rip Winter. he's not dead, but his character development is.

Abandoned draft - Taehyung post-concert hook-up

This was a(n incomplete) gift for a friend, totally forgot it existed until I found it on calmlywriter lmao. I won’t be adding to it or finishing it, it’s rough as fuck and I haven’t bothered to edit it, but I thought I might as well chuck it up here in case anyone wants something quick and (mildly) dirty. Pls forgive the usage of oppa, my friend is younger than him and I knew it’d push her buttons haha. 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: non-penetrative sexy shenanigans that end abruptly. use your imagination after!!

You peer down at the card sitting pristine in your palm. Scrawled in black ink is the number ‘224’ and little else, embellished only by a golden border marking its perimeter. And you stand before the door to the room it seemingly suggests you visit, though why you were even given the card in the first place remains a mystery. It was a hushed, split-second exchange, the mysterious item appearing in your hand after a stranger of East Asian origin bumped into you.

So here you are now, standing before a door you know not what lies behind, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Because why would you be stupid enough to knock?

Anyone could answer.

You do anyway.

Knock-knock.

There’s no response from within, not even the soft padding of feet over carpet. And then there is, as hard as it is to distinguish through the thick, mahogany door, and the sound of one set of soles - a relief - settles behind it. Aware that the room’s occupant is probably examining you through the eyehole, you fidget self-consciously on your spot, averting your eyes from the pinprick looking glass.

A chain scrapes the interior of the door, and then it swings open into the plush room, the figure that reveals itself snatching your breath. “Oh my God,” you whisper, your heart  in uproar.

“Hi,” Taehyung’s affected English kisses your ears. Jesus, his voice is so deep. So are his eyes, now that you’ve been gifted the chance to admire them close up. The concert was amazing, but not as intimate as you’d desperately wished. How could it be, when BTS was now a global phenomenon? “You came,” he continues, those deep, deep eyes joyfully wide. His mouth is an adorable rectangle.

“Y-Yes,” you’re looking at the ground. At his Gucci slides. Of course. “I didn’t know I was going to meet you. I was just given this card,” you flash it briefly in his direction, and he mmmms in recogntion. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t meant to. I didn’t really understand.”

“No, no,” his palms move in your periphery and your head tips up to catch his gesture of reassurance. “I want you here,” he prepares his stilted translation with a thoughtful roll of his tongue. “Tonight, I saw you. I wanted–want meet you,” Taehyung’s fluffy head of ochre hair flicks left and right, surveying the stretch of hallway. “Come in? People come soon.”

Your hesitation isn’t sourced in distrust or unwillingness. The unreality of your situation is what cements your feet to the ground. Unfortunately, Taehyung takes it as a sign of reluctancy. His expressive brows unite dolefully. “OK? I won’t hurt you.”

It’s your turn to put your hands up. “Oh, oh. I know, I know,” knowing well that you need to keep your utterings simple, you communicate predominantly by emoting. Your voice is soft. “I know that. I’m just nervous.”

Taehyung appears to understand. A radiant smile splits across his face. “You will come?”

“I will,” you dip your head shyly as you sidestep him into his five-star surroundings, an unfamiliar heat dappling your cheeks. Normally the outspoken, collected type, just being within 3ft of this man regresses you to a vulnerability you’ve long run from. “Thank you.”

Inside, you haven’t had a second even to scan the excesses of his jetset lifestyle before you feel two large, heavy palms on either shoulder, and jellify at the contact. “I take your coat,” he murmurs in bass, the hair at your ear fluttering with his proximity. His breath is supernaturally hot on your neck, perhaps because it’s taken you until this moment to realise that he is real. Not a holographic projection, not a spectre of your fantasies, but solid flesh and blood. A tangible human being, as you are, with unstyled, shower-fresh hair and chaotically-scattered moles; one on the tip of his rounded nose and the other on the underside of his plump, lower lip. As flawless as he is, he isn’t manufactured. He’s real.

And he’s here, his fingertips skimmng your forearms a little too long as he removes your coat. “I call you because you are beautiful,” Taehyung murmurs, unfiltered, perhaps because of the language barrier. He drapes your coat gently over the arm of a chair and faces you pointedly, his dark eyes darker as they sweep evaluatively from your head to toe. “So tall. I like tall. And your jacket,” the word is transformed endearingly by his accent. “I like. And your face,” he gestures in vague circles at his own face. Taehyung’s monologue is hardly articulate, but you’ve never found yourself more enthralled by someone reeling off a list. “Beautiful. I saw you holding sign and wanted meet you.”

Your voice is uncharacteristically high. “W-Wow. That makes me happy. I think you’re beautiful, too,” admitting this to anyone else would be hard, but your multi-year, open appreciation of him comes naturally to you. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, really?” Taehyung’s tone pitches adorably, his Ls leaning into Rs. The angular grin is back. “That makes me happy,” he parrots your earlier assertion, heading over to the mini-bar as he does so. His robe is silk, flowing, and enticingly open at the collarbones. “Would you like drink?”

“No thank you,” you wave away his kind offer. There can only be one reason why he would extend an invitation to his hotel room, and there’s no way in hell you’re going to risk sullying the memory of it.

Yes, though it’s hardly your style to fuck on the first date, let alone after a 10 minute meeting, there is nothing you want more than the man humming gleefully to himself as he pours himself a Coke, a contradiction of childlike delight and manly self-assurance about him. “Sit on bed?” he directs at you as he sips at the carbonated beverage, his eyelashes thick over the rim over his glass. “OK?”

You can’t move fast enough. The mattress is a little higher and thicker than you’re used to; a bed size you couldn’t dream of fitting into your cosy apartment. Everything here sings luxury, including the man stepping toward you, an ephemeral grace to his movements.

Taehyung checks on you again. “Everything OK?”

“Oh, yes,” you’re breathless and rosy as you peer up at him, his towering silhouette looming closer. And then it’s dipping, bending to your seated height.  “Totally okay.”

His perfectly chiselled face is but a breath away, complexion dewy from skincare. The tongue that has long tormented you in 2D slides out to wet his ample lips, and it’s with a helplessness that you fall under his spell. “You know why I call you here?”

This must be his way of ascertaining your consent. God, you want to scream it from the rooftops. “Yes, I know. I understand. Taehyung–” you’re laced with desperation. “I want you, too.”

His hands settle either side of your thighs and he leans ever closer, close enough to taste the caffiene on his breath. The tip of his nose brushes tentatively to yours, as do your eyelashes, combing your eyes closed. “What is your name?” Taehyung poses to you, and in your lust-crazed state it’s a challenge to answer.

“_____,” you offer after some time. You don’t even sound sure of it.

“_____,” your name coats his tongue like an exotic moniker. His pronunciation of it, you decide, is the only correct one. “Beautiful, like you,” he caresses you with those words, first, before you feel his lips encompass yours with a passion that knocks you backwards. Taehyung uses its momentum to mount your lowering form, his knees dimpling the mattress either side your hips. The kiss grows deeper with his tongue, the slick muscle stimulating your own into compliance. Your hand is against his jaw, its muscles flexing as his lips undulate against you, his full, greedy mouth sucking your lower lip into its heat. There, he suckles on you like the sweetest candy, his serpentine tongue dancing at the sides of your mouth. Every swipe sparks the kindling in your abdomen. And when he ensnarls his fingers in your hair, tugging deliciously at your scalp, you can’t help but to press closed your thighs, revelling in the resultant throb of your clit.

“Oh,” Taehyung’s moan reverberates through you like jazz-club bass. While dragging in an urgent breath, he catches your predicament. “____, you like me so much,” you can hardly disagree. “I make you feel this.”

