#my only complaint is i thought the toe was a darker red and they look more orangey in the light

[deliciouspirateangel]

also i swapped cleo’s shoes out for some descendants doll shoes. not sure if the g3 dolls all have the same sized feet but they fit cleo perfectly!

[ssscentral]

Devil like you

Summary: Your boyfriend has a revelation about who - or what - he really is as he invites over a friend to have some earth-shattering, toe-curling, out of this world fun with you. 

Pairing : Demon!Namjoon x Reader x Demon! Jimin

Genre : Smut. Pure filth. It be dirty.

Warnings : Threesome, Demon summoning, Overstimulation, Swearing, Restraints, Surprise your boyfriend is a demon, Dom!Namjoon, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, Light Edging, Dirty Talking, Oral Sex (f and m), Fingering

WC : 5.5k

Member : Duda || @biaswreckme​​

A/N : Hope you enjoy reading this, i’m quite proud of it :v It’s my first AU for BTS, so be gentle T.T This fic is the second part of the group prompt “Hell of a Ride”, each part with our own interpretation, so stay tuned because there is more to come! Any similarities with Supernatural are not coincidental, thank you Spn wikis for the words in Latin and the inspiration for some of the abilities of these demons. And thanks so much @fluffy-fluffu​ for being the beta ♥

taglist: @sugasbabiie​

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You thought you should have known. You thought you should have seen the signs – and there were quite a few, thinking back on your relationship. It should not have surprised you like this. It should not have affected you like this. It should not make you wish for more, waiting for the next time it would happen. It should not… you should not… you should not want this as much as you did, right?

You should have seen it coming. It should not have caught you off guard like that, after all, who teaches this language with this much ease and what seems like almost natural and native knowledge? That should have been the first sign to strike your attention. He was not the first Latin professor in the language department at this university, but he was the best. But this department has a lot of languages, and Latin is part of the curriculum for some of the other languages. It was not weird to have a Latin professor. It was weird to have someone as hot as Namjoon teaching Latin. Hot, gods, you sound like a teenager again talking about boys and crushes. But yes, Kim Namjoon, one of the hottest teachers in the university – and it is a big one – teaches a dead language.

So when he asked you, the English teacher – not the only one in the department and you did not consider yourself to be one of the best-looking teachers there – out on a date, you said yes. It had been a while for you, issues with an ex left you being cautious about entering new relationships. It made you pay more attention to certain red flags, but there were none with Namjoon, at least not like those from before.

Kim Namjoon was considerate. Kim Namjoon was creative with his dates. Kim Namjoon was a romantic man, one that had you indeed feeling like a teenager dating for the first time, sneaking around the empty halls and classrooms, the butterflies in your stomach wild and making you giggle at the mere thought of him. Kim Namjoon paid attention to you and your problems. Kim Namjoon listened. And Kim Namjoon was great when it came to sex. Great actually did not really translate how incredible and mind-blowing sex with him was. He knew how to do things to your body like no one ever could before. He suggested some things – some kinky, oh, very kinky things indeed – to spice up the sex that you had only fantasized about but never had the courage to ask for, and he did not judge anything. It was almost as if his mission in bed was to give you utmost pleasure, even if it hurt sometimes – but it always hurt so good. Kim Namjoon was the perfect boyfriend. Maybe too perfect, so you think to yourself that you had ought to know better. No one could be this perfect. There had to be an explanation. And there was. You just never would have imagined that it would be this explanation.

The day had started just like any other, there was nothing special about it, at least to your knowledge. So why, oh, why did it have to be on this day? (Maybe you could ask them later.) You woke up to your alarm, as usual. You love your job, but you always found it difficult to get up this early in the mornings, so you always made sure to set more than one alarm. You got up, had breakfast – “breakfast” is a very general word, but you do eat a piece of toast while the coffee machine warms up. You had a shower, just a quick one to truly wake you up and get you going before getting dressed in your usual teaching outfit. Namjoon would be coming over later, so you would have time to shower again and get dressed up for date night after getting back from the university. You grab a travel mug on the way out, pouring the hot coffee in it, the smell invading your apartment just as you like it.

The classes go on without any issue; a slight problem with the projector in the beginning but nothing out of the ordinary and that would strike one’s attention, especially if one was used to dealing with the projectors in that older building the languages and literature department was stuck with. You crossed paths with Namjoon once the entire day, walking down the hallways of the old building; you were getting out of an English literature class, Joon going to teach his Latin II group. As your bodies got closer, both of you nodded in acknowledgment as if you were any other professor, but your hands discreetly touched in passing, just a small sign you had agreed on to let the other know everything is okay, have a good class, I love you, I will be waiting for you later. You knew he was going out on a field trip with an advanced class and he would have to leave during lunch, so you ate a sandwich in your office, watching some comedy series to relax and get energized for the rest of the day – of course, the hot and new cup of coffee helps -, every once in a while, pausing to chat with the other professor who chose to do something similar. The afternoon is not really that different from other Friday afternoons; no one usually comes during office hours, so no one came on this day. You spent your time alternating between counting the minutes on the ticking clock to be able to go home and get ready for the date and responding to some emails, starting the term report, and downloading some articles to read. You were alone in the office, so you have some music going to help distract you and try to make the time go by faster.

When you finally got home the first thing you did was hop on the shower again, but now taking some time for yourself, phone blasting your favorite songs as you washed the day away from your body, cleaning, shaving what you wanted, moisturizing with some shower oils Namjoon gave you and that you know he loved the scent of. You spent some time choosing your outfit for the evening, knowing it had to be good. You opted for a white lace and silk playsuit, the new lingerie that Namjoon had recently given you, and you knew it had to be expensive from the brand – expensive and fancy lingerie was a guilty pleasure you had that somehow Namjoon was able to indulge, and you had no complaints about it. It gave you an almost innocent look under the black dress, and you were curious to see Namjoon’s reaction. You did not do much for hair and makeup, choosing instead to keep it quite simple and natural – it was only going to be ruined later on anyways.

Soon you heard the bell ring and you looked at the small monitor near the door, letting him in. His hair was slicked back, giving him an edge that was not present in day-to-day life at university. He had his earrings on and paired up with his silver-rimmed glasses and that black blazer made him look unbelievably hot and so different from the pristine almost clumsy-like image of Professor Kim. He kissed you, murmuring a hi in the kiss, letting his hands roam over your dress. He paused and stepped back enough to look at you.

“Are you wearing the new gift?”

It only took a nod from you to have him pressing you against the wall, hitching your leg up and around his waist. His hands took advantage of the position and touched your skin, going up your thighs and bunching up your dress in the way, giving him access to feel the lace and silk on your body.

“Fuck,” he paused, almost breathless, “fuck the reservation, right? I need you now.”

You nodded in affirmation, almost as out of breath as him, “Fuck the reservation, fuck me instead.”

He didn’t need anything else to press you even harder against the wall, hoisting both of your legs; you wrapped them around his body, and he pushed his hips into yours, you could feel how hard he already was. You moaned into the kiss, his hardness was right against where you needed it the most, and when he started slightly moving his hips into yours, it made his length deliciously drag against your clit. The feeling was also enhanced by the lingerie; every time Namjoon canted his hips up, it made the lingerie move up together and tug on your skin, and it did not take long until it was snugged between your nether lips and you were certain you were staining the front of Namjoon’s pants with your wetness as he started nibbling on your earlobe, sucking and kissing your neck, the skin caught between his teeth to make sure it would leave bruises. And then he let you go, dropping your legs from around his body.

“Do you trust me?” He looked into your eyes, seeming unsure, which was unlike him. You could swear that his eyes got darker for a brief moment – and not in the way writers usually describe, with eyes darkening with pleasure or something akin to that. No, it seemed that they physically turned darker, almost black, but you thought you must be imagining things. It could not be humanly possible.

“I trust you, Joon.” You said without any hesitation, fingers entangling with his and taking him in the direction of your bedroom.

He started by taking off his glasses and carefully putting them on the wooden nightstand, taking a minute to take off his blazer and carefully drape it over the piece of furniture. He then turned to you and you felt nervous, his walk almost predatory towards you. He gripped your shoulders, taking the straps of your dress into his hands, and it felt like he was considering just ripping the piece out of your body and your breath faltered. So this was the mood today. But he must have thought better and let his hands caress the front of your body, squeezing your breasts, his fingers then gliding over your clothed nipples, feeling them harder under his touch. His hands moved down, grabbing the edge of your dress in his fists and then lifted it up and off your body, and then you were there, standing in front of him, the white lace and silk that covered your skin seemed almost virginal when contrasted with the current mood. You bit your lip, looking at Namjoon, gaging his reaction, and you saw his eyes widen, a smirk crossing his lips, his tongue unconsciously poking out to lick his top lip. There was a different look in his eyes, one that you did not recognize at all, and you were getting slightly more nervous now. What did he have in store for you this time? You tried to think back to conversations you had, discussing ideas in between cuddles and kisses on the bed, after one of the times you had some passionate lovemaking, his eyes glued to yours the entire time, his body encompassing yours, protecting you. Not every time was kinky, but there was no doubt tonight was going to be. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slowly, your fingers shaking in anticipation.

“Remember when we were talking about maybe having another person in the bedroom with us?”

His question took you by surprise, your fingers stopping mid-action, and you looked at him. “Yes?”

“You are going to learn some things about me tonight, Y/n, but you don’t need to be scared.” He grabbed your hands, intertwining your fingers and kissing them while looking into your eyes. “I promise everything will be okay, and I’ll answer all your questions later. Now I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

And ok, now you were worried, and he could see that in your face, so he brought you closer to his body, hugging you, and your arms tightened around his body.

“You don’t have to be scared, love. It can be scary, but have I ever hurt you?”

“Well…” you started, giggling at the double possibilities to answer his question.

“I’m talking about real harm, Y/n. And might I remind you, who asked to be spanked again?” He chuckled, shaking his head, the mood getting a little lighter. “I can’t promise it’s not going to frighten you at first but keep an open mind. You have your safeword, you can stop this at any time, no matter what.”

“Ok. I can’t promise I won’t fear whatever it is… because you are scaring me a little bit, Joon. But I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me like that.” You raised your head from where it was resting on his chest, looking into his eyes again, and this time you could not be mistaken. They were black. Like black black; you could not see any of the previous colors in his irises, even the sclera was taken over by the color, and it hit you. You took a quick step back, letting go of his body, shocked. Was… was this real?

“I’m still me,” his voice was soft and his hands raised by his sides in that universal sign of I’m not going to hurt you. “It’s always been me.”

“So you’re not… possessed?” you laughed in disbelief.

“No. It’s always been me,” he repeated, taking one step closer to you with one of his hands reaching out, and hesitantly you grabbed it. “Let me show you. I promise you will have a good time.”

Your body was still shaking with fear when you let yourself get closer to him, but his words were starting to reassure you, calm you. If he had always been like this and never harmed you, you would be okay, right? The fear and worry were slowly starting to give way to curiosity and some slight confusion when he started muttering some words under his breath. Now, you did not understand Latin – it was a dead language, come on –, but you were able to pick up that he was almost chanting in it, words like te invoco, spiritus, infernalis, and daemon being spoken with more intensity. He finished saying it and kissed you deeply, his arms encircling your body and pulling you to him, when you suddenly felt another presence behind you, a second body pressing against you, feeling a hard chest pressing you into Namjoon even more. You stopped the kiss, looking over your shoulder, and your eyes stumbled upon another black-eyed figure. This man, this demon, was shorter than Namjoon, but with the way the front of his body was glued to your back, you could feel he was just as muscular, maybe even more, from what you were feeling from his thighs. There were no words for his face. You thought Namjoon was handsome, but this man’s face was on a whole other level of beauty, with those rounded full lips that would give Namjoon’s a run for their money. If it were not for his black eyes you would dare say his face was angelic even, with his light-colored hair parted in the middle. But something about the smirk and raised eyebrows let you know that there was nothing angelic about him.

“Damn, Namjoon. You’ve been hiding her this entire time?” He almost growled, shifting his hips, and you felt the hardness in his pants. “If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.”

“And this is Jimin, Y/n,” he started, scoffing at his… friend? “Now close your eyes and let us take care of you.”

He did not wait for an answer from you, and at the same time his lips found yours, you felt Jimin’s lips on your neck and his hands on your waist, and you could only sigh, close your eyes, and give into these new sensations. The two pairs of hands were roaming your body; the contrast of their clothed bodies against yours, almost naked, was heightening the sensation of your powerlessness, and you had to press your thighs together in an attempt to bring some pressure to your center and relieve some of the aching. You could feel their smirks when you did it, and then Jimin’s hand traveled downwards and on the front of your body, his fingers sneaking under the lingerie to feel your wetness.

“Fuck,” his voice was almost strained, “she’s dripping, Namjoon.” His fingers went all over your mound spreading your wetness around, careful to not touch you for too long to tease you.

“Is this right, Y/n?” Namjoon asked against your lips, then tilted his head back to look at you, his hand joining Jimin’s. “I know you get wet for me, but if I had known you would be dripping like this, I would have brought Jimin much sooner.” He stated as his fingers toyed with the straps of your playsuit, slowly lowering them. “And you are wearing this, today of all days… all in white…”

Namjoon’s fingers teased your nipples lightly at first, just caressing them while Jimin slowly lowered the lingerie down your body, giving open-mouthed kisses to your back and lower and he went down on his knees behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back and grabbing Namjoon’s biceps for balance when Jimin lifted your left feet first then the right, letting the playsuit fall to the ground off your body. You felt a pinch to your nipples, and you sighed, and shortly after you felt his tongue circling it, then his mouth sucking on it, tugging lightly with his teeth. You clenched your legs again, only for Jimin to spread them. You felt Jimin’s breath on your backside, and his hands made you arch your back so he could see you better from behind, but you felt nothing else but his warm breath very close to your center, his hands gripping your thighs from the inside to stop you from closing them. When Namjoon used the fatal combination of pinching down on a nipple harder and biting the other and sucking on it, Jimin chuckled.

“Do that again, Namjoon. She liked it, she just clenched down on nothing so hard.” His mouth was so close to you yet doing nothing, and to worsen the situation, he used his hands to help you spread your legs more. “Tilt your ass towards me, Y/n, I want to see you clench like that again.”

You did so without hesitation, arching your back more so he could see you better, and when Namjoon did it again, inverting touch and bite to the other nipple, you clenched again, needing their touch, needing something. And he combined pulling your nipple with his teeth with his other hand entangling in your hair and pulling it down hard, increasing your arch. You heard Jimin chuckle softly again and then his mouth was pressed to your inner thigh, licking upwards as he moaned, probably tasting the wetness that had started dripping. Namjoon was not being gentle anymore, using the amount of pressure and strength he knew you loved, much rougher than when you were making love, your nipples becoming more sensitive and abused under his ministrations. This moment, with his lips around your nipples, his teeth worrying them, while Jimin licked your thighs, was pure and unadulterated passion and desire. You let one of your hands fall to grab Jimin’s hair to try and direct him, but he let one of your thighs go to wrap his fingers around your wrist while he bit down on your thigh. You moaned in pain, but you loved it.

Your other hand moved from Namjoon’s biceps to the front of his shirt to undo the few buttons that were left, and he paused what he was doing to help you. When you went to unbutton his pants, you felt your arm being pinned to your back by the demon between your legs. You looked back and down, seeing Jimin licking his lips again while he got up. He pulled you against his body, murmuring that tonight was about you and not to worry about them. As he said these words, Namjoon’s long fingers undid his own pants, hooking them under his underwear to take them off at the same time. His erection slapped softly against his stomach, his cock long and thick, the bulbous head already a little wet with precum. He stepped out of his pants, his strong thighs flexing, and he came closer to kiss you again, letting you feel his hardness against your belly. He started to pull you towards the bed, turning your bodies so you could fall against the mattress with him on top, but he did not stay long. He got up, looking at Jimin, and raised his eyebrows.

“You look so innocent like this, wide-eyed looking at us about to devour you,” Jimin started, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, putting on a show for you.

The dark shirt Jimin was wearing opened to reveal toned muscles beneath, ones you had already felt against your back. His light purple hair was slightly messy from your attempt to grab it; his lips were turned up into a corner smile observing the way you were watching him. He let his hands caress down his body, feeling his own muscles, his luscious lips open now. One of his hands went to the button of his pants and the other grabbed his crotch, showing you the outline of his erection, and then he took the black garment off, and he was wearing no underwear. His hand went to his erection again, stroking himself up and down slowly, showing you his body and how proud he seemed of it. His cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, the head a light pink color, and while he was thinner than Namjoon, he was just as long and curved upwards, and it made you wonder if he could hit that spot without much effort.

“We are going to destroy you, and you will take it all. You will be lying there on the bed, ruined, a sinner, and in the end, you will be begging for me to come back again and wreck you.” Jimin’s voice was deeper, his black eyes shining under the lights and the promise. And then he looked at Namjoon. “Have you done it yet?”

You looked confused for a moment, especially when Namjoon answered a no and Jimin chuckled. And then you understood. Jimin snapped his fingers and your arms were suddenly above your head, pressed on the pillow. You tried moving them but to no avail. Oh. Your chest went up and down quickly, your breath faster, but you smiled.

“Oh, this is new. Can you do it too, Joon?” You needed to know. Had he been hiding this from you this whole time? He licked his lips and snapped his fingers, and then your legs were up, an invisible force holding them up and wide open, spread apart for them. You bit your lip and clenched down on nothing, moaning softly, your head thrown back into the pillow. “This is fun.”

You smiled at them and saw them looking at each other smiling as well, but you could not even imagine what was going through their minds. Could they communicate like that? You had so many questions to ask Joon later, but before your mind could wander any further, your body was being dragged to the edge of the bed by Jimin, who was kneeling on the floor in front of it. You had never felt so exposed before and so without control, although you knew all you had to say was that one word and everything would end.

“She tastes delicious, Jimin. You’re going to love it.” Namjoon sat by you on the bed, looking down at the other man, and lowered his head to whisper in your ear, “you want to know another thing I’ve been hiding? We don’t get tired.”

Namjoon bit your earlobe at the same time that Jimin licked you where you needed the most, from bottom to top. You could only moan loudly and arch your back, your fingers closing into tight a fist and your thighs clenching, but you could not move them. You thought he would make you beg for it, considering all the teasing from before, but he wasted no time and started applying pressure to your clit with his soft tongue, short circular movements alternated with longer licks while his fingers kept your lower lips spread open for him. Unable to move, all you could do was take it, the pleasure intensified by your inability to move your legs; there was no escape from Jimin’s tongue on the underside of your clit, its hood up, leaving it exposed and so sensitive to his probing. While Jimin was doing this, Namjoon began playing with your nipples again. They were already hard and a little red from before, more sensitive, so when he started pinching them again the pain seemed to go straight down to your clit, enhancing your pleasure, and he seemed to know this. He became relentless in teasing them, pinching harder, lowering his body beside you to bite at them, tugging on your nipples and pulling them, letting his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Jimin’s tongue was also relentless on your clit, and the first time he felt you getting close to your orgasm, he stopped and looked at you.

“Please, please…” you sobbed and moaned; the desperation clear in your voice as Namjoon did not stop.

“Should we see if she can cum only by teasing her nipples?” Jimin’s voice was playful.

“No, please, please, no, please,” you begged.

“Oh, Namjoon, she begs so beautifully. But is it a no or is it a please, do it?” His tongue was between his teeth, his smile wider now, the look on his face pure teasing. You shook your head negatively, a sob caught in your throat, but he continued, “You’re clenching again, Y/n. I think you can do this. But maybe another day,” you let out a sigh in relief, “another day, when we will tease you for hours, edge you until even our breath will make you cum, how about that?”

Jimin wasted no more time and got back to licking you, making out with your pussy, encompassing it entirely with his mouth, and the moment his lips closed around your clit to suck it, you lost it. It took you by surprise; the sensation usually begins with a slight tingle on your belly, and then it spreads to your fingers, but this time your whole body clenched as pleasure overtook you, his tongue continuing to press on your clit while he sucked to prolong your orgasm. You did not know what sounds came out of your mouth, as your ears seemed to be ringing, numb to sounds. You could barely murmur out a weak stop, but he ignored it – which also relieved you, you did not really want to stop–, choosing to insert a finger and then two into you, moving them in and out at first and then pressing them upwards, looking for the spot inside you that made you see stars. You were about to say you were too sensitive for him to continue when he found it, and as you moaned loudly you heard Namjoon say something to him, but you couldn’t understand what it was, but Jimin’s response was to increase the pressure of his fingers and let your clit go. You were confused for a second but you soon understood when you felt one of Namjoon’s hands moving down, his fingers then making quick movements on your clit, knowing it was what you needed to get you there fast again. This time you felt the sensation growing, a tingling on the tips of your fingers, your toes, as it grew and permeated your entire body again. You thought they would relent, and then you remembered what Namjoon had said. They did not get tired.

You lost count after the fifth orgasm, or so you thought it was the fifth; your voice was hoarse from moaning and your clit was so sensitive from all of the overstimulation, and they did not seem like they wanted to stop anytime soon. You could feel the tears that had escaped your eyes wetting your cheeks, and every once in a while, one of them would lick them away while the other continued his assault on your clit, the pleasure relentlessly taking over you again and again. You did not know anymore when one orgasm ended and the other began, the tingling sensation a constant on your entire body. And then, finally, they snapped their fingers again, releasing your body from the invisible restraints.

You could barely move, but they helped shift and turn your body until you were on your hands and knees, Namjoon’s body behind you. You heard the sound of a small foil packet being opened, and then he was pressing inside you, his cock stretching you even though they had used their fingers before. It was always a stretch, Namjoon going in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size before starting to thrust his hips into you. On his first thrust forward, you opened your mouth on a moan and Jimin took advantage of the opportunity to press his cock into your lips, holding your hair with one of his hands while the other was at the base of his cock, holding and moving it to go over your lips. You licked around his engorged head and then opened your mouth wider, taking him inside and sucking. You could barely keep your body upright, so soon your hands faltered, and you fell to your elbows, the dip in your spine changing the angle slightly and it had Namjoon pressing into that one spot that had you almost screaming. Jimin lowered his body, sitting down with his legs open to fit you between them, inclining his body backward, bending his elbows to have a good view of you, and it made it easier for you to suck him. His view was nice, your body bent forward, your ass being held by Namjoon’s hands while he pounded into you, but your view was not bad at all.

Jimin’s muscly thighs flexed each time he pressed his hips up, fucking into your mouth, his abs clenching, and his face… his face, dark black eyes half-closed, mouth open in a sly smile, licking his full lips still wet with your taste. You maintained eye contact while you sucked him, bobbing your head up and down, sucking hard when his head was about to leave your mouth, and when you went down, you let your tongue lick the underside. It was sloppy, saliva leaving your mouth, making him wetter and easier for your hand to help whatever did not fit your mouth. You were moaning around him, figuring he would like it as much as Namjoon did, and you were rewarded with high pitched moans from Jimin, his head now thrown back. On a hard suck downwards you felt his thighs clench and his release spill on your mouth at the same time Namjoon played with your clit, and you screamed and soon saw nothing else.

You did not know how long you were out, but when you came to your senses again you were lying on your front, covered by your blanket, and Jimin was nowhere in sight. You heard footsteps entering the room just when you raised your head and saw Namjoon with a cold bottle of water and pants on. He smiled tentatively at you, sitting by your side on the bed. He helped you sit, propped up against him, and you took the bottle from his hands, feeling thirsty.

“Hey,” his voice was almost shy, so different from before and from the usual Namjoon. Well, the Namjoon you thought you knew. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, smiling softly at him between sips. You looked around and then looked at him, the question clear in your eyes.

“Hm, Jimin’s gone now. He helped clean you up and left, we… we did not know if you wanted him here for the after. Or if at all. Or… if you still wanted me.”

It was strange, seeing this difference in him. Namjoon was so confident, especially in the bedroom, and after finding out the truth about him, you could not imagine he would ever be this timid.

“I still want you, Joon,” you could barely speak, but you wanted to reassure him, hugging him tightly. He needed you at this moment as much as you needed him. “I just have some questions, but I still love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n. And I’ll answer whatever you want.” He was eager to respond, his relief apparent in his voice.

“The first question is… can we have fun with Jimin again another time?”

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“I immediately regret this decision.” + ThanZag

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Thanatos had been anticipating slightly better weather. Looking back, in all honesty, that made him the fool in this situation. He’d lived here long enough to know that the weather here moved only between shades of slate grey and varying amounts of freezing rain. It had always been a running joke when they would come here for summer vacations as children, that their mother had chosen this particular stretch of coast because she despised the sun. That while geese might fly south for the winter, Mother Nyx fled north for the summer and took her babies with her.

So really, Thanatos had no one to blame but himself for the fact that he was standing on the pebbly shoreline, fighting to keep his towel wrapped around him in spite of the wind and shivering in nothing but a pair of shorts.

Well, he could blame Zagreus of course. But he should have known better than to fall for those pleading eyes.

Those eyes were currently shamelessly dialled up as his mermaid lover lounged in the shallows, beckoning to Thanatos, “It’s really not that bad!”

Than frowned at him, “So I’ll maybe only lose my extremities to frostbite rather than a whole limb?”

Zagreus laughed, not even flinching as incoming waves broke over the back of his neck, speckling his hair with drops of diamond. His tail swept lazily through the water, stirring up foam, glowing with its faint red-gold light that seemed inherent to the scales themselves.

“You’re so dramatic,” Zag chuckled, “You used to come swimming with me all the time, in worse weather than this.”

“Yes,” Than took a hesitant step closer to where the waves lost steam and fell apart against the smooth stones, “I was sixteen and an idiot.”

“And now we’re twenty six,” Zag flashed him a smile that showed his sharp canines, “So come on in.”

Thanatos had to admit, the way the setting sun flashed on the water’s surface invitingly, lighting up stripes of it in flaming orange, was making him forget how cold it would be. Zag’s tail looked like one of those stripes came to life. Fluid, effortless life that burned with its own soft ember light and trailing fins like lingering flames. He remembered how it felt wrapped around his waist all those nights when they were younger, it’s supple warmth.

Zag’s smile had grown, curled at one end into something hungry, like he could read Than’s thoughts. They’d known each other long enough that he could probably read them on his face.

He pushed off the bank along the shore with his muscular arms, slipping into the deeper darker waters. With one hand, skin bright white against the almost black sea, he beckoned.

Than exhaled and let his towel fall to the ground, kicking it back. Eyes fixed on Zagreus, he took one step into the surf.

“I immediately regret this decision,” he said after a moment’s pause, “No sex is worth this.”

“Aw come on!” Zag yelped half with incredulity and half with laughter, “You promised!”

Than grimaced. His toes had lost all feeling and it only really burned right where the water met his ankles. Zagreus had been right, it wasn’t too bad. When he’d been a younger man, he’d thrown himself off the end of the little jetty into much colder water with reckless abandon. With this being where they spent their summers, he and his brothers had quite the warped concept of acceptable swimming temperatures. Freezing became cold and cold became mild. Actual mild didn’t exist this far up the northern coast.

He had learned it was easier when there was a very willing lover in the water beckoning him in.

With a deep lungful of air, Than increased his pace, letting the water slip up his legs and foam around him until he felt the rough pebbled surface under his feet fall away. Then he just let himself pitch forward into it, bringing his arms up to make it a passable dive. As the ocean closed over his head, the world fell into total silence. There was a perfect beat, a single moment of complete noiselessness, where everything seemed to freeze in place.

