#Written Worse/Less Human/Less Goofy and how much of it is merely me not seeing their goofiness bc of bias is impossible for me to tell

[skrunksthatwunk]

yuri (ime)'s allergy to butches is kind of funny to me. the two genders of sapphic are long hair and bob

[edward-richtofen-queen]

Lost Girl's Lullaby ★Chapter Two★

Masterlist

Chapter One | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Fandom: Dead by Daylight (Hallowed Blight Event)

Character(s): All Killers (Focused on Blight Cosmetics), All Survivors (Focused on Blight Cosmetics), Female!Reader, Vigo (Mentioned), Benedict Baker (Mentioned)

Relationship(s): All Killers/Reader (Friends), All Survivors/Reader (Acquaintances), Phillip Ojomo | The Wraith/Reader

Overview: It had been months since you'd arrived in the place you had inevitably been placed in—The Fog as it was named. You understood the basis of how to survive and escape, but you were drastically different than the others—you sympathized with the people and creatures that were hurting you and your so called friends; You remembered vividly your first day of being in the realm. What will you do when The Blight appears and takes over your little world? Which side will you end up on—Killers or Survivors?

Warning(s) for this Chapter: Sympathy for Killers

Chapter Song Inspiration: Phantom of the Opera—Prague Cello Quartet

Notes: Welcome back! This chapter was highly requested after the first one! It was extremely fun to write and took a long while to create. There will be some implied ships—mostly killers/killers and survivors/survivors (and maybe some killer/survivor)—so if you don't like them being together, please ignore them (It's not really important to the story, but I like the interactions they will make in the future). Also important—the killers and survivors won't be able to use each other's perks, they're stuck with their own and the "free" ones. Maybe in the future I'll let them use each other's? Anyway, thank you so much for the love and support and I hope you enjoy! Journal Entries from the DBD Wiki!

Dedications: @daylightbydead, @insearchofnewdreams, @irageneve and @ameliafireheart!

Taglist: N/A

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Killer Campfire—The Fog

"Well, it does seem we have another survivor on our hands, don't we?" The smooth and deep voice from the large man in front of you made you shiver—you were in some trouble, weren't you? Your mouth had sealed itself shut, not saying a word as you cowered under his unnerving gaze. The other killers, made up of creatures and humans alike, seemed just as silent as a thick blanket of tension was placed over the camp. Behind you, The Wraith placed his hands comfortingly on your shoulders, his mere familiar presence a warming comfort.

"Since no one seems to want to speak—or some of you who refuse or are unable to—I will introduce myself and yourselves. It seems you've already met Phillip, The Wraith," He gestures an open hand to the man behind you as he makes a soft purr noise from his throat. "I am Evan Macmillan, known as The Trapper in trials. The large woman at the start of the row is Anna—The Huntress." The woman known as Anna wears a beautifully crafted bunny mask aged and weathered, a large axe resting in her hands as hatchets dangled at her waist. She only nods her head, a tune vibrating inside her throat as she hummed.

Several minutes later, you had introduced to everyone as you stayed silent and acknowledged them as they did you. Only a couple seemed to really speak—like Herman Carter; The Doctor along with Freddy Krueger; The Nightmare. Oddly enough, for killers meeting you for the first time they didn't seem as unwelcoming as the survivors were. Everyone seemed to make conversation as normal as Phillip picked you up and sat down, having you extremely close to make sure no rouge killer would try to kill you. Sally, the woman dressed in all white from head to toe, floated over to the log you were seated on. "Phillip's taken quite the interest in you, hasn't he?" She speaks softly and sweetly to you as you feel Phillip stir behind you.

"He's very sweet," You finally speak, his lips pressed to your forehead again. "Well, I'm here to fill you in for what Evan missed out on," Sally speaks, fixing her gown as she sits properly on the log. "You will encounter us each at least once this week. Depending on who you go against, they'll try and go easy on you so you can learn what they do. Once you fully develop your potential and perks, we'll treat you like any other survivor in trials but treat you normally outside of them," Sally's sweet voice explains in an almost professional voice as you nod.

"The Entity has taken an interest in you as well, she's letting you see us out of trials—Anyway, she dropped off a gift for you," Sally hums, a frail journal in her hands as she hands it over. It looks extremely old, dust painting the top and the pages ripped and yellowed brown. Opening the journal, you skimmed through the pages to see beautifully written cursive aged into its pages. Some of the pages didn't have dates on them, but one section of the journal was stuffed to the brim with paper on top of its entry. "Do you happen to know what day it is, Miss Smithson?" You ask politely as she nods. "It's October 12th, I believe—may I ask why you ask?"

