#so does the Ink Demon because its not his fault he came out wrong

[somniumoflight]

Crossover Idea #9 – My Hero Academia/Bendy and the Ink Machine

Izuku ends up sharing a body with the Ink Demon and slowly changes his mind about wanting to be a hero – he ends up being a villain instead

Still haven’t read/watched My Hero Academia, but I’ve read a lot of fics in that fandom and recently I’ve been browsing the Vigilante/Villain!Izuku fics, and then suddenly my brain went “hey man, do a BATIM crossover of this.”  And, well, here we are.

So, the basic idea of this story is as follows – the Studio (and all the monsters/people in it) where actually a product of both Joey Drew’s Quirk and some occult stuff he dug into in an attempt to make his creations last for longer on their own instead of relying on him.  In the process he accidentally made sentient self-sustaining Ink, which in turn became the Ink Demon when it grew strong enough, and then the whole downward spiral of BATIM canon backstory basically happened with one major twist – Drew managed to deal with the Studio’s occupants on his own without Henry ever needing to be involved, and decided that he was going to just chuck all the evidence of what he’d done into the ocean – including what was left of the sentient Ink that made up everyone in the Studio, in the hopes that it would just dissolve into the sea thus officially be “dead.”

What actually happens is that the crate with the Ink in it eventually washes up on the shore at Mufastu (think that’s the town?), and the Ink breaks free and, since a lot of it did get washed away by water leaking in, starts trying to gain enough ink to reform by basically sneaking into stores and stealing from people. Eventually, though, people catch on to this ink black blob, and since it’s been hurting people in the process of trying to reform (by sort of possessing them/absorbing their minds??), the local Heroes start chasing after it, and after several months, the Heroes finally get a lucky break and manage to both figure out its weaknesses and isolate it in an empty warehouse to keep it from getting away.

Except the warehouse isn’t quite empty, because guess who got shoved into that same warehouse and locked inside of it by his bullies earlier that day?  Who else but a 11-year-old Izuku, who, when the Ink tries to possess him in a last-ditch attempt to escape the Heroes, somehow accidentally traps the Ink in his own body with a passive quirk he never knew he had, and then flees in panic.

At first, Izuku is not happy about having what’s essentially a villain sharing a body with him.  Especially since he starts having nightmares of the Studio and everything in it from the Ink Demon’s pov, and the Ink keeps basically using him to steal ink to eat so it can get stronger.  When he wanted a quirk, he didn’t want this! Except… then a series of unfortunate circumstances leads to him never getting into UA.  And the Ink, though sinister and deadly, has been reluctantly helping this kid, because now that they’re stuck together the Ink really doesn’t wanna test what will happen if the kid dies.  And Izuku’s been seeing memories of some of the worst things that people do to each other, through the memories of everyone trapped in the Ink.  And how villains are treated by Heroes. Suddenly, the notion of being a normal Pro-Hero doesn’t quite appeal to him as much any more… and when All Might tells him he can’t be a Hero because he’s quirkless, well, that’s the last straw.

So instead of going to UA, Izuku decides he’s going to become the vigilante/villain that shows people just how wrong the current system is about treating their “villains” and everyone who eventually becomes them… with the Ink, and eventually the Ink Demon once the Ink fully recovers, acting as his Quirk to help him.

Details of this crossover I’ve figured out:

Joey’s quirk is called “Animation.”  Anything he draws on paper can come to life, but only for a very limited period of time, and it only really works with ink, not pencil or anything else. Problem is that Joey’s creations can only really last for so long before they fall apart.

So when Joey decided he wanted to bring his creations to life permanently, he started diving into some old occult stuff from the pre-Quirk era to find something that could make his creations self-sustaining.  He finds something that works a little too well, and ends up accidentally creating the Ink.

According to the Dreams Come to Life book, the Ink in the studio is actually alive and manipulating things.  Here that’s not exactly the case – Joey literally just accidentally created a sentient liquid being with initially no sinister intentions unless you count trying to, you know, survive.  It’s not controlling anyone, even if all the ink critters are made of it.

The Ink starts off as shapeless, but slowly begins shaping itself into the form of the Ink Demon.  So, basically, the Ink Demon and the Ink are mentally one and the same here, it’s just that the Demon is the Ink’s properly solid form.

Joey is of course irritated, because in his mind this thing has no right to exist, and tries to get rid of the Ink Demon.  This is a big mistake.  The Ink Machine, though not directly bringing the demon to life or anything, has been pumping ink into the Demon p much ever since he existed, without Joey realizing it, so the Ink Demon is almost literally unstoppable.

Joey does end up eventually destroying the Ink Machine, thus cutting the demon off from their supply of ink, and then uses acetone on it until it’s an inky blob again, then shoves it in a leaky container and chucks it into the ocean, in the hopes that when water started leaking in it would dissolve the Ink and ultimately kill it, and thus erasing the evidence of his crimes.

What actually happens is that the container ends up washing up on the shores of Degobah(?) beach (what’s one piece of trash amongst others?) and manages to break out.  The Ink then begins searching for normal ink to “eat” so it can become strong again – it doesn’t like being weak.  

However its abilities as nothing but liquid are limited and so it starts trying to manipulate people into stealing ink for it and accidentally discovers it can possess people a-la the sludge villain from MHA canon, only the people’s minds are trapped in its ink when it leaves instead of dying, putting those possessed people into a coma regardless of how long the ink is in them.  Still, if they have a useful quirk the Ink can use it, and that’s good enough reason to keep doing it.

The Heroes eventually catch on to these possession tactics and start hunting this creature down in earnest, since its obviously dangerous.  Negotiations don’t work – it just attacks, seemingly mindlessly to them.  They then try fighting it – that doesn’t work out because so long as it’s got a mouth or nostril or even breathing tubes to get through it can possess literally anyone regardless of their quirk, and while freezing it does sort of work it’s only really frozen on the surface and the rest of the ink is warm enough to start thawing the rest of it.

Eventually though a certain flaming garbage can finds out that the “liquid” they’ve been chasing is strangely flammable (as some pen inks are).  Then suddenly things start getting worse for the Ink FAST.

The Ink eventually gets cornered in an old warehouse on the shore that nobody uses, and Endeavor ends up getting permission to burn the thing down since this “villain” will clearly not come peacefully and literally nothing else seems to permanently effect it other than fire.  He has people block off the warehouse entrances and burns the place to the ground with great glee, and it seems to the Heroes that the Ink is now dead.

Not quite, as it turns out. Because earlier that day, Izuku got locked into that same warehouse by his bullies, and the Ink desperately tries to possess him in the hopes of being able to use his mystery quirk to escape.  Except of course he has no such quirk.  Instead, he has an unregistered passive quirk that somehow fuses the two beings together into one body while leaving them with their individual minds.  This allows Izuku immunity to most of the Ink’s more harmful tricks, though possession is definitely still on the table (for limited periods of time).  

With flames rising around them, the Ink, sensing an opportunity, intimidates Izuku into keeping his silence as they try to escape, because nobody’s ever survived the Ink possessing them before so the Heroes will probably try to hurt Izuku thinking he IS the Ink, and if he’s quirkless he can’t defend himself, can he?

Izuku ends up escaping with the Ink in tow by sheer luck – one of the nicer Heroes sees a scared, burned, scorched kid escaping from the blaze, and after asking him a few questions (the Ink never talked to anybody before, just acted “mindlessly,” so the Heroes mistakenly believe it’s mindless and thus cannot talk) he lets the kid go, telling him to run home.

After that, things are difficult for a while – the Ink has basically threatened Izuku into silence considering its existence, and sometimes forces him into letting it puppet his body to grab ink to eat and heal itself with.  It doesn’t help that the Ink’s on edge, fully expecting to eventually end up getting caught again, and its nervousness is rubbing off on Izuku, who gets even more skittish than normal (not that anyone except Inko and Bakugou really notice, and Izuku can lie to his mother p well when under pressure as it turns out, and Bakugou could care less about “Deku” at this point.)

Eventually, though, the Ink calms down when it becomes clear that the Heroes have written it off as dead.  It still uses Izuku’s body to steal ink to heal itself, but other than that its… calmer. Less threatening-feeling to Izuku.  And having it around is actually helpful to the poor kid too, because having the Ink fused with him means he’s gotten its abilities as well, including healing from drinking ink, which helps avoid awkward questions about bruises and stuff wonderfully.

On top of that, realizing that it was a bunch of Pro Heroes that burned down the warehouse he was stuck in sort of shook Izuku’s faith in Heroes.  Like, a lot.  All Might wasn’t one of those Heroes, though, so he still admires him and wants to be like him, complete with being a Hero himself.

This is the prime reason why they stay on edge around each other for a couple of years, because the Ink hates Heroes (they tried to kill it, and Joey once admitted he had aspirations to be a Hero when he was younger until he found his true calling in life – that’s enough for a grudge in the Ink’s mind) and Izuku’s a little scared of it because of the previously mentioned threats and the fact that he’s technically sharing his body with a villain.

Then comes the day when Izuku’s told by All Might that he can’t be a Hero because he’s quirkless. Izuku is heartbroken, and thanks to the trauma and the Ink’s influence over the last couple of years, he ends up just… giving up on being a Hero.  What’s the point of trying, when his idol says he could never succeed, and all other Heroes might hurt him?

This is when the Ink, wanting to get revenge on the Heroes that nearly killed it, and possibly Joey as well, gets an idea which it presents to Izuku – become a villain. Rob a bank or something.  Izuku’s against this at first, trying to scout out actual legal jobs, but as it turns out, hardly anyone wants to hire a quirkless teenager no matter how good his grades are if there are people with quirks they can hire instead.

So Izuku’s slowly worn down to the Ink’s idea, and after some very careful planning, lots of training with the Ink in how to use its abilities, and finagling a promise out of the Ink that if Izuku doesn’t want to keep doing the villain thing that they will stop after this, they end up robbing a major bank.

Izuku wasn’t intending to keep doing the villain thing after that – robbing a bank of that much money is bad enough – but then he sees how everyone and their mother is talking about his villain persona, and how the news is painting him, the quirkless loser, as a threat. And suddenly, he’s feeling a vicious kind of satisfaction at his actions.  That’d show everyone – his bullies, Kaachan, they were all wrong, he’s not useless!

So Izuku starts tentatively committing more crimes.  At first he keeps to robbing places to get money.  Then some local criminals try to corner him when he’s out and about as a villain (to get his money that everyone now knows he probably has) and Izuku ends up killing his first person in self-defense.

He freaks out about this big-time at first, especially since due to basically drowning them in the Ink, their minds are trapped inside of his own body along with the Ink itself, and god but does it give him nightmares to hear them screaming.  But as more and more criminals start coming out of the woodwork to try to get rid of him, and he starts slowly getting used to killing, and the Ink outright encourages the whole killing-people thing, he slowly starts to take a vindictive satisfaction in killing people too.