Before his nerves could light up with the pain of the cold, Zag’s arms closed around him and pulled him up. Than gasped in air, hair plastered to his head and dripping salt water into his eyes. The first thing he heard was Zag’s laughter, the first thing he saw was his smile, beaming proudly.

“See?” he grinned, wrapping his tail around Than’s legs to let the inherent heat of it warm him, “I told you. Not that bad.”

“No,” Than’s teeth still chattered and his breath still came in gasps but his lover ran hot, he just pressed closer to him, “Not bad at all.”

Zag grinned, drifting them back a little until the water gentled and came up to his and Than’s shoulders. Than knew he didn’t need to do anything, just cling to Zagreus, and he would stay afloat.

“Isn’t it nice to meet in the middle, like the old days?” he hummed, gills flaring as he spun them in slow, lazy circles, “Back when we had to sneak around?”

Technically they still had to sneak around. There was a reason they only met at night, there was a reason the only human Zag had felt brave enough to approach was one who lived in an isolated seaside cottage over the summer. One who was his own age, a child and still desperate to believe fantasy stories might be real.

But Than appreciated what Zag meant, he meant the only person in the cottage now was himself, that Zag could shift his form and share Than’s bed as many nights as he was able to sneak away from his father’s castle. Than didn’t have to sneak out of the smaller room he shared with his brothers, tiptoe down the stairs avoiding every one that creaked to undress at the edge of the jetty and fall into Zag’s arms. Now they could share breakfast together, make love in every room of the lopsided little cottage, walk the shore together and kiss.

But yes, it was still very fun to meet in the middle.

Zag was kissing him now, interrupting his thoughts, open mouthed and inviting. He was so warm inside, warm enough to compensate for the cold of the ocean he swam in, warm enough to make some of Than’s biological impulses possible when the freezing water should have meant otherwise. His lungs remembered how to take deep breaths, exhaling into Zag’s mouth, hands breaching the surface to cradle his lover in return. For a long time, all they did was taste salt on each other’s lips, the only sound was the gentle rolling of the waves and their shuddering breaths.

“I supposed I’m the one getting fucked?” Zag eventually gasped out, ever the impatient one.

“Well I don’t have any lube in my pockets,” Than murmured, teasingly licking along his jawline, “And no pockets. So yes.”

Zag had no complaints, purring loudly as he shifted, exposing the part of his long body just under where his pale skin turned into blazing coppery scales. Getting to grips with Zag’s genitalia had needed a long few days of exciting and giggly exploration when they were teenagers but the last few months since they’d reunited, it had all come back to Than promptly.

Now he knew just where to stroke to tease Zag’s slit open, exposing the blushed, slick pink inside of him. He felt his lover’s tail tighten around him and heard him whimper and moan as he gave him perhaps a little more preparation than was necessary.

“Than…” Zag keened, after a particularly teasing thrust of one finger into him, “C’mon…”

“What? My fingers are cold,” Than grinned devilishly, finding his feet on the sand below them, planting himself enough that he could pull Zag towards him, starting to press into that slit.

Zag gripped his shoulders tight, his claws would leave little puncture indentations when they were done, his tail holding him close, “Please, Than. Oh gods…”

Than rocked his hips, managing to find a rhythm even while he felt like he was floating, Zag helping with his slightly scary, moreso thrilling strength, fucking himself on Than’s cock as much as Than was fucking him. Moaning rapturously, he rested his forehead on Than’s, jaw slack, wickedly sharp teeth catching on the sunset.

“That’s it,” he groaned, someone finding words when Than could only grunt and gasp, “There you are, that's where you belong, my mate, mine…”

Than groaned through tight clenched jaws, those words enough that he was suddenly, dangerously close. He tried to warn his lover, struggling to gasp it out but Zag just nodded hungrily, thrusting hard as he toppled over the edge.

Thanatos’ head fell back as his orgasm gripped him, turning his muscles to iron as it crashed over him. He would have slipped under the surface if Zag didn’t recover from his own climax quick enough to tighten his grip on him.

“I’ve got you,” Zag panted, grinning crookedly, “I’ve got you…”

“I know,” Than clung to him, his desperation for closeness having nothing to do with the temperature of the water, “My mate.”

Zag’s smile brightened with sheer delight at hearing Than use his own words, nuzzling him close as they lazily drifted back towards the shore. Though they wouldn’t emerge for some time, hesitant to leave each others arms, the place where the differences between them didn’t feel so stark, where one of them didn’t have to change to suit the other.

It really was nice to meet in the middle.

[whump-town]

I’m on a Jack and Hotch kick, okay? Just enjoy it

Jack walking into Hotch’s room with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s fine if you don’t love me anymore,” he states as he climbs up onto the edge of his father’s bed. Falling back with a dramatic sigh. “I cried in my room for my thirty minutes, dad, and you didn’t say anything.”

Hotch who was standing at his dresser when Jack came into the room takes a moment to process what’s being stated. He’s trying to figure out what he’s supposed to say because Jack wants to hear something. He’s just not entirely sure what that is. “Well,” he states, tucking a pair of jeans in their respective drawer. “I do still love you, buddy.” He shakes his head a little. Why must his child insist on being so complicated. “And I would have come to see what was wrong but I didn’t hear you.” He clears his throat and turns around, pushing the drawer closed and directing his attention to the teenager starfished on his bed.

Jack sighs and turns his head to look at Hotch. “I cried in my pillow,” he admits. “So you wouldn’t hear me.”

Fucking teenagers. Hotch can’t help but smile as he surmises, “well there you have it.” He sits down on the corner of the bed, reaching out to brush Jack’s bangs from his face. “Maybe next time you can just... come tell me, huh?” He rustles his head full of hair. Blonde. Although, every year it gets a little darker. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jack turns his head back up, looking up at the ceiling. If he’s being honest, he’s not even sure what it is that’s bothering him. He’s just... anxious. Waiting for the second shoe to drop but the first one hasn’t gone anywhere. So why the second would drop-- you know what? He doesn’t understand the shoe metaphor. 

“I don’t know...” Jack admits softly. “I don’t think I understand what’s wrong... myself.”

Hotch hums, that he understands. “That’s okay too,” he reassures, looking down to smile at Jack. To make sure Jack really gets the point, that it is okay. He’s not lying. “You don’t have to understand how you feel. Especially as a teenager.” 

Jack scoffs, looking away.

That’s alright, Hotch knows. He’s just a boy. A kid. At a crossroads where the world is expected of him and yet with-held from his grasp because he’s too young. And, Hotch shakes his head, he’s so young. 

“You don’t have to know what to say and think every second of the day,” Hotch adds. “I don’t even always know what to say.” That catches Jack’s attention, even if it’s shy attention. Because he doesn’t want Hotch to know that he’s struck gold. “It’s pretty impossible, really. Unfair, too. It’s like crying, you know? You can cry for no reason at all. You don’t have to have a reason to feel the way you do. You never have to validate your emotions. Not to anyone.” He nudges his hand against Jack’s shoulder, “not even to me.”

Jack nods and hums. 

Hotch nods, sighing a little as he looks down at his hands. He fidgets, scratching at the skin around his thumb. A bad habit. He smiles to himself and thinks about all the habits of his Jack has picked up on. The worst of which is the silence. Jack’s a thinker and not a sayer. He dwells on things and he hums. Just like Hotch. 

He’s still trying to figure if that’s good thing or not.

“Dad?”

Hotch takes a deep breath as he’s pulled from his thoughts. He hums a little “hm”, looking down at Jack. 

Slowly Jack pulls himself up right and sits, tucking his legs underneath himself. He does that. Constantly trying to make himself smaller. Hotch can remember this age well. He’d gotten his growth spurt at fifteen too and it’s a change. Going from all bones and just hardly over five feet tall to a staggering six feet and lanky as a new born fawn. 

Jack hasn’t grown accustomed to the height yet.

“We should do something fun,” Jack says.

Hotch smiles, he can only imagine what fun is going to be. With Jack it can be anything from pancakes to dying his hair and getting a piercing. Which is cool by Hotch but it’s the lack of forewarning that typically gets in the way. “What kind of fun?”

Jack hums, chewing at his lips as he goes over his options. 

“I hid some chocolate chips,” Hotch admits, “we can make chocolate chip pancakes.”

The frown he’s hit with is full of betrayal. As is the soft, pouty, “you hid chocolate chips?”

Hotch does feel a little guilty. “For an occasion like this,” he says, reaching out to push at Jack. “What would you have done if I hadn’t huh? There’d be no chocolate chip pancakes and I wanted to surprised you with them Saturday but I knew you’d get into them.”

Jack shakes his head, trying and failing to hide his smile. That’s fair. He did eat the others. They make an easy snack.

“Pancakes then?”

Jack nods. 

Hotch rustles his hair and pulls him close, smiling when Jack crashes against his chest without complaint. He presses a kiss to his hair, rubbing a hand down his back. “I love you, buddy.”

Jack pulls in a shuttering breath, tears stinging his eyes. “You promise,” he asks, pressing his face into Hotch’s old worn flannel shirt. He wraps his arms around his father, failing to keep his tears at bay.

He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. 

“Buddy,” Hotch’s voice cracks and he can feel his own tears coming. “There’s nothing you can do to change that, alright?” He’s noticed Jack’s been a little off. He suspects there’s something coming. They’ve been dipping their toes into these conversations, Jack always testing him. Trying to find some limit to his love. 

“Nothing,” Jack chokes.

Nothing is always something.

It’s not his grades. Hotch had asked Jack about them and he trusts Jack so he took his word at them being fine. His chemistry grade is pretty rough but Reid had already stepped in with some help there. But grades are not a reflection of intelligence. A point he’s always made sure to drive home because he doesn’t need Jack basing his self-worth off of a letter.

He’s fifteen and Hotch already suspects he knows the answer. He’s not going to push for the answer because he’s learned that things come when they’re ready. And if Jack isn’t ready... that’s okay.

“Absolutely nothing,” Hotch reassures him.

Jack nods and just clings to him for a little bit longer. Until his tears can be contained and he’s calm. “Sorry,” he rasps, wiping his face off. 

Hotch brushes a tear away with his thumb. “You don’t have to apologize for crying.”

Jack sniffles but rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t apologizing for that,” he says. “I was apologizing for getting your shirt wet.” 

Oh to be a teen, Hotch thinks with a shake of his head. “Okay,” he relents. “You still want pancakes.”

Jack nods, “please.”

Hotch stands and his knees really hate the process and his back gives a small pop in it’s own retaliation for being old and for treating it so miserably in his youth.

“You sound like a bowl of rice krispies over there,” Jack informs him with a smile.

Hotch nods and wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulder, pulling him close. They walk down the hall to the kitchen like this. “It’s what happens when you get old,” Hotch mumbles. “So, chocolate chip pancakes?”

Jack nods, “yes, please.”

And to think that Hotch thought he’d be bad at this whole dad thing.

Haley would be proud.

[1000fiction]

Day 9: Bondage ft. Mogrul

Relationship: Unspecified Species: Unspecified Warnings: NSFW, Oral sex, Toys, BDSM

Summary: The majority of Solstheim was in debt to him, so when a debt is due – the responsibility falls to the dragonborn, and their method of payment is highly satisfactory.

He’d seen her poking around at the market stalls, he didn’t like them, but he sure loved to watch them haggle, watching them throwing and catching the coin in a boast of their wealth. They became acquaintances soon after – over a love of money – and co-existed well, until the Drovas incident.

Which is how he found himself here, digging through dusty crates of treasure – hoping to discover an item of value that would pay off Drovas’ debt - coughing and spluttering whenever a relic decided to spit up another cloud at him.

He eyed their bookshelf, perhaps a rare tome would suffice, but again, nothing but garbage - until he reached the bottom. In the gap between the floor and the bottom of the shelf was a long, short, box, fitted so snuggly one would usually miss it if they weren’t looking properly. He slid it out slowly, noticing that it had clearly been handcrafted to fit such a specific space, and sealed with an intricate latch. He listened for a moment, hearing the clang of the cauldron upstairs before flipping the lock and lifting the lid. His throat dried up in an instant.

               The inside was lined with expensive velvet, shaped to cushion and protect the erotic objects within. On one half, the velvet held a collection of fine rope, all different thickness, texture, colour. From first glance, he could see some had been handcrafted, the likes that could only be found in certain cities of certain regions. He could only identify the bosmeri craftmanship.

He swallowed thickly when he glanced the other side, phalluses of every species sat snuggly in the case, all crafted of rare stones and labeled at the base. The largest slot was taken by the orsimer, veined, thick from base to tip, and crafted from orichalcum, the sight of it makes him feel just slightly inferior. This was no doubt crafted by an orc, a forge wife, probably shaped after the chief, and it was sitting in the Dragonborn's toy chest.

               He was about ready to slam it shut and crawl into a hole when the final one caught his sight. It was heavy in his hand as he picked it up, smooth spare the long vein on the underside. It was crafted of moonstone and reflected the light till it shone bright white. ‘Falmer’ read the label, and he nearly balked imagining how this mold was obtained.

               “Want to see how it works?” Came the sudden voice from behind him, his heart leaping out his throat in the process. He dropped the shaft instantly.

               “Hey now, no need to damage the goods! That was hard to get.” They announced, picking up the phallus without an ounce of shame, twirling it in their hands and checking for chips. “You best not have damaged any others in the collection.”

               He was speechless, but at least he knew what would pay off the debt. “I want it.” They smirked; he gagged. “Not like that! I want it to pay off the debt, an item like that will fetch a hefty price to the right perverse buyer.” The dragonborn tutted, absentmindedly stroking the stone shaft, an action that Mogrul couldn’t seem to take his eyes off. He watched the way their fingers worked, palming, stroking, and twisting around the shaft, it wasn’t until a long rope of saliva draped itself over the phallus that he realised they’d stopped talking. They smirked devilishly, lathering the cock in their spit.

               “Now, I’m afraid I can’t do that, a close friend put a lot of trust in me when I obtained this so it’s not for sale. Perhaps I can entertain another interest of yours?” They bounced their eyebrows suggestively. Their eyes flicked down to the case, and he was reminded of the ropes, the faint squelching slightly distracting.

               “What about the ropes?” He muttered skeptically. They halted their actions, moving slowly around him to pick up a collection of densely twined ropes.

               “This is my beginners set, dense, thick, they don’t cut into the skin too much and they are soft.” They came closer, winding the rope around his wrist and pulling one end so it slid over his skin. It rubbed, but not too hard, and it didn’t itch like dock ropes did. He swallowed thickly, the muscles in his neck tensing, adam's apple bobbing.

               “Perhaps there is another way you can pay me.”

Within half an hour he was strapped down, the deep red ropes - contrasting against deep green skin - binding him to the bed. The ropes were pulled to each corner, wrists and ankles rubbed gently by the binds, biting as he squirmed away from the dragonborns attentions. He huffed deeply, feeling them probe at his arse with nimble fingers, as their tongue probed the slit in his dick. They suckled it sweetly as he was penetrated, the subtle pleasure overwhelming the pain caused by his slowly stretching asshole. He cried out when he arched his back, the collar around his neck pulling the ring placed around his engorged cock – he’d forgotten about the piece of rope which connected the two. With each inhale, he felt the gentlest of tugs, his heavy shaft swaying with the pull, the dragonborn following it with gentle laps.

               To be treated so gently was strange – considering how hated he was within the community – but the way the dragonborn had talked him through everything, the knots, the ring, the word, it made him feel… safe – able to let go without the worries of his reputation. The dragonborn ran their fingertips to the base of his cock, licking their lips at the incredible bulge that nearly overhung the silver ring. His cock was turning a darker green than ever with the slowed blood flow, the sensitivity rising as they gave him slow, loose, strokes, their fingers still lazily running in and out of him.

               Suddenly, everything sparked at once. Their fingers pressed and rubbed against his prostate, the sensations driving him to a pleasure he’d never experienced before. He gasped and huffed, groaning deep within his chest as they continued the onslaught, bringing him to a precipice of pleasure he thought impossible. The ropes gnawed against his flesh as he twisted and turned, ankles pulling roughly at the restraint, just to bend and move, escape the conflict between the wants of his mind and body. His mind wanted him to run, unused to such overwhelming sensations, whereas his body moved on its own, hips rock against fingers, thrusting up into their palm as much as it was able. It was over too soon, and he found himself crying out when they withdrew all touch.

               His hand pulled harsh against a rope, desperate to reach out and grab pull, to pull them back into him and finish what they started – all complaints died when they drew out a toy. The war chief’s phallus lay heavy against his thigh, the cool stone prickling his skin with goosebumps as they rolled it, running it against his cock then down to his hole. The ring was pulled harshly as he tried to get away, causing him to moan, an opening seized by the dragonborn when they pushed the tip against his slick hole. He trembled immensely, if he were to lower his spine, the cock would surely slip into him, but the constant pull on the bulging base of his cock was near unbearable. Slowly, he relaxed, and slowly the head slipped in.

               His breath was ragged when the dragonborn took over, full cock slip in and out of him, stretching to the point he believed he would break. Were it not for the grounding touches of the dragonborn he surely would have. They tickled his thighs, his ass, making him squirm and jolt, ropes caressing then biting sharply – sensations running straight to his crotch. He grunted and growled, feeling his release quickly approaching despite the fact his cock was being neglected. His ass started sucking in the phallus, unwilling to release it whenever the dragonborn attempted to pull it out all the way – they chuckled every time – but he needed it, the way it brushed perfectly against that spot.

               It felt so foreign when he came – all sharp sensations, his body fighting the binds desperately. He needed to grip onto something, dig his fingers or toes into the bedding, but he was forced to float through his orgasm, spasming with every long shot of semen that landed on his stomach. Without a doubt, it was the best he’d experienced on this little island.

               The ropes left marks, small indents where they weaved together, they didn’t hurt – just like they promised – and soon the ring too was removed, sliding easily over his flaccid cock. The collar was the last to go, ashamedly he confessed it felt so natural he’d forgotten it was there.

               Their debt was paid, they were even, their encounter a pleasant memory in the back of his mind as they continued their lives the next day. As he watched them, collecting their pay from the kind alchemist, he wondered briefly – who would be the next debt they’d have to pay off?

[ninemoons42-lestallumhaven]

(Written for @wildixia​ -- inspirations, of course, are THIS and THIS.)

Quick Fic Pick 35: the spectrum of us

"All right, that's the fourth time," he hears Aranea say, when the fifth and last chime cuts through the conversational buzz on the teleconference line.

"I'm right on time, what are you picking on me for," is Noctis's reply, and he sounds both outraged and sleepy, mostly because he doesn't muffle his mic in time, and they can all hear him yawn.

"That's contagious!" is Cindy's complaint --

Gladio drinks some more wine, and keeps on scrolling through his emails, half an eye on the flatscreen TV on the wall where the global stocks tickers are still on the move.

"Can we call this meeting to order?" And that's Lunafreya, and all the others immediately go quiet, and Gladio sits up a little and switches to one of his note-taking apps. "Thank you. Good to talk to everyone again. As of this very minute we have four weeks to the summit, so if you haven't already switched over to crisis mode, this is your official reminder. Get your tasks sorted and in order, everyone, because I promise you we'll be clocking up the overtime."

"And we do this on a regular basis, why do we volunteer for this shit, or why do we get volunteered for this shit," Noctis mutters.

"Because we're damn good at it," and Aranea snorts and there's a chorus of sighs and put-upon sounds.

And Gladio keys on his mic, and says, "The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can get finished and then we can all get blind drunk."

"Right, and it's your turn to host us again," Lunafreya says. "Still have any of that wine we were drinking last time?"

"An entire cellarful," he promises. "And more where it came from. So again. Motivation, if you need it."

"Yes and please," she says, and then she launches into a rundown of confirmations.

"Speakers," he hears Cindy say, next. "You want the good news first or the bad news first?"

"Ugh, bad news first," Aranea says.

He rolls his eyes and mutters along with the others, and somewhere in the conversation he hears the quiet chime that means someone's coming into the loft, and he runs his eyes over the clutter of his desk, makes sure everything's on mute, before looking over his shoulder. "You're back early."

The lean shape that pads toward him smells of sweat and petrichor and salt on the breeze. "Believe it or not, it was a good day."

Gladio switches the lamp on his desk on.

Dash of pale-lavender boxer shorts and the glint of a pearl-white button: these are the only things that interrupt the expanses of ink and muscle and skin.

Ignis with his hair down, one black-plastic temple tip dangling from his mouth, and his discarded clothes bunched and dangling from his hand, as he hitches himself noiselessly onto the desk, right next to the speakers where the others are still conducting the meeting.

Gladio smiles, and beckons him in just as silently, and he kisses Ignis's eyebrow, and the studs there are warm.

Phone in Ignis's hand: as Gladio watches, he opens one of the instant-messaging apps and starts typing: You're not listening to them.

He smiles, and loosens the knot on his tie, and offers his wine glass in exchange for the phone, and he erases Ignis's draft message and types in his own. We already finished talking about what I'm doing this year. Summit's here, so my part has to do with making sure they're all capable of functioning for a week.

Wine-stain on Ignis's mouth. Hosting duties. I see.

He watches as Ignis reaches for the wine bottle, and pours again, and drinks again. "Hey."

"I'm not drinking to forget anything. Quite the opposite. It was a good day." Ignis's whisper, that never fails to thrill Gladio. "But finish your meeting. It'll keep, I'm certain."

"Not sure I can wait."

He doesn't know what to do, when Ignis laughs and walks off with both the wine glass and the bottle.

Gladio swears, and laughs, and tunes back in, just in time for Noctis to finish with his updates: "...and whoever thought it was a good idea to schedule this particular summit for the rainy season ought to get taken out back and shot."

He rolls his eyes at the jibe. "We didn't pick the time, remember, that's all them, all those important shits coming here," he says. "Anyway we shouldn't be complaining, we'll be indoors all the way. Won't be missing anything."

Noctis groans anyway.

"That leaves you, Gladio," he hears Lunafreya say.

"Holding down the fort here," and he makes a note to review the various reservations and contingency plans. "And I have a few tricks up my sleeve in case the gods decide to play tricks on us."

"Good. At least one thing's going well. Any other matters at this time?"

"None from me," he says, and his words are echoed by the others.

"We'll move the next meeting up. Ten days from now, same time. Thank you, everyone."

And he can finally get to his feet and stretch, and he pulls his suit jacket off. Shakes his hair out of its sleek tail. Toes off his shoes.

His working day is finally done, and he's going to have to start the whole process over again in a little less than seven hours, and he quickens his pace as he moves through the loft.

Straight up the stairs to the master bedroom and -- he hesitates, torn, as always, between the soft sweet ache and the sharp edge of need.

The shape of Ignis, the lines of him, where he's sleeping right on top of the bed and the dark-red sheets set off the colors of him.

Gladio sets his own clothes aside and allows himself this time, this quiet moment.

Ignis: the canvas of him, the rich ornamentation of him. Right arm flung out to the side, the better to display the foliage and the flowers, the beautiful and dense tattooed sleeve. Thorny vines linking lush roses, no two of them alike.

On his back, below the left shoulder-blade, a fantastic cat-like creature with a complicated pattern of spots, intricate detail of its tail and its paws and its eyes. The animal seems to breathe out sparks of lightning, and it's curled in wary lines, as if to guard his heart.

Gladio almost hesitates, but he reaches out anyway, and he reaches for Ignis's right wrist: startling connection, there, the vital pulse of him, and -- Ignis shivers all over, languidly, and opens his eyes.

Green, green like a thousand secret gardens, a forest of legends and myths.

And he says, "I think I'll take you up on your offer."

Blink. Blink.

Ignis unfurls, or uncoils -- he rises from the bed and his whole face is lit up with wonder, and his voice is lovely and even and rich. "Tell me."

"Green," Gladio murmurs, and kisses him. Pulls away, and guides Ignis's fingertips to the piercings in his left ear. "Green, like your eyes. Maybe a little bit darker."

His reward is the spark and the smile and the weight of Ignis in his lap, and he runs his hands down Ignis's sides and pulls him closer. "I know you have, ah, discerning tastes. So I'll be careful to find you something you'll truly like."

"Got that right here," he says, and kisses him.

[dangerousreputation]

You - Evan Peters

this wasnt requested but i’ve watched murder house in three days and the i watched asylm in three days and now im on freakshow but i would never expect myself to watch a horror show..,., bc i hate horror but EVAN PETERS FRIIIIICK 

anyways this is kinda long but i love evan peters w all my heart and i dont like him w emma roberts sorry loooool

requests are open yalllll hmu

You had moved on. He was no longer in your day to day thoughts. Although it was hard, seeing him in commercials for the new season of America Horror Story and hearing about him in the news, you where done with him.

He seemed to have moved on fast though, the recent photos of him holding hands, kissing, and hugging his co-star had surfaced all over the pop culture news. It hurt. It had only been about a month and a half maybe two since you broke things off with him. You broke things off with him. It was often hard to remember that small detail to the destruction that was your relationship.

It was hard to move on, but you did.

Your new happiness looked at you from across the table and smiled at you, the candle light illuminating the features on his face that were more prominent than others. His thumb swiped over the dips in your knuckles on this top of your hand as you two discussed the recent episodes of your favorite tv show.

Catching a cab back to your apartment and giving each other a kiss goodbye, you hauled your body up the stairs and into your apartment. Everything was okay between you two, not as exhilarating or emotional as you and Evan were, but okay nonetheless. You weren’t bored but you craved something else, something that was greater or equal that the relationship that you had with Evan but unfortunately, that only comes once in a life time.

Setting down your keys, wallet and coat then heading into your bedroom, you let your body fall onto the comforter and occupied yourself on your phone. After 15 short minutes of your scrolling social medias sprinkled with old photos of you and your ex that fans still seemed to tag you in, a knock thundered through your apartment walls startling you. You frowned, huffed, set your phone down next to your head before walking to your front door.

You swung it open revealing a very frazzled-looking Evan Peters. You heart seemed to drop to your toes, your eyes blowing wide, and your whole body seemed to freeze and become stiff. His hair was thrown in all directions on his head and the bags under his eyes screamed for sleep, his shoulders where slumped causing his collarbones to become more prominent, peeking out from the loose t-shirt he was wearing. His eyes dropped and his chapped lips parted to ask; “Can I please come in?”

You could only nod your head. This boy, this man, who broke your heart for his own selfish needs was coming into your house, and you just let him. The breakup caused you to have weeks of not going out, staying in your bed, eating at most 2 meals a day, and distancing yourself from you friends and family. He was your everything, your whole world.

His boots stomped on the wooden floors and the smell of him filed your living room. He stopped to turn to you, grabbing something out of his jacket pocket, revealing a single key. The spare key he had.

“I found this on the counter top at my house and I thought that it would be best for you to have it back.” he mumbled, tone as cold as ice. His eyes looked darker than normal, instead of looking taunting and captivating they resembled the color or space, distant and lonely.

“Thanks.” your voice cutting the air between you two, crossing you arms.

“Uh, how have you been?” he asks awkwardly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rocking back and fourth on his feet.

“I’m good, happy. How are you and her?” your question seeming to catch him by surprise by the widening of his eyes.

“We’re… good.” he sighs, reaching up to rub his arm before saying, “how did you do it so fast?”

“Do what?”

“Find someone else… and be genuinely happy with them again?” his voice gaining tension.

“Me? You seemed to have moved on faster than I did. I could ask you the same thing.”