“Yes, you d–,” your final word is cut short by the introduction of his slender fingers on your clothed crotch, palpating your aching core through your jeans. “F-Fuck.”

“You are–” the translation comes slower in Taehyung’s arousal, his pupils blown wide by this discovery. “–wet? Wet for me?”

Just hearing those words in this context, delivered in his sinful baritone, has you gasping and rolling into his touch. “So wet. Taehyung-oppa, I’m so wet. Fuck me.”

He must undestand the obscene request because a growl bubbles low in his chest, and his fingers, no longer satisfied with the unyielding denim claddng you, slip past the waistband. And straight toward your grateful, sopping cunt. You buck like a mare in heat. “Yes, yes, there. Please, oppa.”

“Oppa,” he repeats, breath raspier in lust. “I like this from you,” his illegally long tongue laves wetness behind your earlobe. “Call me again, ____,” he sucks marks indisciminately into the flesh of your neck as he descends into your exposed cleavage, trailing saliva and discolouration. “Tell me.”

“Taehyung-oppa,” you stress, not so much squirming but convulsing from the bed as his wonderfully long fingers breach the squishy mess that is your drooling pussy, sinking himself as far as the rest of his hand will allow him. While you accommodate him with some discomfort - it has been a while, after all - it dissipates as quickly as it takes for him to begin exploring you. Rhythmically he penetrates you, applying pressure to the softest, most sensitive parts of your cunt as he withdraws.

“Pretty little pussy,” it falls from his lips a purr. “Tight and wet. Feels so good, I know,” Taehyung seems lost to the clench of your unaccustomed cunt. “I know I will feel so good in you.”

“Please, fuck me,” your nerves are alight. Every graze of his curled knuckles sends shockwaves through your tremblings extremities. “Oppa.”

“Good,” your obedience appears to thrill him. Your reward is starker, stiffer thrusts, his fingertips touching you so far back your stomach twists. “Feel me?”

Buried between your mounds, you feel, rather than see, how his mouth sucks the extent of his desire into you. His free hand uncups a breast from your bra so his tongue-lashing can migrate to your exposed flesh. There, he torments your already-erect nipple into standing firmer, bullying the nub with hungry nips and the suction of his swollen lips. You’re about to confirm that, yes, you can feel him - that’s hardly the word - when you realise the actual meaning behind his asking.

Pressed close and hot to your thigh is the unmistakably solid column that is Taehyung’s erect cock, as long and girthy as your speculation had posited. He rubs himself, unrestrained, into the friction of your jeans, likely chafing himself raw. However, it appears only to frenzy him further, when his enthusiastic humping unravels the tie around his waist and exposes his body in all its lithe, golden glory. No longer swathed in silk, it doesn’t deter him, however, from grinding his bare cock into your thigh, spotting your trousers with the drool of precum.

The gown, as satin black as his dilated pupils, slips sensually from his shoulders, barely a scrap of it hanging to him now. But he has no care for it while teasing your nipples to a darker colour, one embedded in the wet of his mouth and the other between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and throbbing at his behest. His other hand, occupied deep in the recesses of your constricting cunt, batters its exterior as he finger-fucks you into another dimension. “좋아~” he croons in his native language as he scours his cock raw against your leg. “자–자기야~”

explaining Preacher’s playlist

Putting this under a read more break because there’s a lot. I was bored so I finally tried to explain the reasons each song is there. Granted some only have a sentence or two. Not everything needs a giant essay response. Warning though, talks of abuse do take place.

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT9aIxp8n042hnvTQMd7vOTVJp2utaZwp

1: Beim Ersten Mal Tuts Immer Weh / The First Time Always Hurts -Just one last time please be nice to me Come over here Just be nice to me and come and sit beside me here Just one last time please be nice to me Come over here One more time again Come on give me just a little bit now Come on let me have a final kiss now Come on give me just a little bit now Fool me please just one more time again -I wanted to start Preacher's playlist with something surprisingly dark rather than edge into the darker parts later on. So Preacher's trauma is right in the listeners face and how in a fucked up way he still misses someone that really fucked them over. -Especially with the last bit of the song "Why don't you want me no more?" Bishop would often ignore him as punishment and it would fuck with Preacher's head a lot and how he just wanted to be in his good graces again.

2: For Your Entertainment -I call this one of his "mask" songs. How Preacher often tries to appear to people. It also ties in a bit with how confident he felt in the past when Bishop was around. I wanted to counter the "wtf" start of the playlist with something boppy. Since once Preacher catches wind that someone is figuring out what happened to him, he's all lies and glamour to distract people from talking about it.

3: You Think You're a Man -I kinda wanted to include this song because the listener would have trouble figuring out "Okay is Preacher singing this or Bishop?"

4: Message in a Bottle -Catchy little song but it helps explain how even if Preacher made a bunch of new friends he still felt isolated due to having to hide a lot as a Tiefling. -Love can mend your life But love can break your heart

5: Mony Mony -I always pictured Preacher singing this with his friends. There's not a lot to say for every single song. I just wanted to get mood music for Preacher's gang of buddies.

6: Out There -More alluding to Preacher's lonliness and how Bishop also used that to have some sort of control over him. With all his friends, Bishops word really was the only word that had meaning / value to him.

7: Medicate -Yeah Preacher's coping mechanisms weren't the healthiest

8: A Penny for a Tale -Mocking the greedy? Say no more

9: Goo Goo Muck -Lore wise I always pictured Preacher making this song up on the spot to entertain his friends

10: Lost Boys -While this song is about vampires I just felt it fit still with Preacher and his buddies. His playlist early on covers a lot of that part of his life.

11: The Rocky Road to Dublin -Yet more "Just singing with friends"

12: Zydrate Anatomy -I mean lorewise he did deal in drugs both real and fake in his mid teens so I wasted no time getting this song onto the list.

13: Open Your Eyes -More mood music to his early teens. Trust me I'll have more to say with other songs

14: Back and Forth -This song screams Preacher when he's scamming people to me

15: Drinkin with Jesus -At first I picked this one because cmon. A Tiefling called Preacher , a song called Drinkin with Jesus seemed perfect. Then I realized "Oh shit the lyrics fit". A lot of the time Preacher had to be completely alone to show just how messed up he was back then even before his assault.

16: Feel Good Inc -A lovely mix of isolation, "The world is corporate bullshit" , and more. You damn right I'm putting this on the list.

17: The Cave -Timeline wise this is a bit of a jump into the future where Preacher is in another down mood and tries to recover from it. -But I will hold on hope And I won't let you choke On the noose around your neck And I'll find strength in pain And I will change my ways I'll know my name as it's called again -That last lyric always made me think of Preacher actually maybe someday going back to using his birth name. Berlyn. And just finding his own identity again. Away from Bishops shadow. This would be around the time he grows his trademark purple mustache. It's a small decision but it was still an important decision since Bishop used to even control how he looked.

18: Devils Dance Floor -CMON. DEVILS Dance Floor. Perfect Tiefling music. I also wanted something to pick the mood of the playlist back up a little after that dip.

19: A Touch of Evil -Aka the most metal "Gay pining" song I'm aware of. The playlist takes a turn of "But I want his attention so bad" and how he wanted to be in a proper relationship with Bishop. Teenage hormones are rough so I'd imagine they'd be double rough as a Tiefling.

20: Skills in Pills -More showing Preacher's distructive habits and drug selling. I wanted to avoid putting Rammstein on the list because it'd be predictable as fuck. So I settled with Lindemann.

21: Jigolo Har Megiddo -Preacher playing up the whole "I'm made from demons" thing for flirty singing.

