#like just be grateful it's bendy and it's not another demon

[brainyrot]

Love the stupidity of people,

In sillyvision everyone knows that bendy is a demon, and they are AWARE that he can kill everyone "without hesitation" or any kind of effort.

But, they don't try to play nice so he doesn't get mad, no, they don't try and make him leave, no, no no. They abuse him and mistreat him, they discriminate him, like if he can't turn up and kill everyone in less than a day.

It's so funny how they are all..scared of him, but decided to hurt him nonetheless like if he was harmless.

I wanna remind everyone that the guy burned an orphanage, killed a beastly demon like nothing, killed armies of angels and a whole town and then just drank his ass off because he had nothing else to do (in the labyrinth.)

how.. exactly is you.. mistreating him in any possible way, making the problem better?

How is exactly you hurting him and actually making him angry, solving the problem?

Because I wouldn't have blamed bendy if he just turned up and acted like the demon THEY wanted.

If he would have started acting like the demon THEY thought he was everyone would have pissed their pants immediately.

Everyone is lucky he decided himself to be nice, everyone is lucky he decided since he was a kid not to use his strength, to use as LITTLE as possible because he is aware of how strong he is.

Everyone is so lucky, but decided to play with fire anyway.

just..the stupidity of people sometimes is so,

disappointing. But fun too, like I have to laugh because then I have nothing else to say,

I have no words.

[ireallylovepuppies101]

Cat-Dad AU

Here’s another IM AU for all of you to enjoy! I talked a little bit about it it on the IM server, and I brainstormed this a LOT with my friend @midnightfire830 lately so I think it’s about time I post it on tumblr.

So some of you may know about my Dad-Felix AU fic on AO3, well this is sorta similar, but has a few new unique twists to it. In this AU, before meeting Wilson, Felix would be traveling around, not really having a plan to go somewhere specific. Just, wandering, and trying to think of what to do with his life. He gets close to approaching a small town, when he hears something strange. Curious, he follows the sound, until he reaches it, and to his horror, finds an abandoned baby demon crying his little heart out on the ground.

Felix quickly picks up the baby, soothes him until he stops crying, and waits for someone to show up looking for the baby… but no one comes.

So, Felix makes a decision. He takes the baby with him, and tries to find him a safe place to live and grow up. Until then he’ll take care of the baby he decides to name Bendy.

That plan doesn’t exactly go as Felix thought it would. Not only would people not trust a zany offering a free baby (which, to be fair, I wouldn’t trust the Warners if they offered a free baby to me), but people also want nothing to do with a demon. Which bugs Felix to no end, because those people weren’t willing to get to know the sweet, loving baby boy that Bendy is, who’s face lights up every morning when he gets Felix to wake up, has the cutest giggle, and has so much wonder and curiosity behind his little eyes.

After many failed attempts to find Bendy a home himself, Felix slowly begins to accept that he’s now Bendy’s dad, and promises the little demon that he’ll do his best to raise him and give him all the love he needs. Felix does a damn good job at keeping that promise, even if being zany makes things trickier, and somewhat dangerous trying to raise a non-zany baby. Felix taps into his new “dad reflex” by dodging more dangerous gags, or at least keeping Bendy from the dangerous gag while he takes the hit. If another zany attempts to pull a dangerous gag on Felix intentionally, they freeze (sometimes literally) from Felix aiming an ice cold glare into their soul.

“I am currently holding a non-zany baby, who can get VERY hurt. THINK, CAREFULLY.”

By the time Felix and Wilson do meet, Felix would very clearly be sleep deprived. Working his tail off to take care of Bendy and provide for him even if it means going without sleep or a solid meal for a while, not to mention dealing with not at all knowing how to raise a demon since no damn library has any books on demon child care. So Wilson offers to watch Bendy so Felix can take a nap, and when Bendy doesn’t try biting Wilson (since Bendy bites almost anyone who tries holding him that isn’t Felix) Felix would be out cold within seconds, and stay out cold for HOURS.

By the time he wakes back up Bendy would be freshly cleaned, in a new change of baby clothes, fed, and be giggling up a storm as Wilson tickles him with his feathery fingers. After Felix eats a nice filling meal, Wilson gives Felix an extremely generous offer. If Felix wants to, he can go to college, and until he can get his life in proper order where he can afford a place to stay for him and Bendy, they can stay with Wilson at his house as long as Felix helps out.

Felix would be EXTREMELY grateful.