“She was always there. She was always just around me. I knew that she liked me for a while now and because she has the same profession as me, I knew that she would understand me more.” he shrugs.

His voice, the tone, and the bitterness left your whole body prickling with anger. Understand him more? You’re not with someone for three years just to not understand them at all. You cheeks and the tips of your ears started to burn with anger as you shoved your arms to fold against your chest.

“I’m glad someone could finally understand you and know what you want, because God knows I never did.” you spit.

“Oh yeah? What about him? Does he understand you like I didn’t?”

“Yes he does.” you state calmly.

“I highly doubt that. One second you love someone, you pull them in as close to you as they can be, and then you’re so desperate for attention all the damn time, when you don’t get it, you think you’re not loved. You cut that person out of your life.” You felt a tear gather in the corner of your eye and you breathing become heavier.

“You didn’t love me Evan, you don’t leave someone you love alone for drinks with your buddies almost every night of the week, you don’t tell a loved one they make you depressed and a shitty person. Thats not love.”

“Does he love you!?”

“Yes! He does, better than you ever did!” you yelled.

“Do you even love him?!” he screams.

You stop. The pause was a dead give away for him, “Of course I do.” you say.

He smirks sarcastically before muttering, “Yeah right.”

“It doesn’t matter! He loves me way better than you ever did!”

“Don’t pull that shit with me, I was the one who had to put up with you ass all the time and all I ever got was complaints so excuse me for not wanting to be all warm and cuddly every time I saw you.” he frowns, the shadow covering the tops of his eyes.

“Whatever.” you roll your eyes and start to walk around the counter back to your room.

He huffed and started to grab his things.

“Tell me, if you are so in love with her, why are you over here? Why, something so small and irrelevant, distracts you from your soulmate to come over here and interact with me again? Don’t you love her?!” you shout, your head and heart spinning.

“I love you!” he yells and slams his stuff against the floor. “I love you.” he says slower.

And you pause because this was the last thing you expected him to say. All of the hours and days of being apart, longing for him to come running through the door and apologize, or to beg for you to give him another chance, or something extraordinary, to result in this. The pace of your heartbeat quickened and your words and breathing seemed to have a bumper car effect in your throat.

“It’s been hell. Acting like I’m okay, acting like I’m not dying on the inside without you. You where the only thing in my life that kept me sane through all of this and I’m an idiot for only realizing it now. I love you and what I did to you was disgusting and I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I promise I have changed, I have. I jus-“

“What about her?” you whisper as a tear rolled down you cheek.

“Nothing. She doesn’t compare to you. She’s not you. I need you.” he says with red brimmed eyes and quaking lips.

He reaches his hand out to you which you take hesitantly, he pulled you into him and you realize that his arms wrapped around you again was all you needed to gain your sanity back. Wrapped in a flannel and grey t-shirt, the warmth of his body brought a small smile on your face and you cried. Cried because you know that you shouldn’t give in so easily, cried because you missed him so fucking much, and because you realized how much you loved him. He was broken without you and you weren’t in any better shape.

“I’m not going to jump into a relationship with you right away.” you mumble into his shoulder and you feel him nod.

“I understand but I can’t live with someone else having you to call theirs.”

You smile and kiss the curve of his jaw, “You won’t have to worry about it.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Part 23)

*Stands in parking lot and waits for ass kicking*

Azula refused to acknowledge the kiss, every time he’d ask about it she would switch the subject—usually to some complaint of a headache. And mercifully the gang chose not to bring it up again. But Sokka thought about it. He thought about it a lot during the passing days. And he didn’t know how to feel about it. She was a little awkward…a lot awkward actually. He imagined that a kiss initiated by Ruby Tears couldn’t be anything but weird. He somehow got the sense that she would be an awkward kisser even with a sharp mind. Regardless it was somewhat pleasant, for as little experience as the princess had with romance she was surprisingly good…and shockingly gentle. He told himself that he wouldn’t want it to happen again, after all she was just a—well he didn’t know what she was yet. But ‘romantic partner’ didn’t seem like an appropriate title.

 The rest of the month passed before the cactus juice had left the princess completely. She filled the hole it left with Ruby Tears and Sokka was helpless to keep her from doing so. With the cactus juice out of the way, she had made a habit of taking at least a pinch of Dragon’s Breath every day. She was only making it harder on herself when the day came to start cleaning herself of it. But any vocalization of such was met with a vicious glare.

 While she suffered out loud, he suffered in silence. He was horrified to admit that he debated asking Azula if he could try the Ruby Tears just once. He didn’t want to put himself down that path though, so he would ignore his troubles to the best of his ability. He didn’t speak to anyone else of it either. With Zuko finally putting in some effort into helping Azula, he didn’t want to take the focus from her. It didn’t help that he didn’t quite know what had him in distress this time.

 So the wall and his knuckles took most of the abuse.

 .oOo.

 Comparatively speaking, the month had been kind to Azula. It would seem that she was no longer completely unpleasant to be around, she was more or less a minor annoyance. Their tolerance of her, their willingness to converse with her took the sharpest stings away. It gave her something to take her mind off of the physical.

 Toph seemed to be the fondest of her. The firebender assumed that it was because she provided the earthbender with many night’s worth of comedy. She wasn’t particularly thrilled that Sokka was brining her out when she was over-the-roof high and even less so that he wasn’t trying to keep her in check. But whether she liked it or not, she craved the company and attention almost as much as the tears themselves.

Whether she liked it or not, she decided that Sokka’s ridiculous friends were pretty alright. She hadn’t mean for it but with new people to speak with, for those few remaining weeks of the month she talked to Sokka less.

 More than anyone else, she talked to Zuko. It sent a jab in her chest to see him tense up when she approached. The month was drawing to a close and he still did it. They all—save for Sokka—usually did to varying degrees. They still didn’t trust her anymore than she trusted them. She didn’t quite understand their fear as they all had the upper hand this time around; in numbers and energy to fight, but more so in that they had leverage. Anyone of them could leak her secret and ruin her completely, sending another tingle of annoyance at Sokka for letting it out in the first place.

It never seemed to help her hold her tongue though.

 Azula tossed her bag of Ruby Tears from one hand to the next. With the exception of Zuko, everyone was less uneasy when she was on them. It made her less out of place around them, she could say that for certain. She was under the impression that they only liked her when she was high.

Just another reason she couldn’t bring herself to let go of them.

 So when Katara told her that she was at least three days out of cactus juice detox, she pretended not to believe it.

 She was laying down another trail of Ruby Tears to sniff up—a larger douse, she was going to go out in one last spectacular display—when Sokka kicked the door in. The man had been in a cranky state lately and was almost making her look cheerful. His sour mood might have aided in making her seem more sociable to the group. She ought to thank him. “My door has never hurt you.” She commented.

 “And your vase never hurt you.” He grumbled.

 “Actually, it was saying some pretty awful things.” She declared.

 “You said you would stop.” He shouted, storming over to the powder on her dresser. For a moment she thought he would brush it away—he hadn’t grown that brave yet.

 “I’m going to.” She replied, “eventually.”

 “No. You said that you would start detoxing on the tears after you finished with the cactus juice.”

 “I never specified how long after.” She countered. Even in saying so she felt trashy and weak-willed. The intensity of Sokka’s glower amplified the feeling tenfold. She wrapped her arms around herself and sat upon the bed. Usually he at least tried to hide his disgust, this time he wore it so plainly.

 For a blissful few weeks she had allowed herself to forget the dangers. But, just like that everything that rattled her nerves came slamming back. Minho died with bloodshot eyes and yellowing blotchy skin. A quick glance at her arms revealed that she was much closer to that hue than she had been a month ago. She swallowed, she hadn’t gotten that much worse had she? Just as daunting as that was the notion of another withdrawal seizure. She wondered if she could die while detoxing, such hadn’t occurred to her before. But at this rate, with breaths growing hard to catch, a body growing sparser and fragile still, and energy becoming scarcer than ever she was heading there anyhow.

 “Oh relax,” she played it off with a nervous laugh and a contradictory languid flick of her bangs. She missed having the length to twirl them around her pointer. “It just so happens, that this is going to be the last time.”

 “It better be.” Sokka muttered.

 “Or what?” She rolled her eyes. “What’s your problem.”

 “I don’t have a problem.” He replied much to quickly and at a pitch that indicated exactly the opposite. “You have a problem.”

Wiping some of the powder from her nose, she responded, “clearly.” Returning the pouch to its spot in the dresser she added, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t have one too.”

 “I’m fine.”

 Azula shrugged, “if you say so.” She didn’t believe him in the slightest. Better than anyone perhaps, she knew that ‘I’m fine’ indicated a world of unresolved issues. But in minutes her mind would be too dim to offer him anymore than nonsense. Even if it weren’t so, she couldn’t imagine herself being helpful anyhow.  “Well you have an air monk to talk to if you decide that you aren’t.”

 “And what will you be doing?” He asked, “every single time I leave you alone you almost get yourself killed.” He huffed.

 Azula frowned. “So dramatic. I’ve been managing just fine without you lately.”

 “Great, glad to know I’m useless to you.”

 .oOo.

 Now that she was getting back on her feet, Sokka found himself wishing that he could knock her down again. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt her. He just wanted to feel important. He wanted her to cave in and take the tears more just so he could have someone to depend on him again.

She was making it plenty obvious that once the tears were out of his life, so would he. And he didn’t want to lose her.

 “Well now that you’re all packed up, have fun with your trip.” Sokka snarled. He was teetering so close to the edge. “If you need anything you can talk to the air monk.” She snarled at the way he threw her words back at her.

 Even so, she replied, “I didn’t say that I didn’t want you here.”

 Through the angry thoughts whirring in his head, he didn’t hear her. He stormed away, knowing very well that he was being irrational and inconsistent. He didn’t know how he’d react if she followed him, but she didn’t give him the chance to find out.

The part of him that wasn’t seeing red was screaming for him to go back. To make sure she rode this trip out safely. Deep down he knew that the odds were high that he had just set her up for a bad one. The darker side of him said that, that was good maybe she’d decided to quit once and for all. The darkest side of him hoped that it wouldn’t be enough.

 He could still go back.

He should.

 Instead he stomped down the hall, dwelling on how little he meant to the princess after all. He had been a means to an end and now that she had other people, she didn’t need him. Even when he didn’t lose people, he lost them. He paused to swiftly kick the wall, jumping up and clutching is toe with a howl of pain. Awful idea, that was.

 “You okay?” Zuko asked.

 Sokka rubbed the back of his head and forced a smile. “Yeah, just stubbed my toe.”

 “You seem…off, Sokka.” He noted.

 “Really, I’m okay. I’m just a bit stressed.”

 “Azula?”

 “Yeah.” He lied. He would let everyone think that she was most of the problem. It was easier. It was believable.

 “She’s a handful, trust me, I know.” Zuko laughed. “You can always send her by one of us if she starts to bother you too much.”

 Sokka cringed. The last thing he wanted to do was hand off his only means of feeling reliable. “She sees you guys plenty.”

 Zuko nodded. “Yeah, thanks to you. You got her to let down a few walls.” He smiled. “I think you’re very good for her. She needs influence like yours, ya know?”

 Sokka gave the most ingenuine laugh he’d ever heard. “Yeah.” At the same time as Zuko helped him feel reassured, he highlighted the more alarming of his thoughts. The selfishness of wanting regretting that he’d helped her build a bigger support system. She was right, he did have a problem. He just didn’t know what it was.

 .oOo.

 Azula had one more rational though before succumbing. One that she knew she would both regret terribly and thank herself for at the same time.

She took the pouch back out of her dresser. Biting her cheek with force enough to coax and explosion of copper in her mouth, she set the tears aflame. She shook as she watched blue consume it until it was nothing more than a heap of ash in her palm.

She had successfully took the option of failure from herself.

 In the same way that it made her feel bold and assured…worthwhile, it made her want to weep and sapped the courage right out of her.

 Things weren’t so bad at first. For some time she sat on the balcony and watched constellations glitter over an afternoon sky that shifted in flashes of tie-dye multi-color. She swayed from side to side because the motion soothed her in some way or another. It also helped her marvel at the ever-shifting skies from multiple perspectives. She decided to look down to where the palace gardens. Each blade of grass was a new fragment in a kaleidoscope of that changed with each gust of wind. She followed the patters to a pond made of pure crystal.

She would go to it. She wanted to see if the goldfish were actually gold.

 As quietly as she could, she crept out of her room. With any luck, none of the palace staff would try to talk to her. She wasn’t too worried, they hadn’t tried in the last few weeks, always waiting for her to address them first.

 She was stopped only once by a servant who had been working for her for ages—the name was lost in a tangle of sensory bombardments. The woman stated that she liked her haircut. Azula was pleased with the compliment but didn’t trust herself enough to speak, so she nodded and moved on, pleasantly surprised with her ability to use at least a hint of logic.

 Azula flopped down on her stomach and dipped her fingers in the water. She let them dangle, dipping them further in when she found a goldfish. If she could only touch it, then she’d know if it was really gold.

 Her serenity and curiosity came to a rude end as an entirely different sensation erupted over her hand. She had let it linger in the water for too long, her hand was beginning to crystalize. With a soft yelp, that went unnoticed, she yanked it out of the water. But the blight still spread, trailing down her arm. A bead of nervous sweat trickled down her forehead, she had to stop it, she couldn’t let it fan out any further. She wandered away from the palace. She had been there a thousand times and yet she didn’t know where she was anymore. Shakily and aimlessly she shuffled down the capital street. By now the crystal was at her elbow, it was spreading too fast. She passed by many people who looked completely unconcerned about her condition.

Many of the people she rushed passed she had never encountered in her life. But Agni, they seemed so inexplicably familiar. The woman with the freckles and the mole on the corner of her mouth, Azula felt like she knew her but at the same time registered that she couldn’t possibly.

 By the time she reached coronation temple she felt completely helpless, with the ruby now at her shoulder. She sought out the nearest pillar, leaned against it, and slid to the floor with her head in her hands. She could feel the roughness of the ruby against her ear.

 “Princess?”

 She didn’t recognize him. She thought that she should have, but she didn’t.

 “Help me?” It was somewhere between a command and a question making her sound as confused as she was. She held out her ailed hand. The man must have thought she wanted help up, for he took her wrist and pulled until she was on her feet. “No, no, that’s no what I meant. It’s spreading.”

 The man sighed. “You wandered pretty far from the palace, haven’t you?” She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or alarmed. He reminded her faintly of Ozai so she walked silently and wearily behind him. What if he was Ozai? But then, she’d have recognized him.

 He was true to his word, and she was back in the palace. There she could spy some faces she did know. She hustled past Sokka, he was mad at her, he wouldn’t help. But Zuko was there. Zuko was there and looked at her with such relief.

With the wide eyes of a child she tugged at Zuko’s sleeve. “Zu-Zu? Zu-Zu, you have to make it stop. I can’t get it to stop.” Pulling him closer and shaking him once or twice she shoved her arm in his face. “Make it stop.”

 For a moment he still didn’t pay her any attention. “Thanks for finding her, Xanu.”

 “That girl causes me a lot of trouble. More trouble than she’s worth.” Still she couldn’t figure out how he felt about her. “She’s going to hurt someone. If not, herself. You really should consider putting her back in the…you know.”

 Taking her into his arms, Zuko replied. “We can take care of her just fine.”

 “We have different definitions of fine, Fire Lord.” Xanu noted.

 “I’ll keep a better eye on her.” Zuko promised. “I thought that Sokka was.”

 “You better. I might not happen upon her next time.”

 The princess continued to eye Zuko with a sense of antsy urgency. Once again she practically rammed her arm into his face, “make it stop.” She didn’t know how he couldn’t see it—the rubies had taken over parts of her neck and chest.

“It’s going to kill me, I’m going to die.” She whispered to herself.

 “Here, let me see it.” Katara offered.

 She extended her arm for the waterbender who pretended to inspect it. With more care than perhaps, Azula deserved, Katara muttered, “ah yes, I think I see the problem.” Azula nodded, happy to know that someone else could spy the conundrum.

 “It’s nothing that a little waterbending can’t fix.” She gave a soft smile.

 “Okay.” Azula agreed, suddenly water was her favorite thing. Her own next plan was to burn the rubies off. To the utter amazement of everyone else, she snuggled up against Katara.

 .oOo.

 Again Sokka found himself at odds with himself. Only a week or two ago he had longed for Azula to show them her soft side and now that she was he felt nothing but envy. And he had now one but himself to blame. He pushed her away…again, and she found someone else to rely on.

 “That’s kind of adorable.” Aang snickered as Toph whispered, “sweet, sweet blackmail.”

 Sokka peered at his sister and the firebender in her arms, “I can help too?”

 Azula eyed him with what could only be suspicion.

 “Please let me help.” He requested.

 “Do you want to take her to her room and make sure she stays there?” Zuko asked.

 Sokka nodded very quickly.

 “Sokka’s going to take you back to your room.” Katara walked Azula over to him.

 “No, Sokka doesn’t like me.” She insisted.

 “That’s not true!” He shouted, causing her to flinch back.

 “Not so loud.” Zuko hissed.

 “Sorry.” Sokka muttered. He was so frustrated, he just wanted to help like before. He tried to take her hand but she snatched it away.

 “Maybe you should leave it to Katara and Zuko this time.” Aang suggested.

 “Yeah, you pissed her off or something.” Toph added. “You’re really good at bothering people.” Realizing that she actually struck a nerve she muttered an apology and a, “you’re pretty okay most of the time.”

 “I just want to help.” He sighed.

 “You already have, you’ve helped her a lot.” Aang pointed out. “You were the first person to help her. She’s just having a bad reaction, talk to her when she’s…herself again.”

 Sokka ran a hand through his hair, this time she was right there and he still couldn’t comfort her or do anything but watch her fall. “Fine, I’ll be in my room.”

 That night he finished the painting.

 .oOo.

 Azula lie on her bed, mostly running her hand over her arm savoring the feeling of soft but dry flesh. For all of the flaws her skin acquired she was happy to have it instead of the rubies. She may have let herself grow too relaxed for she could feel herself ebbing away from her body. Zuko rubbed vertically over her back but the sensation was growing faint as her body grew more foreign. She could see things from a birdseye view; Katara next to her possibly talking to her, but equally as likely talking to Zuko. She could see herself, but her mind didn’t know quite what to picture so she just saw a woman familiar yet strange. A famished, sickly looking thing that resembled her but only just so.  

Her cheeks feeling wetter.

A hand came to dry them.

 When she slammed back into her body, she crashed hard.

Not at first, but something like an hour later. The first thing she found when in her physical form was the distinct feeling of an extra arm protruding from the one that was formerly gemstone. She had no control over this arm and it poked and nudged her incessantly.

 Zuko noted her discomfort first. “Are you in pain?”

 She shook her head and rolled onto her side, crushed under her bodyweight, the extra arm dissipated. Azula sat up again, she was restless, she needed to move. Katara tried to hold her down. She had a feeling she wouldn’t make it through the door this time so she took to pacing. Pacing and pacing and pacing and then pacing some more until her attention found something else.

 As it usually did, the mirror provided her with a view she was ill-acquainted with. This time she could barely say that the woman she saw was Azula. This woman had a slight, otherworldly shimmer to her skin. And her hair. Her hair was the color of wheat; she’d never seen hair that color before. She combed her fingers through it, sometimes it looked golder other times it was a sandier shade. Her eyes were different too, darker, sometimes flashing blue. Who was she?

She was Azula.

But she was someone entirely different?

 Azula didn’t quiet make it to the bed, before slumping over with the distinct feeling that one of her hands was slightly smaller than it should be. It looked right but felt weirdly disproportionate. Her head lolled. Zuko lifted her into her bed, something she attributed to being able to hover.

 Too much.

She had taken too much.

But of what?

[cyberflows-art]

Descent Chapter 2: Unknown Paths

You thought I was abandoning this one? Think again! XD I’m going to try and really commit to finishing this story, even if it takes me quite some time between chapters. With the release of chapter three I came up with some ideas I’d like to explore, so at least I have enough content to inspire me. With that said I hope you enjoy this chapter! These are also in my AO3 and ffnet if that’s more your style!

First / Next

 Everyone knew that the studio wasn’t in the greatest of shapes. With Joey cutting corners whenever he got the chance, people had had to get used to creaking doors and squeaking floorboards. It had become so common that nobody really paid attention to the constant noises of complaint the studio’s structure made. Right then, though, while Sammy was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, every creak made him cringe and look around for any sign of hostility. He had to constantly look down to avoid any loose floorboards and… it really wasn’t a comforting sight.

He sighed. He’d had to abandon his shoes and socks. The ink pooling in his shoes made it feel like his feet weren’t solid anymore and that had become unbearable after a while, not to mention his socks getting stuck to his “skin” had started to hurt. And he never thought his toes would worry him like this. The ink on his feet covered completely the spaces between them, but something felt… off. Every once in a while he would stop and wiggle them a little just to make sure they hadn’t fused together. His shirt suffered the same fate as his socks, since the amount of movement from his arms made the tugs of the cloth sticking to them quite painful. The stench of his own vomit on it had only encouraged his decision. Although for some miraculous reason, his once-gray pants weren’t sticking to him to him like the rest of his clothing was and he wasn’t about to object to it.

Sammy shook his head. He needed to stop. Every time he started questioning his new “anatomy” and thinking of the liquid scurrying inside his extremities each time he flexed them, his mind would start to panic at the wrongness of it all. But it was hard for him to focus. He had been walking for some time now, but he couldn’t place where he was. When all he could do was placing a foot in front of the other, his thoughts would inevitably start to drift. He didn’t know if it was how some of the walls seemed to be bleeding ink out of nowhere, or how there were pools of the black liquid blocking so many paths, but he couldn’t find his way to Joey’s office. Come to think of it, had he ever been in this part of the building. He had just run when the demon started attacking and he probably had taken a turn towards an “unauthorized” area. He groaned in frustration. He should have left when Henry did.

His attention snapped back to reality when he perceived movement from up ahead. From the next corner in front of him, a cutout of the cartoon demon himself had appeared. Sammy froze. He stared at the cutout trying to process what he was seeing. It was tilted in a way that its “feet” were hidden behind the wall, but Sammy had seen enough of them to know that there was no way in hell that it would be able to just stay in that position by itself.

His eyes darted to the left where there was another hallway he could follow. Except it was flooded with ink. Just the sight made his stomach churn and placed a bitter taste on his tongue. The moment he imagined a hand emerging and grabbing him as soon as he set foot in the ink, was the moment he knew he wouldn’t be physically capable of going that way. His eyes returned to the hallway ahead, only to find the cutout had disappeared. He didn’t dare to move just yet, praying that he had imagined the whole thing. Maybe he had already gone crazy. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe-

When had he turned to look at the ink hallway?

Something wasn’t right. It almost felt like the left half of his body was heavier, and he just couldn’t avert his eyes. The only thing that snapped him out of the trance was the realization of something shifting on his body. The ink covering him, flowing downwards until this moment, was now flowing left as if trying to pull him to the liquid mass. When his arm twitched in the same direction, he knew he had to get out of there, possessed cutout or not. He bolted forward, feeling how the ink flow shifted towards his back the further away he got from the cursed hallway. He turned so many corners and passed so many doors, only stopping to rest when the ink stopped pulling him to any direction in particular.

He fell on his knees exhausted. He really needed to get rid of the ink. It had felt like it was trying to reel him in into the ink pool. Like… coaxing him in. He made the decision not to get close to any ink accumulation that reached higher than his ankles. Whatever that demon wanted with him, he would not walk willingly into his arms.

Sammy looked around. He still didn’t know where he was but he could see an open door. If it was someone’s office, he might be able to get an idea of his surroundings. Having caught his breath he approached it. He hesitated for a moment, seeing how the hinges of the door seemed about to come loose, twisted as if something had tried to rip them off the wall. A peek inside told him that whatever it had been, it was gone.

The room wasn’t an office after all. It was quiet small, or maybe that was just the impression he got from all the bookshelves lining the walls. With one last look back to make sure nothing was closing in on him, he stepped inside. There were only a few books for each shelf, but maybe he would find some map with the layout of the building by sheer luck. He somehow doubted it. Scanning the covers, he could see some copies of “The Illusion of Living”, while others were notebooks filled with rejected ideas for episodes of the cartoon. He wondered if this was one of the rooms Joey had “reserved” for his own use.

After a couple of minutes of searching, it became apparent to him that staying any longer would be a waste of time. He was about to put back the book he was holding when he noticed something weird in the space where it belonged. There was a crevice at the back of the bookshelf. He frowned and tossed aside the other tomes that blocked it. A pair of hinges revealed the existence of a little secret compartment. Now Sammy was certain this room was Joey’s. Without the books to hold it closed, the compartment door opened, its lock apparently broken. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the cover of a book. A bright red pentagram adorned it, not a title in sight. He felt his throat going dry and then the need to take deep breaths. His hands shakily went to retrieve it. He struggled before being able to pull it out of its hiding spot, his fingers barely fitting between the book and the wood due to the volume added by the ink.

He hurried out without having to give it much of a thought, placing the book in his pocket. He knew he was holding something important, even if he didn’t know what exactly. He had seen that pentagram somewhere on his way there too. He wasn’t itching to open and read the contents of his new acquisition, but if he could only get a clue about the ink, or the monster…

It didn’t took him long to find the symbol, at the wall at the base of a staircase. It was the exact same as in the cover. He realized he didn’t have a clue of what could happen next. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know either. He stood there, staring at the wall and feeling even more stupid by the minute. Just what was he thinking he was going to do?

He heard a groan.

Sammy barely managed to turn around before a pair of inky black hands reached for him. The ink creature grabbed at his arm and pulled. It took all of Sammy’s balance not to fall over. The creature extended an arm directly at his face, but Sammy caught it with his free hand. He struggled to free himself without releasing the arm of the monster. As they fought, locked in place, Sammy noticed the head of the creature was twisted at a weird angle. His eyes widened in recognition. But it couldn’t be. He had seen it dissolve after its neck snapped. A surge of panic got ahold of him when more grunting reached his ears. If more of them got close while he was trapped like this-! He planted his feet and pulled as hard as he could, succeeding in freeing himself from the monster’s grip. The momentum launched him backwards into the wall, but instead of hitting it, he kept falling.

Then everything was darkness. He could only see the pentagram, shining red and getting further away. There were voices and screams, muffled as if from the other side of a wall. He was being dragged backwards. A flash of light blinded him and his back finally connected with the wooden floor. He lay there without moving, the voices just fading from his ears and his eyes readjusting. The pulsing of the ink throughout his body had intensified at some point. He waited until it returned to “normal” before he sat up. In front of him was a wall with a pentagram. Suddenly remembering the monsters, he scrambled to his feet, but a quick look around told him he wasn’t where he had been a moment ago. It was a lot darker, but from what he could see, there were some desks toppled sideways and papers scattered all over the floor. The various splotches of ink around him meant he still was in the studio, right? He shook his head. His mind was so sluggish, but his breathing and heartbeat were still racing.

He turned around to look at the pentagram. He needed to know what had just happened. He yanked the book from his pocket and passed the pages with trembling hands. The title “Portals” caught his attention. Was that it? Had he gone through some kind of passageway? He tried skimming the page, but he couldn’t understand most of what was written, as a lot of phrases seemed to make no sense. Maybe he needed some sort of code. However, it only took the words “connection to hell” for him to shut the book closed. He thought of the screams he’d heard, the image of souls being consumed by fire popping in his mind.