22: Come Out and Play -And we jump back into more "street punk shenanigans"

23: You Look So Fine -More pining and angst. I really liked sudden dips in mood with this playlist. Like his outer walls are cracking and you're getting peeks at the sensitive stuff going on in his head.

24: I Wanna be Yours -Even more pining because I'm an asshole

25: Sleeping Powder -I wanted something comical to again lift up the mood of the playlist so this song was perfect. Just that "I'm back! Where are we going?" makes me think "Okay I'm done being sad, wait what are you guys doing today?" Also the faint "broken" from 2D in some parts of the song were fitting.

26: Sandmann -Preacher's super protective of kids so this was perfect

27: Deleted this one, moving on.

28: Breaking the Habit -One of the  many times Preacher TRIES to get out of his self destructive habits and loops but its left unknown if he got out this time or not. This song fits in pretty much any part of his timeline with Bishop. Adding more to the "loop" of abuse that will be talked about near the end of the playlist.

29: Unzerstorbar ( Indestructable ) -I broke my "no german lyrics" rule with this song but I HAD to. It's such a "FUCK YEAH WE'RE YOUNG AND INVINCIBLE" song that ends on a more quiet note that always made me think "Deep down they know they're not" -As a child I was - I was ahead of all. As a child I was cold and I figured out how much time I have left anyways, because I am indestructible.

I was cool - I was hard and I knew what's goin' on. I was clever and smart and have considered long, Why am I made of steel? What is the meaning that I am indestructible?

This world is so small, so much lesser than I. Super Hero - all alone. Whether I like it or not. Meanwhile, I ask myself: is there someone like me here?

30: Sympathy for the Devil -Again. HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU NOT HAVE THIS SONG ON A TIEFLING PLAYLIST?

31: All I Want -I always pictured this song during a hectic chase either in the sky or on the ground. Preacher is a speedy boy so this was a good fit ( The fact that this song was in Crazy Taxi also makes me think of speed )

32: Action -I thought this fit the mood of Unzerstorbar and wanted to continue the vibe

33: Hit That -More chaotic city vibe music

34: Down the Rabbit Hole -I wanted to include Adam Lambert again since he's early in the playlist.

35: The Heart of the Riding Man -I blame Fennah for getting me into this song. The lyrics were just such a fun match. Preacher might be a Tiefling. But Bishop will always be the "Devil" in this song. -Oh the heart, the heart of a riding man Scarred and cut himself from the devil he ran Oh, from the devil he ran

36: Komm Zuruck / Come Back -DID YALL WANT MORE PINING? Well it's back and much more chaotic this time. -I've missed you long enough asked myself, where exactly you are and if you still bite your nails we planned everything perfectly with false papers and well covered and then suddenly you did it on your own account.

I've had enough, get me out of here don't give up on me now.

Wherever you are (wherever you are) oh, I'm with you Whoever you kiss (whoever you kiss) oh, I forgive you Make your way (make your way) and then release me come back, don't make me wait

37:  Sick Boys -Imma be real with you. I'm a slut for Social Distortion so I had to include SOMETHING with them

38: God is a Popstar -One of the first songs I put to this character and it's still such a perfect fit with the religious stuff in Preacher's story. The video is even nice as a helper because you could imagine Preacher is in the place of Jesus here. All dolled up then thrown away.

39: Applause -More flashy "haha nothing is wrong I just want attention" songs since Preacher is a greedy mother fucker when it comes to attention.

40: Trust Me -This is getting to the important part of the playlist. His relationship with Bishop was toxic as fuck. Preacher also did lots of things he didn't want to but the reward was Bishops attention. So with the previous song and this it really shows the leftover effects Bishop had on him. Preacher is one hell of a good liar thanks to Bishop. So in a way. He does have the risk of becoming someone elses Scorpion. Those mental walls I mentioned earlier are breaking at this point.

41: Fireflies -The sad truth that Preacher still misses and thinks about Bishop. The lyrics here are meant to really tug at you as Preacher's barrier is crumbling at this point. -If all you ever get from the sonnet is the count of the fall of man Every call and cost made to your heart You were in the kind of game that put the force in me I was ever chasing fireflies -Sometimes I follow a firefly He takes me into the night Baby, I just survive I got drunk, I'm sorry Am I losing you? Sometimes I follow a firefly He takes me into the night Baby, I just survive I got drunk, I'm sorry Am I losing you?

42: Prison Sex -Probably the most important song in the playlist. I wanted that earlier darkness to come back full force now that the listener is at probably the most vulnerable part of Preacher's head. It's disgusting and that's the point. Preacher finally fully admits to himself about his rape. And the song implies he has a huge risk of continuing Bishops cycle of abuse. Both the abuser and the abused have lyrics in this song.

43: I'm Not Jesus -This is sort of like Preacher is finally saying "No FUCK THAT. I'm not like you." This song is also about abuse so I wanted to include it. He's angry at this point and finally fighting back in his head.

44: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid -In my head this is Preacher sort of mocking himself and his skills at lying

45: Lone Digger -I wanted another song to help "lift up" the mood again since this playlist has a lot of ups and downs.

46: Money -I thought the lyrics were fitting for this part of the playlist

47: I Don't Care -Mood gets a little somber but in a more beautiful way than flat out heartache or suffering. A little more of Preacher rebelling finally against Bishop

48: Creep -But in the end all his rebellion eventually leads to him being depressed. Bishop is gone from his life at this point. But he's clearly still lingering in his head. No matter how much he tries to ignore it.

49: Souk Eye -The finale where Preacher admits he'll always have Bishop in his thoughts even if he also knows damn well to never deal with him ever again. Even if sometimes it hurts like hell.

I wanted this playlist to be able to go  on a loop and make sense. His moods are often on a cycle of "Fuck yeah I'm awesome! Fuck you Bishop!" to "Dammit we could have been so good for each other in another life wtf" It just repeats and repeats much like how people repeat their own cycles after trauma or abuse.

Take Me to Church Chapter 17: Bridge

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Car Accidents Angst Hurt/Comfort Drugs/Alcohol Implied/Referenced Suicide SuicideHealing Everything Hurts

Summary: The band is back together, but things are… weird to say the least. But when a crisis arises, can they pull it all together and be a family again?

Link to other Chapters on my Blog!

2D walked back to Noodle’s room like he was in a dream. The conversation he’d had with Murdoc played over and over in his brain like a record on repeat. He wasn’t really sure what had even happened, the entire exchange was confusing. One second he was comforting his mate like he’d done quite a few times in the last couple weeks, and the next Murdoc was pushing him for… something.

He reached Noodle’s room and opened the door. Russel was seated at her side and looked up when he walked in, obviously looking over Stu’s shoulder for Murdoc. Noodle was sitting up a little more and turned her head as well, smiling at him.

“Hey Russ, Noods. Sorry, I had to rush out like that,” he apologized, sitting on her other side. Noodle blinked twice and Russel nodded in agreement.

“Don’t worry about it D, where’d Murdoc?” 2D looked around nervously.

“Uh, he’s still takin’ a break, you know how he’s been…” Russel nodded.

“Yeah I was tellin’ Noodle about it a little. She was confused about why he ran out like that,” Russel explained. 2D hoped he didn’t tell her too much. He didn't want Noodle to spend the time she should be resting worrying.

“Thanks, Russ. Anythin’ else I missed?”

They sat for another hour, Russel and Noodle communicating with 2D chiming in occasionally. He felt bad that he was so distracted, but his mind kept drifting back to Murdoc. He couldn’t understand what the bassist wanted from him, nothing he gave was good enough. He’d tried being a good friend, he tried the sex, and nothing seemed to help. He just wanted more and more from the singer and 2D didn’t know if he had anything else to give.

