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[fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 300px; text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: white; font-size: 10px;]the library was really quiet that morning, but frank could see why. the dawn sun was barely peeking over the horizon, bathing the tops of the bookshelves that surrounded him with pale golden light. the angel blinked once, tipping his head back and peering through the high, tall window to look at the pastel colors threading across the gradually lightening sky. frank had always loved sunrises. the thought of the beautiful ball of searing hot radiation rising through the sky, emerging from the darkness of night and beginning a brand new day with new possibilities and opportunities, was wonderful to him. that was the one thing earth had going for them, he supposed.
smoldering honey-golden eyes, nearly matching the fiery color of the rising sun spread out before him, turned away from the fantastic sight and instead looked around the expanse of the library. he had always loved people-watching, too, but there wasn't exactly a lot of people to watch this time in the morning. a single elderly woman was manning the counter, eyes squinted at the books she was holding with her weathered hands. a group of well-dressed men were congregated around a table near the front of the library, hands clasped in front of them and talking over each other in quiet, yet rapid paces. one of them was furiously typing away at a small laptop as they talked. the last person that he could see was a young man, looking to be around twenty-four or twenty-five years of age, sitting slouched over in a plump armchair not too far from him, shoving thick-framed reading glasses up his nose and peering blearily at a book.
frank narrowed his eyes, a small flare of curiosity digging into his gut as he took in the disheveled appearance of this man. he looked worn-down and tired, eyes glazed with tiredness and messy raven hair filmy and falling in small curls around his pale, heart-shaped face. he noticed the messy eyeliner rimming his eyes, the beanie that was askew on his head, and the scarce posture he was putting himself in. it made frank start to wonder what was going on in this man's life to make him look like this. his thoughts were abruptly cut off as those eyes he was tilting his head to try and get a better look of suddenly lifted up and met his square in the face. his entire body froze, eyes spasming a little bit wider as a smile was sent his way, for no apparent reason, at least not to the angel.
he quickly ducked his head, frowning angrily at himself. he hated how socially incompetent he was. jamia always told him he needed to go out and actually attempt to make some new friends. "as long as you're stuck here on earth, mine as well try and make the best of it," was her argument before shoving him out the door of her house. and here he was. still not socializing. "tch, useless..." he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly as he went back to looking out the window. he hadn't always been like this, really. quiet and socially inept, always keeping to himself and only letting one other person see who he really was.
when he was conceived up in heaven, it had been a joyous occasion. angels weren't born the way humans were. they were made from light, clouds, and wishes of the parents. his parents were higher-ups in the heavenly rankings, his father being a highly renowned seraphim, a caretaker of god's throne, and his mother, who was a breathtakingly gorgeous dominion that regulated the duties of the lower angels and held control of the whole nation of yophalia. frank's birth was celebrated. he had been raised to become the next head seraphim to take his father's place, to serve and guard the holy father of all. frank accepted his duties and performed them splendidly. he had friends, he had his life, he had the light of the holy father to guide him.
somehow, somewhere, deep inside of him...there was a niggling feeling of doubt.
but he always ignored it.
frank had never been like the other angels. he had always been a lot more carefree, not keeping tabs on the way he acted or the things he said. he was reprimanded constantly. the other higher-class angels started calling him 'human', because he acted remarkably like one. all his friends were the lower-class angels, because frank would constantly get in fights with the ones who wronged him. but the holy father forgave him his sins again and again.
one day, him and a patrol were sent to earth to oversee a meeting of the fifth-circle demons, the only demons that were capable of civil talk without starting a fight or trying to kill them. in the other words, the only demons with any semblance of self-control. on the way there, however, they were caught off guard. a scout of thirty men, 'angel hunting elitists' as they called themselves, had been waiting at the meeting ground. there were only a select few humans that knew about the existence of angels and demons, and even a smaller few that hated the angels with a burning passion because they were different. 'unnatural'. they didn't believe in any sort of god, mercilessly hunting down every last one of the winged creatures they came across. they were cunning, they were tough, and regrettably so, they were smart. frank was captured that day, a thick metal collar clasped around his neck, his scantily clothed body ripped of any protection before being shoved, naked and beaten, into a dank and grimy cage.
he had been sold off the black market. a very special kind of black market, because you couldn't just sell angels off any normal sort of black market. he was sold to a man named glenn horsebeck, an aging, balding man with a shitty personality and horrid disposition. frank was forced to live in a tiny, cramped shack with twenty or so other illegal slaves, his wings forcibly clamped to his sides by shackles at all times. back-breaking work was shoved upon him, and he was forced to do it completely naked, wind or rain, shine or snow. glenn would push him, screaming and spitting at frank's struggling body, lashing his back with a whip whenever he stumbled in his work or slowed in any way. horrible scars lined his arms, legs, and back from the merciless lashes of his owner.
that wasn't all he did, though. he began to get creative when he noticed streaks of black beginning to seep into the pure white feathers adorning the angel's wings. whenever an angel sinned badly, unforgivably, their wings would slowly begin to turn black. glenn reveled in this new piece of information. he bought bottles upon bottles of alcohol, pinning frank to the table and forcing the horrid-tasting amber liquid down his throat until he was so wasted he threw up all over the carpet, to which glenn would shove his head in it and keep it there. cigarettes were shoved between his lips, forced drags of the harmful nicotine burning his lungs and the back of his throat. cocaine was snorted, heroin injected painfully in his arms, needles dancing over his body and coloring it in a multitude of tattoos, piercings lining his ears and dotting his nose and lips.