If that was even a remote possibility, he wouldn’t be using these hellish portals anytime soon. He could only hope that this one hadn’t taken him to a worse location than the one where he had been at.

Thanks for reading! And please tell me what you think; constructive criticism is always appreciated!

[genkigratification]

Soulmate AU where when you meet your soulmate, everything bad people have said to you appear on your skin, but only you and your soulmate can see it.

shuake, 1.8k words, pre-established relationship

Akechi always wore things that covered as much skin as possible, even in the summertime.

“Aren’t you hot?” Akira asks once, feeling stifled himself at the sight of the other boy in long sleeves and a sweatervest. Akechi gestures meaninglessly in the air – something just to fill it where words can’t be found immediately, he’s realized by now – and smiles.

“No, not really. The humidity isn’t so bad today.”

They both know he overheats easily, though, and Akira buys him a popsicle on their walk around. It’s blue, stains his lips and tongue, and Akechi’s mouth tastes sweet when they kiss, tinged with a melting dessert. Akira’s hand slips between Akechi’s pants and shirt to untuck it, hands gliding up his side, and with a shudder Akechi kisses him harder.

But that’s all it ever gets to, the first sign of clothes riding up causing him to flinch away with some excuse.

Akira wonders if Akechi’s afraid of something. Of him.

There’s days where Akechi stares at him like there’s something on his face, like he’s studying every part of Akira with a keen eye, and Akira’s skin gives away the embarrassment he feels boiling beneath. Just a bit. He’d always been told he was lucky he didn’t blush as hard as most, and this is one of those times that he’s thankful for it.

He’s also thankful his voice is more coy than stuck in his throat. “See something you like?”

“No,” Akechi answers immediate and honestly, jarring them both; Akira’s surprise is more at Akechi’s surprise than the word itself, and Akechi’s eyes dart away as he licks his lips. “… Put a shirt on. Your skin’s blinding.”

His eyes flick down and he sees the ink sprawling across his own skin, the paleness being slowly overtaken by black with each passing day.

“I’m working on a tan.”

“You’ll burn.”

Akira’s nose scrunches as he laughs, catching Akechi’s gaze again and leaning on the counter. “Come upstairs and make me put one on.”

The other scoffs and declines, just like Akira thought he would, but wears the shade of red well on his cheeks.

It takes forever for Akira to learn why Akechi covers up, dragging the shirt up and spotting the first signs of ink, characters marring his otherwise clear skin. Akechi doesn’t look at him and Akira realizes that the other’s known for so, so much longer about their connection, that the reason he’d never been able to take his eyes off Akira’s body and want to look at him was the same.

Useless brat, he reads. Burden. Freak. Whore’s son.

They cover so, so much of Akechi’s body, fading out when they hit his collarbones and Akira rubs with a wet thumb until they become whole once more.

Asshole. Prick. Pretentious douchebag. Who’d ever wanna be friends with a know-it-all like that?

Akechi’s chest shudders beneath him, the breathe exhaled just the same, and Akira gets a washcloth to clean off the rest of the concealer, just to see what was beneath. Half of Akechi’s face is the powdered perfection people see, the other half…

I wish you were never born.

“I must look disgusting to you,” Akechi mumbles lightly, trying not to reveal the depth of his own disgust. It doesn’t work. “So blackened and ugly.”

No, Akira wants to say and finds the words caught in his throat. You’re not the ugly one.

Anger flares through every inch of him the more he reads, the more Akechi reveals, skin tattooed with every harsh word spoken in true hatred, petty annoyance, heat of the moment frustration. His own is marked with things too, sure, they’ve even multiplied since his conviction and entrance to Shujin, but it’s nothing like what Akechi’s got. What he imagines is imprinted on the rest of his friends.

This, more than anything in the world, proves that Akechi belongs with them.

“I wish it was the opposite,” he mumbles as he leans down to kiss Akechi, fingers tracing the characters across his skin and smiling when the other arches against his touch, craving it, “that all the good words were written instead. You’d still be covered head to toe.”

Akechi laughs hollowly against his lips, eyes mahogany in the light, and cards his hands through Akira’s curls tentatively. Still unsure about showing so much of himself. It’s a good thing, Akira tries to convey without words, curling over Akechi and caging his head with his arms. It’s good that he’s opening up. The words marring Akechi aren’t opinions he shares for the most part (he is a prick sometimes, a know it all for certain, jerk and asshole fit just as well) and he wishes he could erase them all with a rub of his thumb, with ghosting kisses and whispered compliments.

There’s scars here and there, evidence that Akechi had tried to scrape them off himself, and Akira doesn’t ignore them or the way Akechi flinches at the contact, though he does stop the other from trying to move away. They stare at one another, stubborn and hot, until Akechi shoves at him with a huff.

“Pretend like they’re not there. It’s not like they matter.”

Seeing it in a mirror day after day is exhausting, a constant reminder of failures and fuck ups, of shortcomings and other’s thoughts. Akira had gotten into the habit of facing the door when he brushed his teeth himself.

He lingers when he can in defiance of Akechi’s self-loathing. Tests his patience in moments, toes the line as dangerously as he dares, steadily getting him used to the gentle touches and slow caresses that aggravate him so, mouthing sweet words against the ones that’ve caused him such pain, forced such distance.

Akira might not be able to physically erase them (nothing can, save make up apparently) but he can at least make them truly meaningless when Akechi looks at himself.

Akechi’s skin turns red beneath the black, breath hitching and body shuddering, surrendering, and it’s hard not to just take all he can, devour it completely like it’s the last time he’ll have it. It’s harder still when Akechi breathes his name reverently, rolling the syllables like he’s asking for God, and Akira groans.

Fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing.

They pick up the pace, desperate to cover the words with scratches and bruising hickeys, and Akira’s thrilled that they have the same idea, that they meld so well together, that Akechi can forget for a little while that there’s anything there at all; Akira does too, everything blurring together and disappearing against the slap of skin, heat swelling, the scent of sweat and sex permeating the air.

Sensitive, he traces on Akechi’s thigh, the other making a noise of complaint that shudders with the rest of him. Beautiful drawn next, and beside that hot and clever. Smart, bold, flexible.

Akechi’s inquiry is exasperated and exhausted, “What are you doing, Akira?”

“Fixing a few things.” Fun to be with. Aggravating, in a good way. Lovely. “Hey, got a pen?”

“What? No.”

Great smile, great ass. “Too bad.” Worth the world. “Would’ve liked to mark these out for real.”

“– Akira,” with a shove that dislodges him from beside Akechi, the other looking some sort of combination of confused and irate. Tired, maybe? Something. “They’re there for a reason,” he continues softer, and his gaze flicks away as he sinks back into the bed, focusing on a string he rolls between his fingers. “One day, I won’t even remember what I looked like before all of these.”

Akira scoots back in beside him, curling his arm around Akechi’s waist and moving closer, watching the string too. Just because he can’t get rid of them doesn’t mean he has to add to them, he decides. Just because there’s a reason doesn’t mean it’s right. He wishes he could fix them for real, each character stretching across Akechi’s skin like it’s tattooed there, moving with muscle beneath it. “I think you’re beautiful,” he offers quietly, uncertain if that’s the right thing to say. It’s true, after all. It’s true and his mouth is cotton when the spinning stops. “You shouldn’t have so much on you. This kind of thing shouldn’t even happen. But you’re still alive, and… I think you’re strong.”

There’s no beauty in suffering. Nothing romantic in bearing a burden. But Akechi is strong, there’s no doubt about that, and Akira huffs laughter softly.

“I mean, most of this,” a gesture to his ink splattered form, nowhere close to Akechi but remarkable nonetheless, “is from this year, you know? A lot of it is just the same thing over and over. They get darker with repetition, I noticed.” He inhales sharply, Akechi’s eyes turning to him as he pushes the blanket past the crest of their hips, shivering at the chill above the covers. “I found people that made it bearable. Sure, they couldn’t see the things you and me do,” soulmates, something that would be exciting if it wasn’t born and bonded in this, companions who can see the other’s pain, “but they still knew, and they didn’t care what anyone said. What was written on me.”

Akechi didn’t seem like he had anyone. Despite being surrounded by so many people, despite being so loved, it just… seemed empty, somehow. Distanced.

Akira watches Akechi, how he sinks into the bed more and more, and plops a hand onto his head, carding through the chestnut locks gently. “They wouldn’t care about yours either.”

“Do you?” It’s a silly question and Akechi looks like he knows it is, but considering even that short question sounded like it took a lot to say Akira doesn’t blame him for not following it up.

“Nah. I don’t really care about what anyone says about you, Akechi.” With a gentle flick to his forehead. “You’re not that special.”

Akechi stares at him, swollen lips parted, and Akira’s smile quirks up again. “They’re in the past, you know. Those words. They don’t matter to me, because you’re not any… well, you’re not most of the things written.”

“My, aren’t you romantic.” Scratchy and soft, but a response. The sarcasm makes him grin.

“You’re an aggravating prick, Akechi. That’s just how it is.”

“And you’re an annoying mophead.”

Akira squints his eyes, not remembering that particular insult on his person, and Akechi’s playful smile tells him that it was never there to begin with; he shoves the other lightly, huffing.

… Still, fondly spoken as they are, they don’t appear. Akechi tentatively reaches out to lay his hand on Akira’s, warm and tense. He squeezes gently. “Thank you. You really do say interesting things, Akira.”

Things that make him think, intriguing and – if Akira could take this claim – things Akechi’s never heard before. He wants to find more of those things and pile them onto Akechi, suffocate him with words once rare, wipe that sad look off his face and surround him with people who wouldn’t care even if they could see all the words running across his skin. The world that’d printed such things onto Akechi didn’t deserve him; he was with Akira now, was with the rest of his friends group, and hell to those that wanted him back.

[mrneighbourlove]

Snake who Smiles: Ch 5. Small Seeds

Malik held his new baby born closely. Revan was a handsome baby, black hair like his mother. It took a while but he had finally fallen asleep. Moments with just being with his family he cherished dearly.

"I thought for sure the little one would have your red hair since all of Zarazu's do so far." Asakonigei laughed softly as Malik placed Revan into his basinet. She was resting in the bed while Malik attended to their boy. Her husband was absolutely smitten with his son, counting his fingers and toes. The Kovina thought it was adorable. "Well, Zahirog has the closest to her locks of dark brown, like a burnt amber sort of color. Though I'm delighted to see he's strong, healthy, and most importantly, safe."

"Yes. Safe. Even more when I find Zahirog's attacker." Malik gave a mighty sigh. "I worry too much for the two of you, and the rest of this family on my back. Every corner, every drink. Just....dangers."

Love, you're not alone here. We protect our own, yes?" Asakonigei tried to soothe his news as she patted the spot on the bed beside of her. "Whoever did this will be found soon enough. We have more security now, people testing the food, and besides... have you ever seen my uncles and cousins when they're stark raving mad when it concerns me? Make you look like a mouse." She kissed his cheek as he sat. "You may be Gerudo, but Lorleidians take family of every tribe."

"Yes, yes. Your the fine pussy who caught me." He kisses her back. "Won't stop me from worrying."

"Excuse me? I'm a freaking goddess, thank you very much. Without my divine strength, I doubt I could have pushed that one out of me." Asakonigei motioned to Revan. "Big, like his father you know... and will probably worry and fret just like him too." As she settled underneath the warm covers, the Kovina sighed as she held Malik's cheek. "I understand why you worry, love. Just remember, we're here to help you if you need us."

Malik carefully positioned Revan between them. "I know, I know. Now that I'm a father, I worry even more. If not now for his present, then Revan's future. I had a disturbing conversation with Zizi not to long ago, after she had a man devoured, how everyone in our world has to kill at some point. To take a life. And to think our children will do that....I've lived death. I don't want them to experience it if I can't."

"Unfortunately, that is the world everyone lives in nowadays." Asakonigei had her fair share of bloodlust on the battlefield. She only killed to keep from being killed herself. "Even when I lived on Lorleidi, I had to fight. There were pirates, harpies, serpents and we faced Vul'kar too, Malik. Perhaps one day, our children will be able to rest and not fight."

"This isn't the world I want to bring them in. I don't want them to worry about their people suffering a genocide, or have demons rise from the ocean to take them. I just...I disagree with you and Zizi. It can be different." Malik took what he said in. Never in his wildest imagination would he denounce the belief of kill or be killed. He was stuck living by it, but he'd do his damnedest to make sure Reven didn't have to.

"I'm glad you disagree, I want to be wrong." Asakonigei sincerely hoped there would be a day in Hyrule's future where there was no violence. "Wouldn't it be nice if Revan could simply just work in the castle one day? Perhaps be an advisor or maybe run the forge if he liked?" She thought about her boy one day warping metals like she did. It would be a treat if he turned out to be a Kovina or perhaps a Vatra like her mother. "He could make horseshoes, carts, saddles... maybe one day there will be no need for weapons."

"That'll be the day." Malik leaned closer to his wife rubbed his nose with hers. She really was a goddess.

"I wish you could have seen Lorleidi when we were there and barely scraping by." Asakonigei told Malik as he snuggled closer, keeping Revan in-between the two of them. "We had very little, but we had each other. You know there were no thieves in Lorleidi because we shared what we had?" She held his huge hand, looking at the callouses there. "No need for locks, for money, for poverty, anything. I miss it sometimes... but now, I'm so utterly grateful to have you and to have our little Revan."

Malik gives a chuckle. "That sounds so much like my desert home. For a race of 'desert rats and thieves' we always looked out for each other. We made sure no Gerudo would go hungry or without care. I hope I can take you and Revan out there one day."

"I want to see where you used to live one day. I've never seen a desert." Asakonigei kissed Revan's forehead as he yawned. "Maybe one day, Lorleidi will have healed and you can see how beautiful it was. For now though... I think our first big step will be getting a place of our own one day, don't you?"

"Agreed. The noise complaints we get from your screams alone is enough of an excuse."

Blushing dark red in the cheeks, Asakonigei swatted his shoulder. "And just who is responsible for those screams?"

"I believe your ragged words were, 'big monster Gerudo cock'." He smiles like the devil back to her.

Oh!" Asakonigei blushed even darker and scoffed at her husband. "You! I swear, we're going to have a barn full of your younglings if you have any say."

"That'd be nice." He leans over and gives her deep kiss. "I'll be sure to look into it."

"... how many children do you want, Malik?" Asakonigei asked him as Revan dozed lightly. "I know Gerudos like big families. I don't think I'd object to many daughters or sons. I just hope one of them gets your red hair."

"Until we're satisfied. Night my dear."

~

Zahirog's health improved within time. He still had trouble breathing every now and then, so he had to be closely supervised. Zarazu refused to be parted with her little son for too long. Covarog tried to talk to her about it, saying she needed to rest as well, yet the queen acted as if anyone else caring for her newborn was the plague. The king attributed it to the fear and paranoia of almost losing him. The queen was having a hard time with the separation right now thanks to assassins.

"Luimaya, Turagor, do be careful playing around the fountain." Zarazu told her twins as the pair fed the koi fish. "And don't feed the fishes too much, they'll get fat."

Alexander Zemalocke peered around the corner to the garden. He was given lecture after lecture to spy on the Dragmire family. His father had been very persistent on it. He raved on and on how Zarazu really was death to have survived it for so long. He had to know if she had a special magic protecting her or medicine, and to take it away if Alex could. In fact his father had only grown far angrier and angrier as time passed. Sometimes it scared Alex more then usual. Right now it looked as though they were just having fun, nothing more.

"But Mama, this one is really fat!" Turagor pointed to the biggest female fish in the water.

"She's probably peg... no, pignit... what's the word, Mama?" Luimaya asked her mother.

"Pregnant, Luimaya. She might be pregnant." Zarazu told her daughter as she kept Zahirog in a sling around her body. The boy was watching everything around him with wide eyes and had a smile on his face. As long as her children were safe, the queen felt at peace. Noticing a figure out of the corner of her eye, the Zarazu spotted Zemalocke's son at the archway to the garden. The boy was painfully shy still it seemed and still had not realized how keen her senses were. "Young Alexander, if you think you can hide from a queen, even though she might be sickly, you're dreadfully wrong, dear."

Alexander had shock on his face before hiding away behind the pillar. How did she see him?! Maybe she'd think she was seeing things if he kept really quiet, closed his eyes, and thought really hard he was invisible.

"Alex?" Luimaya, curious as ever, was the first to investigate. Covarog swore up and down she received that touch of nature from Ralnor, always wanting to know more. She waved her hand at him, urging him to come over to the fountain. "Come on over here! You can feed the fishes!"

"We got sandwiches, scones and tea too!" Turagor hopped off the side of the fountain ledge to get a bite of lunch. "Mama wanted us to have some fresh air."

Alexander peered around, still unsure. His father might discipline him again if he even talked to them. "N-no thank you..."

"Mister Alexander, are you refusing an invitation from your future queen?" Zarazu jested lightly. "Come now, we don't bite. There's an extra sandwich in the picnic basket if you haven't had lunch."

Alexander slowly inched his way forward, taking the sandwich, but not biting into it. What was he doing? He could get into so much trouble for this.

"Sit, Alex!" Turagor flopped down onto the picnic blanket alongside his sister. "Whacha doing around here? Another lesson?"

"Lessons are boring, I like sparing best!" Luimaya said as she nibbled on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Though, fairy tales aren't too bad..."

"Alexander, have you been well?" Zarazu asked, having to stay in her wheelchair due to the uneven nature of the stoned floor in the garden. "I haven't seen much of you lately."

"Father has been very busy. He wanted me out of class for private lessons. Said there are too many distractions."

"I must agree, there has been a lot going on in the castle lately unfortunately." Zarazu shifted a little in her wheelchair to move Zahirog onto the other shoulder. "And is your family well?"

"Father is very stressed." Alex tried to keep it to a minimal.

Zarazu got the feeling the boy did not want to talk about his family. He hardly mentioned his mother. The queen wondered if the poor thing ever received any attention from her. Alex was well aware of the tensions between his father and the crown.

"Alex... you can be yourself here, dear." Zarazu told him gently. "I know things aren't the best right now but you're safe here. Nothing will happen to you under our watch, all right? No matter who does or does not like the other."

Alexander looked down at the ground for the longest time. "Why does my father hate you? You make life so hard for him."

"... Luimaya, Turagor, why don't you go check on Zizi's roses, yes?" Zarazu distracted her twins for a moment at the look of confusion on their faces. "Your mama needs to talk to Alex for a moment alone."

"But... okay." Luimaya figured it was best not to argue and walked with her brother to check on the flowers.

The queen took a slow breath before choosing her words carefully. She could not hold anything against the young boy. He was not his father.

"Your father hates me because I'm not Hylian, dear. He believes a pureblood should be on the throne, not a Lorleidian, not a Gerudo." Zarazu explained to Alexander as softly as she could. "I'm not like him or a lot of the people that live in Hyrule neither is my husband. Your father sticks to tradition, which has respect in some ways yet... sometimes it can hurt others." She looked at her newborn, the overwhelming feeling of dread creeping back when she thought she might lose him. "I come from a different world than your father does. I come from a place where everyone, no matter who you are, is equal. Noble, commoner, king or queen, no one is better than the other. I think that's why your father deems I make life hard for him, young one." Zarazu offered him a quiet smile. "Because I don't believe any one person can be better than the other simply because of this silly notion called 'royal blood'."

"Father tells me stories how I could be on the throne if I tried hard enough. I don't understand why I'm not allowed to play with Luiyama and Turagor. He calls your food filth, your husband a rat, and your family witches. I'm told not to trust your 'kind'. I don't know what that means.”

"I suppose what your father means is he thinks he is superior to us and we are below him, dear Alex." Zarazu tried to put the whole matter as delicately as she could. "I think that's why he doesn't want you to trust us or be around us. We're just a bit too odd for his likings. What Alexander, I must tell you this," The queen leaned a little closer. "Despite what your father says, and whether you decide to trust us completely or not, we will never ever harm you. Even though your sire views us differently, you are not him."

Alexander didn't know what to say, only nodding.

"And I believe I must ask you this, Alexander... do you think me wicked?" Zarazu asked the boy. "You, yourself. Not your father. You must think for yourself one day."

"N-no mamm."

"Then that's all that matters." Zarazu gestured for him to sit in front of her. "Now, love, I believe your hair is a tad unkempt due to this wind. Let me fix it for you, yes?"

Alexander finally sits down, sitting away from her.

"... will you at least have a scone, dear?" Zarazu asked the boy, thinking at least she tried to make a connection. Sometimes, the trust did not come easily. Still, she would not hold it against him for his wariness. Who knew what Zemalocke told him. It was probably something along the lines of her touch was death. "I promise they're fresh and full of the tasty blueberries."

Slowly he inches closer to her. "You can do my hair now..."

Zarazu smiled brightly as he finally was close enough for her to fix his tail of hair. The wind was a bit breezy today, but the garden shield them from the lot of it. Using her fingers, the queen carefully removed the navy ribbon in place and combed through his locks with her nails.

"You want a normal tail again or a braid?"

"Normal Tail please. Don't want Father to notice."

"Of course, dear." Zarazu used the utmost care when fixing his hair. She made sure to reinforce the sides by adding a twist to the end. The ribbon would cover it and both would hold his hair into place. "You are always welcome here, Alex. If you ever need anything at all, you come find me and ask. Promise?"

"Promise."

"That's a good boy, Alex." Zarazu kissed the top of his head. "Now, you hurry home before your mother worries. If you need a ride, fetch one of the guards or ask."

"I don't have a mother mamm."

"... no mother?" Zarazu had been under the notion that Zemalocke was married and his wife was well. Then again, she never saw her anywhere or even heard her name uttered. Was this some sort of taboo forbidden to speak of?

"She's dead mamm."

"I apologize, Alex, I did not know." Zarazu finished off the tail with the ribbon tied in place. The queen never knew her own mother, seeing Odetti died in childbirth. There was just too much blood lost. "I never had a mother myself, yet I had others to look in and care for me. My people, they're my family and since I married Covarog, I seem to find my family growing."

"And it will continue to grow." Covarog walked up behind his wife, leaning down to peck her on the cheek. The twins were giggling, sitting on his shoulders. "A certain pair of twins found the strawberry bushes and promptly had a feast."

"There's still plenty more!" Luimaya wiped at her mouth.

"We only ate a few." Turagor's lips were covered in the same sticky mess as his sister's. "I brought some for Zahirog."

"Zahi can't eat strawberries yet."

"I thought I could mush 'em up for him."

"We have company, love." Zarazu told Covarog as she patted Alexander's shoulders.

Alexander looked up at Covarog and still couldn't help but feel fear from him. "Hello sir."

"Good afternoon, Alexander." Covarog set the twins down beside of their mother. "You two need to go and wash up for your writing lesson."

"But Papa, I don't wanna!" Luimaya protested. "I wanna spar instead!"

"Yeah, can't we do the lesson another day?" Turagor asked. "I'd rather be outside."

"No, you two will go to your lesson and then after that, we will consider sparring." Covarog told his children as he urged them off with one of the guards. "And for goddess' sake, don't prank anyone else with Skull Kid with glitter bombs."

"At least its not stink bombs anymore." Zarazu remarked as the guards took the twins to their lesson. "Don't be anxious, dear. Covarog won't hold anything against you either."

"He still scares me..."

"... you know we actually fought each other when we first met, Alex?" Zarazu tried to change the tone. "At first, I was a bit intimidated by him too. We fought because at first, we deemed each other enemies due to some grievances in the past. Yet, now, look at what happened... sort of ironic, isn't it?"

"A king is supposed to intimidate others... yet, he can hold a soft heart." Covarog took Zahirog from Zarazu so she could have a small break. The baby cooed and babbled loudly as his father held him. Grinning from ear to ear, Covarog felt his heart feel tenderness at how Zahirog held onto his huge finger so tightly. "Especially for his family, his friends, and for innocents. You need not fear me, Alex."

"Thank you. What category is my father lie under?"

"That depends on how your father views me, young Alexander." Covarog answered honestly. "A friend is a friend... yet an enemy is an enemy."

Alexander looked down again. "And how do you treat your enemies?"

"I try to find a way to make peace with them first. Look at how much joy it has brought me to view the Lorleidians as a friend instead of enemy." Covarog held his wife's hand. "Yet, if the enemy refuses to find common ground for the sake of others... then I have to think of how said enemy would treat those I love. I cannot let an enemy hurt someone I care about. Do you understand?"

Alexander looked at him with a neutral expression, maybe even dark. "Father says you shouldn't be on the throne...what do you do to enemies who don't agree with you?"

That actually caused Covarog to snicker a bit.

"Alexander, a lot of nobility besides your father does not want me on the throne." The king told the young boy. "That is simply an opinion of those who do not like the way my queen and I are trying to rule, or, in your father's case, because I am half Gerudo. They're just a pain in the ass---side, I mean side."

Zarazu gave Covarog a look for cursing in front of the children.

"What my husband is trying to say, dear one, is sometimes people do not have faith in anyone that is different."

Alexander dropped his jaw at Covarog swearing. How could someone of such high nobility sweat?! "You swore! Mamm, he swore!!! Kings aren't aloud to swear!!! He should have his mouth cleansed!!!"

"I'm king, I can swear if I damn want to swear." Covarog muttered under her breath until Zarazu nudged his arm hard from her wheelchair. "Ouch! Stop that!"

"Stop cursing in front of the children!"

"Yeah, why can't we say 'damn it' or 'hell'?" Turagor asked with a huff.

"Uncle Malik says it all the time when he's sparring and someone gets the best of him." Luimaya chimed in her two cents.

"And how would you two know that?" Covarog asked them with narrowed eyes.

Turagor and Luimaya just grinned widely.

"We got done early studying and went to spy on him?"

"Oh good spirits..." Zarazu shook her head. "Alexander, we're people too. Even royalty loses their cool sometimes. I have plenty of times."

"In the bedroom." Covarog whispered in her ear to tease her.

Blushing slightly, Zarazu scoffed at him.

"Hush you!"

Alexander couldn't believe what he was hearing. He rushed to Luiyama and Turagor worried. "You can't swear in front of your parents. They'll burn your tongues!"

"We'd never do such a thing." Covarog laughed at Alexander's horror. "Maybe take away their deserts or ground them, but never hurt them."

"Hell yeah!"

"Luimaya, don't push it."

"Aw..."

Alexander was beyond shocked a lady would say 'hell'. "Father says only delinquents find delight in swearing."

"And where is this grand rule book on what royalty is and is not supposed to do?" Covarog questioned the young man. "There are many kind of delinquents... those who start food fights in the kitchen."

"That was fun!" Turagor snickered. "Grandpa and Grandma even played! The whole family was there."

"Stay up late playing hide-and-go-spook." Zarazu laughed. "Everyone jumping and stumbling over things in the dark."

"Uncle Ralnor won that game! He wins a lot!" Luimaya giggled. "I almost won once by hiding in an ale barrel."

"Slide down the hallway in socks and see who can go the furthest and not break any vases."

"Pillow fights."

"Dress-up!"

"Tea parties."

"The list goes on."

Alexander was at a loss for words. "I've never done any of that."

"Alex, just because we're king and queen doesn't mean we can't do things that other people do." Zarazu patted his shoulder. "Before anything else, we're a family."

Alexander was about to ask something but pulled back. His father's demands echoed in his mind. "Queen Zarazu? How is your health?"