Eventually, around the same time that the Ink recovers enough to become the Ink Demon again (when it can convince Izuku to use enough ink at once for their body to form, they’re still connected) Izuku’s convinced to plot a proper villain debut in the underworld.  No more just robbing banks and killing people in self-defense – time to act like a proper supervillain.

So, after some more careful planning, practicing summoning the Ink Demon and other super-Ink abilities that the Demon was holding back on until then, and planning their “costume,” Izuku and the Demon make their debut as a duo of villains.

Izuku’s villain name is “Inkstone,” and by this point he’s sort of learned to associate being a villain as his safety blanket – nobody knows who he is, nobody thinks he’s a quirkless loser, HE’S the dangerous one like this – so he’s a lot more confident as Inkstone than as Izuku, and has even decided to put on a bit of an act to make it harder to identify him – “Inkstone” outright worships their villain partner, and will willingly claim that the Demon “saved him from being worthless.”

His starting costume is basically just black clothes, shoes, gloves, etc, with a bunch of ink leaking out of his hair turning it black and dripping down his forehead.  He also orders some black contacts to put in to disguise his eyes and complete the spooky-ink look, and he’s naturally a little pale, and his freckles are hidden pretty well by the dripping ink.

Their initial debut involves killing a small-time hero – more specifically, the same Hero that let Izuku out of that burning warehouse, in order to keep him from identifying Inkstone as the same kid he saved from a burning building.  The two of them team up on said Hero and kill him as a warning to the rest of the criminal underworld to not mess with them. (They also use the Ink to absorb his mind like other people in the past – having his knowledge could definitely help in the future.)

After this initial debut, Inkstone and the Ink Demon quickly take over the criminal underground.  Nobody wants to mess with the duo that mercilessly slaughtered a Hero and left his corpse hanging up by the police station.  

Nobody wants to mess with a giant hulking demon made of black shiz, either, especially since the underworld catches on faster than the Heroes and figures out that hey, these two have something to do with that string of comas that was happening a couple years ago.  Soon Izuku has a healthy trade going, and ends up cornering the market when it comes to information gathering – all he and the Demon have to do is grab the right person and absorb their mind into the Ink, and bingo, they’ve got info.

At some point these two end up going up against Dabi and Toga (who have joined the League at this point) and end up absorbed by the Ink as well after a grueling fight – however, instead of their minds eventually being broken down by the Ink like all the others, the Ink Demon finds something very interesting in their minds – the existence of the League of Villains, their apparent goals and of course, Dabi’s history as one of Endeavor's sons. (They don’t pay much attention to UA stuff except to keep an eye on future heroes – they know that class 1A was attacked by villains and that’s about it at this point.)

And also the fact that neither of them are nearly as scared as most people that got absorbed have been. Toga’s mostly whining about not being able to make people bleed anymore, and Dabi’s furious that he didn’t manage to get revenge on Endeavor.

Neither Izuku nor the Ink Demon are thrilled about this – Izuku because while he is indeed a villain at this point, he still has some morals, and he still admires All Might and doesn’t appreciate the League trying to kill the man.  The Ink Demon’s more pissed off about the info on Endeavor over anything else, because this man is reminding it a lot of Joey.

In the end, the two of them end up using Dabi’s information to kill Endeavor for him (with Dabi’s blessing – yeah, he’s dead, but he’s also cheering his killers on because fuck Endeavor), and exposing his dirty secrets to the world to discredit him after death (also with Dabi’s blessing).  This is when Inkstone and the Ink Demon are officially designated as super-villains rather than normal ones – they took out the number 2 hero.

Dabi may or may not end up being basically revived as an ink creature by Izuku, since the guy wants to hang around and keep an eye on his siblings.  Also, he’s NOT going back to the League, thanks – he was more a vigilante in mindset than anything when he first got recruited.

Toga may also be kept around because the Ink Demon finds her bloodthirst and her excitement about killing folks amusing.  Also, they need some trustworthy minions and if these two are made of ink now, Izuku and the Demon can control them if need be.

Of course, now being considered one of the top villains in the country has a downside – in that everyone knows about them now thanks to news coverage.  This includes All Might, who Izuku still admires and never wants to go up against if he can help it, and Joey Drew, who basically spittakes when he sees the international news and realizes oh shit that’s his creation being a supervillain in Japan how.

All Might eventually tracks down Inkstone, and Izuku doesn’t bother trying to hide that he’s an admirer of All Might (which makes All Might uncomfortable because oh god this better not be like Stain all over again.)  Izuku’s also willing to give him some info on the League that he got from Dabi, such as info on their next moves as Dabi knew them – and All for One’s location, since they managed to get that thanks to Dabi snooping plus absorbing some of the rest of the league.

When All Might wants to know why, Izuku tells him that All Might simultaneously saved him (true) and ruined his life (also true), but that he doesn’t hold any grudges against him for the latter – I mean, look, Izuku actually has a life now instead of being a loser like before, and its all because All Might shattered his hopes and dreams!  (All Might is of course horrified by this.)

Joey crosses over to Japan at some point and attempt to get rid of the Demon for good this time. This doesn’t exactly work out because the Ink Demon is publicly enraged by his presence and makes this known in spades – and exactly WHY.  Joey gets arrested pretty fast after that, but not before Izuku and the Ink Demon basically pummel him into a coma.  The only reason they don’t kill him is because the Heroes catch up before they can.

Izuku may or may not have spilled some of his life story on camera while being driven into a rage, though, so that causes problems.

Eventually Izuku gets found out to be Inkstone, and may or may not end up being confronted by 1A after they’ve graduated and become proper heroes.  Including Bakugou, who is the guy who manages to figure out who he is under the ink.  Cue angst and Bakugou finally getting some consequences for his shitty actions as a middle schooler!  Yay!

Also there will be at least one or two glorious “oh shit” reveals about Izuku and the Ink Demon technically being the same person.  They’re not going to happen for a while though.

Holy wall of text, Batman!  Sorry about the length of this one, okay, but I’m a sucker for good Villain!Izuku stories – because quirk discrimination is NOT fine and Izuku getting to lash out at the world for it treating him so badly and getting away with it because he’s scary smart or strong now is like my favorite thing in all MHA fanfiction.  Green bean deserves to beat up some people.  (And so does Bendy, because its not his fault he came out misshapen!  Sure, he’s not exactly Bendy here, but… who cares!  Not me!)

[luzial]

I recently commissioned @salesart to do a portrait of Solas (aka “Song”) and Lavellan (aka “Ink”) from my fic, In And Out Of Time Again. I’m so thrilled with how it came out, especially all the little details that reference their codenames. Thank you SO MUCH to Sales for all your work on this piece, and for asking me all the hard-hitting questions like “what’s their height difference.” I had so much fun collaborating with you!

The first chapter of In And Out of Time Again is below the cut, and you can read the completed work on AO3.

Song has had many names. The latest suits him no better nor worse than the others. If he has one complaint, it is that this name lacks specificity. Fen’Harel was a name that was a lie, and a lie that has long since become irrelevant, but he cannot argue that it painted a clear and awful portrait. His other name, the one that came both before and after, he is only too glad to be rid of. He rarely thinks of it now.

Song is in his element in Strands like these, when he can submit to the demands of his teeth and claws and blessedly forget the version of himself that is not like this. It is simple here in the verdant expanse of his home, his first love. When a mountain stands in his way he moves it with a thought. When a beating heart must be silenced, he rips into it and tastes warm blood on his tongue.

His assignment today is a wonderfully simple one: a death. The target is ancient and powerful, though only in comparison to the other things of its world. Beside an agent of Music, it is nothing. He longs for a crush of strength against his own and for the moment when uncertainty asks him whether he can snap his target’s neck before it breaks him in two. The answer, of course, is that he will hear the crack of bone and hold its dying form within his jaws too quickly to satisfy the hunger that burns within him.

Still, he will try to afford it a fair fight.

When he finds the edges of its lair, Song realizes something is wrong. Demons should swarm around him, challenging his right to intrude on their master’s territory even as he cuts them down. There should be whispers here, a choir of disembodied voices singing the Melody’s secrets for those who know how to listen. Yet all that greets him are emptiness and silence.

The raw Fade has begun to reclaim this place, the green waters of its currents rising up to erode the poisoned ground that has been here for three thousand years. Song wanders farther in, his paws sinking deep into the muck, until finally he finds the corpse.

The fear demon that claimed this part of the Fade is gone, reduced to a husk of tangled limbs and fangs that still drip with venom. Song has arrived too late. The death has already been administered, but this means that the timing is all wrong, and for Music, timing is everything.

Whatever killed the demon has done so before it had a chance to strike a bargain with a young mage girl in Kirkwall. Now she will not murder her family and dozens of others; she will not leave alive one angry, orphaned sister. Thanks to this single fault in the rhythm, the entire Strand is lost.

Song is so annoyed by all the absences that at first he does not notice the addition. It is so impossibly out of place that for a moment he simply stares at it. Stuck to the venom on the dead demon’s fangs is a piece of finely-made paper that smells of sugar and flowers, its perfume somehow drowning the stench of the rotting carcass. He reaches out for it with a hand and fingers; it is a thing too delicate to be held by claws. The venom stings but he pays it no mind, for he has seen the single line written on the page in a delicate script: Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.  

It must be a trap. Not the venom, of course. Whoever left this certainly knows it will take much more than that to wound him. It would be best to leave the note here and let it rot along with the rest of this discordant Strand. But this is a challenge and an invitation - words that hint at more words.  

Song ignites the paper between his fingers and it is as if he has turned the first page in a book. He reads, and when he is done he has become the wolf again, mouth twisted to a snarl. When he has committed the words to memory, he shreds what’s left of the sweet-smelling paper between his claws and grinds it into the mud.

When Song is gone, a shade steps into the pawprints he left and searches until it finds every piece of the burned, shredded, filthy paper.

--------

Tell me I have sung to Your approval.

I’ve always been fond of the Canticle of Transfigurations, or at least of the versions that I’ve penned. Hopefully you have more than a passing familiarity with it as well, or the cosmic cleverness of what I’ve just done will be totally wasted on you. (But I suspect your familiarity is more than passing. If you are who I think you are, you’ve probably written versions of it yourself. If so, how do you deal with the bit in 10:1 about the moth and the flame? I feel like I can never get it quite ominous enough, you know?)

I’ve barely just begun and already I’ve distracted myself with all the questions I wish to ask you. But that just speaks to my point (that I’m about to make).

Is there anything in this world more insidious than words? It took me eight of them to grab your attention. Honestly, I could have managed it in fewer if I didn’t want to make a dramatic entrance. But I did.