You nod as your fingers brush over the words October 19th on the top of the page. "Just seeing if these dates line up." She leans over to look at the page and is confused under her pillow case. The date she can read, but the actual entry itself was definitely not in any type of language she'd ever read but she internally shrugs. You yelp as Phillip picks you up suddenly, carrying you like a bride as Sally gave a soft giggle. "It seems like it's time for you to go back to your camp. Trials start up too soon it seems. Please come back to visit sometime, will you?"

Carrying you back into the woods, the welcoming chill of the thick fog made the atmosphere oddly comforting. The loud chatter of survivors in the distance made Phillip stop and set you down, his hands grazing your own as he leaves a goodbye kiss to your knuckles. You blush as you lean to kiss his cheek in the same manner with a large, goofy smile on your face. He turns and wails his bell as he disappears into the darkness, you finding Claudette among the crowd to sit next to.

★。＼｜／。★

"I think Phillip's got himself a new obsession."

"It seems more like an infatuation than an obsession—he isn't a obsessive killer, you know."

"You know what I mean, Herman."

"Don't sass me, Evan."

★。＼｜／。★

The cool wisps of fog slid from your form as you arrive in your second trial that day, this place flourishing in dead corn stalks and another large decrepit home. A shack sat eerily in the corner of the the realm as very large unmoving tractors sitting parallel across from each other. The sound of a whirring chainsaw made you click to the only two people who wielded them back at the campfire—The Hillbilly or The Cannibal. Moving amongst the thick stalks, the sound of a chainsaw made you jump to the side as The Hillbilly ran (more like flew) past you. He had no heartbeat for some reason as a generator finished in the direction he was running to. Maybe that was one of his perks Sally was speaking of?

You crept to an opening in the field to find Claudette working on a generator as you whispered to her to let your presence be known. Leaning to work on the generator with her, another male (Dwight as you remembered) came to work with you as well. He seemed nervous and paranoid twenty-four seven, but one of his perks seemed to help the generator proceed a little faster than before. He tries conversation, which you oblige to as you try to get to know him. The sound of a distant chainsaw made you shiver, a bad feeling boiling in your gut. "We've got to move—!" You yelp as you push Dwight from the Generator as The Hillbilly practically barrels to hit the large piece of machinery.

Scurrying away, your feet hit the ground hard as you ran. Turning around, the speeding figure hit your back as pain spread throughout your back while you let out a pain as you tumbled to the ground. The Hillbilly gave a pained whine as he lowered his chainsaw, patting your head in apology. Leaving you on the floor, he shook his head in apology once more as he revved his chainsaw and ran away from you. Claudette was by your side a minute later, a med kit snug in her grasp. Popping open the red container, she started by rubbing a disinfectant over your wounds. "I didn't know he'd come after you," She spoke softly, wrapping your wounds tightly as you hiss in pain.

"I have—Ow! To get used to this pain if I plan—Oww! On surviving," You speak through locked teeth. Claudette hums in response as your able to stand once again, your wounds had magically disappeared and you felt new again. "Trust me, the hooks are much worse," She warns as you follow behind her quickly. She then explains the do's and do not's of going against the killer. "You know a lot about him, Claudette—I don't know whenever to take that as a good thing or a bad thing," You coo teasingly as she blushes.

"He's just a kind person at heart, even if he looks drastically different from us—he's still a human being," Claudette speaks, her voice having an undertone of sorrow and pity. Your hand finds her shoulder as you give her a smile. "He deserves respect regardless of his appearance—very well said, Claudette," You praise, her face churning in happiness. The trial didn't last that much longer after that, Nea being Memento Mori'd because she lingered too long in the trial after the gates were open and everyone being hooked at least once.

Being enveloped in the darkness as you ran from the exit gates, you were dropped into the killer camp once again. There were less killers than before, most likely in trials as you has been moments ago. Herman Carter sat in a proper chair—which was odd considering the fact of it being a campsite. His white irises caught yours as the tight mouth guards came loose to fall to the sides of his face. Curious of the mysterious man, you crept to him as he slipped a pair of slightly cracked reading glasses to his nose.

"Little minx, it's been a short while. How was your trial? Get hooked for the first time?" His voice struck bells of whiskey and honey as he spoke, groveling at each word that slipped from his chocolate lips. You shrug at his first question and nod to his second, the journal still hooked to your hip. A smile played on his lips as he examined you and psychologically analyzed you—you were different, he figured. The Entity was picky with her choices in survivors and killers, and the fact that a survivor was so able to mingle with the killers after trials if they willed it was fascinating.

"What make you different?" He asks, his finger under your chin as you closed your eyes. You trusted him by will and heart, even though your mind was sending you different signals. To follow your heart or to follow your brain? Shaking your head to yourself, you settle on a log not too far from Bubba (his nickname) as he polishes his chainsaw. You decided to crack open the journal and begin to read, fingers following the words as you looked over them.

