desk, my hands resting on my lap and my back straight. Jung Minjun sat as well, looking down at the small pile of paper and tapping it gently.

“I think this is a very nice story. Not the best I have read, but something that could be worked on and end up with good critics. I like the images you created and the ambiance you put up, and I think you have the kind of potential we’d like to take care of in this company.”

As I listened to his words, I could only smile. The man was offering me a change in my daily life that I could only accept. If I had the chance to do something bigger than write drabbles in a newspaper barely anyone read, then I would jump right into it. There was no time to look behind when the opportunity you had might fade at any second, as comfortable as the routine might have been.

“I was wondering, though, this is mostly out of curiosity, but…” The director stared down at the front page,  one of his eyebrows raised. “You used your name for the main character of it and, while comparing it with your information you provided me, you seem to have described yourself in your character. Was there a reason behind it? Did you perhaps lived a similar experience?”

Somehow, I knew I would be asked this. I leaned back on the comfortable chair, humming and staring down at the bolded word on top of the document. Sara.

“I wouldn’t say I rewrote what I truly went through, but some things can be considered real, while others cannot.”

***

The afternoon that followed, I went to the flower shop and bought a bouquet of twelve yellow roses. It was rather warm, that day, so I left my coat open as I walked on the sidewalk. It had been a while since I last went there, but I felt like a visit wouldn’t hurt, especially after what had just happened. I had to let her know about it. Deep inside, all I wished was for her to be proud.

The cemetery wasn’t so far away and I made it to the entrance, staring up at the large metal fences before walking in. The sun was still high in the sky and the tree’s shadows made its rays a bit more bearable. The walk was familiar as I knew exactly where she was. Where her tombstone lay, traces of dried bouquets of yellow roses were there still. I didn’t think they would have stayed there for weeks. I was glad the weather hadn’t brought them away. I kneeled to put down the new bouquet among the ashes of the others, looking up at the stone with a small smile ghosting on my lips.

Lee Sara

Even though you were our shining star,

it’s a shame you found more happiness in the sky

I passed my fingers on the grass and deemed it was dry enough for me to sit on the ground without tainting my pants. I was still in the clean clothes I took so much time choosing for my meeting with the publisher and it wouldn’t be nice to have them already soiled. I decided to sit none the less, though, knowing I would have a lot to say.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I said, having the habit of inspecting the large stone in front of me. It had become familiar, all the little cracks, I knew them by heart. It didn’t take me long to notice a new one in the right corner up.

“Lots of things happened since the last time I came to talk to you… Most importantly, I wrote something that might have given me the chance to become a real writer. It’s about you.”

For all the times I went to sit in front of her to talk, it wasn’t weird anymore to be talking by myself. I was used of getting no answer, but I still felt a painful feeling in my chest. “It’s about… us, actually.

“It’s the story of a man that finds someone on the brim of death in a hole. Without the man finding that person, there would have been no chance of survival. But the man, as weird as he is, instead of calling for help, decides he will help of his own, no matter the consequences that could come.

“You could say he is blinded by something. By what, though? A strange force, maybe? A feeling he has in his chest that he needs to save that person. That he, personally, takes the responsibility of helping because, deep inside, he wants it to be the right thing to be.

“So the man brings the girl to his home. She doesn’t complain and she watches silently as he tries his best to clean her wounds. She stops him midway and turns the atmosphere completely, saying she is fine. So they talk for the whole night and eventually fall asleep. When the man wakes up, he’s alone…”

I feel a lump down my throat and stop, looking down at my crossed legs then looking high up in the sky. It’s harder to say it than to simply think about it.

“In a matter of minutes, the man learns that the woman is dead, that she was found in the hole he took her from, that her physical wounds weren’t clean, that he didn’t bring her home to save her. That he, without knowing it, called to announce it because it was already too late. Something he didn’t comprehend was that her destiny was already traced. But, deep inside, he knows he helped her reaching the other side with care and attention, like one should be leaving this world. He thought he could dress her wounds and remove the pain away, but it was already too late. So maybe, maybe, when he saw her smile and when her eyes sparkled when she spoke, maybe it was her spirit gaining the comfort it needed before passing to the other side. That’s how he helped her.”