I’ve been curious about you for a while now. It’s not like there are many things left to be curious about when you have all of time to catch up on anything you might have missed, so I should thank you for that novelty. I think the first time I saw you was during that bad business in the Deep Roads in Strand 398. I was the hurlock, you were the Grey Warden recruit. Our eyes met as I bit into your commander’s neck and tore out his windpipe. (Sorry about the mess, by the way - I really enjoy getting into character.)

You were definitely meant to lose that fight. I know - I’ve gone back and checked a lot of other Strands and that recruit always dies, the darkspawn always swarm, and the Third Blight always begins. But then you single-handedly cut down the horde after everyone else in your party had died. (I know because I stuck around after you chopped off my head with that broadsword - I just had to see what would happen!) You killed enough of them to prevent the swarm, even though you died for it in the end. (And of course you died for it - you’re good but no one’s that good.)

My point is: do you remember how it felt when that shriek bit into your arm and the Blight burned into your veins? Do you remember the way it spiraled into you, burrowing in your lungs and your heart and your gut until it felt like your body had always been its home? (I’ve been Blighted a lot so I’ve got some pretty good descriptors for it.)

Anyway, let me spell it out in case my metaphors are getting too convoluted: In this letter, I’m the shriek and my words are the Blight. I’ve bitten you and poured my words into you. Your memory will pump them through your mind just as surely as your heart pumped the Blight to the tips of your fingers and toes. Want a cure? Too bad, there isn’t one.

I’m not only writing to gloat. I meant what I said above - I appreciate the novelty you’ve brought to the battlefield. Things are dreadfully dull most of the time. Mainly the Story sends me off to retcon the occasional plot holes your Music introduces to the narrative. There’s very little chance for improvisation, so I have to find amusement where I can.

And this has been very amusing.

Sincerely, Ink

(Keep reading on AO3)

[mahizli]

Sparks of Hope (Obi-Wan, 1 BBY)

Art by agarthanguide and final part of ‘Sparks of Hope’.

***

The stars had adorned the evening sky once more, and the desert was painted in inks of azure and violet. The suns had set, and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was sitting alone on a rock, watching the jewelled sky.

But he was not alone.

He had never been alone, not even as a tiny infant. Not in all these years where he had breathed in, and breathed out, the Force bathing each of his atoms with light, and love.

The Force was infinite, the Force was everything, and Obi-Wan was just a small, breakable vessel who would return to its currents once more.

Soon, my Padawan.

Qui-Gon’s voice echoed in his mind, reverberating deep within his chest where strength and steadfastness lay, and Obi-Wan breathed out.

“I know, Master.”

There had been such holes in him. Such cracks, and scars, and wounds, and fissures. There had been times where Obi-Wan had felt so lonely, so cold under the unforgiving heat, alone with the ghosts of people he had loved, and lost.

But he had not.

And the Force had filled those holes, one by one. Cradling him, first, curling around him, kissing his tears away. Embracing his infinite sadness until all was left was silence. Then wonder. And finally peace.

Obi-Wan had longed for peace, more than anything – almost ever since he could remember. Even as a tiny-limbed boy, he had sought for it – in the Temple’s Gardens, in Master Yoda’s eyes and silvery Force-signature. In the Archives, bathed in azure light, where knowledge used to sing. In Qui-Gon’s silence, whenever his Master closed his eyes, basking in the moment.

And later as a Jedi, through his very crystal, immersing himself into Soresu, finding a rare form of elation as he practised the katas, travelling unknown ways along with Luminara.

You are my twin moon, Obi.

“And you my twin moon, Nara”, he whispered, like so long ago, feeling the cool, serene Force-brush on his very brow, shuddering slightly, even though it did not hurt anymore.

It did not hurt anymore, because Nara was right there, within him and around him. As was Kit. And Quinlan. And Mace. And Plo. And Shaak. Adi. Aayla. Vokara. Ki-Adi. Jocasta. And Ahsoka.

Do not weep, Obi-Wan. Do not be sad.

“I am not”, he whispered, but even now, after all these years, tears still sprang to his eyes, because Obi-Wan was human, and frail, and mortal. “I am not sad. I cry because I love you. Because you are still there.”

Sweetest pea of Coruscant...

Obi-Wan smiled through his tears, and reached out for Shaak in the Force, feeling the ghost on fingertips run through his hair, like so long ago, when his hair had not been white, but fiery and baby-soft.

We will never leave you.

This was Mace, steadfast Mace who had stood like the pillar he was against the raising darkness. But it was also Plo, who had fallen under the fire of Men he loved. As had Ki-Adi. And Aayla. And so many more.

At the beginning of his stay here, Obi-Wan had whispered all their names, like an endless litany, like pearls of an ancient rosary, every night, on and on, until his voice was hoarse and his eyes burning with exhaustion instead of tears.

He had shed so many tears for the children, for the small Initiates and the young Padawans, during the night and even under the searing suns, until his body felt like nothing more than a dry well.

Until he planted the seeds Beru had given him, and watched the Funnel flowers blossom, green and tender as they all had been.

Master Obi-Wan…

The voices rose like silver bells, and Obi-Wan wiped his cheeks, facing the stars once more, because this – this still hurt, deep within.

Master Obi-Wan, what is the lesson we tried to teach you?

“Oh, dear ones…”, Obi-Wan breathed out. “I… I know. I am… I am so sorry.”

Can you say it aloud, Master Obi-Wan?

The tiny voices were playful, and Obi-Wan straightened, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, immersing himself deep within the Force.

“What happened to you is… it is not my fault.”

Force, how the words felt wrong in his mouth still.

It does not count if you do not believe it, Master Obi.

“I… I still struggle. Forgive me.”

We know… We forgive you…

It still made him cry. Because he had struggled so much to forgive himself, was not even sure to have achieved it entirely yet.

You forgave me.

The voice was fierce in the Force, and Obi-Wan exhaled, opening his eyes once more, reaching out through the Cosmic Force once more.

“Yes. Of course I did.”, he said, very softly, remembering yellow eyes in a gaunt, dark and red face.

Eyes that had turned to gold, as the Force had finally welcomed him back.

“I broke you. And you broke me back. It was an unending circle, Maul. And you were not the one spinning it.”

The Force was silent for a while, and Obi-Wan thought back of this moment, a year ago, when he had drawn his lightsaber for the last time. For Luke. For the Light.

His crystal had stayed silent and hidden ever since.

He had tried to bring balance once more. Tried to mend what had been broken.

The Sand people, first, who were still making offerings to their secret shrines, fearful of the desert demon Anakin had become in their minds. Obi-Wan had meditated close to these shrines, countless times, diffusing the Force with calming, peaceful currents.

You are safe. He will not harm you again.

There had been no more raids towards moisture farmers either, Obi-Wan had made sure of that. No more fighting for dominion in the desert – but protection towards everyone.

I told you so, Obi’ka.

“Yes, dearest”, he whispered. “I know you abhorred violence, and preferred neutral solutions. I suppose using Force currents isn’t entirely neutral, though…”

Well, it depends…

He loved the playfulness the Force always conveyed through Satine’s presence. It felt like a gentle warmth, against his spine. Something to lean on.

Padawan. One day, you will have to face him.

Qui-Gon’s voice was a grave reminder, and brought Obi-Wan back to the night and the desert once more.

Him.

His Padawan, who had committed atrocities Obi-Wan still struggled to believe, even after decades. Who was still alive, in a black, terrifying armour, circling the Galaxy and coming nearer and nearer in the Force, forcing Obi-Wan to shield, fiercely, and mute both his and Luke’s presences.

There is still goodness in him.

“I know, Padmé.”

Anakin had burned like the fiercest light in the Force. His Padawan had harboured the raw, explosive strength that came with true power – but there had been wounds and cracks in his soul Obi-Wan had failed to see and mend.

No, Padawan.

Obi.

Master Obi-Wan.

“He was… too attached”, Obi-Wan whispered. “To those he loved. To you, Shmi. To you, Padmé. To you, dearest Ahsoka. And… to me.”

The night cradled Obi-Wan, the stars kissed his hair like every eve, on the high peaks of the Western Dune Sea. He was cloaked in his brown robe, the one marking him as a Jedi, but could as well be a farmer’s or a traveller’s.

“It sprang from love. I know it sprang from love. But he was misled. Darkness surrounded him from the very first day.”

Sidious.

Once more, Maul’s fierce whisper echoed through the Force, the name resonating like a curse.

“Sidious. And fear. And loneliness. And pride. And a sense of exception that turned into expectations so crushing and contradictory it breached his very soul.”

Do you pity him?

Ah. This was the stern voice of his Grandmaster, who spoke very rarely to him, but whose words Obi-Wan had learned to mark.

“I do. I do feel nothing but compassion and love for Anakin. But, if I have to strike down Vader to free him, I will.”

Are you willing to lay down your life, for him?

It was a test – one more test. Obi-Wan knew it, had been used to the Force’s teachings, who often chose to spoke through voices he loved. So Obi-Wan searched his heart, thoroughly, and let the Force flow through him before he answered.

“Not for him. But for balance, for peace… I am.”

The voices were silent, for a while, becoming one with the Force once more. They were all so close. So close to Obi-Wan now. Sometimes his very atoms seemed to resonate with theirs, separated only by a tiny veil from their very essence… Parts and sums alike.

Soon, my Padawan.

Qui-Gon’s voice echoed once more – a prophecy, a warning, perhaps. But to Obi-Wan, it sounded like a promise.

Like small sparks of hope, shining like a beacon in the infinite darkness of the sky, flooding the Force with light.

FINIS.

[sladedick]

im just creepin on your twitter (as you do) and i wondering if u would ever write some rastim? bc 👀👀

yes!!!!! sorry this too k so long i love ra’stim owo

noncon/underage/switching/violence/black humor | on ao3

           Timothy Drake stares at his American school lunch in the fuzzy security camera. His dark circles are visible under his eyes even from this height, and his hair is visibly unwashed. Equations trail their way up pale arms in smudged ink. He shovels another soggy french fry into his mouth, scratching his armpit with the other hand.

           “Are you sure you want that one, Master?” Ra’s’s assistant inquires, standing meekly next to him as he watches the screen.

           “You dare question the will of the Demon?” Ra’s booms.

           “N-no, master, of course not,” he mutters, looking down. Ra’s turns his attention back to Timothy. He’s facedown in his applesauce, clearly snoring.

           “He’s perfect.”

Share the happy news with your detective

           “Happy engagement,” Ra’s says. Tim blinks at him.

           “To who?”

           “To you.”

           “I’m not engaged,” he says blankly.

           “I am pleased to inform you that you are. To me, the Demon’s Head.”

           “No,” Tim declares.

           “Yes.” Ra’s’s grin shows teeth.

           “No!”