Bendy over the first few years of his life grows up in Wilson’s house. Wilson practically becomes his grandpa with how much he helps take care of him and how he treats Felix like a son. Felix works on not being zany anymore for his own and Bendy’s sake, as well as attending college, and raising Bendy in a much better home life where the little demon always has a roof over his head and a full belly. He also has an easier time figuring out how to raise a demon now that he has Wilson helping him.

Now, time for some funfacts!

-Felix came up with Bendy’s name after watching and laughing over how Bendy’s tail would bend in all kinds of different directions.

-Since there aren't any published books about demon child care, Felix started writing a "book" (AKA a notebook) on things he learned from raising Bendy over the years. Even when Bendy's a teenager he's still taking down notes. It wasn't perfect but it was certainly better then nothing.

-RIP any zany who pulled a gag on Felix that made baby Bendy cry. That’s an easy way to make a protective cat dad MAD and send someone flying with a single punch.

-Felix’s Magic Bag is practically a nanny to Bendy. It makes sure Bendy stays safe, and stays put, when Felix occasionally hits his sleep debt limit and ends up sleeping through Bendy crying or how he tries getting into stuff once he starts crawling.

-When Felix and Bendy moved in with Wilson, Wilson took Felix to go toy shopping for Bendy since all Felix would have is a few teething toys for Bendy to play with. Felix picked out a few things himself, but Wilson spotted something and absolutely HAD to get for baby Bendy. A BIG, plushy T-rex. So big that as a baby Bendy could sleep on top of it like a bed, and as a toddler Bendy would barely be the same size as it. It would forever be Bendy’s favorite toy, which he named Trex once he started learning how to talk.

-Felix would occasionally have to bring Bendy with him to college classes when he wouldn’t have anyone to watch him. Certainly got him a lot of funny looks when classmates saw him come into class carrying a demon baby, that funny enough looks pretty similar to him, and how his Magic Bag turned into a little baby seat and kept Bendy entertained for Felix to focus. It got Felix a lot of attention from the women in his classes though, who all made him blush saying how cute Bendy is and that he’s such a sweet dad.

If anyone has any questions, feel free to ask!!!

[howdy-folks-its-showtime]

Anxious and a perfectionist, Showtime is either a kid with too much on his shoulders, a madman like his father Joey Drew, or a promising, eager director depending on who you ask. With a strong need to please and a determination to prove himself worthy of his status as the one to continue the legacy of his father, Showtime manages the other toons with a smile and Sin by his side to keep him from losing his head.

When he was just a young adult, Joey gave Showtime the task of managing the toons, trusting in the oldest among them to organize them properly. Showtime took to the job quite well, wanting nothing more than to show Joey what he was capable of, he kept everyone in line to make sure that they all played their parts in keeping the studio working and resolving issues among them. While his attempts to lead sometimes borders on bossing the others around, Showtime is almost always putting in a ton of work to make sure everything runs smoothly. He’s so dedicated to his job and responsibility in fact, that breaks are rare for him and even when asked to, he’s very hesitant to take a day off.

That’s one of the reasons Sin, a very close friend of Showtime has taken to being the demon’s right hand man. Where Showtime goes, she follows, helping him keep organized and calm as they do their work. Though it was like that before they were coworkers as well. She knows how to help Showtime not overthink every decision they make around the studio and the two have only grown closer while working together. Showy would have no clue how to keep himself from puddling constantly without her and he says so very often. He’s very honest about his love and admiration for her, but how deep his love flows he is not so open about...

While there is no doubt for how much Showtime is grateful to have Sin by his side, his constant need to keep as clean an image as he can of himself does lead to quite a bit of conflict between the two and others as well. Showtime is an extreme people pleaser and his need to be a perfect role model for children and as uncontroversial a figure he can be leads him to deny himself many simple pleasures in his day to day life. Even when the cameras and spotlights stop shining on him, Showtime seems very invested in not doing anything people would deem inappropriate or out of place for a Bendy character, citing the fact that while humans are born, he was created. The machine created him first, gave him to honor of being Joey’s oldest child and he takes that responsibility very seriously. He was chosen and their had be a reason, he had to prove he could be Joey’s true son despite his adopted toon status. He was another one of Joey’s creations and Joey always, always, strives for perfection.

Joey couldn’t be prouder of the little toon that the ink machine blessed him with and Showtime can’t think of anyone more blessed than he is. Despite his anxiety and frantic nature, Showtime is determined to prove to himself and the world there was a reason he was given this responsibility. He has to rise to the expectations of his father and his friends.

There’s always a reason... Isn’t there?