Eventually, Noodle began to doze off, so Russel decided they should leave. “We’ll be back to visit soon, OK? I have to ask the doctor how often we can visit but we’ll be here as often as we can, alright baby?” Noodle nodded, her eyelids heavy. 2D smiled and leaned in to give her a hug.

“Love you, Noods. We’ll be back soon, and maybe I can bring some of your stuff to make this room feel a lil’bit more homey, yeah?” Noodle nodded again, unable to wrap her arms around him, but 2D knew that if she could she would. Russel gave her a hug and kiss as well, and they left the room. Stu looked back as they walked out into the hall, catching the moment Noodle closed her eyes in exhaustion.

“Let’s go get Murdoc from the break room,” Russel said, taking the lead. “Maybe we can stop for lunch or something on the way back.”

“I dunno Russ, I kind of feel like jus’ goin’ home,” 2D answered tiredly. They came up on the door to the breakroom, the blinds still drawn, and Russel walked inside. 2D followed.

“Well shit,” Russel sighed, taking in the state of the room. Furniture was overturned and a lamp smashed. “What the hell happened?”

With a deep breath, 2D stepped out of the room and into the hall. This was his fault, he was a bad friend, oh God. Russel followed him and placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting and grounding. “D, I think you need to tell me what’s really been goin’ on between you and Murdoc.”

Murdoc was walking quickly down the street. He had no plan or idea of where he was going; his mind was screaming the same thing over and over.

Get OUT Get OUT Get OUT

How could he have been so stupid! Of course, 2D didn’t feel the same way Murdoc did, if he even felt anything at all. Liar, you know you’re in love with him, have been--

Murdoc shouted, grabbing his hair and pulling hard right there in the middle of the sidewalk. A few pedestrians crossed to the other side of the road to avoid him. It was all fucked up now because of him, just like always. The band was going to fall apart and he’d have nothing, a washed-up nobody who would die alone.

Just like your father.

He continued walking rapidly with no destination in mind. Thoughts raced through his mind, from what had happened at the hospital, to how it was all his fault, to thoughts of his childhood. That nightmare from last night kept replaying in his head over and over, he couldn’t escape it, the thoughts mixing up with 2D’s confused face as he left the hospital break room.

Finally, he walked past a bar. Without a second’s hesitation, he walked in a sat down, waving down the bartender. “Give me three shots of rum to start and keep em’ comin’,” he ordered. The bartender looked pissed at being ordered around but did as asked.

Murdoc downed the shots one after the other, gesturing for more. He couldn’t get drunk fast enough to outpace the thoughts in his head. Noodle on the bed, awake but still so broken. 2D sitting with him in the break room, holding him gently as he cried. The warm, loving feeling he’d got as the singer rocked them back and forth.

Then the shock, the anger and resentment. The sadness he’d felt as Stuart pulled away and left the room, denying what was going on between them. Murdoc knew they weren’t acting like best mates of fuck buddies. He’d had sex friends in the past and those relationships had never gone past a bit of post-fuck cuddling or sharing a cigarette in bed. No fucking kissing, or going out on pseudo-dates.

Thing is, Murdoc wasn’t exactly against doing all of that stuff with Stu. Sure at first he’d been a little weirded out; in general he didn’t have romantic relationships with anyone, much less an idiot like 2D. But he’d slowly gotten used to it and opened up to the singer. He found himself wanting to be close to him, wanting to tell him things he’d never told anyone before but scared that the singer would reject him.

And he’d taken that leap. It blew up in his face spectacularly. Now he’d lost the singer, and soon he’d lose everything else. He downed another shot, then another.

“Buddy if you keep going like that I’m gonna have to cut you off,” the bartender said. Murdoc sneered.

“It’s you’re fuckin’ job to serve booze and you’re gonna cut someone off for gettin’ a little tipsy?” he snapped. The bartender rolled his eyes but served him another shot. “D’you even know who I am?”

“No, as far as I know, you’re just another sad sod day drinking himself into a stupor.” The bartender banged the half-full bottle of rum on the counter. “Take this and leave me alone.”

Delighted, Murdoc pushed the shot glasses aside and took a swig straight from the bottle. Maybe now he could finally forget about everything.

He sat at the bar for a few hours, working his way through the bottle of rum, and then through a few shots of whiskey before the bartender finally cut him off. With a grumble he wobbled off the barstool and out the door in search of another bar, but as he weaved down the street he realized he probably wouldn’t find one that would serve him. Instead, he stopped at a bench and sat.

The alcohol was doing very little to help his black mood. Instead it seemed to make it worse, forcing him to dwell on things better left forgotten. Like how, without Gorillaz, he really had no reason to live. Or how the one person he’d ever thought he might have a real chance with had left him on the floor of a hospital.

Because he did love Stuart, he realized; he had for a while. For longer than he'd like to admit it’d been something closer to a sick obsession and he’d taken that out on the singer. Since coming back from Plastic Beach he’d tried harder to be nicer to the band, and when that hadn’t worked--because he was a bastard, through and through--he’d isolated himself. But then everything happened with Noodle and he’d been forced to be close with 2D again and well, it’d brought back those old feelings.

“A lotta good they did me,” he mumbled to himself. If he’d just kept to himself then Noodle wouldn’t have been hurt and he wouldn’t have gotten near to the singer and none of those would have happened. If he hadn’t been around, then he wouldn’t have been there to ruin things, like usual.

He wasn’t fucked up enough to be thinking like this. He reached for his cellphone to text his dealer, but remembered it was still broken from the other day at the hospital. He stood again; he’d have to find something the old fashioned way, which involved a lot more walking than he wanted to do. He didn’t have a choice though, he needed something to get him out of his head, so he stood up, stumbling, and continued down the road.

2D sat on the sofa at home, letting Russel mull over everything he’d said. He’d explained how they were sleeping together, how troubled Murdoc had been, and how the bassist had all but confessed to him in the break room. Russel stayed silent through it all, nodding along occasionally. Now he sat back in his armchair and crossed his arms.

“Well, I knew you two were fuckin’ but I had no idea about all that other shit,” he said finally, startling Stu.

“Y-you knew?” he squealed, blushing. Russel laughed slightly.

“You two aren’t exactly quiet D. And besides, I’ve been watching you two fawn over each other for decades.” 2D blushed harder.

“S-sorry, Russ,” he apologized and Russel laughed again, waving him off.

“Don’t sweat it D, I’ve got pretty good headphones. That’s not what I’m worried about,” he paused, looking unsure.

‘Whaddaya mean, Russ?” 2D asked. He was glad the larger man wasn’t angry at him for all the noise. Russel was a gentle person normally, but when he got angry he really got angry.

“Well from what you’ve told me Murdoc’s a lot more unstable than I realized. I worried about what he might do after your fight,” he explained. 2D nodded with a guilty look on his face.

“I shouldn’ta lef’ him there on his own.” Russel shook his head and stood.

“Nah, it’s not your fault D, you can’t be expected to do everything perfectly all the time.” He grabbed his jacket from the peg. They’d only been home an hour. “I’m going to go out and drive around, see if I can find him. You stay here in case he comes back, ok?”

“O-Ok Russ. Thanks for doin’ this.” Russel shrugged and gave 2D a half-smile.

“He’s my friend too. He’s important to all of us.” With that, he walked out leaving Stu alone in the living room.

“Bloody hell Muds,” he whispered to himself. He was torn between being extremely worried for the bassist and pissed that he’d once again he’d made it all about him. Couldn’t they have one outing where Murdoc didn’t entirely derail the situation?