           “This is not a discussion,” Ra’s says. “It is the respectful thing to do before I deflower you, Detective.”

           Tim makes a disgusted face. “You won’t be ‘deflowering’ me. I had sex with Superboy.” It had been an ordeal. Kon’s Kryptonian dick had gained semi-sentience and tried to lay its eggs in Tim. Turns out Clark hadn’t bothered to give him ‘the talk’.

           Ra’s’s lip curls. “How inappropriate.”

           “No premarital sex, huh, but rape is a-okay,” Tim mocks.

           “Victor’s rights, Timothy.”

           “That’s bullshit,” Tim says. Ra’s wags a finger in his face.

           “Language, Detective.”

           Tim sticks his tongue out. “You can’t marry minors without parental consent. Your marriage is null and void. Ra’s! Ra’s, listen to me, we have to be in Alabama—”

Keep excessive amounts of alcohol away from your detective

           The reception is ostentatious, of course.

           Ra’s first notices the problem when Tim’s step is slightly halting at the reception, cheeks slightly redder—always red, really, given how pale his skin is even for a European. They’re even red through the several layers of makeup that Ra’s had his servants apply.

           Tim gives a lopsided grin, showing off teeth that, until recently, had had braces on them. That’s the second sign something is off. Timothy has been pouting ever since he was kidnapped.

           “I want — some more campaign,” he says, quite sincerely. A face, as if he knows that’s not quite right. “Clam pain.” A pause. “Sham veins?”

           “Champaign, dear,” Ra’s says softly. Timothy grabs another glass from a passing server before Ra’s can stop it. The reception is ostentatious, and Timothy’s dress is no exception, in lacy whites and pale greens, showing off his body just enough to tell everyone what Ra’s has that they don’t. And how they should be jealous of Ra’s’s high school concubine.

           “It’s poor taste to be drunk at your own reception,” Ra’s says.

           “Your … fault,” Tim says. He sways slightly. Ra’s catches his arm. “Kidnapped me. Miss my family.”

           “You’ll make a new one quite soon.”

           “Fuck you. Hate you,” he mumbles. “Don’t wanna get pregnanant. Pregant. Prenengant.”

           Ra’s snatches the glass of champagne from Timothy’s hand as the boy slumps slightly against him.

           “I insist,” he says coldly, angrily, “that you be conscious for the consummation.”

           He takes some pleasure in seeing Timothy’s skin lose its redness for the first time that night, falling away to reveal a pale face. Timothy grabs desperately for the alcohol, but Ra’s whisks it away just in time.

           “Absolutely not.”

             2. Keep your detective well entertained

           “You can’t all be monks,” Tim tries to explain. The ninja sat in a circle around him squint at him through the eyeholes in their masks, heavy armor clinking as they shift. Tim repeats it in Arabic for the two that don’t speak English, and then switches to it for good.

           “I wish to be of the shadow subclass,” Ninja No. 3 says.

           “As do I,” adds Ninja No. 1.

           “The point of Dungeons and Dragons is to be something you’re not. It’s escapism.” The four guards, practically brainwashed into the service of Ra’s al Ghul, stare at him. “Nobody is allowed to be a ninja monk.”

           “I will be a warlock,” says Ninja No. 2, waving about the bit of paper that Tim had given him, translated from what Tim remembers of the Player’s Guide. “In service of the great Head of the Demon—”

           “This is a fantastical universe. Ra’s doesn’t exist. See? Escapism!” Tim sighs. “If you don’t cooperate I’m going to tell him you were very inadequate and suggest severe punishment.” He stares sternly.

           The ninja pale. Tim wouldn’t do that, really, because then they would end up dead. He knows exactly how much influence he has with Ra’s. The threat, however, is still good.

           “I will be a fighter,” sighs Ninja No. 2. “In the service of nobody.”

           “Perfect!” Tim grins. He feels like he should patronizingly pat their heads, but refrains. That’s the kind of thing they might only accept from Ra’s.

           “I will be a sorcerer,” says Ninja No. 4, “who works for only himself, and wields fantastic power.”

           Tim nods enthusiastically.

           “I will be a rogue,” says Ninja No. 1, “who overthrows his glorious leader and takes his place, murdering his kin and raping his wife—”

           “Wait just a second—”

           “—and sending all his castles and being to endless ruin, in search of individuality.”

           “I mean,” Tim says, “I’ll allow it …”

           (Ninja No. 1 doesn’t show up the next week. Neither do any of the others. It wasn’t your fault, Ra’s assures him, though please do not encourage individuality, Timothy.)

             3. Be assured your detective is sexually satisfied and interested

           Tim sits on one side of the wooden table, idly tracing the patterned texture with one

finger. Ra’s sits stiff and regal as always, a few slips of paper right in front of him. This is obviously a Meeting. Ra’s is always around Tim, but a Meeting is different. Ra’s has something to talk about, and Tim probably doesn’t want to hear it.

             “Beloved,” Ra’s says.

             “Ra’s,” Tim replies. His voice is considerably cold. More tired.

             “I’ve been doing some research,” Ra’s says. “You have been quite uninterested in our sexual activity.”

             “It’s because I object to the rape,” Tim says.

             “Ah, I think not. I think you’re simply not … stimulated enough. So I found out what you might be interested in.”

             “Please don’t—”

             The papers are slapped onto the table like a death warrant, and Tim is stared in the face by his last six months of search history.

             man turns little brother gay big dick blowjob looks back at him like the antichrist with flaming, doomed eyes. Tim pales. He tries to think of exactly what he’d been searching on PornHero before Ra’s had caught up with him, but his mind is suddenly completely blank.

             bears rail twink anal dp rimming glares accusingly at him. Tim knows that Ra’s has a perfectly neutral expression on his face. He always does. But Tim can’t force himself to meet the green eyes, not even on the pain of losing some of his pride.

             “And some more enlightening content,” Ra’s adds, putting another piece of paper on the table. Tim can barely bring himself to open his eyes and look.

             batman fucks robin hard in the ass, batman and robin blowjob, batmanxrobin—

             Tim covers his eyes. He can’t take it.

             “You’re particularly understimulated in the bedroom. Would you prefer that I don a suit in the manner of your adopted father? Would you enjoy referring to me as—”

             “No!” Tim almost screams. He wants to cover his ears. “Ra’s, please. Please don’t, okay? I’ll be good, okay? I’ll pretend I like getting fucked. Just please stop.”

             Ra’s makes a little humming sound. “This is not a punishment, Beloved. I am simply curious.” The rustling sound of papers lets him know what’s going on. “Though perhaps you can explain this? Superboy x reader fluffy love fanfiction?”

             Tim turns white.

             “I’m going to kill myself,” he declares, and he’s not sure if he’s joking or not.

             4. Install safety bars on windows; learn modern youth jargon

           “I’m going to kill myself,” Timothy says.

           It’s something he says a lot. Quite a bit, really, typically any time something goes even a little wrong. Timothy had explained to him, a sullen glare in his eyes, that it was a joke. Ra’s had eventually been persuaded.

           The fact that Timothy is crouched on the window ledge, the mountain wind making long-grown dark hair—tended to with the most expensive shampoos—swirl out behind Timothy, makes the thought of him joking much less likely.

           “That is a choice you will regret,” Ra’s says coolly. He could try to grab him, but Timothy would fall out of the window and die anyways. Then when it came time to punish him properly, Timothy could attempt to childishly shift the blame.

           Timothy flips him off.

           Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “How rude, Beloved.”

           “Yeet,” Timothy says. Ra’s assumes this also means I’m going to kill myself because right after Timothy does it, he’s falling through the air. Ra’s doesn’t hear the crack of his bones or see the blood spatter, but he sees the broken body splayed in the snow below, certainly dead.

           “How inconvenient,” Ra’s says, to nobody in particular. Except, perhaps, the three guards who monitor Timothy at all times. He makes a mental note to have them executed.

             6. Discourage your detective from staging coups

             “Fuck,” Tim says.

             “Indeed.” Ra’s’s teeth are perfect, pearly white. A wickedly curved sword at his side slowly drips blood into the oceans pooled around his feet, the corpses’ blood eking its way towards Tim’s booted feet.

             Tim stomps. Blood splashes, staining the bottom of his robes. “Fuck!”

             Ra’s sheathes his sword. The front of his shirt is crimson, showing that he, at least, did not escape unscathed. Tim draws some small satisfaction from that, even though he feels the guards still loyal to Ra’s grab at his shoulders, yanking his arms behind his back and holding him still.

             “A valiant attempt, Detective,” Ra’s says. “Next time, I suggest purging your dissenters’ ranks for spies more carefully.” He moves forward, and Tim sags slightly in the arms of the guards.

             “I’m sorry?” Tim offers.

             “You’re not.”

             Tim sticks his tongue out.

             7. Properly reprimand your detective

             “I’m sorry,” Tim whimpers, head hanging between his shoulders as he stares down at the bed beneath him, fingers curled in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

             A hand cards gently through sweaty hair. “Shh, Timothy, it will be over soon,” Ra’s murmurs. The back of the boy’s thighs and buttocks are covered in red switch marks, from the birch thing that Ra’s holds in the hand that does not hold Timothy. The skin burns red and pink and parts bleed. Timothy won’t be able to sit down for a month without remembering this.

             The next one whips down with a wicked noise. Timothy chokes, spasms, arms shaking. He gasps, tears clinging to his long, pretty lashes like pearls.

             “You are free to cry if you like, Beloved,” Ra’s says softly. “Forty out of fifty. You’re almost finished.”

             8. Curb attempts to relate to the youth

           Ra’s throws his sword. It impales the man through the gut; a wound that will leave him squirming for hours in agony before he finally expires.

           “Yeet.”

           (Timothy doesn’t speak to him for a week.)

             9. Keep track of possessions around your detective

           “Is that my cape, Detective?”

           Tim wraps the green folds further around himself, his small form almost disappearing inside of it. “Maybe.”

           “Are you going to return it?”

           The high collar hides Timothy’s face, and slightly muffles his answer. “No.”

            10. Take very good care of your detective, and give it nobody else to turn to when it hurts

           Timothy’s eyes are wide, blank oceans, full of a sort of pain and sadness that Ra’s knows will pass, but he still almost dislikes seeing in his consort’s eyes. Ra’s’s arm is wrapped around him, fingers splaying dark hair around them, Timothy warm against his chest. His eyes are closed, the two of them wrapped in Ra’s’s cape. Before, Timothy would flinch away whenever he was to be held. Now, he almost begs to be touched with his eyes, even when he is too proud to ask.

           A shift of him. Ra’s stays still, doesn’t move, enjoying the fact of Timothy against him. A hand slowly pets his hair.

           Something is wet against his chest, where the neck of his shirt is cut down to reveal his chest. Ra’s almost has to pry Tim’s face off of him, and it comes away teary.