[cosmic-frost-main]

New Legs [NSFW]

Ao3 Version: [HERE]

[Authors Note]

Audrey was thankful enough to have a new set of legs after losing her previous ones, but that doesn't mean she appreciates them not working properly.

When Audrey was freed from being fused with the Ink Demon after getting attacked by Wilson, she had thought she lost her legs during the event and was hesitant to come to terms with it.

But after waking up she was shocked to see a new pair of legs attached to her, granted more animal like and similar to the Demon's, but still legs she could use. The only problem being is that she can barely move them normally due to her body getting use to them.

"Since it's unfamiliar limbs it might take some physical therapy to get use to them."

Is what Betty said while Audrey rested on the bed, poking from the hip to her hooves with a pen for confirmation of nerve reaction. Despite the damage only being her legs it appears that the ink spread up passed her hips when giving her new legs, she couldn't really complain though.

The first few walking exercises were exhausting but were successful and only had little trips, it was thanks to both Bendy and Allison that helped keep her up straight and she was grateful especially to Allison. 

During one of her therapys that involved having to stretch her legs, Betty required Allison's help who was quick to comply and eager to begin. All Audrey had to do was lay on the bed while the angel moved each of her legs, it was slightly painful at first but the girl quickly got use to it as her muscles eased. 

"I could do it myself but the muscle reliever I'm making for her can't wait any longer and I finally found the last ingredient I needed." Betty explained calmly to Allison who nodded while on top of the flustered Audrey, before she turned and left the two alone while giving her thanks. 

The young cartoonist was use to Betty or herself doing such an exercise that when someone else was doing it felt awkward, the poor girl sheepishly laid back avoiding eye contact as Allison pushed her leg back in a stretch.

"You're more quiet today, Audrey. Are you feeling unwell?" Allison asked in slight concern but still held a faint smile, her gloveless hands groping the woman's thigh in a way that caused her face to flush more. 

"It's nothing!" Audrey stammered out, cursing herself for getting worked up over such a thing. "I'm just use to Betty helping me with this, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate you doing it."

A slight chuckle escaped the angel's lips as she stretched the other leg. "I can understand, just let me know if I'm doing something wrong." She slid her hands down near Audrey's rear to help further the stretch causing a harmless cracking sound, this was mistake number one. 

A sudden moan hitched out of Audrey's throat making them both freeze in shock, she held her hand over her mouth in embarrassment while Allison sat there in quiet shock before gradually resuming. Lord only knows how much Audrey wish to be deep in a hole at that very moment and the silence wasn't helpi-

Another moan slipped out upon fingernails brushing against her inner thigh, this one felt intentional. 

Pulling Audrey's lower torso on top her lap and pushing one of her legs down, Allison held a sheepish smirk as she moved her free hand up to the woman's groin causing her to stare wide eyed. 

Everyone knew after some peeking that Audrey like the lost ones had lacked the lower genitalia unlike her previous form since getting her legs, not that they really tried to check to see if there was for obvious reasons. 

Watching with bated breath in anticipation as Allison carefully rubbed two of her fingers against the woman's flesh, nothing was there yet Audrey's body didn't stop heating up and aching.

As she rubbed and rubbed the now damp crotch they were caught surprised when her fingers slipped into the now formed slit. Hands gripped onto Allison's arms as she slid her fingers in deeper until her knuckles met the slick folds, Audrey whimpered weakly when the fingers moved and curled. 

"Al-Allison~" The artist moaned desperately while breathing heavily, her moans rewarding her with a third finger entering her causing her back to arch. 

Suddenly a dull pain filled her groin until Allison pulled her fingers out in surprise, when looking at whatever caused the pain she was in bewildered horror to see three black tentacles had slid out of her and gradually wrap around each other to form a singular thick penis. 

"Oh wow, that's new." Allison chuckled in interest before moving her hand around the woman's member in a gentle grip, Audrey could barely contain herself when her hand stroked the sensitive flesh. 

After giving it a few strokes, Allison pulled Audrey's legs up over her shoulders and pressed her lips against the tip while resuming the handjob. The grip Audrey had on her became weak as her body tensed up from the great pleasure she was receiving, she hadn't even noticed how loud her moans were due to her head heating up. 

Sliding her free hand from the artist's tail to the centre of her spine, Allison bobbed her head around her cock and held her in place to stop her from moving too much. The angel could feel the tentacles throb and split inside her mouth trying to grab at her tongue, she couldn't help herself and circled her tongue around them allowing the precum into her mouth. 

"AHEM!" 