"Asking for your father, are you?" Covarog realized now that Zemalocke was using his son. It made him feel sick but angry. "He's often sending others to inquire to see if you've gotten worse or are finally six feet under."

"Covarog, be nice." Zarazu chided her husband lightly. She could give the boy enough details so he would not get in trouble. "I'm still here, dear one. A little stronger every day. Yet, it's a long road to recovery."

Alexander did not like the way Covarog was looking at him. He was monstrously big and scary. "I should be going back to my father."

"I should be fine on my own." Alexander stood up and gave a bow only to Zarazu.

"Are you sure?" Zarazu asked him once more. "It's no bother if you want one of our guards to take you home. I just want you to be safe."

"Better to be safe than sorry. I'll see to him, love." Covarog told Zarazu as he picked up Alexander and settled him on a shoulder just like he did with one of his twins. "We'll find you a guard to take you home safe and sound."

Alexander was spooked to be picked up at first, and it showed on his face. "Is this necessary?"

"What? Don't like piggyback rides? And yes, you can laugh at the pun." Covarog knew anything that had to do with pigs was a touchy subject for his father. Yet, something like this was a bit innocent. "My wife wishes that I see to it that you are home safely with an escort so that is what I'm going to do."

"Father never gives me piggy back rides. Even when I ask."

"... well... that's his loss, then." Covarog headed to the stables and spoke to one of the guards. He was to take Alexander home on horseback and then come straight back to his post. While the guard readied the steed's saddle, the king fetched a sugar cube for Alexander to feed the horse.

"What's this?"

"Sugar cubes. The horses love them." Covarog walked closer to the huge horse. "Hold out your hand flat as can be with the cube in the middle of your palm. The horse will eat it; like a treat for them."

Alexander hesitated. "It won't eat my hand?"

"No, horses are herbivores." Covarog chuckled. "Here, watch me." He took half of the cube and put it in his hand. The mighty steed snuffled and licked the king's hand to take the cube, munching with a flick of his ear. "See?"

"O-ok. Alexander stepped forward to feed the horse. He squinted his eyes as it ate the cube. Surprisingly his fingers weren't taken off.

The horse licked Alexander's palm for the sweetness and snorted.

"Not too bad, was it?" Covarog used his handkerchief to wipe off Alexander's hand of the slobber. After that, he grasped the boy under his arms and set him on the saddle with the guard. "You make sure you send word after you get home. I don't want my wife to worry that you're not safe."

"Ok. Thank you for the ride sir."

"It's no problem." Covarog led the horse out of the stables. "Come back and play with Luimaya and Turagor anytime you wish."

Alexander nodded and left with the guard.

~

Alexander Zemalocke had returned to his father's castle. Peering through the door he saw his father was around a bored room of some nobles. Victor Zemalocke tapped impatiently on his chair. "How many as of now?"

"Ninty-Four my lord."

"Ninety-Four to attack Hyrule Castle at my beckon call. Damn. There should have been more."

When he see's his son the Baron makes a sharp gesture for him to come in. It was like a dog being yanked on its leash for Alexander. "Boy, tell me, what is Zarazu's condition?"

"W-well Father, the Queen says she's in good spirits and health, recovering everyday."

The nobles talk amongst themselves and Zemalocke throws his wine glass against the wall. The red wine leaked down staining the carpet. Alexander jumps back, afraid he was going to be punished. "GOD DAMN IT!!!"

The nobles are cautious. They expected Zarazu to have started losing health by now. The Baron was persistent in telling them she was fading. "Baron Zemalocke, do you have any plans?"

"Quiet worm, I'm thinking!"

Zemalocke stomped back and forth in a spot scheming. Everything he used to try and kill that witch had failed. He was running low on options. Major risks would have to be taken now. He knew he'd have to play all his cards now.

"I have one idea left."

"Will it work Baron? We've already put a good amount of stock into your previous efforts."

" It will ."

The nobles looked at each other and nodded in agreement. They wanted a Hylian on the throne. They already risked much by following the Baron. "Very well. What shall we do?"

"Get those that will follow us ready to strike the castle at my notice. If plan A fails, then I shall deal with the whole royal family myself."

The nobles muttered in agreement and left. Victor Zemalocke turned to his butler. "Put my son to bed. I need to travel."

"Of course sir."

Alexander wanted to object to his father, but the words hung in his mouth. He went upstairs having a silent pray Zarazu wouldn't have to die, or anyone for that matter. The Baron meanwhile hopped on his horse and traveled far into the Lost Woods in secret.

Once at the Woods and positive he was not followed, the Baron knocked on a particular tree. "Hello? Are you there?"

For a moment, no answer. As Zemalocke turned a figure jumped down from the trees. "And who pray tell are you?"

Zemalocke studied him. He wore a thick trench coat, and a bird like mask, something akin to a plague doctor, but made of solid gold. "I am Baron Zemalocke. Are you the Garo Master?"

"I am."

"Then you are the world's greatest assassin? You have never failed?"

"No Garo fails and lives to tell of it."

Zemalocke felt some relief. It felt as though this was the final piece he needed. "I'd like to hire you."

"I am quite costly."

"Money is no problem."

"Very well." The Garo Master brought out a contract and a knife. Zemalocke took a step back.

"What's this?"

"A most sacred of binding contracts. You will sign in blood."

Zemalocke took the knife. He hated the thought of even dropping a single bit of his blood, but if it meant the end of his enemies, so be it. He cut open his finger and dripped the blood onto the contract. Carefully he signed his name.

The Garo took the contract and put it his purple pockets. "It is done. Now what is your mark?"

"I want you to wipe out the Royal Family of Hyrule, specifically the King and Queen. I'll pay bonuses to any others."

"Then it will be done."

Zemalocke was a little surprised. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. We will only see each other once more."

Before Zemalocke said anything the Garo Master jumped into the air in a flash, not picked up by the Baron's eyes. For once the Baron felt hope, but he had tasted defeat enough to know he needed to be prepared. One more ritual would fix that.

[peachhoneii]

Kenosis (BATIM)

Fandom:  Bendy and The Ink Machine Word Count: 17048 Summary: A soul must be emptied to receive the Lord’s will. No one knew this better than Susie Campbell. A/N: About my one and only Bendy story, and came as a surge to characterize Susie before Chapter 3 is released. 

[AO3]

Susie positioned the microphone close to her mouth.

Amazed anything was heard with the projection area’s constant ink droppings plopping about, she smiled a toothy grin. She didn’t think to complain.

Her throat and head were clear, and when her lips parted to vocalize, she felt the lovely tingle down her throat, the sharp vibrations that followed every silly voice her vocal chords managed to create.

Opening her mouth and keeping it so was an important key to her success, she believed. Her teeth protruded awkwardly whenever she barked or chirped or sang an unbearably on-key tune. This was how the job went, how it was supposed to be.

The mechanics were altered during the transition, but voice acting wasn’t that much different from on-screen, or on sage acting. She believed the greatest challenge was getting viewers to feel, as well as hear, the range of emotions present in the characters' voice. They had to feel through their actions, fluid and blotchy, and their voices needed to carry their thought process to the viewers, be it silly or diabolical or simply mischievous.

As expected, their range of emotions was exaggerated reality. Warped to suit comedic and surreal necessities, this outrageous range was vital for the art’s survival.

That was hardly the point. When Susie stepped in front of the microphone, she knew what to do, who to be, what tone and timbre worked, and what volume was necessary to get the job done. Her smiles dimmed during work, as the process was more of a strain than one would expect, and her hands constantly moved in accordance to the script's detail.

Time was a pin drop in the back of her mind. She knew it continued, and she knew they were on a strict time schedule. On the other side of the recording room window, the others sat in silence as she performed. Their eyes, all male, targeted on her, and she kept her eyes focused on the right light above the window. Red during recording, always blinking, she let her gaze focus on that, and she breathed through her nose, holding it for her dancing tree segments.

Soon, the script reached its end, and the red, blinking light above the window dwindled. The recording finished, and she gasped lightly, letting her shoulders slag from the strain of the work. Staring into the window, she smiled softly at her audience, the only audience she would ever see, and walked out of the room to meet them. The routine was second nature to her at this point, and she nodded to them, their applause casual but genuine.

"You're doing great, Susie," Norman chimed at the head of the band. His brown eyes were warm and cool at the same time, and he carried a large, black case with him. She imagined his guitar, something he always seemed to carry even though there was rarely a chance to play, carefully held in its case, surrounded by black velvet.

Norman smiled the same smile he did whenever a recording session reached its completion. Aware the chances of another incident were abnormally high, completing whatever work they could was an achievement in itself, "Look at you, starting at the bottom, and now you're here. You're really out there, you know?"

His raspy voice had a kind quality she never thought it would possess the moment she met him. He was a tall man with a slim figure and a gleaming smile. One tooth was capped in gold, and his black hair was smoothed back with moss, giving it an additional glow that couldn't be seen in the poor light.

"It's more than I thought I'd be getting!" She leaned on the tip of her toes. Her left hand clutched her right arm awkwardly, "you know…on my first day I was so nervous, but there was nothing I could about it! If I wanted to get paid, if I wanted to keep working, had to bring out my best! Just gotta do it day by day."

Norman's laughter was as raspy as his normal speaking voice, "Yeah, day by day, sugar pie. It's all we can do, but day by day gets darker every time I come in," the glimmer in his eye lessened, and she followed his gaze around the music room where their music and voice recordings occurred.

She didn't discuss this with the others. Norman, his band, and countless others spent more than two decades at the studio. She knew two of them, aside from Mr. Drew, were present when the original studio developed, and that wasn't something that happened over night.

But as they walked, she found it difficult to reconcile what was and what could be. Large splats of black ink were smeared on the walls, the floors, and the projectors. No surface was spared from the substance, and though her recording had gone splendidly, the drumming roar of the ink machine over their heads warned very little of what she had recorded would be of use. This nonverbal warning's consequence was another recording session would be due soon, and the final project pushed to a later date.

Susie chewed her bottom lip, and turned to Norman, "We're still making it okay, I suppose," and she smiled a little, not wanting to let him know she was worried. After all, she was new to crew, and she had no room for complaint, "And besides, all of this new material will make Disney jealous, I tell ya."

Norman looked as if he wanted to believe those very words. The dark lines around his eyes and mouth betrayed him, "I certainly hope so, song bird," he sighed, "it'll be a miracle if we're not shut down before then."

Her expression must have written her thoughts clearly to him as he back pedaled immediately, waving his empty hand at her, "Now, now, don't get all worried because of me. Just ol' Norman shit talking, but we gotta be careful of how things turn out. We gotta be smart." He tapped the side of his head two times with a wink.

"I think we're all very smart," she grabbed a hold of the door knob, "but I think we have to make sure we stay talented. No ink machine is going to keep Susie Campbell down."

Upon opening the door stood a small, little man with a crooked grin on his face. Beside him was a bucket with wheels filled with soapy water, and on his side dangled a ring of keys of various sizes. Norman and Susie blinked at the man, then smiled, and then their laughter waned for speech.

"I thought you'd be outta here by now," Wally creaked as he rolled his washing bin, mop included, into the music room, "everyone else is leaving for the night."

"And you aren't?"

He turned too quickly for comfort, and he gripped his neck in response, "I don't know about you, Norman, but I'm a janitor. It's what I do, and I don't clean this stuff up before Sammy comes in later on tonight, then I'm outta here."

It was something Susie had grown used to. Every little thing was an opportunity for Wally to get out of here, and while there were close times when dismissal was evident, as in losing the keys for the fifteenth time, he remained their ever-faithful janitor. He didn't seem faithful as he dipped the mop into the bucket and let it splatter on the floor. The movements were the same. He would dip the mop into the water, sweep across the floor where the ink was most prominent, and it return it to the bucket. But this short observation proved that this method was less than efficient.

The ink merged with the water, and by time Wally splashed the mop back on the floor, it was a mix of inky, black bubbles. It was more liquid than it was before, and Susie covered her mouth at the sight. Wally's tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth, almost oblivious to the greater mess he was making. An idea came to mind, and she passed Norman, whose expression was twisted in similar sympathy and amusement.

"Wait, Susie," she heard behind him, but she didn't want to let this idea pass it up, "where are you going, wait, don't tell me?"

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Norman!" By time she went up the stairs, he was gone, and she heard his heavy footsteps move towards the exit, that was helpfully free from flooding.

Sammy's office wasn't too far from the main music-recording room. She remembered it like she remembered the back of her hand. Not that she had been there often, many people were not given permission, but she recalled the day she was finally hired as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.

She had been nervous, and yet, oddly secure. She recognized her talent early on, and she needed them to recognize it too. And they had, in a resigned sort of way. They were short of staff, so many had quit due to the circumstances surrounding the studio, and others had retired, their wacky, light-hearted vocal chords had fallen to strain, weak and roasted. They needed new talent, and she was more than happy to supply.

Rounding the right corner, she practiced what she intended to say. Her thoughts were constantly a jumble of potential ideas, never closing in together, and connecting them would be delightful in throwing out her pitch. She would never go to Mr. Drew with this; she was lucky enough to be one of the few Sammy tolerated.

Standing in front of his office, closed for the night, Susie clutched the ends of her skirt in concern. Being in the back of the basement, the furthest side of the basement in her opinion, must have been a raw deal. Sammy didn't seem too troubled by it. From the open window she saw his hunched back hanging over his desk, eyes glued to a music sheet with a dull pencil in hand. At this angle she couldn't see his full face, but the motions of his grinding teeth told her she was nowhere near his present thinking process.

Pepper and salt stubble were speckled along his jawline. His eye sockets were sunken, dark crescents filling the space where skin existed, and Susie's stomach toppled. She could go in right now. He might not mind in the slightest. But common sense told her that when a man was doing his work, his profession, it was best to leave him be.

"After all," common sense reassured her, "it can wait until morning." Feeling more embarrassed than she could ever be had she gone in, she turned on her heels and started away. What a childish thing to do, she chided herself. An adult would have thought it through, and an adult she was, or she tried to portray herself as.

But as she started her way down the way she came from, a harsh tone called out to her, "If you're going to do all that to get to me, you should at least come talk to me."

Spinning around, she saw Sammy's face was no longer aligned with the music sheet, and he stared at her with the same impatience he afforded to all his subordinates. Upon looking at him, a bright smile chiseled on her face, and she nearly skipped into his office, not caring that he could see the full enthusiasm in every step.

"Joey, I'm sorry." She pulled a chair near him and patted her lap excitedly, "And really, this is something that can wait. You're doing a lot of work anyways, and I-,"

He raised a hand to stop her. He fished into his desk drawer and pulled out a lighter that was paired with the cigarette in his left hand, "Now, now, no need for that. I spend all my night here now, and I wanted to talk to you anyways."

"You did?"

He nodded, "It can wait," he nodded towards her, "what did you want to tell me?"

Susie flushed, and she tucked her hair behind her ear, "Well, I had a funny pitch that I thought of, but now that you've mentioned this, I think it takes precedence."

He shrugged casually, taking a strong whiff from his cigarette, "All depends on how you determine your worth, or the worth of what I have to tell you."

"Get on it with it, and tell me," she wanted to shout at him. She held onto her skirt like a lifesaver, and she felt her throat clog in anticipation. He smoked casually, closing his eyes in relief at every puff, and when he opened his eyes again, a short grin formed on his lips.

She would have thought it was handsome had she not been suddenly caught in a bundle of nerves, "Sammy," she teased tightly between her teeth, "what's the news?"

On his fifth puff, the cigarette was ready to ends its life. The bud was met, and Sammy stamped it roughly on the ashtray on his desk. He turned to her with a flaccid expression on his face, sunken so deeply in exhaustion that emotion as it was known couldn't possibly exist, "We've got a new character coming up, and I recommended you," he jabbed his finger at her, "to voice it."

"Okay."

"Okay?" His flaccid, blank look dragged into something more skeptical, "I've just gotten you a gig, and all you have to say is okay?"

"I voice a lot of characters, Sammy." She laughed softly, "It's just another one for me, but I can't say I'm not happy. I like the work."

Sammy, to his credit, didn't roll his eyes, but smacked his lips very loudly, "Yeah, whatever you say, but this isn't some background we're talking about."

"What do you mean?"

Going back to his desk, he opened one of the side drawers, and from there, retrieved a sheet of paper. Where she was seated she saw images scrawled messily on black ink, a name on the upper right corner.

"She's on the writing boards as we speak." He handed the paper to her, "Still modifying her look and character, but she's meant to work with Bendy. His Minnie Mouse, if you want to call it that."

Susie took hold of the paper carefully. The pictures drawn weren't completed. Six female figures were shown, all without faces, and of different body types. An hourglass figure, big feet and big hands were the direction they wanted to go with her, keeping it natural and consistent. In bold, sharp writing, a name was solidified, and Susie eyebrows perked.

"Alice Angel," the name rolled off her tongue delightfully, and the possibilities of what she would sound like floated in Susie's head, "the name's classy. Alliteration really fits too. Bendy is going to have a lot of fun with her."

"That's the plan." Sammy answered, "But we're trying to beyond Disney. She isn't going to be just a cute angel that Bendy's going to flirt with every now and then. She has to have star power, and seeing you've got the stuff, we're using you."

Susie stared at the concept art, and she returned her stare to Sammy. His smug expression told her more than she wanted to know, and her stomach flipped flopped. Alice was still a concept, not fully formed. She had no face, no voice, no character, an empty slate, and she stared at the scrawled pieces given to her. She felt the corners of her lips pull together, and a light bark of laughter slipped through, echoing on the office's creaky walls.

"Wow!" She gasped, and her arm to her waist, "I-I can't believe it, Sammy! Can you believe it? Mr. Drew really wants me to voice her. Wow, just, wow. Golly, wow!"

"I know." He admitted, "I didn't think he'd go with it at first. He hasn't been completely sane these past few months ever since," shaking his head dismissively, "either way, he approved it, so now that you know, you can prepare for whatever comes. I doubt he'll give you a warning when he wants to start recording."

"Thank you!" Returning the paper to him, he tucked it back into the drawer, and she saw the lines around his mouth grow dim, "Aw, shucks, Sammy, I can just hug you right about now!"

"Please, don't." But she had wrapped his arms around his back, pushing her face into his chest, and when she raised her head up to him, he sighed and wrapped his arms around her in return, "Congrats, kid, you deserve it."

"Sammy, you don't know how much this means to me."

"Trust me, I do." He stepped back, "I have to get back to work. These cartoony melodies don't write themselves you know."

Her heart was ready to burst. It could burst right in his office, and she would have died half-content. Leaving his office wasn't a problem, even with the ink machine roaring menacingly above them, and she pressed a hand to her chest, tears swelling at the corner of her eyes. This was more, more than she had ever dreamt of, and better yet, it was happening in real time. Her idea pitch fell through the void of discarded ideas. She would have more in the mean time, and she continued to the exit with her head held high, eyes filled with a new fire in them.

Mrs. Bornstein's Boarding House was a fifteen-minute car drive from LaughDrew Film Studios. Calling a taxi wasn't a pleasure her savings could indulge in, and besides, she told herself as she wrapped her sweater around her shoulders, the walk would give her time to process the news. Her thoughts stirred clearly whenever she walked, and trimming down her absurd surge of bouncing energy would give Mrs. Bornstein little reason to scold her.

Dinner started at eight and ended at eight forty-five. No excuses.

Summer nights were unusually cold. It was different from her youth, stuck in sticky heat at night, forced to throw her blankets on the floor. Tightening her sweater around her, she stuffed her hands deep into the pockets, and the sound of her light footsteps filled the darkened sky. In the distance, the boarding house came into view, and the upper and lower lights were on, signaling she hadn't returned too late. Dinner was already starting, she knew, but Mrs. Bornstein would have no reason to scold her aside from her poor timing.

Up the stairs she went, panting along the way, and she rolled her hand around the curved door handle. Through the glass portion of the door she saw quick movement coming down the stairs. Their skirts were laced in white and lavender, and their hair was curled, styled in the popular fashion. Susie patted down her clothes, straightened her sweater, and did what she could with her hair; aware the wind had done its work on it.

Her reflection was murky, rippled through the glass's design, and she breathed steadily, pulling the curved door handle towards her.

The women came down in swift formation. It wasn't mandatory for them to dress themselves as they did, casual formal, but they knew it would put their land lady in a good mood to see them tidied up. Seeing an opening, Susie fell in line behind a woman she knew as Martha, whose clothes and hair of lemon soap.

"I can't believe it," was whispered behind her, and her shoulders tensed, shooting straight up, "no, seriously, first of all you're late, and now, you're going to cut the line."

"You make it sound worse than it actually is," she whispered back, and made the turn at the doorway. The dining room was much larger than it looked from at a distance, and her stomach growled angrily at her, "Besides, I was at work, and work is important to me."

The woman behind her scowled, and she clucked her tongue to demonstrate her displeasure, "Well, yeah, work is all fine and dandy when they're not having scouts coming in and around."

"Scouts?" Fully turning her head, she grabbed a plate and took her seat, "Did they come for an inspection?"

Inspections were carried every other week. It was a method Mrs. Bornstein enforced to ensure the integrity of the boarding house. In other terms, she made it so that no young men were to be found on the premises. Many tenants had lost their room for those exact reasons, which meant their neighbors changed every other week.

Susie's back straightened as the servants entered from the kitchen, "I have no reason to be afraid. The last thing I would ever do was bring a boy back here," she sniffed quietly, "but someone did?"

"You sound like you didn't want to know."

"Nora!"

"Oh fine." Motioning to one of the waiters for the peas, she spooned them on her plate, "It was Cindy Marks. She had evidence of debauchery, or so they say. It's really hard to tell what's dirty and what isn't."

"Cindy?"

"Yes, I can show you her now empty room." Another wave for the hot rolls, and they smiled as they were placed carefully away from the mashed potatoes and Salisbury steak, "But enough about that, how about you?"

Susie tore a piece of her roll and squashed it into her mashed potatoes, "Nothing much really. It's all very busy, as you know, but I think they're starting to like me."

"I'd hope so. You've been working there for a month."

"It doesn't feel like a month." She went for the Salisbury steak next, slicing it in perfect squares, "With all the singing and dancing and so many other stuff. It just feels so heavy."

"It's show business for you." Nora smashed her peas with her spoon and scooped them into her mouth, "At least you don't have to be pretty to be a voice actress. All those makeup and dance lessons, honestly, I'd lose my mind."

Chewing her steak and bread, Susie chuckled, and quickly downed her food with water, "It isn't easy, even without the makeup and dance lessons, but I'm happy to be doing what I do. Besides, after dinner, I have big news to tell you."

Mrs. Bornsetin watched from her separate table. Her sharp eyes didn't miss a single thing, and she took note of every poor demonstration of table manners. Her sqwuaks, that they knew were the calls of displeasure, made the wince, but even she couldn't ignore her stomach pains. She ate quietly to the side as the rest of them chattered about their day, and what they intended to do for tomorrow.

Nora spoke with their neighbors, and Susie ate quietly, musing. It seemed surreal to think of it. Alice Angel, a leading character in her own shorts. That was the impression she got from Sammy, and she couldn't stop thinking of that impression, of what it entailed. The food was delicious, roasted and steamy, and the juices filled her mouth. But the more she ate, the less driven she felt to finish her meal. The sooner she went to bed, the sooner she would able to go to work the next morning.

"You don't think you can wait for me?" Nora cried to her as she went upstairs to their shared bedroom. Closing the door behind her she discarded her day clothes and found her fuzzy bathrobe and cleaning supplies, "Oh, this better be good, you know," Nora chirped when she spun out of the room a second time.

She returned promptly, taking a thirty minute shower wasn't easy when the shower was warm and comfortably, and Nora was propped in her bed with a magazine in her hands. The dressing table lamp was on, and seeing her in the door frame, she tipped her glasses down the bridge of her nose, waiting for a report.

"Well…"

"Well…"

"You were so excited to tell me the good news." She set her magazine aside and folded her hands on her lap, like a mother would at the end of the day, ready to hear her child's report.

Standing at the dressing table in front of the mirror, her reflection revealed what the shower's humidity had done to her hair. Her hair was naturally wavy, but it grew uncontrolled faster than she could brush it down. Using her best brush, she found a stool to sit on, and she parted her hair as she spoke in rushed, hushed tones.

"You know I've been doing a lot of background work, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I got a chance to speak to Sammy." In the mirror, Nora's confused shrug made her sigh dramatically, "You know, Sammy Lawrence, the guy who writes all the songs. Keep up."

"Oh, you mean your boyfriend." Nora grinned, "Oh, don't give me that look. He's very fond of you."

"Hush, now." Susie snapped without any bite, and she parted the other side of her hair, beginning to brush from that angle, "Sammy is my friend, but he spoke to Mr. Drew about a new character they're working on, y'know?"

"A new character? Don't tell me it's an angel character."

"It is!" Her milk white teeth showed, and she turned to her friend, hopping on her bed with her brush still in hand, "Can you believe it, Nora, they want me to voice her."

Arms grabbed a hold of Nora's neck, pulling her down, and Susie pressed her freshly washed face against hers, "Oh, Nora, I'm so happy. Got a job I love, and a new character! Alice Angel, he told me. She's probably gonna do some songs with Bendy."

"I can't say I'm not happy for you." Nora's arms were skinnier than hers but no less strong, and gripped her tightly as they lied in bed together, "This is a big shot for 'ya, especially if she turns out to have star power."

"I know." Rubbing against her chest, she felt her eyes growing heavy, "I just can't imagine they would've chosen me, especially after all those retirements. Golly, it feels like a dream."

"Good for you honey," Nora murmured, "this dream isn't playing by the book. It's real."

After hearing the click of the lamp, the room was spurned into entire darkness. Nora's breathing soothed her as she drifted far from the bed she slept on, and she trailed after blurry images waiting in front her. Her hands reached for them, grasping at their fitful tails, and she heard children's laughter. But when she went to chase after them, darkness had surrounded her. And she wasn't afraid.

Time was a component. It fluttered around her, teasing her with its potential, and she remained silent, quiet of what she had learned.

The mornings after when she arrived to work, she kept her silence. It would do her no good to confess what Sammy had told her. "Give it time," she calmed the worst case scenarios in her head, "if it all works out, they'll know."

The recording booth was readied in preparation for her. What did it matter that black spots decorated the podium spotted on the flimsy line sheet, now faded to a brownish yellow. Norman's band performed against the ink machine, blasting and fighting for control. The melody trembled, and the instruments dried in protest.

Time was all she ever needed. When her voice echoed in the recording booth, when the band finished their time and waited to listen, she thought of time, and how it would turn its hands towards her. She did not approach Sammy again about the subject. He had given her the needed information.

"Did you lose your keys again, Wally?" Having finished early for the day, Susie closed the door as the band started their beginning prep, "Or are you lost?"

Of the employees, Wally was the last of the original crew to surf top through bottom. His cleaning supplies were useless against the ink that seemed to overrun the place. Dressed in his overalls, he carried an oversized broom and dustpan in his hands. Surprise tightened his face, and the glazed gleam in his eyes wavered when she spoke.

"Susie? Ah, Susie, nope!" He swept the hallway eagerly, "Nah, nah, none of that. I don't think. I found my keys, told you I would, and now I'm coming down…sounds like Norman's picking up again."

"Yes, Sammy just finished a new sheet." Choosing to walk ahead, her long strides met with his crinkled pace, "Norman was upset for the suddenness, but he seems to have taken to the change well."

"And hasn't changed?" Wally barked, "First the ink machine, now donation, weird stuff."