           “How do you fair, my love?”

           A hand rests on Ra’s’s shoulder, pale fingers against dark, tanned skin. The eyes look past Ra’s.

           “I hate you,” Timothy whispers. It’s not an accusation. Simply a sad, broken confession.

           “I know,” Ra’s says, almost, almost sympathetic.

           A pause,

           A long, long pause.

           “I love you,” Tim whispers, and it’s even softer, barely audible. And then he’s diving back against Ra’s’s chest, Ra’s’s head tucked above Tim’s.

           “I know,” Ra’s murmurs.

           The look in his eyes is the stare of a man who has killed millions, and will kill millions more.

[zelink-nalu]

Not a monster part 2

The week passed quickly, since there wasn't many things happening. So he soon found himself called inside Joey's.

Just like the first time, the mad man gave him the mixture with a disturbing smile on his face.

After a few minutes, he finally arrived at the door of the ink demon's prison. This time though, he didn't hesitate and pulled the lever without a second thought.

When he entered the big room, he was greeted by the sight of the young ink creature, who smiled wider when he noticed the man's presence. But, couldn't help himself from flinching when he noticed the bottle on Tom's hand. So the mechanic immediately opened the bottle and poured its content on the ground to ease the poor demon.

"Remember, I'm not going to hurt you. So you don't have to be afraid." he said softly.

Just like last time, Tom then approached him slowly, carefuly scrutenising his face for any sign of discomfort. There wasn't any. The kid fully trusted him.

When was a foot away from him, the man outstretched his hand to pet the demon between his horns. Just like last week, Inky seemed to lean into his touch and began to let out a purring noise.

'Huh. Maybe I should ask him what he thinks of that name.' Tom thought, half expecting the young ink demon to not like the name because of how silly it sounded.

"Hey." The man said, immediately getting the demon's attention. "How about I give you a name? Would you like that?" he asked the demon.

At that, the ink creature smiled excitedly and tried to nod but was quickly stopped by a wince of pain.

"Woah! Careful there bud!" exclaimed Tom, worried about the demon's already injured neck getting worse. After making sure that the ink demon's neck hasn't gotten worse, the mechanic added "I guess I'll take that as a 'yes'."

The ink creature then looked at him expectantly, his tail wagging like an excited dog. He was excited to hear what name Tom came up with. The latter chuckled at that. He then hummed thoughtfully and brought his right hand to his chin to rub his goatee, pretending to think of a name.

"How about..." he said, taking his time to torture the poor young ink demon with the suspense. "Inky!" he exclaimed, finally deciding to end the demon's torture.

The ink creature, if it was possible, smiled wider and wagged his tail happily at that. He even purred!

"So you like that name, don't you?" Tom rhetorically asked, smiling warmly at how happy the ink demon looked. "Alright, Inky it is then!". He said, petting Inky's head.

The man's face then became serious, and somehow still stayed gentle.

"Inky? Can I ask you a few questions?" he asked but when he remembered that he couldn't respond, he brought his hands in front of him and added:

"Point your tail to my right hand if it's a 'yes' or point it to my left one if it's a 'no'." he explained, motioning to each of his hands in case the demon didn't understand the notion of left and right.

Inky pointed his tail to the man's right hand, showing that he understood.

"That's great!" he exclaimed, making the demon smile proudly.

"Alright, where should I start?" he asked himself. "How about... Do you know why you're locked in here?" he asked.

Left hand. 'no' The demon's smile was replaced by a sad and guilty frown.

'Is he feeling guilty because of not knowing why he's here?' the thought made his blood boil. The poor kid probably thought he did something wrong! He decided to ask him if he did thought that.

Right hand. 'yes'

He decided to take a deep breath to calm himself down before he does something that might scare the poor kid.

"It's not your fault Inky, you didn't do anything wrong. Joey just put you here because you didn't come out pe-" Tom stopped himself before sighing and saying "Because you didn't come out the way he wanted" It seemed to still hurt Inky, but he knew that it was better than to say that he didn't come out 'perfect'.

"Speaking of him, did he hurt you?" he asked, regretting it immediately when Inky began trembling. But he still responded.

Right hand.

 "Was he only hurting you with the Bad Water?" He knew he was speeding through it, but he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible or else he might get angry and end up scaring the young demon.

Left hand...

Tom pursed his lips. It took all his will power not to abruptly go to Joey's office to strangle him.

"Is... Is he still hurting you?" he said between gritted teeth.

Right hand...

He didn't if he even wanted to know the answer, but he still asked:

"Without the Bad Water?" He was having more of a hard time at controlling his anger. He closed his eyes and thought told himself: 'Calm down Connor! You don't wanna scare the poor kid! Besides, maybe Joey wouldn't use the mixture because he thought that you're already using it on him!" He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't...

Left ha-

"THAT BASTARD!!!" he yelled. He then went to the nearest wall and punched a sizable hole into it with his prosthetic arm.

After a few other cursing and punches to the wall, he finally calmed down. He was panting, but at least he was calmer. He then looked back towards the demon, only to remember why he wasn't supposed to let his anger get the best of him...

Inky was now shaking like crazy. He had his tail wrapped around himself and was a whimpering and shaking mess. He looked terrified.

"No, no Inky... Don't be-" he took a step towards the terrified ink demon, but stopped himself when the latter flinched.

Ouch... That had hurt... He had Inky's complete trust... Only for him to screw everything because he wasn't capable of holding!

Tom decided that it will be est if he stayed where he was and first try to calm the demon down.

"Hey, I'm sorry for that. I didn't want to scare you..." he softly said, bowing his head in shame. "I was just angry towards Joey. Not you." he added, brushing his hand through his hair. He then looked back at Inky with a hopeful look and asked: "Will you give me another chance? I promise I won't scare you like that ever again."

Inky stopped shaking and seemed to contemplate the offer. Everything was silent and for a moment, Tom thought that he had completely lost the ink demon's trust.

But then, Inky smiled warmly, though still shakilly, at him and his tail seemed to be pointed to a direction...

... It was pointed to the right.

Which meant 'yes'.

He was so happy! But he still approached him slowly, carefuly scrutenising his face for any sign of discomfort. There wasn't any.

This time, instead of petting him, he decided to hug the demon and gently whispered to him that everything will soon be alright, that he's going to make sure that the Bad Man won't hurt him ever again and that he's going to set him free.

Inky began to tremble again. But this time, it wasn't because of fear. But because of relief. The demon was relieved to finally have a hope of getting out of these painful chains and of this horrible place. Then Inky began to cry.

After almost an hour of staying like this, Inky finally calmed down and fell asleep. Tom smiled warmly at the sleeping demon, inky tears still stained his cheeks. The man then looked at himself and saw how much his clothes were a mess. Ink stains covering almost all his clothes. But strangely enough, he found not caring at all.

He took the empty bottle and went back to Joey's office. He gave him the bottle and was about leave until...

"Tommy? Why are you covered in ink?" Joey sounded suspiscious about something...

"A pipe burst." Tom automatically said.

"I see... Did you fix it?" He didn't seem to believe at all.

"Yes. Can I go now? My wife is waiting for me." Tke mechanic replied, almost too quickly.

The studio's boss looked and didn't say anything for a few seconds until he dismissed the other man.

When he saw his wife, she hugged him and they went back to their house. Tom first took a shower and after getting ready he went to bed beside Allison. He decided, starting by tomorrow he was going to start his plan into action.

He wanted find a way to blackmail Joey into freeing and never hurting Inky without him being able to find a way to turn it against the mechanic.

He needed to find solid evidences and to make a report.

[iamjjmmma]