Most likely he was out at some pub getting drunk. Maybe he’d find a nice bird to shag, and this whole sex-friends thing could be behind them. The idea didn’t sit quite right with Stu, the idea of Murdoc with another person despite the fact that 2D himself had called off their arrangement himself just hours before. He just… he didn’t know what to do with the bassist and all these feelings. With a groan, 2D got up and headed upstairs in search of something to give him some relief from the stress.

His good migraine pills had run out a few days ago, and he’d been making do with some of the other assortment he kept for “emergencies”. Now though he wanted to take a few and zone out, maybe smoke some pot, and forget today had ever happened. A handful of pills and one joint later 2D was back in the living room, zoned out in front of the TV with some slasher flick playing.

An insistent buzzing noise broke him from his daze. Things felt like they were moving in slow motion as he picked up the phone and saw a number of texts from Russel, and none from Murdoc.

No sign of him around our area, going to check the pubs

Still nothing, has he come home yet?

2D, are you there?

Sluggishly he texted back. Yeah, he’s not here. 2D tossed his phone to the side again and gazed out the window, where it was getting dark. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on the sofa and he didn’t think it even mattered. Murdoc would turn up when he wanted, and not a second before. The drugs were stopping him from being too worried about what might happen.

The TV continued to play, but 2D wasn’t watching anymore. He was a hundred feet above his body, soaring through the clouds among the birds. He didn’t have a care in the world, and nothing that happened today mattered. Everything was fine. There was no hospital drama or feelings to deal with, just never-ending peacefulness. 2D thought back to the earlier years of the band, when he was this high all the time; he missed it.

He’d only stopped due to the forced sobriety of Plastic Beach. Sure Murdoc had brought some of his pills along but between the stress of being held captive and the fear of the whale they hadn’t lasted long. Being sober for those long months had convinced him of two things; that he could be sober if he wanted to, and that he never, ever wanted to be that sober again. Since coming back and working on their newest album he’d picked up a lot of his bad habits again, but he’d also been more aware of what he’d been taking, more careful. Except for now, that is.

The sun had completely set by the time Russel came back. 2D was still on the sofa, zoned out when the bang of the door startled him. Russel stomped through to the living room and sat down beside him tiredly.

“Nothing. No sign of him at any of use usual bars, or on the streets. I even checked some liquor stores,” he sighed, sinking down into the cushions. 2D starred for a moment, the snapped back into focus.

“Oh yeah, Murdoc. Yeah, I’m s-sure he’ll be back soon,” 2D answered. Russel shot him a weird look.

“What’s up with you, D? You were pretty worried about him when I left.” He leaned in closer, inspecting 2D with a practised eye. “You’re fuckin’ high, aren’t you?”

Again, 2D took a moment to process the information before scowling. “So what if I am?”

“Whatever man, just thought you were better than that now.” Russel went to stand. “I thought maybe you were actually really worried about Muds.”

“I am!” Stuart protested. “I-I’m jus’ so sick of everythin’ being about him all the damn time!” Russel turned to him. He looked more tired than 2D had seen him in a long time.

“I am too D, but I think he really needs help this time.” 2D slumped in defeat, knowing Russel was right. Murdoc had been flirting with death for years, ever since the band broke up after El Manana. Thinking back to Plastic Beach 2D couldn’t count the number of times he’d found the other man drunk, high, and sobbing overlooking the sea.

“I know,” Stu sighed. “I’m jus’ really tired of it all Russ.”

“Me too D. Why don’t you go on to bed and get yourself sorted out?” 2D nodded and stood as well, reaching out to hold onto Russel’s arm when the world tilted. It would be nice to spend some time alone for the first time in over a week.

“Yeah, OK Russ. Lemme know if he shows up yeah?” Russel nodded and 2D made his way to his bedroom. He flopped face down on the messy bed and closed his eyes, feeling every cell in his body calling out for sleep. Distantly he felt anxiety over Murdoc not being home but before he could worry about it, he was drifting off.

Russel sat back down in front of the TV with a mug of coffee and some cookies he found in the cupboards. After driving around for hours, and with a possibly long night of waiting ahead, he figured he deserved a treat. He settled in to flick through the channels, hoping there was something decent on.

He eventually settled on a rerun of Full House. Barely watching the TV he checked his phone every few minutes, hoping for some word from Murdoc. The bassist hadn’t replaced his phone since he smashed it, but Russel hoped that some fan might catch a glimpse of him and post on Twitter. So far, there’d been nothing.

Instead of letting it get him down though, he tried to focus on the good. Noodle had been awake and responding to them at the hospital, something Russel had worried would never happen. He’d tried to keep up a positive outlook for 2D and Murdoc but in the back of his mind he’d feared the worst. Noodle was like his daughter, he’d tried to raise her right and keep her safe all these years, and he’d failed time and time again.

But he tried not to think like that anymore. His therapist, the one he’d been seeing since after Plastic Beach, told him he couldn’t protect everybody all the time. That sometimes he needed to protect himself first, and the others second. He was still working on that.

Eventually, it started getting later and later and Russel was starting to lose hope that they’d see the bassist at all that night when the front door started rattling. The tell-tale sound of keys missing the lock, again and again, echoed through the front hall. Russel got up to let Murdoc in, knowing that if he was as drunk as expected, it might take him until dawn just to get the door unlocked. Swinging it open he took in the view of the bassist slumped against the doorway.

Murdoc was a mess. He was unsteady on his feet, wavering from side to side even with the door the steady him. Despite the cold outside sweat was dripping down his face, and his coat was wide open. Russel moved to the side and waved him in, staying close in case he fell over.

“Fuck Muds you look awful,” he said as the other man stumbled inside. Murdoc didn’t say anything back, instead choosing to amble into the kitchen. Russel rolled his eyes and followed, knowing the kind of trouble Murdoc could get into while like this.

“Are you just drunk, or are you high too?” he asked as the bassist rifled through the fridge. Judging by the unintelligible grunting he got as a response, he assumed both.

“What’d you take, Muds? Do I need to be worried?” Murdoc pulled a bottle of liquor from the fridge and popped the cap off, taking a large gulp. Russel tried to grab it from him, but the other man managed to dodge. “Seriously man? I’m tryin’ to talk to you.”

“F’off,” Murdoc mumbled, deciding the table was too far away and sitting on the floor. Russel wasn’t sure what to do with the sulking man. Usually 2D or Noodle were the ones to talk Murdoc down during a bender, with Russel in the background to supply the muscle if needed. The Satanist still had a sort of fearful respect for him ever since he broke his nose back at Kong.

“Murdoc, what did you take tonight?” he tried again, kneeling down on the floor as to not loom over the other. Murdoc fidgeted with the bottle and avoided looking at the drummer.

“Dunno, prob’ly some speed, an’ some pills,” he answered finally. Russel heaved a sigh.

“How long ago, how much?” he pressed, worried there might be another hospital trip in the near future.

“Loads,” Murdoc said, laughing a little. “As m-much as I could g-get mate.” He took another pull from the bottle before Russel managed to snatch it back.

“OK, that’s enough. I’m already goin’ to have to watch you all night I don’t need you puking as well.” Murdoc didn’t answer. Russel groaned as he stood up and put the bottle on top of the fridge where the shorter man couldn’t reach, then held a hand out. “Come on, let's get you to the sofa at least before you pass out.”

Murdoc took the hand with a sneer and allowed himself to be lead into the living room. Russel dumped him none too gracefully on the couch and sat back down in his chair. The bassist lay face down on the sofa, motionless. Unsure if he should be letting Murdoc sit like that in case he suffocated, Russel watched over him closely.

“Russ…” Murdoc said quietly. “I dunno w-w-what I did wrong this t-time.”

