TW: Mentions of child and what I believe is domestic violence. More to come soon, probably. Read at your own risk.
Inky was more snarky than amiable.
He knew that. He couldn't help it; it was just part of his life. Like, his life life, not his afterlife.
He wasn't trying to. It always just kind of slipped out. And it was usually in the most inappropriate times ever. And that, quite certainly, was not usually a welcomed thing.
He remembered being nice. Vaguely. Way before he met Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde. Way before he joined Betrayus's army. Way before all of that.
His father wasn't exactly the nicest. His mother wasn't exactly the bravest. And he wasn't exactly the strongest.
His father was a rich and respected nobleman. He put on a nice, kind mask every morning before walking out and into the world, closing the door of his house of horrors behind him. At least until he got back, that is.
Then the door would open. His kind eyes and sparkling smile would melt into ice-cold orbs and an ugly frown. His warm hands would become calloused and harsh. And the house would become Inky's nightmare.
When he heard the door slam, he knew to keep quiet. He knew to do everything his father barked at him. He knew better than to question him. The scar on his back reminded him of that.
He tried to block out the arguing. He tried. But trying wasn't enough.
He still heard the screaming. It filled his ears and circled in his head.
Music helped. And so did drawing.
And that's why everyday after school, he'd pop on his headphones and bring out his sketchbook. It helped him block out the noise and escape from this terrible world. For a while, atleast.
He could only put off his chores for so long before his dad found out. He'd kept track of how many minutes it took for him to realize that. It usually took him a little less than an hour, so a bit less than an hour was when he actually started doing things. Long enough for him to do whatever he wanted, quick enough for his father to not notice anything.
Somehow, he managed to survive another day. Another night. Another nightmare.
Sometimes he wished he were dead. Well, not dead dead. Just dead until he was old enough to get his own life, at least.
And now he was actually dead. Well, technically he just lost his body, but he is still basically dead. Right? Right.
He still didn't tell anyone. Who would believe him? And who would care?
Well, maybe Blinky, Pinky, Clyde, Spiral, Cyli, and Pac would care. Maybe. Probably.
But why should he tell them? Just to look weak in front of them? Just for it to all come crumbling down and reveal him as a broken, empty shell?
No. He had worked too hard to build his mask, to hide his fears and scars and need for comfort.
He was fine.
He wasn't.
No matter how many times he lied, how many times he tried to convince himself he was fine, Clyde, go mother hen someone else, he wasn't fine. He could lie and tell himself all he wanted, but it wasn't enough.
His friends were more of a family to him than his real one ever was. They cared about him, they'd never hit him. . . At least, not on purpose or without a reason, anyways. Right? Right.
He still had the scars. His slime helped cover them, though. It hid them so well, sometimes he forgot they even existed. Most of the time, they haunted his mind, much like his mother's screaming.
If anyone tried hard enough, they could probably find them. They were buried in slime, so they'd really have to look. Like, really really. And who'd be crazy enough to do that? Blinky might be stupid enough, and Pinky would try if she needed to prove a point, but other than that, he couldn't think of anything else.
He pretended like he was fine. But he wasn't. His father still haunted him, even if he was gone. He was physically, and mentally, scarred for life. Or afterlife. Gods, this was so confusing. He was alive, but he was dead. He was dead, but he was alive. He was dife. Wait, no. Lead? Lied? Defe? Let's just say he was half dead and half alive. That was the easiest way.
He couldn't exactly feel pain, but there was always a dull throb whenever someone split him or shoved him through a wall or something, the pain being more sharpy depending on how he was injured; splitting him was like a pinch, or a pins-and-needles sensation, being banged against the wall made his head kind of vibrate like a giant bell, being thrown against a wall made his entire body sting before his slime slid down and he floated back towards the Regeneration Chamber. . .
If he was being honest, he didn't really want to get his body back. He just kind of half-pretended because the others seemed to really want them back. He was kind of half and half. He missed being to go everywhere without people screaming and running away from him, but being a ghost meant he could go wherever he wanted to and pass through walls. Each one had their perks. And cons, but he was mostly focusing on the pros.
He tried to make the most of it, but it was hard with Betrayus barking orders at them every 5 minutes or something. He just wanted one day to himself. Is that too much to ask for?! Apparently yes. The others don't look like they're leaving anytime soon, and Betrayus or Heinie-head is always messing something up, and who has to clean it up? Pac-Man and his friends, Cyli and Spiral. And who has to help them clean it up? The Ghost Gang. And Inky was not happy about that. Not one bit.
Why do they have to save the world 24/7? Couldn't Betrayus take one day off? Or at least an hour or two? But noooooo. His plans for world domination appeared to dominate his mind as well. And Inky was not pleased.
It seemed like no matter what they did, the world just needed to be saved again. It didn't matter if it was their 'day off' or a day just made for fun, something was going to come and ruin it. Honestly, how is Pac still sane? Or happy with his life? If Inky were him, he'd probably be really mad at everyone beyond belief. He'd be the hero who didn't sign up for this crap but has to save everybody but he's going to be really bitter about it. Sounds about right.
Inky liked Pac. It's just that everyone made such a huge fuss about him he saw no need to chime in. Maybe he should start caring more. No one seemed to understand, or like, his jokes, and the last thing he wanted to was anger anyone. Bad memories.
He was afraid.
Afraid of the others. Of their opinions, anyways. He doesn't really like to be judged. It made him more insecure than he already was. And being insecure made him weak. And being weak made him vulnerable. And being vulnerable meant getting hurt.
Fear controlled his life. And it still controlled him.
Whatever. That was in the past. It meant nothing now.
. . . . .
Right?
Huzzah, a new story
Inky is my favorite character, and thus, he needs to suffer haha
Seriously considering mainly working on Project 666 as my main project, along with another Zane centered fic so
AND YES I SWEAR I'M WORKING ON THE NEXT CHAPTER OF PROJECT 666 IT'S JUST TAKING A WHILE
Bye!