"Number All My Bones: There and Back and There Again" Part 1 Chapter 9

Beginning: https://bit.ly/2NtGPgu Previous: https://bit.ly/2IEbN6R Next: https://bit.ly/2NwyLLR I take a few seconds to ask Betty what’s wrong with her and if there is anything I could get her to make her feel better, but she doesn’t respond. Of course, my fatherly instincts then kick in, fearing the worst, but as soon as I’m over there, I hear the snoring and the instincts back off in lieu of relief, and I pulled the blankets over her. She smiled, and it was then that I was reminded, if for a second, what I wanted as a father. But something’s troubling. It was a little bit of everything about her, I suppose. Her hair had a pink streak on the tips, not containing any hair dye (which I had found out a few hours ago, of course, by chemical analysis). She breathed, and she breathed quick, like a lab dog or a German shepherd in the cop shows Undyne loves to watch. And each and every time I looked at her, she… sent a chill through me. And she still sends a chill through me each and every time I think of her. But that didn’t make any sense. I was a scientist; I wasn’t supposed to believe in any premonitions, any superstitions, anything that would make my college students be up to their arms in laughter. So I laughed at myself, although the laugh was strange, traveling down my arms instead of up and giving me another chill. Research. Research is the way to calm down these superstitions. A few paragraphs in, and I’ll already be put to rest. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. I took out the human-monster history book I was working on. It was riveting enough to keep me sitting on the chair, but not quite glued, and just boring enough for me to put it down every so often. Since it was in a different language, the language monsters would often use before English took over by storm, the book posed no shortage of difficulty, and it took an hour to read each chapter. The first was a foreword, signed with what must be someone’s insignia, but looks for all the world like whoever wrote this spilled his jar of ink on it. This was one of the things that sent a chill down me, and I realized I couldn’t find any respite from it other than turning the page. The first chapter, complete with illuminated manuscripts that pointed it to somewhere around the 13th century, detailed a history between Agate and Copper Lightvale, each of them fighting through the throne in the throes of siblinghood. While it didn’t appear so… the ruling was harmonious to a fault… they were in fact fighting about one conflict, one issue that seemed to tear the both of them apart. Each night after they finished their duties, they would argue behind closed doors as if they were the most sadistic, abusive couple that ever was about whether or not the monsters should continue to be sealed down Mt. Ebott (a common political issue back then). While Copper would sneak out almost every night to try and make some progress on destroying the barrier, Agate would always catch him, screaming to him about keeping the peace. I shuddered. More often that not, reality is often more enthralling than fiction. It continued on like this until one night when Agate caught Copper, she accused him of committing treason. Copper told her that this was impossible, since both of them were ruling the throne, and Agate wasted no time following her instincts and challenging her brother for the throne. The agreement was that if Copper won, Agate would exile herself and let her brother carry out his agenda, the opposite happening if Agate won. Since Agate was the more clever one, she knew that either way, she would have the upper hand. The battle lasted for days, each and every thousands of words lasting for a day, turning into a siege as factions formed for and against Copper Lightvale, forming into armies and transforming the somewhat simple conflict into an all-out war. The monsters at the barrier were nearly forgotten, and soon, most of the soldiers didn’t know what they were fighting for other than their own lives, as does happen in so many of the wars I’ve been studying. But Agate and Copper worked tirelessly to make sure the goals engraved themselves into their minds. After years, thanks to Copper’s Determination and the Determination that encompassed the majority of his army, Copper eventually managed to confront Agate herself, and quickly bested her. According to the agreement, she exiled herself, and thanks to the humiliation of having lost, she could no longer fight using her Bravery magic, her SOUL rendering null and void. She spent years roaming the island, performing studies and the worst of experiments on all sorts of inhabitants, attempting to find something more powerful than Determination. One day, when discovering a young boy who had killed dozens of other boys his age and believed by the villagers to be possessed by a demon, she found it. After taking in the boy to her home, the villagers grateful for having gotten rid of him, she conducted more experiments on the boy that left him furious and more vengeful than ever before. With these experiments, she found that somehow, in some way, the boy’s SOUL had been changed. Tragically, thanks to her, the boy died of sheer neglect. Her research ground to a halt, and she became despondent until one night, she constructed a boat made from wood in a clearing away from where the rest of the villagers were and, using the courses she had taken on astronomy before her exile, steered her way back to one of her good friends. He hid her and smuggled her to a library, as primitive as it was, and she spent weeks studying and studying. To Copper’s great surprise and dismay, Agate returned with a power called… called…called... and a genuine ink spill did happen, I suppose. I couldn’t see the word after it. I shone all types of lights on it, used some gentle chemicals to try to remove it, but all I managed to do was to change the ink spill from black to a slightly purplish substance. I could heard Betty stirring back and forth, back and forth, and when she got up and asked me what was happening, there was a deep gurgle in her voice. Fearing the worst, I flew back to the couch with her, and getting the stethoscope, I started ruling out the possibilities. Pneumonia… no. Bronchitis… no; there was no coughing. And there was no injury, either; I ruled that out when I first began. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that it was only laryngitis, telling her to go back to sleep and not use her voice any more than she had to before returning to my work. The book’s text lunged at me again. With this power, Agate managed to deplete Copper’s power, much to his army’s dismay, and Copper passed on within the hour. Agate’s armies regained their momentum faster than anyone could have imagined at the time, and in a few hours, they managed to nearly wipe out Copper’s army. While the kingdom did fall into disrepair because of the destruction the battle caused, Agate promised to establish reforms across the kingdom to restore it and build it up until it was even grander than it was first there. She also sought to improve literacy, although those goals weren’t quite outlined. The citizens highly appreciated her, and she was held banquets nearly every half week. During one of those banquets, however, she developed a sharp pain in her chest. After consulting with the same friend who guided her to the library, they realized the pain was due to her SOUL not being able to cope with its change from Bravery to its final trait. Knowing her time was running short, she fled to a clearing nearby and, entrusting the kingdom’s rule to a distant cousin, performed her final spell. In actuality, this was probably a pain-reducing spell. However, according to legend, she sacrificed her SOUL to create a creature that has long been described as the most destructive and ravenous being imaginable, whose sole purpose was to ensure that monsters and humans never lived in peace. But such creature has never been found, and the legend was most likely established by early Christian cults in order to encourage obedience among children. According to this legend, the SOUL trait of this monster was pink, and this trait was aptly named “Fear”. Everything inside of me stopped, and I could feel my heart exploding inside of my throat. Fear? Fear?! This is only a legend, don’t get yourself worked up- fear?! Everything inside me jumped back into gear, the thoughts battering in my head at such a pace that I don’t pay attention. And I don’t waste any time. I try not to waste any time in general, but now I spring from my seat, speedwalking over to where Betty was. But by the time I made my way to the living room, the couch was empty. The front door was open. And a chill punched its way indoors. All the way down my arms.

[grapefruitguan-blog]

Hellevator (SCB)

There were many things that you had been looking forward to this week. For starters, you were going to watch the new movie that just came out with your friends later tonight. You had a whole season of TV shows to binge watch. You even had plans to go on a date with Kim Jisung, a cute boy in one of your classes.

So yes, you had many obligations this week, but getting hit by a car wasn’t one of them.

You swore it wasn’t your fault. After all, the pedestrian sign was on, and that meant you were allowed to walk across the busy street. The red light flashed, signalling for all cars to halt. Besides; you weren’t expecting a drunk driver to slam into you out of nowhere.

It came out of nowhere. The impact was blunt, and as you collapsed on the crosswalk, people shrieked at the sight of blood pooling around your body.  

“She’s going to bleed to death!” a woman cried out in hysterics.

“Somebody call 911! This girl’s about to die!”

You laid on the ground, slowly losing conscious as the ambulance sirens and the loud noises all around you slowly mixed together into one haze.

Was this really the end of your life? Already?

With that last thought, you lost all consciousness, officially pronounced as dead.

You definitely didn’t see the “light” that’s always described in movies and books. In fact, you were disappointed when you woke up, and found yourself in an extremely crowded line. Though you were confused at first, context clues helped you realize that you were inside of a hotel.

Dark bronze gilded every corner of the room, and chandeliers hung from every ceiling. Candles were lit all across the room, emitting an orange glow throughout the building. The glass doors were spotless as bell hoppers and maids scrambled to get them cleaned. With a blood red carpet at your feet and the sparkling of the lights all around you, it was hard not to be convinced that you were in a first-class hotel. Taking in your surroundings, you noticed the front desk managers bustling back and forth, and workers trying to negotiate with customers.

“I don’t belong here!” you heard a man insist, “I went to church every Sunday!”

“Sir,” you saw the lady sigh, “we apologize. After a church got caught on fire, Heaven has been overbooked, and it’s at its maximum capacity right now. We just ask of you to wait here a little longer until they reopen their gates.”

“Are you kidding?” another retorted, “I don’t deserve to go to Hell!”

“Sir, we apologize for the inconvenience, but all souls must wait here until they are sent up to Heaven due to an overbooking.”

“And how long will that be?”

“We don’t know.”

It finally clicked to you that only people who have seen the “light” went to Heaven.

You were currently in Hell.

More complaints and groans now broke out among the people around you, the chaos escalating by the second. You finally make it to the front of the line, meeting with a disgruntled worker about your age.

“Hello,” she sighed, “and welcome.”

Her once-perfect bun was now out of place, bags prominent under her eyes, and her face scrunched up with the stress from previous customers. Like all the other workers, she wore a white long sleeved button down with a dark red vest and black slacks.

“Hey there,” you started, “first, I’m not really concerned about the whole overbooking thing.”

The girl leaned back in her chair, sighing with relief.

“Thank God! If that’s the case, what can I do for you today?”

“I’m not really familiar with how this whole death process works..could you maybe help a poor soul out?”

“Oh, right!” the girl exclaimed, now rapidly typing on her computer. “Would you mind telling me your first and last name?”

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

“Okay,” the girl nodded.

“Yikes, a car crash? You’re one of the lucky ones, at least you kept all your limbs.”

“Thanks.”

The girl printed out a few sheets of paper, sliding them to you as she explained your situation.

“So, contrary to the popular belief, Hell isn’t for people who committed real crimes. Though those people do come here, we’re technically the gatekeepers of the afterlife,” she said, pointing at your name. “Everyone, good or bad, has to go through the Hotel. People come here and when we look up your name, it’ll tell us if you’re to be sent to Heaven or to stay in Hell. Usually, this process is super quick, but as you heard, we have a huge overbooking.”

“But, your case is kind of weird,” she said, scrunching her nose, “there’s a box for where it’s written on where you’re to be sent, but yours was left blank.”

“What?”

“I know,” she frowned, “if you don’t mind, I’m going to call my manager over. It looks like a weird computer glitch. Give me a moment, okay?”

A moment later, she came back with an man, wearing a uniform identical to hers.

“(Y/N), right?” he asked, scanning the computer.

“That’s me.”

“We’re going to have to send you to the higher officials, because this seems to be a special case. I really am sorry,” he apologized, “This never really happens.”

“No, it’s fine,” you laughed, “it’s not your fault.”

Thankful that you weren’t like the previous customers who complained, the man asked you to follow him into one of the back rooms, weaving through multiple hallways. Through all the identical doors, he finally stopped, and knocked.

“Hello, this is Woojin. The customer’s here.”

“Come in.”

As the doors opened, there was a middle-aged man lounging in his black leather chair, and sat straight when he saw you walk into the room.

“So, this is the girl?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

He motioned for you to take a seat, as Woojin from earlier continued to stand, and slid your papers over to him.

“As you can see, there was no place for her that was pre-arranged.”

“We haven’t had someone like that for a while,” he hummed, “Quite peculiar, if you ask me.”

“Sorry, I hate to be rude, but who are you exactly?” you asked, “I’m still new to this whole ‘Hell is a Hotel’ sort of thing.”

The man chuckled before stretching out a hand to you. “That’s my fault, so no need to worry. Hello, (Y/N), my name is Jinyoung, but all the staff calls me JYP.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“JYP is the owner of the Hotel, and is in charge of any interesting cases like yours,” explained Woojin, “He’s the current ruler of Hell. You probably knew him as Satan if you ever read the Bible.”

Nodding, familiar with the story, JYP groaned.

“Woojin, son, we’ve been over this. I didn’t really turn into a snake, and Eve actually didn’t eat my apples.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Anyways (Y/N),” JYP continued, “Based off of your papers, I can verify that you weren’t given a place to go, because your death wasn’t planned. In fact, it was out of the ordinary. And checking your current report,” he said, scanning through, “You aren’t half bad. It seems like you could still live a little before returning.”

“So, I’m going to give you an option. Do you want to live still?”

“Yes,” you answered without any hesitation.

“Then, I’ll grant you that.”

He walked over to the bookshelf, motioning for you to get up. As you followed him, he pulled one of the books downwards, and the shelf fell forward. Behind it led an entrance to a hallway.

“You can do anything down here,” he said, laughing at your priceless reaction, “come along.”

He led you down another staircase, and you felt the temperature drastically turn cold, and the air turned damp. Staring up, you realized how far down you now were, and the Hotel felt as if it was just a dream.

It got even darker as you continued down, and JYP, who was walking in front of you the whole time, finally came to a halt.

“(Y/N), you’ve made it this far without backing out, so before I proceed, are you sure you want to continue?”

“Yes.”

He smiled approvingly. “Good.”

“Changbin, you can come out now.”

“I’ve been here.”

The new voice took you by surprise as a teen walked out of the darkness. With pale, fair skin, and hair the color of ink, he wore ripped black jeans and a plain white tee shirt. His sunken eyes stared back at you, almost peculiar of what you were doing here.

“Who’s this?”

“Changbin, (Y/N), shake hands,” JYP grinned, “I’ve given (Y/N) the chance to go back to living, and I decided that you’re going along with her.”

“(Y/N).”

“Seo Changbin.”