“What do you mean?” That was the most coherent thing Murdoc had managed since he got in the door.

“With D.” Murdoc didn’t say anymore but Russel got the gist. He hadn’t wanted to get in the middle of this but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice.

“I dunno man, I don’t think D even knows,” he answered. Murdoc shuffled around on the sofa until he was face up, staring at the ceiling. Russel thought that for once he looked his age.

“I think I migh’ l-l-lo--” he gagged and choked a bit in the middle of his sentence and Russel wished he’d thought to bring a bucket. “I th-think I really like him Russ.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Luckily Murdoc didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. “I-I f-fucked up so many times b-but he said--he said he forgave me and--”

Murdoc started crying then, something, outside of the last week, Russel had never really seen him do. He wasn’t sure what he should do, in general, he knew Murdoc hated being touched, but the man was also tearing up on their sofa. “Murdoc…”

“A-and now h-he-he hates me,” Murdoc sobbed, throwing a hand over his eyes dramatically. Russel considered going upstairs to grab 2D, but given his state earlier it wasn’t likely he’d be sober enough to have a conversation, let alone face Murdoc.

“I don’t think he hates you, Muds. It’s just complicated,” Russel said, trying to be comforting. It didn’t work, and Murdoc continued to cry. Feeling lost, he watched as the bassist sobbed, gradually petering off into quite sniffled and moans. “Come on man, let’s get you up to bed yeah?”

Russel helped Murdoc stand, then walked him up the stairs. Murdoc was floppy and uncoordinated and a few times Russel had to bodily lift the man to get him going in the right direction. When they got to the top of the stairs Murdoc walked himself to his bedroom as Russel followed, wanting to make sure the other went to his own bed and not 2D’s. When he passed over the singer’s door for his own, Russel breathed a sigh of relief.

“You goin’ to be ok by yourself Muds?” Russel asked. Murdoc shrugged and landed face down on the bed, like the sofa, with a grunt. “Ok, well I’ll come check on you later.”

“Russ…” Russel turned around to see the bassist looking over at him. He paused to let him continue. “D’you think… d’you think I h-have a chance?”

The drummer thought for a moment. “I think D really cares about you, and that you really care about him. Other than that I don’t know.” Murdoc sighed and rolled over on the bed, still wearing his jacket and boots. Russel assumed that was the end of their conversation and he retreated to his own room for the night. Hopefully both men would be sober in the morning and able to work this out.

Chimehour - Deleted Scenes: Blog #1!

