I'm Retired

fwAP. Hope Pitch likes basically slapping his hand into a literal wall of muscle.

“...hn?”

Pitch slinks over North’s shoulders like the world’s worst scarf made of the world’s weirdest texture, and sighs.

fwAP. Hope Pitch likes basically slapping his hand into a literal wall of muscle.

“...hn?”

Pitch slinks over North’s shoulders like the world’s worst scarf made of the world’s weirdest texture, and sighs.

….Pitch stares at the crushed strawberry in his palm, and then back at Nightlight, face carefully blank.

Pitch presses his lips together in disbelief, and tries not to grimace at the feeling of juice running down the side of his hand.

Nightlight is dragging one of his arms behind himself, because it’s barely hanging on by a few strands of pulp and something stringy and sticky.

And he’s really.. much more interested in that wound than with any potential prey. He’s already fed, after all.

The fingers on the mostly-severed arm twitch like spiders legs and go limp again.

After all, if anyone would know what it’s like to come away from a fight with him, it’s Pitch.

“Oh, don’t give me that look- after all, you’re dragged your entire arm. One would think you weren’t.. paying attention.” The shade tips his head down a little, until his chin meets his chest, eyes nearly neon in the dark.

Nightlight is dragging one of his arms behind himself, because it’s barely hanging on by a few strands of pulp and something stringy and sticky.

And he’s really.. much more interested in that wound than with any potential prey. He’s already fed, after all.

goWEY.

Even still, he creeps closer, just out of reach, and then.. Lifts his arm in silent invitation. He doesn’t offer false platitudes, no soft crooning words if they don’t benefit him. Only his silence and his presence. Someone or something has upset his bug.

He weighs and feels like a feather pillow thrown at point blank distance.

Nightlight clings to Pitch and hiccups and sobs, though there’s far less of an audible racket when he’s buried his face against the shadow’s shoulder and ended up with a mouthful of the Boogeyman’s robe because of it. It’s not all that wise to seek solace from his rival-playmate, but who else would understand him as well as Pitch does?

Even his MiM does not really understand.

Pitch finds himself thrown flat onto his back, and, staring up at the ceiling, curses the day he was brought to the Pole. Curse the Moon Man, and curse all his Guardians, too.

goWEY.

Even still, he creeps closer, just out of reach, and then.. Lifts his arm in silent invitation. He doesn’t offer false platitudes, no soft crooning words if they don’t benefit him. Only his silence and his presence. Someone or something has upset his bug.