You two exchanged a firm handshake, and JYP continued on.

“(Y/N), have you ever heard of Lucifer from the Bible?”

You nodded. Lucifer used to be one of God’s angels, but later fell to Hell with others, becoming the first demons.

“Well, the Bible was wrong,” JYP chuckled, “Changbin here was actually Lucifer. John the Baptist just didn’t like his name, so he changed it instead.”

“Wait, isn’t Lucifer supposed to be Satan? That’s what the Bible said.”

Changbin rolled his eyes. “That’s also where the priest guy messed up. We aren’t the same person, JYP’s my dad.”

“He got confused,” explained JYP, “so when his soul was sent to the lobby, Changbin definitely made sure he knew who was who.”

“Anyways, enough introductions!” JYP said, clapping his hands, “because (Y/N) said that she indeed does want to live, I’ve decided that you should go along with her, Changbin. You might as well see what the outside world is like.”

“And to do so, you two will have to go through the Hellevator.”

“After negotiating with my old buddy Gabriel in Heaven, we have both agreed to allow some hotel visitors go back to living if we deem them as applicable. The Hellevator is a simple process: you’ll be put in a virtual hotel and you need to get to the top floor together in order to go back to living.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Well..you’ll see.”

He led the two of you towards another door, revealing a portal.

“Once you step inside, you’ll be in the Hellevator. When you’ve reached the top floor, ring the bell.”

“So, (Y/N),” JYP spun around, “Are you still up for it?”

Changbin looked at you curiously, not knowing what you’d answer with.

“Yes,” you firmly answered.

“Very well.”

As the two of you walked through the door, you heard it shut, with JYP’s last words.

“The best of luck to you two, and welcome to the Hellevator.”

[FLOOR ONE]

It has officially been two days since you and Changbin have been stuck inside of the Hellevator, and nothing seems to be working.

You realized that the Hellevator was essentially another replica of the Hotel, but there was nobody else inside, and there were no exits. Right after JYP left you and Changbin to defend for yourselves, you realize three things.

First, the only way to get out was to make it to the top floor. Second, there weren’t even any staircase exits. The only transportation you had was an elevator, but as of now, you could only click the button to go to “Floor One,” and that didn’t help you at all. There were key holes that showed that if you found the keys, you’d be able to activate buttons for the other floors. Third, there had to be clues somewhere that could help you get out of here.

"The Hellevator is not something to be taken lightly, (Y/N)," Changbin said, pacing.

"What do you mean? We just have to beat his stupid puzzles, keep clicking buttons, and get out of here."

"My dad wouldn't let us go alive, unless it was impossible to do so."

"So you're saying I'm stuck with you until we somehow reach the 13th floor?"

"Something like that."

The two of you managed to continue searching the floor for clues. The walls were bare, and there were no ornaments or decorations in sight. Frustrated, Changbin walked around as he let out an open thought.

“Why the hell would he set us in a place with nothing to be found?”

He kicked the wall, leaving a small hole as he let out a curse of string words.

“Wait, I think I now have an idea.”

He turned around to see you now rapidly pulling at the carpet.

“(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?”

“You asked why he’d set us in a place with nothing to be found, right?” you said, finally managing to rip off pieces of the carpet, “that got me thinking; maybe we were just not looking for it in the right places.”

As Changbin helped you lift the carpet off, you spotted a gleam of gold peeking out from underneath one of the floorboards.

“Bingo.”

You picked up the mini key, sprinting over to the elevator, and set the key into its rightful place. Whirring, it disappeared, leaving you with a button labeled “Floor Two.”

“Hell yeah.”

Changbin pressed the button, and the elevator doors closed, leaving you two to jet up into the unknown, while listening to some jazz elevator music.

[FLOOR TWO]

This floor was different. As soon as you stepped out of the elevator, you almost gagged.

“What’s that smell?” you asked.

“I swear, even the Medieval Times smelled better than this,” said Changbin, pinching his nose.

There was nothing that could describe what you were inhaling; it was as if JYP decided to mix moldy socks, rotten eggs, curdled milk, and old meat all together. Needless to say, it was rancid. You would never understand his reasoning for this, and figured it was just a prank.

“Anyways, let’s just try to find the key,” you said, almost choking as the smell intensified.

“Do you think he’d put the key wherever it smelled the worst?”

“Knowing my dad, that’d be way too easy.”

The two of you continued searching the floor, not gaining any success, until Changbin found a small note underneath one of the floor tiles.

“I swear!” he yelled, “The old man go jump off a cliff.”

“What’d he do?”

Furious, Changbin thrusted the note into your hands.

“Changbinnie, now you know how I feel whenever you didn’t clean your room,” you read.

“Changbinnie? For a boy that’s always trying to act so badass, that’s a cute nickname.”

“Go to hell.”

“I already did, remember?”

You continued to keep looking for any hints, until Changbin finally sat down.

“This is so useless,” he groaned, “and of course, he has to use that stupid nickname.”

“Why’d he even start calling you that?”

“When I was little, I got stuck in a bin, and I started crying because I thought I’d never be able to get out,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I mean, come on, Changbin-”

He stopped himself midway.

“Hello, Changbin? You good?” you waved your hands in front of his face.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head, “call me crazy, but I think his note was the legitimate clue.”

He got up, turning a corner and hollered as he came running back with a trash bin.

“Changbinnie,” he said, once over again, “my dad meant the trash can.”

“Genius. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Palming the key in his hands, the two of you didn’t hesitate to run inside of the elevator, and click the new “Floor 3” button.

[FLOOR 13]

After long trials of discovering JYP’s sudoku, riddles, and even running away from a pig, you finally have made it to the top floor.

But; you aren’t alone.

You and Changbin walked out of the elevator, holding hands.

After the 6th floor, you and Changbin were waiting in the elevator to move up to the 7th. Out of nowhere, Changbin hits you out of the blue with a confession.

“I like you.”

Not paying attention, you nodded half-asleep, until registering what he just said.

“Wait, what?!”

Changbin turned tomato red and a blubbering mess.

“N-No stop you didn’t hear anything, go back to sleep.”

“Seo Changbin, my ears tell me you said you liked me, so don’t take it back if you’re scared that I don’t like you back, loser.”

You kissed him on the cheek, soon having blush blossom all over your face.

“I thought you were cute since your dad introduced you to me.”

“We’re finally here,” breathed Changbin, squeezing your hand, “you did it.”

“No, Binnie, WE made it.”

“(Y/N), please never call me that again.”

“But who’s the one who figured out how to play the checkers game on floor 9?”

“...shut up.”

Now a routine, the two of you went to start searching for clues, but found yourself interrupted by someone clapping their hands.

“Well, if it isn’t (Y/N),” the voice said, bitterly. Instantly recognizing the speaker, you whipped around.

“...Jisung?”

It was the kid from your class; the one who had a date scheduled with until you died. He was standing in front of you, the same way he was when he asked you to go to karaoke that night.

“So, it seems like you actually aren’t dead,” he mused.

“Jisung, what are you doing here? This is a virtual reality. And isn’t this only for the dead?”

He chuckled. “Oh, (Y/N). You’re so innocent, sweet, and stupid. Did you think I really wanted to be with you?”

“Hey (Y/N), I think I found some-” Changbin said, walking in and stopping. “You.”

“Hello, Changbin,” smiled Jisung, “it’s been a while.”

Within seconds, the boys had eachother by their shirts, and the tension could have been cut by a knife.

“(Y/N), how do you know Beelzebub?”

“...You mean Jisung? We had a date that day I died.”

“Yeah, (Y/N), I was that driver who hit you,” Jisung shrugged, “my bad.”

“Fuck you,” growled Changbin, “why do you always feel like you can do whatever you want with peoples’ lives?”

“Because I can, Changbin,” retorted Jisung, shoving him aside, “Now, (Y/N), would you like to continue where we started off?

“No.”

“No? What do you me-”

He was cut off when you smacked him across the face, his eyes turning blood red as he clutched his cheek.

“You little bitch, you’re going to pay for this.”

He grabbed you by the neck, barely giving you enough room to breathe. As soon as you almost saw stars, you felt his hold on you loosen. Seeing this as an opportunity to fight back, you bit his hand. Jisung yelps in pain as you scramble away from him, desperate for some weapons.

“You think you’re getting away with that? This time, I’m really going to kill you.”

“I don’t think so, fucker.”

Changbin came out of nowhere, and knocked Jisung out from above, kicking him square in the head. Jisung fell forward and unconscious, and didn’t get up afterwards.

Changbin helped you drag his body towards the elevator, pressing for “Floor One,” and removing any other floor buttons. That way, he would be stuck in the Hellevator forever.

“So, how’d you know that prick?”

“For some reason, I thought he was cute.”

“How can you think someone like that is cute? Are you kidding, (Y/N)? God, Beelzebub is just-”

You cut him off with a kiss, taking him by surprise. You’ve kissed each other on the cheek here and there, but this was the first time you actually kissed him.

“What was that for?”

“Sometimes you need to shut up, but actions speak louder than words.”

Changbin then tilted his head, pressing his lips against yours.

“I’ll take that as an answer.”

A bell suddenly appeared in front of you two, which you both eagerly rung together. As soon as the bell rang and echoed throughout all 13 floors, you found the portal that you first walked in on the first floor reopening.

“Congratulations, (Y/N)!” beamed JYP, who was waiting at the other end, “I knew you had it in you.”

Eyeing the two of you holding hands, he smirked. “I knew you two were going to be a thing. Gabriel owes me ten dollars now.”

“Dad, did you really bet on us?”

“How can I not? Binnie, you’re growing up so fast! And good job with kicking Beelzebub in there, the kid was annoying and I didn’t know how to fire him.”

“Dad, please stop.”

You laughed as you saw the two men bicker, now getting the attention towards you.

“So, (Y/N),” JYP stated, “Because you’ve cleared the Hellevator, I’m writing you off as alive on your papers. After all, you have a life to continue living.”

Another portal reopened, in which he motions for you to step through.

“Once you step through this, you will be alive again. Anything regarding the car accident won’t have happened, and hey,” he smiled, “you can still go watch that movie with your friends.”

You saw Changbin looking at the floor and not facing you.

“Changbin.”

He was quiet, knowing that if you went through that portal, you were no longer going to remember him, or have any recollection of what happened until you died once again, but this time; naturally.

“Wait for me, okay?” he whispered, cupping your face, “I won’t ever forget you.”

“Me neither.”

You took one last look at him as you stepped through the portal, him and JYP giving you one last wave.

“Goodbye, daughter-in-law! See you soon.”

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in bed. The birds were singing the same way they were the day you died, your alarm beeped the same way it always did. You were no longer the “girl who died,” but you stayed as “the girl who’s still living.”

Things were back to normal.