Susie frowned, "I suppose it isn't exactly normal, but after everything that has happened," she scratched her wrist absent-mindedly, "we can only give him the benefit of the doubt."

Wally's hard gaze crystalized, and he jabbed a stubby finger towards his ear, "Benefit of the doubt, we've been giving him that! And look at us, got ink up to our ears!"

It was not an inaccurate observation. Susie had seen photographs of the studio in its prime. Shabby yet pristine, animators at their desk, hurriedly scrawling the finest of animation sheet after sheet. Now, the floorboards oozed black ink every other step. Pipes were recently installed to current the flow of ink the machine produced, but it caused more messes, choosing to squirt a kiss on any poor person happening to be near them at the time.

Unfortunately, the poor persons happened to be the animators, and Wally, from time to time.

"And the offerings," scratching the side of his head, Susie winced at the white flakes that showered off his hair, like dwindled, saggy snow, "or as Tommy likes to call them, donations."

"Offerings?"

They stopped in front of the music department hall where the banner was laid out for everyone to see. Wally stared at her with wide eyes, "Wait, don't tell me you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

He slapped his forehead and cursed, "Of course, you're not gonna know nothing being down here! Sammy may know, but he's keeping away from Joey at the moment. Still upset about the machine, y'know?"

"Yes, Sammy is not fond of the machine." Stretching, she sent Wally a straight stare through narrowed eyes, "But you haven't told me about these offerings, Wally, what are they?"

He knew more than anyone else on the crew, even though he scarcely realized it. It seemed to Susie Wally's inability to fully comprehend the happenings going on could be used to her advantage, and these offerings, as he put it, were known to everybody except her. She did not want to be out of the loop.

Her pleading stare drew Wally near, and he rolled his neck with a groan, "Now, don't you start the puppy dog eyes. You're as bad as Bendy himself!"

"It isn't like our little devil is going to pop out and scold us." She stomped her foot, "Come on, Wally, please."

"Quit your whining." He snapped, and scratching the back of his head, he sighed, "Look, if you wanna know so badly, help me clean some of this stuff up. It's in the janitor's closet down the way, you remember?"

Susie nodded, "I do. You need the mop, or another broom."

"Broom." He stared around the room and growled, "Makes no sense to even try anymore."

Going down the hall was no easy stitch. Her heels were slightly higher than they were before she moved to the city, and she was careful not to step through any loose holes in the floorboard. Ink swished through the pipes, a harsh swooshing sound rattled against the walls. The utility closet was on the right side of the hallway, and she did not have to walk very far.

"Everyone's been so nice to me," her heels skidded to a slippery stop in front of the utility closet, "can't say I can complain about this."

She opened the door and found the broom, but there was more to that. The room was larger than she expected it to be. Not as spacious as the music department hall, certainly not as large as the upper area. Stepping in, Susie grabbed the broom poll, and the door closed quietly behind her.

Unintentional, she reached for the door but pulled back at the last second. Shelves surrounded her, and although there was elbowroom, she felt confined. Gripping the broom, she grabbed onto one of the shelves to balance herself, and groaned when an oozy substance tied around her fingers.

"Oh goodness," grumbling as she straightened her posture, she pushed forward with the broom still in hand, and she reached for the ceiling light. A beaded string dangled in the darkness, swinging to and fro, and gaining her stance, she took hold of it.

"What the heck is that?" She hadn't realized she spoken until pressure formed around her hand, jerking her arm down, but it was a slight motion. A little bit of weight she would not have noticed if she had not been enclosed in the room.

Unsettled but refusing her nervousness to yield her, Susie pulled the dangling line down, and the light clicked on. The dull illumination filling the room did not settle her imagination, and she stared at the shelves, at the floor with wide, confused eyes. The broom bristled in the palm of her hand, and the splinters that dug through her skin. Her nerves throbbed at the pain.

Faded, black ink dressed her fingertips, and she closed it solidly, feeling the muscles tense stiffly, "I really need some reset," she whispered as she closed the door. Back pressed against the flat surface, her breath rattled in her lungs, and she let her heels click on top of the unsteady floorboards. They creaked underneath her.

Fearing Wally's thin patience, which usually resulted in unending complaints, Susie resumed her path back towards him when the pitter patter of nails scurried past her ears. Stopping short of another full step, she whipped her head to the other side of the hallway, feeling a rush of lightheadedness as she did so, and saw eerie light filling the empty passage. Almost identical to the utility closet's ceiling light, she felt familiarity rather than confusion, and assumed this to be the same with the majority of hallways in the building, upstairs and downstairs.

Watching the dust particles float listlessly within the illumination, a scene lacking in her earlier sightings made her pause, and she tilted her head. They were far more visible as they littered in the light, and they danced towards her, bouncing as close as the light would allow.

At the hallway's end, near the right corner, a light flickered against the wall. She could see its brightness at a distance. It dimmed then glowered then dimmed again, and without processing what she had chosen to do, she fell in line at its direction. The broom handle remained in her firm grip, and it dragged at her side, scrapping softly at the ink beneath it.

Susie did not know what she was intended to find there, and surely, there might have been reason for her to have this sudden fullness in the pit of her stomach. Enthralled by the sight, her senses did not detect the slight alternation in the lair's scent. It had transformed into a less ripe odor than what it was. It tickled the nerves her nostrils, and in response, her nose twitched in aggravation.

Tired of the broom, her fingers released its hold loosely, and the broom fell to the floor quietly. Around the corner, the strange glow brightened hotly, and the reason was laid out for her.

All walls in the building were now decrepit. A combination of materials meshed together to leave unknown stains and blotches on the wood, but what she viewed was an entirely different entity.

A Bendy cutout was propped upwards. Its back was not cut out, but not set openly so that it could stand on its own. She knew that was not the issue at hand. The Bendy cutout was one of many mass produced cutouts sent to theaters and rival studios. She had heard of them, a teasing jest to competitors, and she had seen more than enough down in the basement where a countless amount were stored. It wasn't the cutout itself but what stood behind it, or rather, what its body concealed.

She did not dare move the cutout, feeling an immeasurable pressure on her shoulders, and determined what image the cutout obscured. An encircled star, the recognizable triangle points stuck out beyond Bendy's body, was painted in black ink. Placed precariously on the floor below, the candle's melted wax sunk and stuck to the floor, and their dwindling flames glowed darkly.

The drawing and cutout were unusual together, and the candles, while neatly placed, were unnerving. But it was the objects spread across the span of the cutout, on the floor, that gave Susie pause. Little, tiny trinkets, a strand of hair, a discarded napkin, and an old, worn photograph that was wrinkled beyond recognition were lined in no particular order. It was neither unsightly but confusing, and Bendy's blank, disarming smile did no curb her confusion.

Stepping away, her eyes never strayed from the dancing devil, and she was ready to round the corner when she spun around where alarm stomped on her heart.

"Wally!" Her high pitched hiss echoed down the hall, "What are you doing!?"

His broom in hand, Wally blinked at her, then at the observance.

"Huh, ain't it weird." He said and went back the way he came from, "That's where our donations are going to."

Susie followed him eagerly, "What was that thing?"

Wally shrugged, "Joey's muttered some business about prayer circles, but I think it's all because of…you know," he huffed off his discomfort, and she said nothing more about the reasons.

"If it helps him," quietly said after a moment's time, "if it helps him feel better, then I can't complain."

"But it's weird."

"Yes, it is." She thought of an appropriate, tasteful word, but the words she thought of did not satisfy her, "I don't understand out of the ordinary, even with my voices."

"Out of the ordinary. You wanna call it that, go ahead," using air quotes, he smacked his lips, and stumbled back into the main hall, "I'm gonna call it weird, maybe crazy, and Sammy's getting on it too!"

"Now, you stop that," hearing Sammy's name spoke in such a way made her chest rise, and she frizzled at Wally, giving him her best, firm stare, "Sammy's always been nice to me, and if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have a job. Last I heard from him, he sounded perfectly fine."

Her reprimand did not warn Wally. He rolled his eyes and started back to sweeping, pointing to the other side of the hall where a pile of inky dust had collected.

"Go on and believe what you want," he said, eyes trained to the floor as he swept, "this place is going absolutely bonkers."

With a frown, she forced her snapping retort back. Wally was not a dumb man, and he was not a smart man. He spoke his mind freely, thoughts barfing as they came. These thoughts were not always spoken with the type of clarity others would have preferred, and it did not mean he always comprehended their meaning. And most importantly, hand gripping tightly around the broom handle, Sammy was nothing like Mr. Drew.

She hiked her skirt halfway up, and peeled away the stale cobwebs from the corners. Wally did not pay attention as her olive skinned thigh, dressed in beige pantyhose moved downwards, and she was mindful of its length, concerned if she moved the wrong way it would split.

"He's a very sad man, that Mr. Drew," she said to herself, and she plucked away an inky cobweb with her finger, "and there is nothing we can do about it. We've gotta make sure those cartoons are made in time."

"Yeah, but I don't think cleaning is going to help."

Gasping loudly, Susie glanced up, "Sammy, what-what are you doing here?"

She rose quickly off the floor. Acutely aware of the disarray of her hair and clothes, she flicked off random dust particles, and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. The broom lied forgotten in the corner.

"Was trying to find you?" A perfectly arched eyebrow quirked in vague interest, "What are you doing?"

"I uh…," she motioned at Wally on the other side, still sweeping, pretending his boss had not walked in front of him, "was helping Wally clean."

"Clean?" Sending Wally a hard stare, one the shorter man visibly flinched at, Sammy sighed and pinched his temples, "I came looking for you. Norman said you were around here somewhere, even after hours."

His hard stare reprimanded her for her refusal to go home, and the quirk of his lips told her otherwise. He was somehow relieved she had stayed. His slumped shoulders and dangling cigarette told her so.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." A faint flush accompanied her apology, "I wanted to help Wally, and now, I'm making more of a mess."

"Which is why you shouldn't sweep." He said nothing more, going off in the opposite direction that was not his office. Wally continued to sweep at a distance, and she stood helplessly, confused and embarrassed and a little bit excited.

He did not have to say anything to her. She knew it was her time, and she whispered a tender 'Sorry' as she hurried after him.

His feet dragged across the floor, mangling the boards underneath them, and his breath passed through his teeth as raspy, short clipped wheezes. The noises pounded on the thin membrane that made up her eardrum. She reminded herself that it could be worse. He could've started singing.

Quiet during their walk, he maintained a two stepped lead while she worked to keep pace. The hallways had grown cramped and fitting, losing its past magnificence. Her twiddling fingers refused to calm themselves, and she waited with a stuttering heart for any sign of speech. He preferred to initiate conversations as he initiated his songs, although he wasn't the conductor. As they deepened their path, further from Wally's casual sweeps, Susie predicted he wasn't in the mood for talk.

Sammy Lawrence refusal to speak made the silence bearable. Whatever crimes she had unknowingly committed had to have been minor. His guarded, sullen silence was tied to a draining exhaustion that made her heart ache for him. Its ache was similar, she recalled loosely, to the ache she once held for her father when she was a child. A tiresome, sluggish job was, and she watched on the outskirts, careful to maintain a clean house, a quiet house.

Joey Drew Studios wasn't a house, but it had become, in the past month, a home to her. Although the home was in disarray, there was no doubt in her mind of its positive influence. Watching Sammy from afar, his expression slack, dull even, and eyes grey, she felt no words come to mind. She knew whatever tricky voice she concocted would be useless on him, and having seen his rage, more of a dark fire that spurted in quick bursts, she was overtly cautious.

Ahead of her, his head bobbed up and down. His thumbs stuck out of his pockets, and his dragging feet did not go faster or slower.

"I've called you a cab."

Unable to make out the words the first time, she questioned his statement, and pulled back with a faint scowl, embarrassed by his generosity.

"You didn't have to do that."

"It's late. You're a woman, do the math." He kept forward, and smoke trailed from his head where his mouth was, "You're going home, and you're coming in for a test recording."

Her pale cheeks flushed crimson, and she forced her steps to match with his, "What do you mean test recording?"

They went down the stairs towards the exit. He did not look at her the entire walk, and the question appeared to irritate him as his flaccid lips suddenly curled in a crooked snarl. Her refusal to pull back in herself or to dismiss her question all together unnerved him. For him, the answer was obvious, but she stood there, waiting in pleading silence.

He said nothing to her. Opening the exit door, he pointed to the cab that waited for her at the curb. It's yellow body and head lights stood out in the late evening, holding onto its violet glow rather than its impending royal blue. Cool air rushed at him, and she straightened her sweater. Her wide, confused stare did not let him free, and she remained glued where she stood.

He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, stomping on it, "You really are stubborn, aren't you?"

"I'm stubborn about things I care about." And I care about you, she wanted to say, but she knew Sammy well enough the sentiment would not be appreciated, not in this moment.

He huffed. His dark eyes rolled to the side towards the drumming sound of the taxi cab's engine, "We're going to have a meeting in a few days. Short, Alice's final design has been approved."

"She has?" Her lips bloomed in an awed pout, "You mean, I get to voice her now?"

"It's a test." A recent rain left murky puddles on the concrete, and mist lingered in the cool, summer air, "Joey wants to hear you too."

"He does?" Her heart throbbed, clutched, and she could not tell whether fright or validation had struck her. For months she offered her voice, performed even for radio shows, and their compliments stroked her confidence. She purred for them, and when they released her, without reference, she shed no tears. Not a single drop.

Hearing those words, the touch of a man's strong hand tingled on her arms, and she stared down at the raised hairs on her forearms, goosebumps peddling underneath them.

"He likes the sound of the background characters." He opened the back door, "And thinks you've got the potential for a costar. Scripts are already underway for Alice Angel's debut."

Slipping onto the worn leather seats, she stared at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. His far away, sluggish stare told her an embrace would not be welcomed, and she shrunk away, forcing the door in her direction. Other sentences were uttered, sluggishly she believed, but she could not absorb them as she reclined on the seat. He stuffed a handful of bills into the driver's hand, pointing in the direction of where her home was.

"See you tomorrow." She heard in the distance, "And don't let the nerves get to you."

Forcing her head forward, her neck grew stiff from the effort. Sammy was not the type to wait at the curb, and she did not think he would have. As the car drifted ahead, the rearview mirror jumped, and its angle was pushed an inch to the right. There she saw him. Camouflaged in the night, another cigarette was lit between his lips, and he stood with a great crook in his back. His lanky form did not appear so out of place under the street lights, and his eyes, they came to her in vision, were locked on the taxi cab that drew further away from him.

What was it, Susie wanted to know, that caused her heart to leap, which caused her cheeks to flush? She folded her hands on her lap, and listened to the radio playing in the front.

"You work for Joey Drew don't ya?" The driver peered into the rearview mirror, "My kid loves Bendy. Can't get enough of 'im and Boris! Yeah, but as much as she loves the boys—she really wants a dame to look up to! Like Minnie and Betty!"

He smiled. His front teeth were missing, and the gap was immeasurable when he smiled. "My dad used to smile like that too," and her expression twisted into something similar to disgust but not quite. She could not reason why he had appeared in her thoughts, why of all moments, but as quickly as he appeared, just the thought of him, he receded back into her subconscious.

The cab pulled slowly to the sidewalk, and she left with ease. Her skirts blew against her knees, and she thanks the driver, cheerfully grinning at his gap-toothed smile.

"Don't worry, sir, I think your little girl is going to have a dame to look up to soon!"

The same gap-toothed appeared for a final time, and the window rolled up, obscuring it. But she saw it still, saw the lightness and sweetness, and she realized, standing on the curb as it sped off in the distance, that this was something she missed.

"I want to go places." Her chin ducked low, "What's so bad about that?"

Joey Drew was an eccentric, recluse of an artist.

Susie couldn't say how long this was, but she had accepted this as a part of her job. But by time the end of the month arrived, her reservations were teasing at the edge.

Her recording session started smoothly, as they often did, but they lacked the comfortable eyes of the band observing her. Even Sammy's usual lucidity appeared troubled in Mr. Drew's presence, and she understood why, even though she would never say it aloud.

For his eccentricities, there was nothing eccentric about him physically. Taller than Sammy, standing at about 6'5, his pepper-grayed hair was slick black neatly. His skin was swallow, with a tinge of yellow in it. His arms were crossed against his thin, broad chest. His weight loss was obvious, a combination of exhaustion and grief.

His thumb ran along the line of his bottom lip. In spite of his worrisome physical state, there was life to him. It was not larger than life, nothing excitable but anxious and unconstrained. It was a stark contrast to Sammy's annoyance and exhaustion. His glassy eyes stared from him to her.

Their inscrutable expressions followed her voice, and threatened to silence her vocal chords to their satisfaction. Delirium pounced on her nervousness.

Explaining how she succeeded in her performance, giving them what they wanted, was impossible for her. When the last line was spoken, when the red light fizzled down, she let out a weak little gasp, not realizing she had held her breath longer than she meant to.

Like statues they stood. Rain must have poured endlessly on them for she saw the creases and dark lines around their eyes and mouths. Wrinkles folded on their cheeks, and were pronounced on their furrowed brows. They did not share glances, mouthing sentences too quiet for Susie to hear, and her hands fell on the podium, the metal digging into her skin. Which face was harder to read? Which expression was crueler?

Susie tried to determine the expression she was intended to rely on. They did not want to be relied on just as they did not want to carry her on their shoulders. Something existed far beyond them, far beyond what their eyes showed, and she rolled on her heels, counting the seconds until Mr. Drew raised his hand for her to approach.

She walked quickly out of the recording booth. Standing in front of the two men, she laid her hands and arms flat at her sides, and pressed her lips in a needle like line.

Their gazes settled. They settled comfortably on her, and her pale cheeks grew hot under their combined stare.

"Miss Campbell," Mr. Drew said, "you have been working here for one month, haven't you?"

She sent a worried glance at Sammy, and saw absence in his face, "Yes, yes I have."

"And do you like it?"

"Yes, I do." She said with a nod, and her nails grazed her skirt's fabric, "Everyone is very nice."

"I'm glad."

"Me too." A scratchy cough burst through her lips, and she gasped hotly, forcing down the embarrassment with a creaky smile, "I'm sorry. I-you know how it is. Yes, I'm very happy everyone is so nice, and Mr. Lawrence is a great instructor with vocals."

A bushy though finely plucked eyebrow rose in disbelief, and Mr. Drew gave Sammy an incredulous stare. His dried lips parted gently in a smile, and that smile, Susie noticed, made him look twenty years younger.

"I see, Sammy. You're normally not so nice to up and starters." His returned to her, "He must really respect you then."

"I don't need you to speak for me, Joey," Sammy croaked.

"Ah." Smacking his lips, he dropped a hand on Susie's shoulder, "Of course not, I'd never speak for you, but your actions, yes, they are quite telling, aren't they?"

Susie refused to tense. Her sluggish shoulders were unmovable in his grip. While shivers danced down her spine, the faint sense of falling told her of the gesture's significance.

Was she dizzy? Yes, but she wasn't going to show it. The rest of her limbs felt like glue, heavy and sticky, and she hoped the heat didn't reveal too much on her blouse and forehead. Sweat beads dotted her forehead, and she felt the same on the dark curls under her arms.

"I…Mr. Lawrence is a great coach," she murmured softly.

"Sammy has always gone beyond perfection."

He was satisfied. His smooth, easy talk reassured her, but his gentle smile wasn't confirmation. It kept its innermost thoughts to itself. His eyes were salt fragments that tried to be gentle and kind, but couldn't match up. She tried to see the sincerity in his playfulness with Sammy. His strained, quiet voice led to a forcefulness of the same nature. Their banter might have been a regular occurrence in the past but had reached its peak some time ago.

For the sake of this interview, attempts needed to be made. They needed to united.

Sammy rolled his eyes, "We know she got the part. Let's show what else we've got to show her," and on a lower, aggravated note, "I can't afford anymore distractions, Joey. Deadlines are due, and people are talking."

"I see." He blinked at Sammy, "No, I do, but there's more important work to be done."

"I can get back to work." Feeling abandoned between the two men, she watched them carefully, waiting for any physical change her eyes could spot, "If it's what you want, there's no hurry for you."

"Why would we want that?" Mr. Drew asked, "You have to meet her first."

"Meet who?"

"I forgot how it is to be young and afraid," Mr. Drew chortled, and this sound truer to what he used to, or what she believed him to be.

"Alice." Sammy flatly confirmed, "We're going to give you a proper introduction."

Going upstairs crunched down her expectations. The Music Department Hall's recent relocation kept her confined to the basement for the past month and two days. This was not a problem to her, as the circumstances appeared to her to be a grand adventure compared to the other dull aspects of her life. As they moved upwards, the ink pipes trembled with exceeded vitality, and they traveled far longer than she originally thought. Her familiarity with the basement made her unsure of what was in store, and she maintained their quick strides, eager to see the world they belonged to.

"Make a right, kid," Sammy directed.

"A right?"

"We'll be taking the lift."

Her heart skipped a beat, "The lift?"

Rumors of the lift swarmed the lower floor, and most of them were ridiculous. Workers getting locked inside, stuck in there for hours, and returning different, drained of energy. The last part made sense when one took the time to think about it. Hearing she would be one of the person to enter the lift, her feelings were indescribable.

"I've been getting up in age, dear." Mr. Drew explained, "It makes it harder to go up and around like I used to."

Her embarrassment shown on her cheeks, and she coughed roughly, concealing her mouth with her hand, "I am so sorry, Mr. Drew. I didn't mean-,"

"No, no, growing old is a part of life we all must accept." He crossed his hand around his back, and she noticed the way his body bobbed left and right, not exactly balanced, "We grow old, we die, but memories remain. Our creations, Bendy, Boris, and now Alice, will live for us."

Breathing softly, she was at a lost of words, and when he looked back at her, she flinched at his stare. His deep gray eyes were not cruel, not nasty. A watery film threaded them as if his tears webbed around his heart.

An incredibly soft man, Susie observed, and one of the most distinguished animators in the world. His creations brought relief and laughter to countless of people, rising alongside Disney and Warner Bros. during the War, but when his eyes met hers, they were not kind. They were not cruel. A tenderness surrounded them, but their tenderness was not of the kind sort.

When he smiled, his face crumpled like paper, "That is a very wondrous thought, Mr. Drew," she lowered her gaze to the floor, "it's amazing how our actions and choices can affect others."

"And your actions will belong to them, Miss Campbell."

Hearing those words succeeded in stroking her ego in a way that even the most handsome man had failed to do, and she recalled the hours when slender, soft hands curved around her body, her neck and realized pleasure of that nature had never touched her until that moment. It was satisfaction, and her demure smile, afraid to rise too high, beamed.

"I'll be waiting in the lift whenever you're ready," Sammy called to them.

"I'm sorry," shaken, she scurried into the lift, pushing herself against the left side of the wall, "we should hurry. I don't want to keep you waiting."

Mr. Drew entered a slower pace. He stood in the middle of them, "Alright, lets do this. We can't keep Alice waiting."

The lift ride was short, as she expected it to be. It was larger than an average elevator, and Susie reasoned it was for the merchandise that was in constant production, or so she heard. The lights flickered on and off during the ride, and by time it came to its creaky stop, the knots in her stomach had reformed.

On their way to his office, Susie counted the amount of animator desks pushed into abandoned corners. Most of them did not raise their heads in question. She saw the familiar lines at the corner of their eyes and lips, and their unshaven jaws and cheeks sagged with exhaustion.

"Don't look at them, kid," Sammy warned, "we'll never hear the end of it."

"But they look so tired." She waved at one of them, whose face was still light enough to be considered young despite the greyness of his skin, "I can't not wave at them, Sammy. It'd be impolite."

"Now, now, Sammy, think as to why everyone doesn't like talking to you now."

"Sorry for being the person responsible for ensuring our deadlines get through!" He huffed beside him, "If it weren't for me, nothing would get done around here."

His mocking tone caused shivers to go down her back, and she looked to the animators, who must have heard Sammy's mild outburst.

They were aware of what was wrong with the place, but none of them had the gall to state it so bluntly, and to Mr. Drew no less.

Where she anticipated for Mr. Drew's demeanor to change dramatically, he merely shrugged his shoulders and chuckled dryly, "Now, Sammy, you know this is a process. You continue to do what you do best, and I will do my part."

As they neared the office, she noticed an unattended desk. Its differences did not vastly overwhelm the others, but the lack of body was noticeable. Separate from the others, it was tucked into another room they passed, pushed against a wall with a great whole forming next to it. The faded ceiling light revealed the dust stacked on its surface.

Spotting her intrigued expression, Mr. Drew grinned, "He retired some years ago. You may have heard of him at some point."

"If retired is the word you want to use," Sammy drawled.

"It is the word I want to use." Mr. Drew's voice was soft as a feather, and he stopped at the room's entrance, "And besides, it's where we're going to have our meeting."

Sammy frizzled, and his head shook in disappointment, "Really, why not go to the office? It's sensible, Joey."

"I don't mind." She walked behind them, eyes taking in every odd sight in the abandoned room, "It seems…rustic, as if we're traveling back in time. He was a friend of yours?"

"Yes, and when he quit-," a sharp look from Sammy to Mr. Drew told her there was more to the story than they wanted her to know, "he left behind a few sketches and concept art. Unfinished pieces."

"The others thought I should have thrown them away, but he was the best animator on staff." Picking up a yellow sheet off the desk, he stared at it with a fond smile on his thin lips, "It would have been a waste to discard them."

The room was cramped, comparatively larger than the animators' quarters. The office was left in disarray. The furniture was torn and ragged, the walls' paint started to chip, and a stale touch ruined the air, causing her nose to wrinkle in disgust. But it was fascinating to stand in there where the magic used to happen, and she took hold of the sheet he handed to her.

"Oh my." It was just a sketch. She had seen many sketches before, but the smooth lines, the vividness. It almost appeared to be a portrait rather than a cartoon, "Yes, she's absolutely lovely. Whoever designed this was very talented. It's such a shame he's no longer with the studio."

"That's our Alice," Mr. Drew grinned, and he picked several more sheets from the desk, "I had them sent upstairs when he originally departed, keeping them until the right time came. I've heard such great things about you, Susie."

"I don't think I'm that great." She moved to scratch the back of her head, then thought better of it, "I'm just so happy to belong to a great group of people."

"We are glad to have you, Miss Susie Campbell," there was the inexplicable ripple within his watery gaze. She could not describe it in normal terms, and knew there was nothing else to match it. In the decrepit office, pieced together only by thin threads, she felt a swell in the pit of her stomach.

She looked between the two men who held control over her career and future, "I will not let you down."

"I know you won't."

Sammy glared at Mr. Drew, "What do you want us to do now? Alice Angel's first short is due in a few months."

"That gives us enough time for the recording and music, Sammy," Mr. Drew replied, and he received the concept art from Susie, whose face hadn't lost its glow, "Susie can return to the recording booth. We left the scripts there."

Clapping her hands, she licked her lips, "Oh, this is so exciting," the fluttering sensation in her stomach tickled her, "I'm going to make sure I give Alice a really good voice!"

"Let her be sweet," Mr. Drew said.

"She can't be too sweet." Sammy reminded them, "She's part devil after all."

Seated in the booth, she brought the glass to her lips and slurped the beverage down. Not nearly enough to leave her with the wave of tipsiness she had adapted to, she smacked her lips bitterly, and swallowed the rest in one gulp.