  Due to popular demand with the book's release in October, I have decided to start a 2019 blog series about what didn't make it into Chimehour. If you have ever written a book and especially if you have revised one, you know that a lot more can end up on the cutting room floor than in a book. Ans if you have followed this blog for awhile, you know that Chimehour went through more than a few revisions before it was released. Not everything I cut was due to quality; some things were good, but they weren't part of the final draft. So that's what this blog is gonna be all about: the process, the revisions I made, why I decided to change the scene, and what the original scene looked like! Please note I have left the original writing intact, outside of obvious typos and misspellings. Scene 1 - Willow's Introduction/Dream Sequence (Draft: 1st and 2nd) Chapter: 8 Characters: Stanley, Vincent, and Willow Editing Notes: This scene and its now finished Chapter 8 only have a handful of lines in common. This opening sequence was an early casualty of Chimehour's final revisions, though I tried desperately to keep this dream sequence in the story- in fact, you can still see hints of its content and descriptions spread around the book. Ultimately, this scene got slashed mostly due to that sequence because its overarching goal (let's talk about Stanley's anxieties) could be accomplished in more subtle ways. Plus this scene genuinely worked better from Vincent's perspective! Willow's introduction would go through two more rewrites before the finished version came about- but this version was what I held to for a long time before I decided to strengthen Willow's character from her introduction on. What lies here is a 2D model of that scene though.     ​ # It was somewhere past midnight when Stanley first caught himself in restless sleep. The boggled visions where voices echoed, blood pooled, and dark liquid filled his lungs. It couldn't kill him, but he didn't see the way out this time. Rattled by the hellish half-dreams, he awoke dizzy and blind, rolling to his side. Used to his mattress back home, he overestimated the space he had and quickly found himself tumbling straight off the edge. He rushed to catch himself; his numb palms met with wet cobblestone. Stanley hit his head as he landed. He yelped, reaching to protect his face. His fingers clambered into his glasses. I forgot to take them off again, he thought, rubbing the back of his skull. He sat up, feeling the cold soak into his traveling clothes. This was confusing; he recalled changing earlier, for whatever earlier meant now. He looked up at his surroundings. Townhouses and street lamps appeared as far he could see, veiled behind a thick, green fog. Stanley recognized his neighborhood almost immediately. When...  Last he remembered, he had been in Dublin. He stood, holding his temple. He could see the front gates of his home. The well-tended roses that his mother grew near the porch. The marks in the gate where he and Isabelle had tried to etch their names years before. He took a step forward, an onset of happiness settling within him. But something pulled at his mind. Something dark. Something odd. And that something held Stanley away. A sharp noise disrupted the quiet. A squishing, sloshing sound, like boots in the mud. Stanley wheeled back, finding the direction in which the sound echoed from. Before him stretched Albemarle Street, now wider and more ominous than usual. “Erm... hello?” he called out, unease filling the pit of his stomach. A slumped shape appeared through the sick fog. The sound now formed in rhythmic repetition. Footsteps. Then the moan. That familiar, cutting moan. No...  Stanley thought, his eyes dissolving to pinpricks. A pair of bloodied hands shot through the fog, breaking it into wisps. Their owner dragged himself through the clearing. His fine clothes were spattered with the remains of his own innards, leaking off the gap in his chest. His black hair a mangled, dirty mess. Stanley knew him even before the voice appeared. “There you are, son. I had wondered...” “Father,” Stanley rasped. He edged away, shock making his body heavy. That which was once Mr. Brigham tottered forward like a disorganized animal, splashing more of his own blood onto the ground. More footsteps could be heard. First one. Two. Then more... Many more. The groans, moans, and broken shrieks of the dead emerged from the murk. Their voices were a mangled mass, unintelligible from one to the other. They overwhelmed each other, and Stanley in turn. His head ached with so much noise. Too much noise. They appeared as shadows. The faces of neighbors, schoolmates, past friends, and family. Stanley’s heart drowned in horror as his mother's ragged form emerged from the crowd, her mouth and fingers dripping blood onto her dress. Isabelle appeared next, dark circles around her eyes and a large bite taken out of her shoulder. They all soon filled the street, creating a wall of dead. No, not here, he thought, stepping backwards. This can't happen here. He shot through the fog, into the other half of the street. There was silence as he scrambled forward. A cracked scream then broke through, him freeze. With a shudder, he turned toward the sound. Terror refreshed its grip as Vincent appeared out of the shadows, his eyes dark and confused. His hands were at his chest, protecting a bloodied bite mark. “Stanley...” he choked. “Help.” No sooner then he spoke, a thin pair of hands wrapped around his neck. Stanley's eyes doubled as something that looked awfully like Cecilia appeared over Vincent's shoulder. Her pale eyes flashed before she took a vicious bite out of him. He wrenched, howling as the infection began to take its toll. “Vince, no!” Stanley screamed, rushing to his friend's side and trying to pry him from Cecilia's grip. Cecilia looked up, her mouth stained in the boy's blood. She hissed inhumanly and dropped Vincent's corpse, letting him crumple to the ground. Stanley stumbled back, fighting a whimper. Vincent’s dead eyes stared up at him, glossed and half-open. But the grasp of cold hands broke his trance. Stanley looked, quickly met with the unfortunate reality that he had been surrounded by the creatures. Their fingers wrapped around his clothes, yanking him to the ground with little effort. “Let go! Get away!” He pushed away bony fingers and kicked at heads full of hungry teeth. Anger and adrenaline filled him, but his body was still treading slow. Far too slow to save him. His eyes widened as Vincent rose amongst the hunched crowd, reawakened. His fixed eyes grew wild. He growled and dived forward, sinking his teeth around Stanley's pinned leg. Stanley screamed; the pain dug deep as the poison filled his bloodstream. He attempted to pull his leg away from Vincent and punched another creature. He shook himself free from the creatures' prying hands, but more awaited him. They pulled him back down, and he couldn’t manage the fight again. The curse was taking its toll. He caught sight of it then. A shadow in the masses, tall and slight. It spirited through the Revenant, craning over Stanley's pinned form like a praying mantis, its digging fingers around his throat. His eyes grew wide; Maggie MacNamura towered over him. Oddly unchanged and wearing her usual grin. ��Poor dear,” she said as she looked down on the boy, running a hand along his cheek. “In over your head again… Don’t you fret. I’ll make it better.” Her face suddenly twisted into a wide, hardly-human smile. She unhinged her jaw, swooped down like the Revenant before her. Darkness enveloped Stanley's world, giving to a blessed end to the awful clawing and screams. If just for a moment. “Stanley...” The voice appeared, lost in a newly growing gray light. Stanley assumed himself drowning again. Good. “Stanley, please...” Someone wasn't giving him peace. Squinting, Stanley let the gray break into a pale yellow. He flinched, left only with the unfamiliar feeling of the scratchy pillows and blankets. The tang of something sweet lurked in the air, strong enough to leave the onset of a headache. This wasn't his bed, but then it wasn't a wet road in London either. And he certainly wasn't being eaten alive. He blinked, revealing a pale room and a kerosene glow. He noticed thick layers of sweat on his palms and his forehead. As his eyes refocused, he caught sight of a nervous-looking Vincent standing over his side of the bed, dressed in a gray nightshirt. “Oh, glorious! You're awake.” he whispered, rubbing his hands together. “I'm quite sure there is a ghost in this room, and you need to tell it to leave.” “Uh- Wha...” Stanley groaned, rolling onto his back. “A ghost,” Vincent repeated, nervousness leaking into his tone. “I heard it rummaging around the wardrobe.” “...What time is it?” Stanley said, rubbing his face awake. He looked over at the clock. With his vision blurry, he merely guessed that the hands rested somewhere near 3:30. So that was a dream, he thought, pulling himself up. “Are you listening?” Vincent said. Stanley scrambled for his glasses, grabbing them off the nightstand and shoving them over his nose. He held the crook with one finger, looking to Vincent with exhaustion. “Vince, even if there is a ghost in here, what do you wish me to do?” he mumbled. “They don't do everything I say just because I can see them.” “Oh, but-” Vincent sputtered. “Just go look.” “I thoug-” The wardrobe suddenly creaked. A crunching emanated from the closed doors, noisy and surprising in the previous quiet. Stanley blinked, letting his glasses drop back. The same calm could not be said of Vincent, who had pushed himself against the wall. Stanley sighed in amusement. “I thought you liked all these happenings and creatures?” “Not like this,” Vincent whispered, eying the wardrobe. “This thing is flouting about with my unmentionables!” Stanley shook his head. He kicked off the blankets, grabbing the lamp off the nightstand as he stepped down. “Very well, I will talk to it.” He wore a sleepy smile as walked over to the wardrobe, the floor aching under each step.  He placed the lamp by his bare feet and grabbed the handles on either door. “I will tell you though,” he chimed, looking over his shoulder. “It is probably just a mouse. And I can't talk to those…”  He smirked and gave each door a pull, forcing the wardrobe open. “Frankly, I would prefer a ghost in my unmentionables before to a... a...” Stanley's voice trailed off. His jaw dropped. Amongst the hanging forms of their coats, the still-packed bags, and collections of dust bunnies, a lone girl  huddled in the corner. Cloaked in a sooty dress, its frayed sleeves falling short of her forearm. Her hair shone in a dull gray, falling around her in a tangled weave. She paid no mind to the doors, her focus drawn to the object in her hands, which she bit into fervently. Stanley quieted himself, grabbing the lamp and lifting it to his head. The girl’s hair caught light. Its shade was closer to pearl, and not quite as pale as her skin. She stuffed the last the now recognizable pastry into her mouth and licked her fingers of any remaining crumbs. Spirits don't eat, he thought, unable to gather much else in his busied mind. She looked back then. Stanley met her eyes without thinking. He tensed, taken by the vivid lavender color in her pupils. They shone like stained glass as they widened in horror.  She fell to the back of wardrobe with a violent gasp, hunching like a cornered rat. Her hand flailed to her side, grabbing for something in the dark. “Oh, what's going on in there now?” Vincent called back. Stanley looked over his shoulder again, wide-eyed. “There's a... girl in our wardrobe,” he said plainly as he could. “A what?” Before Stanley could respond, a sharp blow landed in the center of his chest. He yelped as his head slammed into the bedpost. His vision turned to a glaze as he slid to the floor, clutching his crown. The girl was upon him a second later. He jolted as a small knife came within inches of his face. It shook in her grip. “Um- hold on now...” he said, speaking on impulse as he backed into the bed. His pulse racing, he chanced a better look at her face. A grimace contorted her shadowed features, hiding her elegant eyes again. She glanced back at him, and her expression shifted. Stanley almost read it as calm. Some clarity in her panic. He wasn't sure if it was real or an illusion created by his drowsiness. But she stepped away, folding the knife behind her back. With a sigh that seemed apologetic, she ran for open bedroom door, darting out. “So... that definitely wasn't a ghost?” Vincent managed a smile. Stanley stood sharply, feeling no need to dignify his question with a response. Without another thought, he yanked his suitcase free of the open wardrobe and flung it open, digging for his clothes. “And what are you doing?” Vincent asked. “What else? I'm going after her,” he said as he pulled on a pair of trousers under his night shirt. Vincent moaned. “What was she doing in there anyhow?” Stanley pulled his nightshirt over his head, letting it fall to the ground. “Eating, and hiding from the looks of it. Something wasn’t right.” “Oh, can't we just leave it for when the sun's out?” Vincent sat down on the bed. “She drew a knife on me.” Stanley said. “Call me mad, but when a lady points a weapon your way, you should leave her be.” Stanley ignored this comment, looking back at him.“You're the one who woke me up about this.” He yawned, unaffected. “Yes, and you handled it very well. But I have not slept yet, so...” Stanley pulled on an unbuttoned dress shirt, taking humor in Vincent's lack of encouragement. “You can stay, if you prefer. I'm not.” “Very well then. You try not to have too much fun...” And he promptly collapsed onto the bed in an unceremonious fashion. #

Halloween Fright 2

I said I wasn't going to do this! I already wrote a story for Halloween. But then I saw all the artwork others had posted and stories written and I couldn't help myself. I write another story XD. I have no self control lol

Well, here is a sequel to my very first fic for @shinyzango 2D Bendy AU. Enjoy everyone and Happy Halloween!

It’s been a year since Bendy celebrated his first Halloween. The little toon figured he knew what’s what this time around. He begged Henry to let him go Trick or Treating this year. At first the man wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but the little toon had made a lot of friends with the neighborhood kids and some of the adults. He figured most would be used to seeing a living toon running around with the children by now. But just to be on the safe side, Henry was coming along.

Henry was surprised by what Bendy wanted to be for Halloween. He thought the little toon would have picked a Vampire or maybe a superhero. Instead he wanted to be, of all things, the Mummy! He asked the toon why that particular monster.