the most horrible sin was always saved for late at night. glenn would tie frank's arms behind his neck, blindfold him with any old tie he found scattered on the floor, and shove him onto his bed to have his way with him. there were some nights he would take frank with no mercy, making him scream, making him bleed as he was held helpless under the older man's surprisingly strong arms. some nights he would shove frank's head between his legs, making him choke and gasp and barely able to breathe. and then, there were the nights he hated most. the nights glenn would tie him securely to the bed, and start kissing him. dragging his teeth and tongue down frank's neck, stroking the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and lower back, making frank gasp and arch and get fucking turned on. and then when a practiced tongue would slide down his navel, flick the tip of his head, and he would beg 'like the little bitch he was'. he wanted it, it felt so good, such a contrast to his normal pain and agony. he would succumb to lust and buck into his captor's mouth, cry out and moan and release and be left a sweating, panting mess afterwards. and he hated himself for it. loathed every single inch of himself.
where was the holy father then?
the day came when the broken, bloodied, battered shell of what was once frank had sinned fully and completely. his wings were nothing but vast, inky black feathers that glenn curled between his fingers like he had the right to fondle them so tenderly. frank couldn't believe what happened next, even to this day. chained to the cement wall of the basement, glenn cut his wings. pain and screeching cries of agony and terror filled the night as blood spattered the ground and glenn cut his wings completely off, to frame in his house above his door. he then took the tattoo gun and permanently inked replicas of those ebony feathered wings above the fresh wounds, as a forever reminder to what frank had lost.
jamia broke him out of there that night.
she was glenn's daughter, and hated her father just as much as frank did. there was nothing she could do, though, but sit and watch as he broke the angel piece by piece. she became the closest thing to a friend frank had, always there to clean up his cuts and bruises, and hold him as he cried and swore and screamed and sinned even more. frank made himself feel lucky that at least he had her. the day jamia broke him out the cell that was now his permanent home in the basement was the best day of his now-forever life on earth. they fled the house in the dead of night, frank having to be carried most of the way because he was too weak to move.
since she had stolen credit cards and a fairly decent sum of cash from her father before leaving, they had enough to buy a small apartment in the throes of new york, thousands of miles from her dad and frank's captor. she took care of him. she nursed the poor, sickly angel back to health, back into the beautiful being he once was. but he was without his wings now. he wasn't an angel anymore. he didn't know what he was. he stayed cooped up in his house, lethargic and depressed, smoking and drinking and continuing to sin. there was no point in stopping; it's not like he was ever leaving this place again. he was on the low road to fucking nowhere. he was ready to die.
jamia saved his life yet again when she came home from her tiring shifts at work to find him downing a whole bottle of xanax with whiskey, overdosing right there in front of her eyes. she screamed at him, running at him and shoving her fingers down his throat to make him expel as much of the pills as she could before driving him to the hospital to get his stomach pumped. they weren't able to pay the expenses jamia's shitty insurance didn't cover, and they went bankrupt, getting kicked out of their apartment. frank apologized profusely, feeling horrified and worthless and shitty, but jamia could only hug him and tell him it was ok, and that she was glad he was safe. that was all that mattered.
frank needed to make it up to her by doing something. stop being the heavy-weight, the burden, wasting his life away while jamia worked her ass off to support them. so he got a job working at a general motors as a floor assistant, and combining their incomes, they managed to buy an even better apartment on a decent complex. it wasn't the best, but a hell of a lot better than their old piece of shit one, and they were both actually kinda happy.
which lead to today, with frank being forced to attempt socialization by jamia, brooding over his past and thinking of everything that had shaped the former seraph into the person he was today. frank shook his head, a wry smile tilting the corner of his lips, and his tongue played with his lip piercing as he got to his feet and brushed past a couple new customers browsing the shelves nearby on his way to the bathroom. upon entering it, relieved that it was empty, he gripped the edges of the sink with his pale, slender hands and peered intently into the smudged glass of the mirror. he had always been a sort of rarity among angels. most of them were tall and elegant with flowing light hair and blue eyes. frank was almost the complete opposite, exceptionally short with inky black locks that fell nearly to his shoulders, fiery orbs of golden staring right back at him from the mirror. however, he still had the strike of beauty all angels possessed: high defined cheekbones, strong jawline, smooth pale skin, plush pink lips, and a body lined with ridges of just the right amount of muscle. having his wings cut off hadn't taken that away from him. it hadn't taken away frank's angelic essence or his personality. it hadn't taken away who he was inside.
he was still frank iero.
letting a grin stretch his lips from ear to ear, he pulled away from the mirror and exited the bathroom. he had really needed that little silent pep talk with himself. he swept a hand through his messy raven locks, vaguely beginning to consider actually searching through some books to read and pass the time (because he obviously wasn't going to socialize like jamia wanted him too), he suddenly crashed into a solid weight in front of him and nearly fell flat on his ass. he stopped himself though, by wrapping his arms around whatever he had ran into and pressing his feet solidly into the carpeted floor to regain his balance. "whoa, sorry man, sorry," he yelped, attempting to detach his limbs from around the man he'd bumped into. "i wasn't watching where i was going."