"Impressive." Nora smirked and bit into a piece of bread, "I didn't think you had it in you, or anything else really. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." She ringed the glass' rim with her finger. Her eyes lacked their luster, the rich darkness that perfectly lined the rest of her face, "I'm tired, and there's no shame about it."

"I didn't say there was shame." Nora grabbed her apple cider and sipped it deceptively. Her lighter colored eyes searched for any clues, and were disappointed to find none, "I'm worried for you. You've been working longer hours than usual."

Her resting head rose in concern, "You've noticed?"

The olives at the bottom of the glass bounced excitedly. Her throat was dryer than she was comfortable with. Late nights were not unusual, and were an accepted method of winning the approval and respect of the staff. But this was the first time her late nights came with irritation, and this must have shown on her face for Nora's expression was sympathetic, concernedly so.

"It's hard not to tell, sweetie." Her milk white teeth matched her complexion, and she raised a glass to her lips, "Your eyes are dragging you down, and I don't think you've heard a single word I've said."

"I don't mean to."

"I know you don't." She reached for her hand, clasping it softly in the palm of her own, and Susie marveled at how sweetly soft it was. The nerves in her center giggled, and she grinned, laughing airily, "Just make sure you take care of yourself."

"It isn't like I'm not enjoying my job." This was the truth, and she said it freely, without remorse or bitterness, "They're still very sweet to me. Norman's always blows his horn when I come in, and…Wally always takes me around the basement. He's too kind."

"And Sammy?"

A twitch of her right eye disturbed the calm of her creamy skin, and her eyes fluttered to the dance floor. People danced to the band's music, swing to and for, and there was a rough gracefulness to their feet. Men flipped women, women jumped over men. It was no less a miracle that no one collided or fell as bodies steamed upon each other.

Her fingers tapped on the glass, and her lips brushed on top of the rim, "Sammy is doing well. He is. I can't say anything else about him, but Norman is tired. They all are."

Nora picked a cherry from her plate, "You have a choice, if it's too much for you. You can leave. You're pretty enough."

"It isn't too much for me."

"But what about that machine-,"

"I worked for this." Her eyebrows furrowed, "There wasn't anything for me on Sicily Island. My family was furious with me. I know they haven't forgiven me, and I know they never will. I can't get my Pops' eyes out of my memory, so angry, so stubborn."

"You came a long way," Nora said softly, ignoring the tightness in which Susie held the glass. Her veins' faded, blue tint peered through the creamy paleness of her skin, "You should be proud of yourself. You're working with one of the best studious out there."

Reassurance often soothed her. Her father's fury, the way he pounded on the walls and thrust a meaty finger at her, "You ain't going anywhere, lil' girl." His eyes were a watery, ruddy blue, and she sat at the sewing machine, abandoning him in mind with an equally watery gaze of her own.

He screamed, spat in her face as she sat at the sewing machine. Her mother was long dead. Her siblings were possibly alive out there, but they had been gone for so long it was like death had already taken them.

But her mind had been made up. She knew what she was going to do, and she knew when she was going to do. She let him scream until his voice cracked over its volume, and when he slept, having drunken himself into a euphoric dream where her mother lived and his other children remained, she crept from the small shack that she had called for sixteen years, home. There was not a lot to pack in her bag, and there was no question of returning.

She knew the distance would save her the trouble of having to explain herself to others. Her creamy pale complexion diverted dreadful questions that could have revealed her. Her dark hair and eyes, so brown they were regularly mistaken for black, led many to assume she carried Italian blood, and this was smarter, safer, than what the truth was.

Wanting to forget pushed her, and she grabbed Nora's hand, dragging the two of them to the dance floor. Lost in the songs and the body aligned with hers, her father's face and fists receded to the depths of her subconscious. They would return, she knew, and she waited for the flashing moments when they would. Their fellow dancers blinked no more than twice at them, the two, seemingly unmarried women dancing freely among them, and Susie doubted they would have cared had they been married at all.

Nora laughed as she spun around; fingers clamped around Susie's, "I don't want you to dry out!"

"You worrisome, little fay!" A flair of energy swept through her arms and legs, and she tossed her thick hair over her shoulders. Husky and thick, her normal voice giggled inconspicuously, and a defiant gleam masked over her murky brown eyes, "I can't dry out. I'm basically made of ink!"

"Damn you, Sammy Lawrence!"

"Aren't you afraid of him hearing you?"

"And you think he gives a damn?" The vein on his bald head throbbed. It pulsed right down the middle of his head as he lit his cigarette, inhaling it stiffly, "We'll wait until he's finished doing what he was doing."

Benny, one of the clarinet players, resigned himself to waiting, and sat with the others whose weary expressions matched his. Susie held a damp tissue, twisting it in and out, and chewed the side of her mouth. She was worried, but this worry was well known to her. It didn't ache, or burn, as this was routine. It was normal. The projector was turned on, and a tranquil voice was heard on the other side, whispering, weeping.

"Just give him a little time, Norman," she whispered, "just give him some time. He'll be okay."

Norman scoffed, "Okay if you wanna say it," he began to pace with smoke floating from the cigarette tip, "I have half a mind to tell Mr. Drew about this."

"And what he's gonna do," chortled Danny in the back. He lied on the floor with his long legs propped up in the air, "He's just as loony as Sammy."

"Don't say that, man." Benny groaned, "We need our jobs. They can always replace us."

"And you think they will?

"C'mon, he can hear us."

"And you think he cares?" Danny scoffed and looked away, "Deadlines aren't getting met, and the cartoons are barely pushing out. Johnny upstairs told me the animators are at their wits end, some of them have already signed their two week notices!"

Her stomach dropped at hearing it, "We shouldn't say these kinds of things aloud, not while Sammy's so near."

"What of it, Susie?"

"Leave her be, Dan," Norman warned. When the puff of smoke cleared, his stare was hard, icy even, and Danny's face reddened, turning away sharply with a huff.

"I didn't need you to do that."

"Can't let them take their frustrations out on you, kid." Norman leaned against the wall, listening to the projector and strange noises coming from it, "And you shouldn't either," his eyes rolled on each of them, the ones whose silence was often taken for agreement.

"Sent From Above did great though." Benny whispered. His stubby fingers plucked at loose strings near his belt, and when he looked at her, his thick eyelashes curled to hide his eyes, "My cousins love Alice Angel, and everyone's talking about it upstairs too, or that's what I've heard."

"Thank you, Benny."

The projector booth came to a sudden stop. Everyone sealed their lips, staring at the stairwell as boots as black as the ink that dripped on the floor came down the stairs.

"What are you doing here?" He clear speech was slightly slurred by an echoing that recently appeared. It slurred his speech, making it difficult to hear, and their bodies stiffened at the slight approach as he descended the stairs.

His skin grew rough, acquiring a grayish pigmentation, and his eyes had sunken completely into his skull. Their looks of concern and frustration made his lips part in a toothy snarl, and she noticed his normally square shaped teeth were filed angularly, sharpened to the top. He would have no problem in biting into tough meat, and Susie stepped back, feeling his eyes on her, a cold, listless stare that made her heart skip three beats.

"Are you okay Sammy?"

"Do you pray?" He asked, and searched their faces for the answer, "Tell me, do any of you pray?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Benny, please," Susie whispered, never taking her eyes off of Sammy.

Sammy didn't seem to hear him, and if he had, it didn't incite anger, just frustration, "We need our savior, and he needs to know we appreciate them. It's time for prayer, for all of us, so this scourge…so we can be protected."

Their silence and worried stares infuriated him. His gray skin flushed a dim, weak red.

"Weak minded sheep." He hissed, but his volume remained neutral. It took a haunting tone, and he shook his head, unable to understand their confusion, "Non-believers cannot dream of salvation, if they don't try to reach Him. He knows our hearts. He knows our souls, and He will preserve those choose to give their hearts to Him."

No one said a word. They stared in deafening silence, and he stared back, blinking at them, seeing them, but seeing right through them. Susie's heart sank, and Norman stepped in front her. Taller, broader, his rich eyes glared at Sammy, and he nodded his head towards the direction of his office.

Sammy's bleak glare was weak but strong enough to match Norman's, and Susie's finger clenched into fists at her side. What was she going to do? What could she do? They wouldn't fight, not here, not ever. Norman was a smart man, a much smarter man than most, and she didn't want anyone to get to get into trouble.

He took one stepped back, leaning on the heel of his shoe, and his tongue slipped over his false teeth, "Fair enough, my apologies for taking up your time, but when He calls, I must answer."

Walking away, he watched them for a while, and when he exited into the darkness, his eyes lingered on them. A feeling of unsettling, of cracking, of breaking, but she did not realize its nature then. She couldn't grasp its meaning, and she watched him disappear, wanting to reach for him instead of Bendy. But she knew he wouldn't reach back.

"He said Alice would be as popular as Bendy someday." She sat on one of the chairs. Her fingers trailed podium's metal, and she stared at the yellow music sheets. She couldn't read the notes, but she read the lines, each happy little word popped at her.

She knew the words. She had sung them more times than she could count. Their melodies swirled around her, became one with her, and she sighed sadly, watching the men pack their belongings. Her nails scratched her skirt, and the light in her heart fluttered weakly.

Norman packed the saxophones, passing the cases to the others with ease, "She's getting there, you know," he handed one to Benny, then to Tony, "all the folks are talking about. She's as cute as Minnie, but as devilish as Betty. Can't get better than that."

"Do you think we can do anything?"

"Can't do squat," Norman said, and he picked up another case, smaller than the others, "Sammy's gonna do what he wants to do, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Shouldn't we try?"

Handing the last case to another, his sympathetic stare didn't go unnoticed. Lines cradled his smooth brown eyes, filled with warmth and hot foreboding. He was dressed in a loose fitting blouse and pants that were strung together by a tight, leather belt. He seemed older, less filled than he usually was, and Susie was surprised that this was the first time she had realized it.

He pressed his large hands onto her slim shoulders, forcing him to look at her, truly look, and she saw a mixture of sorrow, regret, and a third sensation that sent shivers down her spine, "Susie, you're a kind girl, a good girl. You can make it away from here, and no one would hold it against you."

"Norman, I know you're concerned, but I have to do this." She didn't want to admit what she had given up for this job, what she had offered for the sake of possibility, "I have worked hard for this opportunity, and I am not going to waste it just because the staff is getting a little silly down here."

"It's more than silliness, Susie." Norman released her shoulders and scowled, "Some dark stuff is going on here, and I am not taking any risks."

"What do you mean?" She watched him pick up the last of his cases, stepping out of the orchestra room, and a feeling of dread went down her throat, "Norman, you can't be serious."

"I am, and so should you." He pointed his finger at her. He stopped at the door, staring at the area that had been his place of work for over twenty years. He lived, breathed his music, and did his best to transcribe Joey's words and notes into live music, "This place is not going to be the death of me, Susie Q, and you shouldn't let it be yours."

His sweet face drew tighter, twitching, and he shook his head sadly. She opened her mouth to stop him, to convince him this was a mistake, but the words didn't reach her tongue. The harder she tried to speak, the quieter they grew until he disappeared beyond the door, down the hall, leaving her in the orchestra room, alone.

Sitting there, she knew there were options. She had options. She could change things if she tried. Sammy liked her, and Mr. Drew, she wasn't sure what he thought of her exactly. But she felt he tolerated her for what she brought to the table.

The opportunity, Susie thought in the dusty, ink stained room, was not the complete truth. He knew about her, of what she truly was, and he never said a thing aloud. It was easier for men like him to spot women like her. Their kind was indistinguishable from the rest, but it required an innate knowing rather than close inspection.

He never discussed this with her, and she refused to broach the subject. From that, a unique bond had formed, and if the others had guessed, had suspected, they were kind enough to keep their silence. It was easier, yes, easier for her to work this job. This was her golden egg, and she wasn't ready to let go of the goose. And it was easier to tell him this, that she liked her job with its steady pay and behind the scenes star status.

"But there's so much more." Alice's face appeared in her thoughts. Her doe black eyes, silky black hair was all she needed to see.

With the microphone to her face, the sounds came naturally, and so sweetly. It was never too sweet just as it was never too naughty, and the connection she possessed with Alice, she knew the term was accurate, was one she never had with any other character.

"Alice and I are going places," she whispered to herself, affirming a belief she didn't know she had, "and one day, one day, she'll be as popular as Bendy. Heck, her popularity might shoot above him."

Looking at the clock, 8:30, the time for dinner had passed some time ago. The pain of hunger did not tackle her stomach, and she sighed, picking up her purse and sweater. Walking down the hallway, she twisted the gold band on her left, middle finger, her thoughts were in disarray.

His office was not far from where she walked. He was an odd man, strange even, and his demeanor had changed during the last two months. But his kindness hadn't wavered. He hadn't grown cruel or distant, and she spoke freely, happily, around him. In his presence, she felt safe. Her concern was for him, not her person, and being certain of this, pushed her towards senselessness.

"He won't listen to me," the sound of her heels clicking on top of wood echoed down the halls, and she stared ahead, lips fixed into a thin line, "but he may listen to someone else."

She had visited the outskirts of Mr. Drew's office on the day she was hired. No one was allowed upstairs without his explicit permission, and although she feared what he may have to say about her unannounced appearance, his calmness steadied her. He was a smart man, an intelligent and diligent man, and Sammy, whose aggravations with him were well known, held immeasurable respect for the man.

Instead of heading to the exit where the thick summer air called to her, Susie carried on towards the animators' studio. Ink did not have an odor, but rotting wood did. The further she went, the stronger it became. Her nose twitched in disgust as she rebuilt the building in her mind, remembering which turns to make and which ones to avoid.

Soon she neared the abandoned animator's office, his name familiar as it passed through her mind, and she thought, if for a moment, that she had seen his face somewhere. Mr. Drew's office was past this point, and she saw the staircase ahead, yellowish light flooded the stairs.

"Mr. Drew?" Laying a hand on the wall, she was surprised to see there was a slight crack in the door at the top, "I apologize for coming unannounced."

On the first step a loud creak stretched in the still air, and she swallowed thickly, "I understand if you don't want to talk to me, but I'm…I'm worried about Sammy, I mean, Mr. Lawrence."

She took another step. Its creak was shorter, quieter, and she ventured for a third and a fourth. Losing count of how many steps she had taken, her fingers slid against the wooden wall, unafraid of the splinters that pricked her skin. The sounds on the other side had stopped abruptly, and she saw movement, quick and fleeting, like a shadow disappearing into light.

At the door, she pressed her ear against its cool surface, and the soft scratching, the low mumbles ceased. Heart palpitations made her knees weak, and she counted down from ten, gathering the courage she knocked on the door while holding the door knob with her other hand.

"Mr. Drew?" She said clearly with a light tremor in her voice, "Mr. Drew, may I come in?"

"Of course, Susie, you're always welcome."

Opening the door, she expected Mr. Drew to be seated his desk, arms folded neatly over a small stack of unfinished sketches. She hadn't prepared what she was going to say, and decided to rely on her natural instinct that came through during the heat of the moment.

He wasn't there. When she stepped through the threshold, she visualized his slim frame and thinning, pepper grey hair. He appeared to have been there earlier. An oily cinnamon scent filled her nose, different from the stronger odors she'd grown used to. Unfinished sketches were abandoned on his desk, spread on different parts, and a cinnamon oil scent was draped over them, sweet and spicy. Keeping a safe distance, the discarded papers were a cool gray color, and on them, she saw shapes drawn on them.

On closer inspection, she recognized the star inside the circle, and she tilted her head for a better angle. It held her attention for a minute before she saw the photograph that had fallen near it. She hadn't meant to touch the frame, and she didn't realize what she was doing until she was staring the photograph in its face.

The photograph had been taken some time ago, but at which time, Susie could not determine. The colors were pristine, highlighting the woman's hazel, almond shaped eyes, and through thick curls of strawberry blond, she smoothed her finger on top of silver strands. Her lips were painted a lovely shade of rogue, and were curled into a mischievous, inviting grin.

Age lines had aged her gracefully, and Susie stood transfixed on her face, as if she wanted to come through and show her something special.

"It was taken two weeks before she died."

Susie jumped, pressing the photograph against her breast, and spun around to see Mr. Drew leaning against the door frame. His hands were in his pockets.

"Oh my word!" Susie gasped, "I am," she looked at the photograph and flushed, "I am so sorry, Mr. Drew. I wanted to speak to you, and – please, don't fire me."

"Fire you?" He chuckled weakly and limped in the room. Without nosy eyes, he had not reservations, and he made his way to her, glancing at the photograph, "No, no, I would never do that, Miss Campbell, far too valuable."

"I'll just put that back."

"What did I tell you?" He sat in his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes, "You're in trouble, ma'am." His sunken eyes crossed to the framed photograph, "What do you think of her?"

"You're wife?" At a loss of words, his patience silence weighed on her. Her purpose did not slip from away, "Well, it's my first time seeing her. I had heard only through the grapevine. I didn't think she was so -,"

"Robust?"

"Drawing." Glancing at the photograph upright on the desk, she nodded in affirmation to the woman's dark curls and piercing but mildly teasing gaze, "You can see, no hear, the characters," she looked back at him, "she reminds me of Alice."

"Well!" His hoarse laughter was muddled under a sheet of pain, "She should. She was the inspiration."

Susie stared at him blankly, and her confusion raised his laughter, "Henry, my dear. He didn't think I knew, but I did. All he had to do was ask her."

"Ask her what?"

"Ask her out." His eyes glazed over. She was quick to realize that although she stood right in front of him, she was no more than stained glass, "She would've said yes. Henry was a good man, not always a nice man, but a good man. But he was shy."

"Was he now?" Henry was spoken of here and there, and hearing him confide in her about him was unheard of now, "I never got that from the shorts."

"Good." He grinned softly, "He wouldn't want anyone to know. Besides, he was a great animator, and she nearly lost her mind when she saw his original sketches. She gave him a big, wet one on the lips." He pointed to his lips and chuckled, "He was ready to faint, I tell you."

"She sounds wonderful."

"She was." His stare fixated on Susie, clearing away the fog that had settled in them, "And her voice, its range was immeasurable."

"So I've heard." And she had heard, seated in the movie theater, watching the cartoons dizzy and dozy about, and she and her friends could never pinpoint exactly when one she had given life to, "Betty Drew was my inspiration."

"But that isn't why you've come here."

"No." It was strange. It was not so unlike talking to a father, if her father had been that cooperative. His smooth voice was calming, and where she expected reproach for entering his office without permission, he changed the course with talks of his deceased wife, "It was about Sammy, Mr. Drew. I don't think he's well."

"You don't think he's well?" Flipping through the pages on his desk, Mr. Drew cocked his head to the side, "I must admit we have been overworking ourselves lately, and Sammy's work ethic has always been a little bit strained."

"He's pushing everyone away." She whispered weakly, "I believe Norman and more than half of the band has quit."

Mr. Drew's dim smile flat line, and his expression turned grave, "Well, that is serious. Norman's music conduction has kept Bendy alive for years, and we can't have Sammy running him off," he pushed himself to the right, "Isn't that right, Sammy?"

Turning around, Sammy stood with an ashen color on his face. His hands were hidden behind his back, and his eyes were wide, sunken completely into his skill. He sputtered for words, then shook his head, and he stepped in with a slight hunch in his back.

"What are you doing here?" He looked to her to Mr. Drew, and said in a darker tone, "What is she doing here?"

"Miss Campbell approached me herself."

"Why?"

"She was worried for you, Sammy," he explained firmly, and the look he gave him, that crooked stare, was one of an admonishing father onto his wayward son, "and hearing this, I am as well. Norman has left."

A low groan came from Sammy, and he stumbled onto the wall, pressing a skeletal hand on it for balance, "No, no, no, Norman, I wanted him gone. He was no good for this," his body sunk to the floor and tears dribbled down his face, "why are you hear, Susie, tell me why?"

Forgetting Mr. Drew behind her, Susie ran to Sammy, kneeling in front him. She grasped his hands and was frightened by how small, how weak they were, "Sammy, sweetie, Sammy, you have to listen to me. We're all worried about you."

"She's right, Sammy." Mr. Dre said behind them, but strangely, his voice echoed when it shouldn't have, "And after all, we have to believe in Him. Think of what He wants."

"I have!" Sammy hissed, and his eyes carried the same faraway stare Mr. Drew's had, "I have, and I have, and you don't think I've given enough. But she's…she's…they're too, oh," he rolled his head to the side and whimpered.

"Sammy, baby." She pressed her lips to his knuckles, "Listen, I know you're scared, but we can help you. We just need you to get up."

"No." Half-lidded eyes fluttered against a weak light, "No, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It's cruel. I'm sorry, please, forgive me."

"Sammy, what are you talking about?" He wasn't a heavy man, not as heavy as he used to be, but he refused to move. She refused to move without him.

His watery eyes opened, looked ahead, and they were clear, Susie swore, and frightened. He worded something, trying to get her away, but his body was too weak, and so was his mind.

"We must accept His will as our own." A whisper clutched at her ear, and she was jerked away from Sammy. An arm wrapped around her throat, and her hands flayed about, nails scratching at the unusually strong hands, "And you will learn this, Sammy, all of you will."

A napkin was pressed against her mouth and nose. She kicked at his legs, but her feet seemed to sink. When she saw her hands, there were black, a black blacker than night, and what she inhaled, chloroform her mind supplied, caused an almost drowsiness. Soon, her kicks and scratches started to weaken, and the office, with Sammy in it, started to darken.

With her senses numbed, Susie slipped into a slumber so sweet, so kind that she feared she would never awaken.

"It could have been anyone else!"

"There is no one left. We tried and failed with Alice before." A sad, weak little voice said, "We cannot fail again. We will not fail."

Susie rolled to her side. Hearing returned first, and the voices, while audible, were terribly misshapen. Someone was crying, she thought, and a second person tried to comfort them, to dismal success. Touch pursued, and she gasped loudly, slapping her hands around to get a feel of where she was.

Wood, the floor, she was on the floor. But wait. The floor was not clean, something was scrawled on it. The lights were weak, dim, almost shadowed in the room, and she strained to see. Pushing herself up, black marking decorated the floor, and again, yes, in its entirety she understood. The pentagram mocked her as she lied unconscious on top of it. On her knees, she rubbed the back of her head and whimpered.

Where was she? She didn't know. It was another part of the studio she wasn't acquainted with, but that didn't matter. Standing up, seeing her shoes were missing, she circled in her confinement, searching for some kind of sign. The voices were too far away. She couldn't tell which direction they came from.

"I would not do that if I were you." Said someone from behind, and she turned around slowly, eyes clear and lips pressed in a confused but angered frown, "You could get hurt."

"What is this?" Her voice was quiet, still, and she was secretly impressed at the distance, "Where am I, Mr. Drew?"

"You are safe." He explained softly, "I know it appears cruel, but trust me, it is the only way for us to survive."

"Survive?" She marched towards him, and on the edge of the circle, an invisible forced pushed her back. Stunned, it was not enough to knock her off her feet, but one that warned against any future attempts of escape, "What is this?"

She heard his voice, but she could not see him. Where was she? There were no booths or windows from what she could tell, and she breathed harshly, forcing tears back into her eyes. What had she gotten herself into?

"We must make sacrifices." The voice echoed solemnly, and within the voice, Susie heard another, weeping, "His will is our will, and we must accept his divinity in our hearts, into our souls."

The floor and walls began to tremble. It all began to tremble, and somewhere in the distance, growls emitted from the darkness. The circle chimed, a soft bell, and sparks spun to reveal violet flames. She took a step and crunched down. Susie removed her foot, and her heart sank when she saw the picture she had stepped on.

"Lord have mercy." Horror spilled over the ruined sketch, "Please, no."

A mangled scream clawed up her throat, slamming out her mouth as black ink pooled in the circle. Trapped, there was nowhere for her to go, and with little mobility she possessed, she tried to push against the force.

In retaliation a hand, a claw with pointed nails sprouted from the circle's center, and wrapped around her ankle. The sketch still clutched in her hand she tried to free her leg, jerking and fighting against the claw when another, as black as its twin, grabbed ahold of her left.

It called for help.

One after the other, hands formed in ink stained her clothes, snatching at her flailing arms. A larger one, she presumed to be larger in her panic, wrapped around her waist, and hot breath slithered down her neck. Its texture was warmer than the ink, wetter than ink, and she whimpered as the weight began to pull her down.

Legs and lower torso completely submerged, she saw a light ahead. Her weakened grip discarded of the picture, and the picture was swallowed by ink. Using the last of her strength, she forced her arms upwards, fingers stretching as far as they could. The pale cream of her skin was drenched, but she made out their shapes.

Her fingers wanted to blister under the light. Let it bleed and peel, let them be touched, but in that light came a voice, a voice so light and feather soft it sent chills down her spine. It was not a voice but many voices, two voices tied in one, and she saw his face gazing down back at her. His sneer was masked under a perpetual smile.

"You have to believe, Susie."

Her mouth opened for a fraction of a second, and ink poured through, pushing through her pearly white teeth, slipping down her throat, sloshing into her stomach. The ink went wild at her lungs, and the voices squealed in delight above her. She gasped, choked, and gurgled. She flailed, splashed, and started to weaken.

He watched her from where he stood. He titled his head to the side, unable to comprehend her distress, and she supposed he couldn't, with him being a devil and all.

He waved goodbye. It seemed so innocent, so childlike he was in his cartoons. It made seeing him as he now was almost sad. If she could have waved back in return, she would have, but she couldn't see her fingers anymore.

Her fingers, along with the rest of her body, seeped silently underneath the puddle of ink, leaving only a faint, drying stain in its wake.

Her name was Alice Angel.

In a past life, she might have met him. In another life, she could have met him. In this life, she did not meet him, not yet.

He was felt. The moment he opened the door, Alice felt him.

As all of them were, her body was not what it appeared to be. It was not what it was intended to be, but she, unlike so many others, could alter her appearance at will. Not even Bendy demonstrated this sort of ability. His lack of control infuriated him.

He was an envious little devil, Alice thought, and it was expected, for him to be envious.

Bendy wanted him.

He was a smart man, an old, a kind man.

"He's a good man, not always a kind one," a soft, mature voice mingled in her head. It was rich, full, and reminded her of something warm and good, a hot cup of tea although she had no way of knowing what tea tasted like, "We won't let harm come to him. We will try."

Alice agreed. In the heat of their united resolve, sounds were eradicated from her mouth. They were shredded, tattered, and she blushed, remembering why she normally maintained silence inside the building. It was best to be quiet. Bendy was watching, and so was she. She knew what he was planning, and she had to stop him.

At least, she was not alone. A semblance of another person, not complete and whole, mingled in her head, and its presence was comforting. This did not stop Alice from weeping. Always, always, she felt there was more inside, more than one, more than two.

What Alice would have said to the mingling voice that lingered in her head, "I know he isn't nice, and I don't want him to die. We have to try." She decided to try.

Bendy was faster. He made it to the ink machine before she did. Alice was smarter. She was, and they knew it. She boarded the ink machine before he had the chance to strike, and how angry he was! He was angry, and he searched for Alice. Searched and searched, and when he could not find her, he found another.

Sammy was desperate, and a fool. Alice felt him die. His fear was palpable. It was like having your heart ripped apart, crushed in the palm of the killer's hand. He found Henry first. He hadn't realized that Bendy wanted him.

Her anger with Sammy would never sway. Her forgiveness wasn't amendable, and wouldn't soothe her wounds. His dormancy condemned. But she mourned him nonetheless, as Bendy knew she would. Disobedient children needed to be taught a lesson, she supposed, and this lesson was one of many.