I felt a tear run down my cheek and was quick to wipe it away. “I think that, deep inside, that’s what I saw in what truly happened, Sara. It’s the image I gave to myself when I saw my help would never truly reach you. I truly wish I could have had taken you out of this hell. It’s the first thing I thought when you first told me about your dark thoughts. I wished… I wished we were more than best friends, I wanted to show you what love feels like so maybe then you would feel less lonely...

“I can’t blame you for what you did. I hoped it could have ended differently, but I tell myself that if you stayed with me for so long, I probably made your days a bit easier to go through, right?

“In the story I wrote, I called the woman Sara, and the man was me. I found you in this hole where, mentally, you had cuts everywhere. I brought you to a safe place and tried to clean your mental wounds and make you happy. You said you felt better, you thanked me, but then you left this world. You might have known it was too late, but you let me care and I was glad you did.”

The sight of your sparkling eyes, Sara, I will never forget it.

The End

[cubedcoffeecake]

The Cost of a Mistake

It was early in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen into view. The clouds were a rosy peach color, and everyone was still fast asleep. Well, not quite everyone.

"Psssssst. Pitch? C'mon, wake up, wake up!"

Jack Frost Lunanoff was the youngest of five children, merely 5 years of age. He was unusual in appearance; his hair was of the purest shade of white imaginable, and his skin was a ghostly pale. There was a reason for his appearance, too. Jack had been born with the incredible gift of being able to control winter. Ice, snow, frost, and even the wind could be created and controlled at his command.

He was an energetic lad, and loved to play, as many children of his age did. Unlike most children, however, Jack was a prince. He was the youngest in line, having three older brothers and an older sister, but he was a prince all the same.

The brother he was currently trying to wake was Pitch Black Lunanoff, the second oldest in the family. He was 16 years of age, but was extremely close to Jack. Pitch had a striking appearance as well. His hair was jet black, and his skin a pale grey. His looks were also related to a supernatural gift. He could control the shadows, and peoples' nightmares. He could even give nightmares.

Neither's abilities caused their relationship to be the least bit stressed. Quite the opposite: Their favorite occupation was playing with their powers together. Every day they would discover a new trick, and found immense joy in showing the other. They were also comrades in crime: They were known throughout the castle for their constant pranks.

"Go back to sleep," Pitch grumbled. Unlike Jack, he was not at all a morning person. He despised mornings. And the fact that he would often stay up far into the night to observe the stars and take advantage of the darkness for using his powers didn't help his ability to wake the next morning.

Pitch rolled over in his bed, turning away from Jack while simultaneously dumping him off the bed. Pitch settled down to go back to sleep, but Jack wasn't going to left him off that easy. He sat on the floor for a moment, pouting and thinking.

An idea came to Jack, and he climbed back up onto Pitch's bed. "Do you wanna have a snowball fight?" Pitch couldn't help but smile. He had a soft spot for Jack, and Jack had a soft spot for snowball fights. With a faked sigh, Pitch sat up, causing Jack to- quietly- squeak in success and slide off the bed.

He grabbed Pitch's hand and dragged the half-asleep prince down several flights of stairs to a large ballroom. Running to the middle of the room, Jack stomped his foot onto the ground. Ice climbed across the ground from where he had stepped to the walls. It swirled in beautiful patterns, decorating everything. Jack then held up his hands. Face scrunched in concentration, Jack formed a glowing blue sphere in his hands. Once satisfied with its size, he moved both hands sharply upward, throwing the sphere up into the air. It exploded, and snow began to fall heavily onto the two princes.

Pitch stared around himself in awe, now fully awake. He had taught Jack how to make an impromptu snow storm, but the ice rink was new.