Freezing in place and glancing over at the source of the sound, both women stared in shock to see Betty had returned with her items and clearly displeased. 

"I wasn't even gone for 5 minutes and you two are already going at it like horny rabbits." The maiden sighed as Allison slipped Audrey's cock out of her mouth while Audrey herself covered her face in embarrassment. 

"Sorry, Betty." Allison smiled apologetically and wiped her lips, "I'd thought you'd be gone longer." She lowered Audrey's legs back down onto the bed. 

Betty walked over to the table to place her things down and cupped her chin in thought, "Though it's now given me an idea." She mumbled getting the other's attention. "Allison, come here." She beckoned the angel over who hesitantly obeyed her.

Positioning the now flustered Allison to have her leaning forward onto the table legs spread, Betty looked over at the other who stared wide eyed and also beckoned her over.

"Consider this another exercise to do for your legs." The masked maiden guided Audrey who staggered a bit to Allison and pressed her against her backside. "10 minutes each round should do finely." She grabbed Audrey's dick from behind making her gasp and pushed it deep into Allison who gripped onto the table and shuttered out a deep moan.

It didn't take long for Audrey to get into the proper movement as Betty helped guide her from behind, grabbing onto her hands and moving them to grab onto the angel's waist before gradually moving away from them to watch on.

Shuffling her feet to keep balance from her trembling legs, Audrey leaned more into Allison for support resulting in her hugging her waist while sluggishly humping her. It hadn't even been 3 minute and she was already feeling fatigued yet incredibly horny, how was she supposed to do this for 10 minutes?!

As for Allison, she did her best to keep her composer that was becoming difficult with the penile limbs rubbing and curling inside of her. Each desperate thrust made her legs buckle and her vocals rumble out a groan, it also didn't help that her sweat made it uncomfortably hard to grip onto the table. 

In a swift unexpected moment, Audrey began quickening her pace while panting out moans to Allison's surprise who quickly realised she was already reaching her climax. A sharp gasped escaped the girl as her body jolted to a stop and her seed spilled into Allison, both of them shuddering in content before slowly removing themselves from each other.

"There" Audrey panted in exhaustion before turning to Betty, her legs struggling to stand still. "Are we done?"

Betty looked at the clock and faked a sigh, "I'm afraid not, dear." She stood up and walked over to them, turning a begrudged Audrey back to a tired Allison. "You still have 4 minutes left to go."

The maiden grabbed onto to Audrey's penis from behind and began stroking it while ignoring her moans. "And don't forget that you still have more rounds to do."

The two snapped their heads towards her in surprise before exclaiming a "WHAT?!" Which fell on deaf ears as Betty pushed Audrey back into Allison and wrapped her other hand around Audrey's waist to keep her in place, quietly humming to herself while the two continued banging.

___

Slowly opening the door from the infirmary, Allison staggered out looking like a hot mess with each step slow and wobbly as she leaned against the wall for support. Only ever grunting a weak groan in response to Betty wishing her well, it took some time and a small trail of cum before she walked out of sight.

After watching her leave, Betty returned to Audrey who laid on the bed looking drained of energy her dick now melted away after a day's hard work. She sat next to her and gave her a little pat on her shoulder, "I'll say 40 minutes is a good enough time for such an work out, you two did very well today."

Her words of praise did reach Audrey who could only respond with a weak whine.

"You rest up while I fix up that lotion for you, you need the energy to do the same exercise tomorrow." Betty chipperly said as she walked over to the workstation, her words bringing that of dread to the girl as she could only lay there in defeat for tomorrow.

[jase-is-ace]