“Are you kidding? I loved the Mummy ever since we saw the movie on TV that one night!” the little toon outstretched his arms, walked around the living room on stiff legs and moaned loudly. After a few minutes of this, both Henry and Bendy broke down laughing.

“I get to wrap myself head to toe in bandages and no one will know it’s me! It's perfect!” Henry just shook his head and figured that was a good a reason as any. So, the next day, he went to a fabric shop after work. He found a roll of linen that was just the right color and look. Henry also brought some small metal buttons to fasten it all together.

Henry spent the night wrapping the toon in the linen straps until only his eyes were showing. He used a pair of scissors to cut the back out so Bendy could slip in and out. Henry sat in his armchair with a needle and thread in hand and began sewing the back together. Bendy was surprised he knew how to sew.

“The army taught me. We had to repair any rips or tears in our uniforms ourselves.” Henry said with a warm smile on his face. He fastened the small buttons to the back and the costume was done.

The next night was Halloween and the neighborhood was abuzz with children running from house to house with their parents following close behind. Bendy ran into a few of his friends while going from house to house. The kids loved his costume and even the adults took pictures of their little witches and superheroes with a mummy.

Even Henry got in on the fun. He wore a black tuxedo with a white dress shirt. He had a cape around his shoulders, a black fedora, and a black mask that covered his eyes. When Bendy asked who he was suppose to be, he told the little toon that he was The Shadow. He was a superhero Henry used to listen to on the radio when he was younger.

Each house they went to, Bendy would get complimented on his costume. They would say how ‘scary’ he was before patting the little mummy on the head and handing him some candy.

Henry couldn’t help but smile. Bendy was having the time of his life! He was just like everyone else out there tonight. Collecting candy, playfully scaring his friends, and having a heck of a time!

Henry and Bendy had just left another house when they heard shouting from across the street. They could see an older gentleman yelling at two little kids. Henry didn’t like what was happening so he made his way across the street with the toon in tow. They watched as the man snatched the little girl's treat bag out of her hands and tossed it into the bushes. By the time the duo reached the house, the old man slammed his door in the kids' faces.

Bendy was shocked. None of the other adults acted like that! The little girl was crying while her older brother was trying to calm her down. Bendy went into the bushes to find her bag while Henry checked on the kids. He found it, picked up any candy he could find on the ground, and brought it to her.

She sniffled and gave the toon a watery smile. She thanked him and took her bag back. Her older brother looked just as upset as she did. Henry put his hand on the boy's shoulder and told him everything will be alright.

“Mr. Brighten is the biggest grouch in this neighborhood. But what he did was uncalled for.” Henry sighed and started to lead the kids away. “C’mon, we'll walk you to another house.”

Bendy followed close behind when he suddenly stopped. He looked back at Mr. Brighten's house and frowned.

“Hey guys! Wait a minute.” Henry and the kids looked at him. “He refused to give you a treat so-“ the toon rubbed his bandaged hands together. “maybe we should give him a trick!” A mischievous glint was in his eyes.

“Bendy!” Henry said in a stern tone. The toon threw his hands up in a placating manner.

“Henry, don’t worry. We're not gonna hurt anyone. It's just a little Halloween fun!” Henry sighed and shook his head. He knew the toon wouldn’t hurt anyone. If he were being honest, he was curious to see what the toon would come up with.

Bendy crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes scrunched up, and he tapped his foot. “Now let’s see… Gonna need a few things.” He looked towards the little girl that was dressed like a witch. He asked to borrow her hat. She happily handed it to him. Next, he asked to borrow Henry's cape. Last, he ran across the street to a house with pumpkins on their steps. He picked the biggest one there, pulled the lit candle out of it, and carried it over to the group.

“Okay, now I have everything I need. Here's what we're gonna do-“ The toon wiggled his finger for everyone to come closer as he whispered his plan to them.

                               -Twenty Minutes Later-

The older brother ran up to Mr. Brighten's door. He rang the doorbell over and over again until he heard the old man yelling through the door. By the time Mr. Brighten swung the door open, the brother his in the bushes. Thus, no one was there.

“I told you little brats to stay away from my house! Ya hear me!” he looked around but saw no one. He mumbled about his stupid kids were and how much he hated this holiday when he noticed something sitting in the middle of his walkway. It was a pumpkin! It had a witch's hat on top of it and a black cape wrapped around the bottom of it. It looked like it was sitting on something because it was a few feet off the ground.

The old man frowned as he walked up to it. Some punk must have left it there as a prank. Well, he was having none of that. An evil grin spread across his face and he lifted his foot to crush the pumpkin into a million pieces. Just as his foot was about to come down on it, a hand shot out from under the cape and caught his foot. The old man screamed and hopped back as the hand let him go.

“What the hell!?” was all the old man could utter before the cape began to shift and ripple. He watched as the pumpkin rose higher and higher off the ground. Two long arms snaked out from the cape and began to grow thicker as the hands clawed. Two long, thick legs seemed to sprout out from a broadening dark body. There was even a ragged white bow tie pinned to its broad chest.

Soon the pumpkin thing was looming over the old man. The body seemed to sway from side to side before it leaned over. The pumpkin, with its jagged grin was hovering a few inches away from his face.

Mr. Brighten tried to say something, but his mouth felt suddenly dry…

It took everything they had not to laugh. The look on the old man's face was priceless. They were all hiding in the bushes watching the trick go down.

Bendy had learned a few tricks over the past year. He found out that he could remove his head from his body and still control it as long as he was close enough and could see what he was doing. He was also able to keep the pumpkin on his shoulders and move slightly by flooding the hollow inside with his ink through a hole he poked in the bottom. As a consequence to this, ink was spilling out of the eyes, nose, and mouth of the pumpkin. In the dim light, the dark substance could be mistaken for something else.

The toon raised his arms up and over the man. The cape caught a light breeze and flapped behind him. He wiggled his fingers causing his claws to flash in the dim light. Mr. Brighten was shaking and backed up a bit.

‘Time to put the icing on this cake!’ the little toon thought as he used his ink to press against the corners of the Pumpkin’s gaping mouth. He was able to open the mouth a little wider and the vegetable creaked from the effort. The sound came across like a moan and that was enough to set the old man off. He screamed and ran for his house where he slammed the door on the creature!

A few moments later, two little kids burst out from the bushes. They were laughing and pointing at the house.

“Oh my gosh! Did you see his face? He turned as white as a sheet!” the boy held his sides and was laughing hard. His little sister was giggling when she walked up to Bendy's body. She tapped him on his large hand and the body tilted in her direction.                                

Bendy reached up for the witch's hat and swept it downward as he took a theatrical bow. The little girl giggled and clapped her hands. The toon handed her back her hat and she thanked him.

Henry walked over to the toon's body, holding Bendy’s head under his arm as the toon put the pumpkin on the ground. A huge hand reached out and took his head from Henry to place it back on his body. The toon demon looked down at his friend with a huge grin on his face.

“Okay, okay, I’ll admit, that was pretty funny.” Henry chuckled and shook his head. “How about we clean up, you put back on your mummy costume, and we get these kids to the next house so we can continue Trick or Treating tonight.”

Bendy agreed. He returned to normal. The brother took the pumpkin back across the street. The toon handed Henry back his cape and he slipped his mummy costume back on. Soon the little group was on their way to the next house where the people were a lot nicer and gave out a lot of candy.

The rest of the night was uneventful but Henry will never forget the first trick his toon friend played this Halloween night. Deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be the little ink demon's last. Henry was actually looking forward to see what he comes up with. The toon sure made life interesting.