His thoughts were interrupted when a snowball smacked Pitch in the face. He laughed and ducked into a nearby shadow. Their snowball fights were quite a sight to behold. Jack could control the snow and fly, but Pitch could disappear and reappear anywhere using his shadows.

After nearly an hour of having snowball fights, building snow-people, ice skating, making snow angels, etc., the two had settled on playing one of Jack's favorite games. He would leap through the air, and Pitch would use his shadows to catch Jack before he could fall.

This time went no differently than normal... until Jack started jumping faster than Pitch could conjure shadows to catch him with. "Slow down!" Pitch yelled. His tone was frustrated, but his face showed his worry. 'What if I'm not able to catch Jack?'

Jack ignored his brother's warning. With the next leap he took, Pitch panicked. He sent a burst of shadows Jack's way... but in the process, he slipped on the ice. His aim was off, and the blast hit Jack in the head.

"Jack!" Pitch's voice was filled with terror and dread as he ran to his brother, now curled up, unconscious, on the floor. He was old enough to know well how badly his brother could be hurt.

For years, all of the staff of his castle, and even his own siblings, had been wary of his powers. They feared them, and most disliked Pitch for them. He had always ignored them because his father- the just king Manfred Lunar Lunanoff- had always been supportive of him. His mother had always been as well; but alas, his dear mother, to whom he had been very close, had died while giving birth to Jack. But rather than disliking Jack for his mother's death, he became exceedingly close to the boy. Closer than any of the rest of his family, or the staff. And for years, he hadn't even thought about the harm some had claimed his powers could do.

But now, it was all he could think of.

Pitch pushed his thoughts and concerns for Jack's health before all else. He lifted his brother up in his arms and ran through the palace until he found his father. His father was a morning person, like Jack, and was already awake and about.

When Pitch burst into the room his father quickly turned round in surprise. No one ever rushed into his room like that. But seeing his two sons- namely Jack- those surprised thoughts instantly disappeared.

"What happened?" King Lunar asked Pitch, taking Jack from his arms.

"We were playing in the ballroom and- and I accidentally hit him in the head with my powers," Pitch panted. His crystalline, golden eyes were glassy and brimming with tears that were threatening to spill; his voice edged with terror and concern. "Will he be alright?"

King Lunar lay Jack on his bed and looked him over. He gave a small sigh. A grave sigh. Pitch's fear grew even greater. "He will be fine. He will simply spend the rest of the day, and possibly into the next, in an undisturbable sleep. Likely having nightmares. Once the nightmares have run their course, I will be able to wake him with little problem."

"Is there nothing I can do? Can I take them away from him?"

"No, we must simply wait." Pitch nodded brusquely, and glanced at his brother again, before running to his bedroom. He closed the door and curled up into a ball, his back to the door. He cried into his arms, soaking his black nightclothes with his tears. Shadows engulfed the room in a still, eerie darkness.

Normally, Pitch's shadows were a strange, beautiful, almost warming substance. They were very different from normal shadows. But now, these shadows were cold, and dangerous. They both looked and felt different, changing due to their master's emotions. He was afraid. So, so terribly afraid.

He knew that he had hurt his brother. Thousands of thoughts swirled around inside his head. 'What will everyone say?' 'Will Jack be angry with me?' 'I should've been able to stop that from happening!' 'Are my powers evil, like they always said?'

When the rest of his family met for breakfast, they groaned at the absence of their two brothers. Pitch missing wasn't completely strange, he missed meals often. But when he and Jack both were not there, it usually meant that they were preparing a prank.

Their concern for pranks was soon wiped from their thoughts when they saw their father's face as he entered.

"Father, what is the matter?" Asked Toothiana. She was the only daughter of the royal family, and the youngest, next to Jack. She was 9 years of age, but wiser than most her age. She, like Jack, could control the wind. However, her control over it was far superior to Jack's. She had long, waste length hair of a deep, rich brown color. Her eyes were an unnatural, but very beautiful, amethyst. She was rather small in stature, but could talk more than anyone in the entire kingdom. Her nickname was Tooth, both because of her name and because of her strange fascination with teeth, even at her young age.