She rubbed furious, black tears off her haunted skin, now falsely papery, rubbery under a coat of ivory.

"We cannot save them all. We have to persevere," the voice rich tone tried to soothe, and Alice smudged her tears away, angry she had fallen pretty to emotional weakness. It appeared her humanity persisted through pain and betrayal, and she spat ink onto the floor.

He escaped Bendy, and Boris found him. She was not sure how she felt about that. Could he be trusted? He was not like Bendy, and did not seek to harm others. He called to her through thoughts, and Alice knew the time had come for her to appear.

"Give him instructions, guide him," she whispered through the vents, through the inky puddles Bendy could not claim, "and lead him to me."

In the depths where her tomb lied, decrepit and forgotten, he would find her there, and she would look upon his face. In another life, she had loved him. In another life, she had known him. In this life, she needed him.

"What will I say," Alice asked, and she waited for the response, knowing its directions would be unfair but just.

"Oh, my sweet Alice," the voice that mingled in her head moaned bereft, "we tell him the truth, your old song will teach him."

"What if he doesn't believe me?" She did not like to disagree, but this was a thought she had since he arrived. Her broken wings, dressed in black, fluttered achingly.

The mingling voice grew quiet, and she knew this was a moment the voice preferred to be left undisturbed. Seconds passed before it returned, in a simple but austerely forgiving tone, "If that is the case, Alice, then you will make him believe in you."

[sonipanda]

I’m still in a loved up mood, so I thought I might as well carry on with the Valentine’s theme and present to you the Yummy Bee Stockings.

I got these off eBay a while back and thought they were super cute! Although they aren’t a make I have heard of (and I am guessing it’s a cheaper brand as I picked these up for a few quid), I was eager to see what they’re like! Not everyone wants to fork out for bigger brands, so why not try some others right?

  My Outfit 

So I decided to mix and match with my outfit – I wanted to stick with reds however I wanted to change it up by adding in a denim shirt. Now I know some will like it and some won’t, but that is where your thoughts and opinions come in as I want you all to tell me what you think to it? What would you have done different or how would you style it?

I went with my red lace up shoes just because I thought they were mega cute with the stockings – normally I would have gone with wedges to make it a cute outfit, however this time I thought let’s do heels and see how it pans out!

My Deets:

Denim Shirt: Republic

Cami Top: New Look

Skirt: H&M

Stockings: eBay

Shoes: Matalan

The Review

So the packaging is pretty basic – small rectangle box showing the model wearing them at the front along with a big window and small text at the back about the stockings. I am quite intrigued to see what they are like on now.

Getting into it I find that they are neatly wrapped around the cardboard and not with it inserted inside – thank god! I hate it when companies do that – it just knackers the tights!

So I find that these are slightly more sheer than I thought they would be. It doesn’t state the denier on here but it does feel around the 20s mark. Not a bad thing I admit, but it would have been nice if they were more on the thicker denier side to make the hearts stand out more – but that’s just me typing out loud here!

So the first thing I notice is that they mention stockings right – well it’s funny seeing as the model is just wearing them like holdups. So I thought I would give it a go and see how long they last for. There is no silicone bands or anything – just pure materials bands (so like over knee socks) so this should be interesting. Let me carry on with how I got on and I’ll come back to this after….

Now I was pretty confused here – I would like to say that these had reinforced toes as it went slight darker in denier around the toes, but it didn’t state anything on the packaging. So I am hoping that they are!!!!

Let me talk about the band here – I think it’s adorable! It adds such a cute factor to them, and especially with the net frills around the band – I’m just in love with the idea! Perfect with bedroom attire as well I must say!

Ok so little complaint here; the design. I love the hearts dotted around the stockings. It’s all over from toe to band, but the only downside is that it’s not been printed on properly. There are some where it’s overlapped and some that are smudged at the back. Once you notice it, you can’t keep your eyes off it which is dead annoying!

So coming back to how they held up throughout the day – well they didn’t last that long. I have to say that they did start rolling slightly on the thighs (it doesn’t help when you have thick thighs too) and it started sliding down when you walked a fair bit too. I think you may need to get a suspender belt on for these – reminder for future wear!

One thing I do like about these is when the flash hits it, it does have a very subtle shine to them. It’s not something that you notice when they’re on, but I noticed it when I was taking my pictures where I saw a lovely shine.

Overall Thoughts? 

So they are a cheap brand, however the quality is pretty decent for what you pay for. I do like how they look on and the cuteness behind it all, but the only bad thing is that you will need a belt with this and this is something that I would like to wear as over-knee socks with an outfit. It might be easier to wear a pair of sheer underneath (not too silky smooth mind) to help hold these up or if you’re feeling adventurous, add some silicone bands onto these and make them into holdups. Now saying that, it might be a good idea to do that!

Yummy Bee Heart Stockings  I’m still in a loved up mood, so I thought I might as well carry on with the Valentine’s theme and present to you the Yummy Bee Stockings.

[thearcanachronicles]

Champagne Supernova

Some day you will find me

Caught beneath the landslide In a champagne supernova in the sky

"Are you kidding me? Jackson, it's the afternoon of our day off, you know how rare these are… Why are we not leaving?"

"Be quiet… I don't want anyone to see us..."

"Do you think I do? It's been only two weeks and I'm still receiving deathly stares in any room I walk into, so I definitely do not need to be seen walking holding your hand in formal wear…"

The man looked back at her, a smile covering his face, happiness reaching his green eyes. He couldn't care less if someone saw them together and spread the rumor. Even the concern over Stephanie and Matthew's feelings couldn't hide his pride over the fact that the redhead was his wife, forever only his, and that the simple thought made his chest feel like it was combusting.

She was especially beautiful at that moment, wearing the famous green dress that drove him insane at Bailey's wedding. Her cleavage was so tempting at the time, her neck so exposed, that he spent the entire afternoon thinking of the noises she'd make if he could just lick her there… But April had made it clear she was not interested, getting out of her way to get him a date, so the least he could do was to make the arrangement useful. In the present, being aware of where that fateful night drove them, he just wished to be able to make things right this time.

"Stop staring at me…" The woman giggled, hitting him lightly in the chest, making him join her in laugh, circle the wrist with his left hand, pulling her against his body, his back leaning on the wall. The right one, once holding hers down the corridor, was now slowly going up her arm, fingers slightly touching the cream skin. His face went down, nose touching right cheek, breathing roughly against her ear. After a second, Jackson moved just enough to rest his forehead against hers, fingers finally reaching her naked bust, pressing against a small bruise he had left this morning and she tried to hide with makeup, now making her entire body shiver. April felt his eyes going over her body and couldn't help but to feel completely exposed. She was aware of how well he knew her body, having discovered every sensitive spot himself, reminding her of how only he was able to make certain noises come out of her mouth.

"I don't think that will ever be possible…"

She bit her bottom lip, hands soothing his dark jacket, slowly directing them to the button in order to open it and then his shirt. His eyes were dark and she could feel in her center what was going through it. Before she could complete her actions, though, his hands stopped hers, and he took a large step back.

"What…"

"What's the point of a date night if there's no date?" He tried to smile, even if it was painful to do so after letting go of her warm body.

"We are already married, I think I can manage…" The redhead rolled her eyes, picking his hands again, but instead of pulling him, he was the one to move. "There's no on call room this way, Jackson, you should know your hospital by now…"

"I'm not looking for one…" He replied with a side smile while looking over his shoulders to find April confused and slightly disappointed.

"Okay, if you don't want to have sex, can we at least go somewhere where we can rest?"

"Jesus, woman, did I turn you into a sex addict or something?"

"How you wish you were that good…"

The man stopped on his heels, right in front of a discreet door, one that April recognized in a jolt. While the girl frowned, trying to imagine what he could have set at that specific place and time, Jackson was feigning being deeply offended.

"Well, I never heard any complaints from my wife…"

"Jackson…"

"Seriously, maybe I should ask God, she calls him a lot…"

"Jackson."

"And you should see when I go down on her… Maybe I should record it sometime…"

"What are we doing here?"

Her face was beet red, but the smile was soft while she pointed at the closed door. The man pretended to be confused by her questioning line, shaking his shoulders.

"I think it's the rooftop door."

"You think?"

"Yeah… I think we came here once or twice before…"

"Really? You are not sure?"

"Nah, nothing too memorable or anything…"

April nodded, still smiling, going for the doorknob. Jackson was quicker, though, opening it for her, bowing slightly. Giggling at his silliness, she went up the narrow steps, the automatic yellow light from the tight space not giving away anything that could be expecting her at the exit. She could hear her husband steps behind her and the hand he kept on her waist holding tight. By the time she finished climbing the stairs, the expectation was too high to wait any longer, making the redhead open the door and take two steps out immediately.

The rooftop was covered by the orange light provided from the sunset. It was one of the rare days in which rain wasn't pouring over Seattle, the sky having only sparse clouds. They were high enough that the traffic had turned into white noise, joined by the ferryboats in the distance. She had been there before, many times, with Jackson, even with Reed and Charles. It had become their place during the merger, where they all could find some solitude and refuge into each other. After the shooting, the two survivors kept going there for meaningful moments, as if the place could create the illusion that the other couple was still alive. At that day, it was slightly different. Every bit of the floor was covered with wild flowers, loose or over dressers in bouquets. The only path open leaded to a table set for two with candlesticks over it among more flowers. She could see, near it, another display covered with their favorite meals.

With a jolt, she felt Jackson's arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, chin resting in the side of her head. They were both silent for a minute, simply absorbing the view and each other.

"What does this mean?" April smiled, turning to face the man, still inside his arms. When she looked up at him, green eyes glistening with the light, lips curved in a soft smile, dressed up in a suit, all hers, she knew she had made the right choice. There was no way she could ever love other person as she loved Jackson Avery.

"We never went on a date… A proper date, anyway. We would hang out here, or at each other's place… It was amazing, obviously, but I now realize that I should have taken more care of you…"

"Oh, Jackson, I'm sorry… I did hurt your feelings too..."

"We were both scared, but I… I should have let you know that it was not just sex, even back then… If I had just said…" He put a loose strand of red hair behind her ear, holding her face in between his hands, regret and love filling his eyes.

"If We had just said…"

"I wouldn't have ruined your wedding…"

"Silly man… At the time you had already ruined any other man to me…" April smiled sadly, her hands on his neck in order to look deep into his soul and make her husband understand that, in the end, they had always been meant to be. He returned the expression, diverging her attention to his lips, where her eyes stayed for a minute too long. When she returned to his own, they were again darker, looking deeply into hers before setting on her lips. His hands went for her waist, holding her for dear life, while the redhead arms sneaked around his neck, also standing on her toes, pushing herself up for their mouths finally join in a slow kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She expected the view to have changed after three years without going there, the last time being before her first trip to Jordan, and even though some buildings had been replaced for modern ones, the view line still remained unblocked, allowing her eyes to set on the distance bay, the remaining sunlight reflecting on the undisturbed water, a couple of ferryboats parked, waiting for the sign to leave the margin of the lake. Even though sunrises have always been her favorite, being a natural early riser, stealing comfort for living another day from the sky, Seattle' sunset held too many stories to not have a special place into her heart.

"Figured out I'd find you here…"

She hadn't heard the roof proof door open and close at her back, but had felt his arrival. April couldn't know what Jackson had against her that made her aware of the man whenever he entered a room. The redhead had gone there in order to breath and put her thoughts together, not expecting to be joined, but there was only one person that would note her absence immediately, that would know her soothing place. A person that matched the voice that came from behind her. The same one that put her mind into spiral in first place.

She heard the man move from where he was standing up, against the door, slowly getting closer to her, silently asking permission to stay. As she didn't move or made any sign of his presence being unwanted, he approached the parapet, resting his elbows over the structure, body leaning over it, shoulders relaxed and back erect. He did not turn to meet her eyes, his own focusing on the view April was before staring at. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, the woman glanced back at the sunset in front of her, eyes following a group of seagulls that was crossing the sky, chanting their song.

"I've heard of Diane's surgery… You want to talk about it?" On her peripheral vision, she could see that Jackson's eyebrows had tightened, marking the lines in his forehead.

"I know you are not supposed to share the patient's information but..."

"She was already dying… When she came to me, she was already sick…"

"Jackson…"

"She keeps lying to Maggie, and I don't know what I am supposed to do about it."

"You really can't tell her… It's not your fault. You are doing all in your power…"

"Yes, I know…"

"Then you should… I can't tell you to just relax and do nothing about it… She is your sister… In a weird way that involve both your parents getting married… So I know you feel responsible for her in a way… But you can't drive yourself crazy, lose sleep because of it…"

"I am not?" For the first time since he arrived he moved, turning his face slightly to the left, allowing April to see his questioning expression.

"I've heard you arriving late last night…" She met his eyes with eyebrows raised, daring him, while sporting a small smirk, to tell she was lying. "and I thought you were going straight to your room since Hattie was already asleep, but then I heard the living room TV and you cooking something…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you up…" He frowned, porting a slightly uncomfortable expression, turning his face away again. April could tell he didn't like the fact that she noted his change of behavior.

"It was not that loud… I was just worried about you…" Her voice was apologetic, thinking that maybe his expression was due to thinking she wanted some control over him after hooking up again.

"Then why didn't you come out?" He was stern, eyes closed, clearly trying to keep some control over himself.

"I didn't know if you wanted me to…" April shrugged her shoulders, hoping that the sunlight would be able to cover the sudden loss of color on her face. Knowing that she was starting a conversation that she was not sure she wanted to have yet, or if he did, she faced forward again, giving him space enough to divert the subject or maybe just leave, but all he did was to take deep breaths and close his hands in fists.

"Diane was not the reason I couldn't sleep last night…" April could see that he was fighting with himself, and she didn't want Jackson to think she was forcing him to act or say something. The redhead reached to his left arm, but he stepped away of her touch, putting both hands on his hips while turning his back to her, facing the sky. "After I left them with Shepherd and Grey… I was so… tired… of not being able to help… anyone. How can I make a kid talk again but can't remove a fucking breast cancer?"

"Jackson…"

"So I went home and it was so quiet, so peaceful… All I wanted was to lay on my bed and rest… But I opened the door to my room and… it was empty…" His voice was rising, filled with angry and… something April couldn't decide what it was. Sadness? Despise? "I don't know what I expected, actually… For us to have sex in Montana and to go back to co-parenting? For us to have sex again on the airplane on the way back and then pretend it didn't happen? We went home, my mother was there, then I was being paged to the hospital, had to anticipate the surgery… And we didn't talk… And still all I can tell you is that I did not expect to go home and be received by an empty bed…"

"Jackson, we are divorced…"

"Don't you think I am well aware of that?" He motioned his hand angrily, looking at the floor around him as if looking for something to kick or hit.

"So what? Do you really that me that much for granted? That simply the fact that we had sex after the divorce means that it suddenly didn't happen?" April was now enraged, exactly what she expected to avoid going up there before going home. Her voice was now loud, fighting his.

"That's not what I meant…" He groaned, turning around to face her, hands in his forehead.

"Really? Because apparently you were expecting me to have moved to your room already, and let me tell you, it's not happening…"

"Why not?"

"What?"

"Why not?" Jackson was now facing her, arms limp beside his body as if he had given up entirely. "Why can't you move to my room? It's not like you can move to my place; you are already there!"

"You told me you wanted me to stay!"

"Yeah, so did you. And know I am asking you why moving to my bedroom is such a bad idea."

"We are divorced!"

"So what?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"April, listen to me. Shit, just…" His hands were again in his forehead and he closed his eyes again, turning around for a second to decide his next act, aware of how defining it was for his future. Knowing that thinking would not solve anything, he decided to face April with simply the truth. "Just listen for a second… What happened in Montana…"

"Was a mistake…"

"No, it was not… It was…" He laughed to himself, thinking how their relationship went back to the point in which they were in an unclear situation after a change in their status quo, pinning over each other but clueless about the next step. They did not only have a track record of hotels, but also of not saying what they felt afraid of getting hurt. He knew that after the divorce, April would not be the one to make the first move, but he hoped she would correspond his. "I just stood there looking at you, and all I wanted to do was to kiss you… And I realized that I've never stopped feeling that for a second since San Francisco. Not after Jordan, not after the freaking divorce. I tried to stay away, to move out, to move on… I was still so angry, so resentful over the whole thing that I just wanted to fucking forget everything… About how you made me feel…" His eyes were locked with hers, her mouth hanging slightly open with all the information he started to toss at her. He wanted to secure her, tell her it would be okay, but the boy knew that if he stopped, he might never be able to start again.

"And then you were pregnant. And you did not tell me… And I was not only mad at you but at me too, because how fucked up was that we were going to be a family if only I hadn't fucking signed the divorce papers? Did I really deserved the pain of having my child dying in my arms for then getting a second with the woman I loved, just after hurting her so much she didn't tell me about it?"

"And then we fought, and fought, and I had to witness Callie and Arizona going at each other throats to realize I didn't want that anymore. And I had to hear you fucking dying on the phone at Meredith's house, to admit to myself that even though I tried to forget everything, I fucking still needed you. I needed to at least see you at the hospital, and to nurse our kid, and to see her grow. How would I be able to raise her alone, seeing you in her, knowing that I was not there for you when you were scared of a second child, or to help calm you down when you felt the baby kicking for the first time… Knowing that I did not tell you that I fucking loved you."

"Because I love you April… I never stopped... You could kill me and I think I'd still do. So when you were there for me, and I realized you had always been, how could I still be hurt? And without the anger… there was only… Us. And I want us. I'm not saying it's going to be easy… But I want to really try this time… And I know this is too much to ask, because I was the one to give up everything… But I need to try again, and I can wait if you want, till I'm dead and who knows, maybe even after, because you are It for me, April. It's always going to be Me and You. I can't go on anymore not knowing… because I do think you still love me too… so, please, can you please tell me if you do?"

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEE LOVE! ( @absolutelylovelife)

All the happiness to you, thank you for being this awesome friend and person! 3 I hope you enjoy!

[kjwongsbrain]

What's a pirate's favourite alphabet?

The era of comic book movies is now. We're getting like six of them every year thanks to the combined efforts of Marvel Studios, Warner Brothers and DC playing catchup, and also 20th Century Fox's obligations to keep making ones they want to keep the license over. It's not as if comic books never got made into movies before - in fact you can trace back the movies all the way back to the 50s - but they're thriving harder than ever now and are among some of the most profitable films ever to be made.

It used to be an idea that major actors would often refuse to star as recurring superheros in fear of being typecast into that one role, or have their entire career be recognized for donning on a funny outfit and doing silly moves on camera instead of what some would consider 'true acting'. Some actors often tried breaking out of the mold of Superhero by doing things completely different from that previous role, either by taking on a serious dramatic role, or going to stage shows in order to establish their abilities as an actor instead of a character.

But I'm starting to wonder if that's the case anymore. Seeing the excitement of people like Chadwick Boseman and Tom Holland on being inducted into the ever growing cast of actors that make up the MCU, and then looking at the sheer popularity and success of the movies as well as the genuine appreciation the fans show leads me to believe that maybe the ultimate role for an actor these days is in fact a superhero. The mark of a great career should be one that has a superhero in it. At least once. Only now that Marvel is issuing 6 film contracts, it won't just be once most of the time.

Back before actors signed multi-movie deals with studios like Marvel, I used to worry when an A-list actor was cast as a recurring character in a Marvel movie because it would mean it would be near impossible to get them to come back for another one. Take for instance the current Limbo that Red Skull is in because Hugo Weaving isn't doing it again. Chris Evans has long expressed a desire to finish playing Captain America and move on to new things. Hemsworth on the other hand seems to be enjoying the role just fine.

All that leads us comfortable to Hugh Jackman who now holds the record for playing the same superhero character the most times at 8 (counting the little cameo in First Class). Not only is Jackman one of the most respected castings in superhero history, it's also the role that's really cemented his career in history forever. And if you watch some early interviews with Jackman, he took the gig not knowing how big the role was really going to be.

And so it is with a huge thank you - the kind audiences do for retiring pro wrestlers - that we now come to talk about Logan.

But before we get into it, I must go back to the thought I began with. The era of comic book movies that we are in now can really be traced back all the way to two films that helped really establish what the genre was capable of and what it was going to look like for years to come.

Everyone of course remembers how big and pivotal the Tim Burton Batman film was but there's another one that was equally responsible for studios finally willing to shift a proper amount of resources into making these films - Blade.

Yes, Blade was one of the first few comic book movies that was a proper commercial success. And also the thing Wesley Snipes was famous for before the tax dodging. Blade was a demonstration that comic book movies could be taken seriously and not be too campy and targeted at children, but also staying true to the source material. A lot of people forget just how pivotal Blade is in regards to the shape and feel of comic book movies today.

That being said, in this almost 30 year period now since Batman and Blade, comic book movies have done a lot of evolving. With Blade and Batman being the first commercial successes, studios started thinking about the ingredients in those films that led to their success. This is the primary factor that influenced the design of the first really big superhero film, the first X-men. I love the first X-men. I have a very special place in my heart for it because of how many things it did right, and how much it helped usher in the world of the MCU we have today. But I've always felt that the early X-men movies missed a beat by taking what Blade and Batman did and applying it too directly into what was originally a bright and colorful world.

This would later be fixed when Marvel took its chances by delivering Iron Man and audaciously painting him bright gold and red instead of turning him black like the new Robocop. Marvel took steps into bringing the look of the original comics back into their world and the move was celebrated by fans. Fans, like me, were incredibly excited by the vibrant image the new era of the MCU presented, especially in comparison with the much darker, bleaker, and paler DC universe.

This went on to make Disney and Marvel billions of dollars in ticket sales, and also in the ridiculous merchandising arm of the franchise. But with that merchandising arm being such a big factor, there also was the long debate about content rating in the movies. While children were buying the toys in heaps and droves, it was really the adult comic fans that were propelling the series forward. Their loyalty to the franchise was something that was consistently bankable and Marvel knew this.

The problem now was that Marvel had to toe the line between creating films that were family friendly, but never straying too far into the kid friendly content of the early years (pre 1989) that the adult fans would lose interest. And they have done so brilliantly, but that involved navigating around and away from some of the grittier material that comics have long included in their storylines.

Then came Deadpool. Which isn't the first R-rated comic book movie by any chance. Heck, the genre defining Blade was R-rated. But there wasn't an audience as big as the one today to celebrate the fact that R-rated comic book movies could be great. And so the evolution of comic book movies has now come full circle. With dozens of movies already hitting the merchandisable market, fans have been clamouring for movies to adopt some of the more adult themes and presentations that they've enjoyed for years in the comics.

And so Deadpool delivered. It was the right time and piece of material for it to be a smash hit success. With studio executives still nervous, Deadpool's success meant that directors and actors who dreamed of making some of the more adult-themed material had the guts to push for it. And so we have Logan. And Logan's a big big hit looking at the opening weekend. And I think that rather than helping make the film better, the R-rating really made things worse for Logan.

Hear me out.

The first fifteen minutes or so were probably in the film solely to piss off some producers who went into the meeting thinking that they could still rein in Jackman and Mangold who were hell bent on making an R-rated film. What with the outrageous amount of violence in the opening scene, and then the outrageous amount of swearing between two characters that have never done so in the history of their appearances on screen. I don't find it difficult to watch Logan run his mouth, but when Charles and Logan are having a spat at each other, swearing like sailors, that ruined the moment for me.

It's not that I don't believe either of them were capable of it either, but it's simply that without any progression from one incarnation to another, it almost felt shoehorned in there solely to validate the R-rating. And then after those ridiculously out of character fifteen minutes have gone by, the film actually starts out properly.

That bummed me out harder than anything. And as the movie went on, the only question I had to keep asking myself was whether the R-rating was necessary. And I think it really wasn't. Wolverine has taken down his enemies 6 times prior to this film and nobody complained. Nobody complained that you couldn't see his claws rip people's heads off and spear through different body parts. Wolverine has existed without the necessity for on-screen violence in this capacity without complaint. And so, by that logic, none of the extra violence really added anything to the film. The strengths of the movie rested in the three main characters of Charles, Logan and Laura. And that story is actually a beautiful story. There were heavy emotions played out as Charles dies full of regret, and as Logan comes to terms with his humanity and death. And all of those could've been done without a single ounce of gut splatter on screen.

Now why is this such a big deal? Why am I complaining about how unnecessary the R-rating actually is? Isn't it a great way to show just how far comic book movies have come after all these years and isn't great that we can have these films like Logan and Deadpool made?

Yes. Deadpool was perfect. Deadpool is a ridiculous character that genuinely needed to be expressed in a ridiculous way in order for it to work.

Logan? Nope. Just think about it for a second. If the scenes that made Logan an R-rated movie were simply ingratiating violence and language, what did it do to make the movie better? The best parts of the movie were the ones that had nothing to do with any of that. Sure the scene of Logan swearing and bashing the shit out of his car helped convey some raw emotion concerning the death of Charles, but hundreds of movies have done the same without uttering a single word even.

And this is a problem because people are celebrating Logan for the wrong reasons. Pretty soon we'll want an R-rated Batman. And then an R-rated Avengers simply because we think that the R-rating is a gateway into better stories and still maintaining financial credibility.

And then what will we give our children?

I made this similar argument when people were celebrating Adi Shankar's ridiculous Power Rangers short. The adult thinking that everything is immediately improved by making it darker, grittier, more violent, and more sexual. It's the natural growing up of the things we've enjoyed as children. And the same people would lament that kids these days don't have the same kind of complex characters that we did.

Well, how the heck do you share Wolverine with your children if his greatest achievement is buried in Logan? Imagine your kid watching the new X-men cartoons and coming to love Wolverine as a character the same way you did, and then finding out that a brand new Wolverine movie came out and hearing how great it was, only to be told that he or she can't see it.

Look, I get that there's a natural divide that will always happen when stories like these appeal to the widest of audiences of all cultures and ages. But I do personally think that going R is never the right thing to do for a character that is as important and incredible as Wolverine. There are always more ways to approach adult themes and messages in a movie that do not have to resort to R-ratings. Take 'A Monster Calls' as an example. That movie deals with some of the most difficult themes even I as an adult have seen on screen, and it does all this with the appeal of a fictional monster and a PG-13 rating.

And without the R-rating hook to rely on, Logan becomes decidedly average. I'd say it was almost identical to 2013's The Wolverine in terms of story, pacing, and design. It would seem that Mangold really didn't do much to improve The Wolverine other than tack on a whole bunch of on screen slashing and swearing. It wasn't boring enough to send me to my phone, but it wasn't exciting enough to really keep me interested. There were some mysteries here and there like the events a year ago at Westchester, and also the real cause of Logan's illness, but none of them really had any bearing on the story at all.

And so Logan lands in the pit of 'meh' for me. Not really anything to shout about. It will be sad saying goodbye to perhaps two of the most perfect pieces of casting ever in the world of Marvel. It is also a bit of a mystery as to what the future of the X-men franchise will look once the final movie between the two major X-men casts is fleshed out. Will we see the new mutants? Will the entire X-men universe reboot itself? It's hard to know.

A fun fact to end this piece is something I just learned recently. Some of my friends were lamenting that Hugh Jackman never once donned the famed Wolverine black and yellow suit and mask. But, it was teased in an alternate ending in The Wolverine. It actually makes an appearance instead of just a snarky joke mention and it looks beautiful. Go check it out.

In the meantime, here's to waiting for 2017's MCU showings to finally hit the screen.