❝19 October - The Night

It is impossible to describe the horrifying scenes I have witnessed... death and misery, in every shape of terror, rule this place. I can no longer recall how I have come to this place. All I remember is the opaque, milky fumes of opium in the murky den hazing a sweet, welcoming abyss. I awoke to dreadful screams in this endless night, at the feet an old tree that leaked foul-smelling fluids. I know not how to reach those poor souls, nor do I want to. Keeping a record is all I can do to make sense of it.❞

Closing the journal, hands wrapped around your eyes as you stiffened. The familiar purr of Phillip eased your still frame. Sitting down next to you, you lay your head against his shoulder as you ease to sleep. When you awoke in your dream, your world was black—pitch black but enough to make sure it wasn't too dark, more like a grayish black than midnight. A voice called out to you in the darkness, it's voice layered in thick whispers.

Hello, Little Lamb

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Wrong Reflections, Part 4 [END]

[submitted by: @disneyphantomlover]

 It had been surprisingly easy to usher Bendy out of the room. Not that the little devil liked it, but he’d only argued with Joey once before turning tail and marching out the door. Once the thick door had been swung shut, Joey could hear a thump on the wooden floor accompanied by a goofy squeaking sound. Like a certain toon plopped himself in front of the door in lieu of being a sentry. He could only guess that Bendy felt a slight kinship with this reflected one, and was a little more cooperative when it was a copy of himself who had asked for a private word.

Speaking of the copy… Joey faced the mirror once more, and noticed that this Bendy’s face was a little more somber than before. His notched eyes were still a startling dark green instead of the black like before, but they were starting to fill in with black again. Said eyes were staring down at a piece of yellowed paper as the small toon wrote on it. His energy seemed a little different, but Joey merely chalked it up to whatever the toon wanted to talk about. When Bendy finally held up his paper, the entire sheet had been written on and Joey needed to lean in to read the smaller print more clearly.

“There’s no real easy way to say this. My Joey is dead. And he did a lot of bad things before he died. Me, Boris, and Alice are lucky that Henry came back. I don’t even know if you have a Henry but he was really, really good to us. He’s even taking us to his home tomorrow. Boris is worried he’ll be a bother and Alice is sad at everything that happened. But I wanted to talk with you. I wanna be sure you’re not like-” Joey noticed there was a terribly scratched out “me” there before it continued “- my Joey.”

… Wow. He had to put a hand over his heart, and felt the comforting weight of the pocket-watch in his vest pocket. It was not the first time he was grateful for the fact he knew the date of his own death, but he didn’t expect to be reminded of that today. It was a sobering thought for sure. Human mortality was like that. And then there was the scratched out “me”. That was puzzling to think about…. Was this Bendy based off Joey? It wasn’t that uncommon to base a character off oneself, but he hadn’t done so with Bendy. Maybe others had?

He jumped when he heard a thonk, and looked down only to see that the notepad had slid off his knee and landed on the floor. God, he was scaring himself now. How ridiculous… Leaning down, he snatched up the pad and was already writing out his own response when he sat up. “I do have a Henry. He’s a good animator and an even better man. And while I’m glad to hear yours is coming for you, I’m not your Joey. I’m sorry he’s gone for you. But I’m not him. And no matter what he did I don’t think you’re like him.” He made sure to underline that last phrase a few times for emphasis. He didn’t need to know what the other Bendy meant by “bad things”, but old habits died hard. He needed to reassure his child that he was good.

The reflected Bendy’s face didn’t change much as he read the notepad, his widow’s peak still pinched up and a sad smile on his round face. And those green eyes tearing up with black ink. He didn’t bother wiping away the tears that were running down his face when he grabbed a new piece of paper, writing rather slowly this time. The poor thing was so hesitant to explain himself…

“Thank you”

Joey tilted his head in confusion as he read that single phrase. Even when Bendy set the sheet down and began to write again, the animator had no idea what to say. Or write. He just wanted to reach through the glass and hug the small demon himself. That feeling only grew when Bendy held up the paper again, his hands trembling ever so slightly. “It’s a long story but it’s hard to not think I am Joey sometimes. He cared about us. Me and Boris and Alice. I think a lot of the bad things he did were because he thought it was right. He was desperate. He hurt his two best friends over and over but never got to say he was sorry. He hurt a lot of people because he didn’t know stuff. But he was heartbroken when we started to melt. Tried to make us better to the point he died doing that.”

His heart felt like it was in a vice as he carefully read over Bendy’s explanation. On the one hand, it hurt like hell that a version of him somewhere was desperate like that and hurt others. He couldn’t even raise a hand to his friends here in the studio. But it was also comforting in a strange way that “he” still cared for his Creations. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d move heaven and earth to help his created children. Maybe even die for them. Not that he’d wish that on them, but… If worse came to worse, he’d die happy knowing that Bendy, Boris, and Alice were safe because of it.