On her right was the eldest of the Lunanoff children, Sanderson. He was 17 years of age, a mere year older than Pitch, and heir to the throne of Kuu. -The kingdom was named for the moon. The moon was the center of life there, but I shall get to that later.- Sanderson was small, about the size of Tooth. He had a lively, golden complexion, and a mop of sandy-golden colored hair. His eyes were a brownish-gold. His physique was a bit rounded.

Like his siblings, he too had powers. He controlled light and dreams. His specialty was more dreams than light, though he could bend and create it. It took the staff years to become accustomed to him randomly glowing. He had been nicknamed Sandy, mainly because he created his dreams using what he called 'dreamsand'.

The most important thing one must know about him was that he was mute. He always carried a small book and ink pot with him, and had to write anything he wanted to say.

He and Pitch were complete opposites in nearly every way. Pitch was tall and thin, he was short and rounded. He was light, Pitch was shadows. He was dreams, Pitch was nightmares. He was kind, Pitch was narcissistic. He preferred company, Pitch preferred solitude. Well, both had exceptions to that rule, but still. They did not get along in the slightest. They had always been more like enemies than brothers. Pitch was the one person missing from the list of people that Sandy was unconditionally sweet to.

That being said, next to Pitch, Sandy was the closest to Jack. Because of this, the two had been on civil terms recently.

On Tooth's left was their other brother. His full name was Aster Bunnymund Lunanoff, but most called him either Aster or Bunny. He was tall and sturdily built, especially for only being 13 years of age. After spending several summers in a distant kingdom undergoing military training -The program was designed to start teaching princes how to fight at a young age, so that it was a part of life for them, and not something new to them when they were older and received more training at the traditional age.- he had picked up a strong accent. He had a fiery temper, and often spoke things he regretted. His hair was an unnatural grayish-blue color, and his eyes strikingly green.

Next to Sandy, Bunny hated Pitch more than just about anyone else. He believed him to be a lying, cheating, despicable person. Unlike the rest of his family, he did not particularly like his youngest brother, Jack, either. The pranks and 'cute', 'childish' things that he did were very frustrating to Bunny. He could be rather harsh and sharp with Jack. Despite this, Bunny refused to tolerate anyone else, beside himself, being the slightest bit unkind to the boy. He couldn't stand that Jack and Pitch were so close and spent so much time together.

Bunny didn't spend much time with Jack himself, even when given opportunity, because of Bunny's powers. Bunny controlled plants, and adored nature. Unlike Jack, who loved winter, spring was Bunny's signature season. Warmth and color were up his alley- not snowball fights and iceskating.

"There has been an incident this morning involving Jack and Pitch." Their father's announcement drew instant reactions from all three children present. Tooth disliked Pitch like her brothers, and adored Jack. She knit her brow, her face a mix of anger and worry. Sandy and Bunny were simply furious. They didn't wait for King Lunar to say that Pitch had done something; they just automatically assumed so.

King Lunar's expression saddened more at his children's reactions. He knew their dislike for Pitch, and found it disappointing. He loved Pitch as much as all of his children. He could never quite grasp just why Pitch was hated, either. Were his powers really that important to them? He had never- never- done anything more than pull a simple prank. He loved to scare his siblings and the staff, but had never caused a single one of them actual harm. Nor had he ever intended to.

"They were playing as normal, when Pitch inadvertently struck Jack with his powers." Bunny leaped from his seat in anger, but the king did not give him time to speak before continuing. "Jack will be fine by morning. He is locked in a nightmare right now, and we must let it run its course. He will be good as new when it is over. Because Pitch was not trying to hurt him, he will forget about the events that occur in his nightmare."

"That sick-" Bunny began, but King Lunar cut him off once more.