You sat around your house, trying to find things to do to make time pass until you were to meet your friends in six hours. As you were watching the TV, you were interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

“Hold on, I’ll be right there!”

As you opened the door, you burst out into tears, jumping on the person outside.

It was Seo Changbin, Lucifer, the son of Satan, in all of his glory. He was back to his ripped black jeans and white shirt, the same way he was when you had first fallen in love with him.

“Hey, I thought you forgot about me,” he laughed, “or weren’t you supposed to?”

“Stupid, how could I have forgotten you?”

“Well, I was all ready to try to woo you or something,” he sighed, pulling something from behind his back, “See? I even brought these roses!”

“Changbin, you do know that nobody says ‘woo’ anymore, right?”

“Shut up and just enjoy the flowers.”

You two went to your couch, where you ordered Chinese takeout while watching movies from the 1990s, and you suddenly spoke up.

“I know you and I hate cheesy things, but I really now really say that I love you. And I mean it. It’s not something to throw around, but I feel like I can say it to you and mean it.”

He tore his eyes off the screen.

“To the moon and back, (Y/N),” Changbin grinned, stealing another kiss.

“And from Hell and back.”

[queenofcats17]

Sammy Hates His Life

I like writing Sammy, so I decided to take a crack at @yunisverse‘s version. The one where he isn’t dead, here, and Henry’s a formless blob of ink. 

Rubberhose AU belongs to @yunisverse

Sammy wasn’t sure why he’d come back. He didn’t even like working at Sillyvision, not really. So why had he decided to answer Joey’s letter? Why had he decided to come back to the studio? He wasn’t about to admit to himself that he missed his job. He’d liked being around people like Susie and Henry, and even Joey to a certain extent. Susie had been a good coworker, always respectful of his space, but concerned enough to drag him out when the need arose. Henry had been a good boss, generally keeping to himself. He’d understood Sammy’s need to be alone when it came to his work. Joey had been...something special. He’d paid well at the very least, and he’d even left Sammy alone most of the time. The one thing he hadn’t missed though, was the ink. The second he entered the studio, he groaned. There was ink everywhere. He couldn’t take a single step without stepping in some kind of puddle of ink.

“Leave it to Joey to let this place go to shit.” He muttered. “Fucking ink.” Within a few minutes he was covered in splotches of ink. He continued muttering and swearing as he slouched through the animation department derelict studio. Most of the doors were locked, so his path was fairly linear. He found himself soon enough in front of the ink machine, the bane of his career at Sillyvision. That damned thing had flooded the music department so many times, and not once had Joey ever told him what the machine was even for! Even Henry didn’t know. It seemed like it was off, and by no means was Sammy going to turn it on. He wanted to get to his office, see if Joey had replaced him. Of course, Sillyvision had been on its last legs when he’d taken off, so he doubted anyone had been hired to fill in.

“Aren’t you going to turn it on?” A voice that sounded eerily like Bendy’s echoed through the room.

“I’m not stupid.” Sammy said flatly. “I don’t know what that thing’s gonna do.” There was a huffing sound and Bendy the Dancing Demon stepped into Sammy’s line of vision. Ooookay. That was new. The last time Sammy had been here, that had not been a thing. Bendy had not been able to roam around freely when Sammy had been working there. Hell, he hadn’t even been real! He’d just been a drawing on pieces of paper!

“Henry turned it on.” Bendy said, frowning. “He wasn’t stup- Wait, no, actually he kinda was. Turnin’ it on didn’t work out so well for him.”

“So I’m not the only idiot who came back.” Sammy said.

“Well, we sent you a letter.” Bendy said. “Would’ve been rude to ignore it.”

“I ignore a lot of mail from this dump. Why’d you send me a letter?” They were lucky he hadn’t thrown this letter away. Most of the mail he got from Joey went into the trash, but not this one. The handwriting had been different. And so, like a fucking idiot, he’d come to the studio. Made a little more sense to know Bendy had written it.

“Wait...You said we. Who else is here?” Sammy said suddenly.

“Me, Alice, Boris, and....Henry.” Bendy shuffled a little bit. “Well...Sorta Henry. Somethin’ that used to be Henry.”

“Bendy? Is that Sammy with you?” Alice Angel walked into the room. Boris was close behind her, limping a little bit. All three of them looked a little worse for wear, dripping ink all over the floor. In all his life, Sammy had never once wondered if he’d somehow stumbled into a situation drunk. It didn’t really happen to him. Right now, he wondered just that. There were alcohols that caused hallucinations, right? Maybe he’d accidentally drunk something like that. Because there was no way what he was seeing was actually real.

“Oh Sammy!” Alice’s face lit up upon seeing him. “Thank goodness! You have to stop Henry! He’s going crazy!” It has been so long since he’d heard Susie’s voice. Granted, Alice’s inflection and tone was softer than Susie’s natural speaking voice. And she certainly didn’t seem like she was going to grab his ear and drag him anywhere.

“What happened to Henry?” Sammy decided against freaking out. It would be too much trouble to panic. It probably had something to do with that damned ink. That stuff always made Sammy feel sick when it dripped onto him.

“The ink took him over.” Boris said, looking rather like a kicked puppy. “We tried to help, but...it was too late.”

“What do you mean, the ink took him over?” Sammy frowned.

“He, um, he...well...He kind of turned into a toon?” Alice laughed nervously. “We’re not really sure how it happened....But he became like us.”

“Had a whole soul and everything.” Bendy muttered. “He coulda just been fine like that but noooo. He had to go trying to help us, the idiot.” Okay. So Henry, his boss, a flesh and blood human, had turned into a toon. Yes, this totally made sense.

“He pushed himself too far and, well, the ink took over.” Alice continued. “We’re not even sure what he’s trying to do anymore.”

“So...What? What do you want me to do?” Sammy asked, leaning against the wall. “Killing a toon ain’t exactly easy, right?”

“Well....” Alice sighed and pursed her lips. “We just thought...We needed someone and....Henry said you still lived in the area, before he lost it, and we needed someone...” She trailed off. Sammy was pretty sure they had chosen the least qualified person to be their backup. He wrote music for crying out loud! He didn’t know anything about cartoons or animation or whatever the Hell they needed. He should have taken off right then. Should have left right then and never looked back. But he didn’t.

“I’m going to regret this.” He said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Y-You’re not freaking out?” Alice blinked.

“At this point, nothing will surprise me.”

“Attaboy Sammy!” Bendy slung an arm around Sammy’s shoulder, dragging the man down to his level. “Now, here’s what we gotta do.”

.

.

The music department was pretty much the same as it had always been, plus a lot more ink puddles. There were also a lot of scribblings in what Sammy recognized as Henry’s hand. There were model sheets, blueprints, and notes from Joey scattered all over the floors.

“He better not have touched my stuff.” Sammy said, making a beeline for his office. He had to wade through a giant ink puddle to get in, which was very unpleasant. Everything was the same inside. A thin layer of dust coated everything inside, from the desk he’d written at to the radio on the shelf. Sammy could see some inky footprints in the dust, leading up to a table in the corner he’d previously used to store instruments. A bunch of papers were scattered all over the table, most of them bearing Henry’s writing. Sammy couldn’t read a single words, but he gathered them up to bring back to the toons. This wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d seen in this studio. That honor went to every interaction he’d had with Joey in his last years at the studio. He’d caught Joey drawing a pentagram in his office more than once. He didn’t see any pentagrams this time, but who knew what was lurking behind closed doors. He left his office and was about to head for the stairs when he heard something coming from the band room. Sammy stopped, turning, and headed for the room. He could hear someone humming one of his songs.

“The key’s all wrong.” He said, unable to stop himself. The humming suddenly stopped. Very smart Sammy, correct the mysterious sound that might kill you. The door to the band room opened and standing there was...

“Henry?” Well, it sort of looked like Henry. The thing was a formless blob of ink wearing a white bowtie that sort of had Henry’s form and facial features.

“Sammy?” The thing that looked like Henry frowned. Its voice sounded like it was talking underwater. The next thing Sammy knew, he was being hit on the head with the head of an ax he hadn’t noticed Henry was carrying. When he woke up, he was tied to a post, in the middle of a pentagram, with Henry standing in front of him. The papers were nowhere to be seen, probably back in Sammy’s office. Henry was fingering the blade of the ax, leaving an inky smear every time he ran his finger across the blade.

“Henry, what the fuck?” Sammy spat. “Why am I fucking tied up?”

“Tell me, Sammy...” Henry said. “I draw the keys, you play the keys....But what do they unlock?”

“That’s pure gibberish, Henry.” Sammy said. “And you did not answer my question. Why. Am. I. Fucking. Tied. Up?” Henry didn’t immediately answer, turning away to inspect the pentagram. Sammy tried wriggling a little bit. Henry had tied him up fairly tightly, giving him little to no chance of escape. This was not the way he’d wanted to spend his day.

“What’re you gonna do, Henry? Summon Satan?” Sammy asked, falling back on his best weapon. Sarcasm. “Last time I checked the little shit was upstairs.”

“Bendy’s not important right now.” Henry said. “What important is figuring out how to fix everything. I have to make everything right.”

“And how’re you gonna do that?”

“By seeing what this does to you.” Henry grinned and held up a bucket of something Sammy assumed to be ink. What was he gonna do, get Sammy wet? Wasn’t like his clothes could get any more ruined than they already were.

“I’m going to unlock the door, Sammy.” Henry said, bringing the bucket closer. “Then I can make everything right.”

“You keep talking about making everything right. What do you mean?”

“I left them.” Henry paused, right in front of Sammy, the bucket held at chest level. “We all left them. Now they’re falling apart and it’s our fault. I’m going to fix this.” Then he pinched Sammy’s nose closed and poured the bucket’s contents down Sammy’s throat. Sammy tried to fight it, but Henry’s hand on his nose forced him to swallow. Almost immediately he felt his insides burning. He collapsed to his knees, coughing violently. Flecks of ink spattered to the ground. Henry stood back, beginning to light the candles.

“I made a model sheet for you.” He said. “You should take a look at it before it starts. That way you’ll have a defined form. I wouldn’t want you to end up like them.” He gestured back to the puddles of ink, from which featureless torsos, arms, and heads had risen. Sammy’s eyes widened. Was he going to end up like that? That couldn’t happen. He didn’t want to die. Not like this. This fucking studio...Everything bad in his life came from this studio.

“Sammy. Look at the sheet.” Henry’s voice was gentle, but firm as he shoved a piece of paper in front of Sammy’s face. Sammy focused on the drawings, trying to focus on that instead of the formless creatures. He was starting to sink into the ground, his body going gooey. Why had he decided to come back to this stupid studio?! Henry smiled and stepped back. Then the flames on the candles began to rise, engulfing everything. As the ink dripped over his eyes, everything faded to black.