A gentle rapping on the glass knocked him out of his thoughts, and he saw Bendy looking up at him. Those eyes were back to being a vivid dark green, but there was a tender smile on his face as he held a hand against the mirror. For some reason, his mind thought of how ironic it was. Eyes were windows into the soul. Sure, he didn’t have one himself, but there’d been a handful of people who told him his eyes were too blue to be natural and how weird they were. And they were right in an odd way. But Bendy’s eyes… They were someone else’s. That poisoned, envious kind of color didn’t belong on a playful imp like the Dancing Demon. Bendy was alive because someone else wasn’t.

…

Then he felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. The man in the photograph was recognizable because he’d seen him once before. Well, kind of. Seen him in a strange sort of dream when Sammy Wes had been here. A dark haired man with expressive green eyes and his own voice. That same man who had hurt his two friends by telling Henry to go and die like a good man, and took advantage of Sammy Wes’s loyal nature.

Yet….

“Tried to make us better to the point he died doing that.”

… If he died making Bendy better, than he was okay with that. Anything else the “other him” did was moot at that point. He died a bad man, but he’d done so to make the cartoons.

With slightly trembling hands, he wrote down a question on his notepad before holding it up to Bendy. “Can I see the photo again? No hiding the others this time please.”

The reflected toon nodded, proudly holding the small, broken frame by the sides. And Joey saw himself, not only in the pride the demon had, but in the scratched photograph. At one point, this Joey had been happy. So happy he was laughing as a man in ratty overalls held onto his arm to keep him supported. A barrel-chested man with dark circles under his eyes was grinning as he pointed to the sign that hung above them. “Joey Drew Studios”.

Well. The world was small, but he didn’t realize just how small. He removed his glasses and wiped at his own eyes as the weight of it all sunk in his chest. He should feel angry. Or upset at least. But all in all, he couldn’t make himself feel that way. His other self -or selves at this rate- were desperate, angry men. But at the end of it all, he cared about his Creations. That integral, caring part of him was a constant. Maybe he was selfish, but dammit. He needed something to believe in if he was reduced to the antagonist in his own studio. Leaning over the desk, he quietly mouthed the words “thank you” as he touched his hand to his lips before swinging it down.

It was Bendy’s turn to look puzzled, and the picture frame slowly lowered from view as he set the image in his lap. His eyes had reverted back to pitch black ink, but there were still little droplets of his own tears in the corners.

Well, he did need to explain himself. After a moment or two to scribble in the notepad, he held it up to Bendy. “Sorry. I just needed to see that. Your Joey had good friends. What is it you wanted to tell me earlier? To not be like you? Or your Joey I guess?”

Bendy read it once, then twice before reaching behind and rubbing the back of his head in a shy manner. Guess he felt a little guilty being caught, but not by much. Leaning over, Bendy seemed to be looking for an unmarked piece of paper before writing down something. “Never be like my Joey was. He was DESPERATE. He wanted to make the impossible possible. No matter who got hurt. Never be desperate. He had good friends. You do too. And never trust The Mechanic. Murray Hill can’t be trusted.”

Joey was grateful for being a fast reader, because he barely made it through before the mirror began to crack. “Wait!” He jumped to his feet, picking up the mirror of the desk and holding it in his hands. Even the reflected Bendy seemed startled at first, staring up at his own human copy. It was getting harder to see through the splintering glass, but he knew he saw Bendy smile once more before the mirror completely shattered. After a beat, the wooden frame began to splinter as well. But he was too stunned to drop the mirror, and winced as wooden pieces got stuck in the soft parts of his palm. In literal seconds, the mirror to that other place had turned to shattered glass and splinters.

And while it made him curious on what exactly caused such a reaction, he supposed that he’d think about that a different day. One brush with existentialism and mortality was enough for today. He sighed as he sat back down in the chair, smiling at his now-mangled hands. “…Bendy! Would you mind getting Wally up here?”

He’d tell Bendy what happened later. But right now, he needed to process all that happened. He needed a moment to be selfish given that wrong reflection in the mirror.

((OKAY. Re-wrote this chapter no less than three times. And one time it went really, REALLY bad. But I like this one best. And yes, that photo is the one Sammy Wes had in his wallet in “Similarly Spiteful”. Really was fun attempting to write both Joey’s in this one. Hope you liked it!))

((YES I LOVED IT :O oh my gosh i loved this whole chapter, joey trying to comfort mirror bendy oh my lord,, he’s so nice. and.. does joey drew is bendy?? xD for real though, this is a wonderfully somber chapter, especially when mirror bendy talks about the details of his world… and joey having that little appreciation for the fact that he universally seems to care about his creations?? MM 👌 👌 👌 and i love that little bit of continuity where the photo in the frame is the same photo wes had. heck ye. danke for the fic!! <3 <3 <3))

part one | part two | part three | part four [END]