"It was not done on purpose."

"Said who? Pitch?! Why would you trust tha word of that lia'?!" Bunny yelled. He stormed out of the room, quickly followed by his siblings. Tooth and Sandy normally wouldn't leave without first being excused... but they forgot their manners as they jumped up and followed Bunny.

King Lunar shook his head. Someday. Someday they would understand. He was a wise man, and knew no little amount of magic. But there was nothing that he could do to make his children see reason. He would just have to wait for them to understand on their own.

Locked in his room, Pitch was trying to calm himself down. He had managed to force the shadows back to their correct places, and had cleaned himself up, so that there was no evidence of him ever having cried. He was 16 years of age: He was far too old to cry.

Pitch heard a hard knock on his door. He straightened himself, pulled back his shoulders, and walked to the door. He opened it, looking as princely as one can in their nightclothes, but before he could register who was at the door, he found himself roughly hitting the floor.

His head span from its impact on the floor, but the haze soon faded enough for him to hear yelling and recognize the voice. Aster. Dread filled Pitch from head to toe. Aster. Aster.

"You monster! You bloody monster! He adores you! An' what do you do? You hurt him! At least maybe now Jackie'll understand how terrible you are!" A blunt object made impact with Pitch's ribcage, and he buckled from the pain. A fist slammed into the left side of his jaw, just barely not too hard to cause him to lose consciousness.

Pitch felt a hand lift him from the floor by his neck. Then his back made him aware that he had been thrown into a wall.

He had lost his eyesight upon realizing who had entered his room; he was too disoriented. But when Pitch felt a foot impact his ribs before he had even fallen to the floor after hitting the wall, something inside him snapped.

His vision cleared, and his eyes narrowed at the enraged figure before him. He may only be 13, but Aster was big for his age, and far fiercer and better trained than Pitch. Pitch had never had an interest in warfare.

Eyes locked with his brother, Pitch silently began to give his shadows commands. A thin band of shadows slithered across the floor and wrapped tightly around Aster's ankle.

Pitch and Aster's eye contact was broken as Aster looked down in shock. The shadows gave a tug, and sent Aster crashing to the floor on his face. Pitch didn't notice Tooth or Sandy standing, shocked, in the doorway staring at them. Pitch's gaze was fixed on Aster as he darkly glared at him. Making a snap decision, Pitch willed the shadowy rope to drag Aster out of the room, before he commanded another clump of shadows to close the door.

The unlocked door was immediately opened, but Pitch created enough shadows over it for the people trying to open it to be unable to overpower them and get in.

He pulled himself up off the floor, trying his hardest to ignore the splitting pain from his likely broken ribs and badly bruising jaw. His back hurt too, just not near as badly.

Pitch's mind whirled. 'What have I done?' Or more importantly, 'What can I do now?'

Suddenly, something happened that would change the course of Pitch's life. A new voice suddenly spoke in his mind. 'Run awayyyy,' it hissed. 'Leave thisss placccce.' Pitch did not have any idea what this voice was or how it got into his head, but those really weren't his greatest worries at the present moment.

After a moment's thought, Pitch did what would really actually change his life. He followed the voice's advice.

He grabbed several things he thought he could use, and changed his clothing. Then Pitch shadow-traveled out of his bed quarters. But before he left the palace; his home; he stopped by one room. The room where Jack lay.

Pitch walked up to his brother's bed, lightly kissed the young child's forehead, whispered to him something the sleeping boy couldn't hear, and, with one last glance over his shoulder, Pitch left the castle that had housed generations of Lunanoffs. He planned on never returning, though he didn't know where he would go.

With the disappearance of Pitch began a very troublesome time for this small kingdom. The great Golden Age of prosper and glory that had been in Kuu for so long ended with the whispered words from Prince Pitch to his brother Prince Jack.

"I am so sorry for everything that I will do from today on. But never forget that you, my dear brother, shall always hold in my heart a very special place."