Back into the Pit

Chapter 22: Companions from the Past

~~~

Twist had to admit, being carried around like this was very pleasing.

She had always carried Bendy, so it felt good to have the roll reversed, even if it was just temporary.

“So, this Audrey character…She seems like a nice person.” Carmen broke the silence.

The two could go hours by without the two uttering a word and it never once felt awkward. They were comfortable enough with each other to feel relaxed in one another’s presence.

Twist nodded, “She helped me out and I helped her. She’s just new.”

“Hmm. Well, you were kind enough to show her the ropes, right?” the angel inquired.

Twist thought about this for a second before signing.

“Didn’t need to. She’s a natural. Caught on relatively quickly.”

“Oh, ok.” Satisfied with the answer, the duo pressed onward.

When they finally made it back to big Steve, Carmen was quite surprised by the sheer size of Steve.

“Well, I suppose I should’ve guessed by the name alone.” She said more to herself than to Twist.

The little toon marched up to the big ink monster. She smiled happily while handing the beating heart to the giant.

Big Steve gently took the meal from the toon’s small, gloved hands, he seemed satisfied. The ink giant moved away from the door he was previously blocking.

Wonder why he stood there for so long…

Twist gave him a grateful smile as a silent thank you. Carmen gave a little bow along with her friend.

The angel flipped the switch, opening the locked door.

When the two entered there were lots of gent parts and a safe of sorts. Twist stepped up to the safe while her companion pocketed the other gent parts.

Maybe…

The devil tried her luck, she placed her hand on the door of the safe. Closing her eyes, Twist focused all her energy into her gloved hand. Her hand started to deform; she was just far enough from any signal towers to reactivate some of her abilities.

Her arm managed to slip into the tight space, feeling around, she found the mechanics keeping the doors shut. With a loud click, the doors flew open, almost smacking the toon in the face.

A little jingle was heard as the toon rushed to grab all the loot.

No doubt Audrey will need these.

As she pulled out the last item, the doors shut once more. Sighing Twist tried her best to balance all the loot.

Carmen chuckled at the sight, taking some of the items for herself before pocketing the smaller parts. Twist grumbled before turning to leave. She barely made it a foot before getting swooped up into the angels hold once more.

Still not used to the sudden lift, she squeaked.

Both paused, staring at each other. That was the first noise the demon had ever made that wasn’t a growl or roar.

Twist turned her head away to hide her flushed cheeks.

Carmen broke into a fit of laughter, to Twists embarrassment.

“That was so cute!” she laughed; Twist growled looking at the floorboards.

Nope. No sir.

The angel and devil carried on, farther from the safer areas.

Carmen very much enjoyed carrying her friend around. It was quite a contrast from what she was used to by now. She herself had been lifted into the demoness’ hold before, but now she could repay that.

The angel was excited to meet this Audrey person. It would be nice to have more friendly faces around the studio.

It would be very nice.

~~~

Chapter 21 / Chapter 23

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

WIP game: going for the food. Pina colada, lunchbox, and barbecue.

I already did Pina Colada for @chaotic-hypnotic-erotic!

Lunchbox is set in the X-Treme X-Men Era-ish that ran during 2013 when current world Scott Summers wound up dimension traveling with James Howlett, who was married to Hercules. Kurt Waggoner, age 13 (I believe, maybe 14) wound up traveling with them. Scott also met a few alternate versions of himself, one a Wild West sheriff and another a black Union soldier.

This fic, however, is about Howlett and Hercules as co-dads of Kurt Waggoner after 616 Scott returns to his own reality. Scott Summers, Union soldier, lives with them as Uncle Scott while Howlett and Herc are dads. The idea of this fic came from Prompt: @crow821 130 prompt challenge, February’s 10 (bully), and the title came from Marilyn Manson's song Lunchbox to refer to Kurt's Spider-Man lunchbox that he guards with his life (that in the comics seems to have blood on it for some reason). I provide that reason.

Snippet:

On we plow

Kurt Waggoner’s feet barely touches the pavement as he races for his life away from the middle school.  The pounding of shoes behind him match his heartbeat, the latter thundering harder as the sound gets louder and closer.  This is just his third week in this new school because he and his dads and uncle have to keep relocating for a variety of other reasons. 

A voice inside his head tells him to teleport home, but the teenager’s panicked, and sometimes if he ports when he’s panicked, he winds up in the wrong places like the walk in freezer at his pops’ favorite Chinese restaurant up the street.  Or the church in the middle of a baptism. 

Or the dressing room at Justice where one of his cute-girl classmates is changing clothes. 

Kurt rounds a corner and slams into a wall that knocks him backward.  He lands on his back and lets out a cry when the sidewalk jams the base of his tail against his spine. 

That’ll be bruised for days, he thinks as he tries to get to his feet. 

That’s when the ‘wall’ steps closer to him.  Looms over him.  Then reaches down and hauls Kurt up with fistfuls of his shirt, dangling him over the cracks in the pavement. 

Kurt wishes those cracks would open up and swallow him whole. 

“Yer a freak,” Bully #1 spits.  “Don’t care what the rules say.”  He shakes Kurt hard. “Ain’t gotta be nice...”  Shake.  “...to no demon...”  Shake.  “...freak...”  Shake.  “...like you.”

Kurt can’t take another shake, especially not when he hears the sound of a switchblade being unleashed behind him. 

“Fuck you,” he snarks then clutches his backpack strap tighter as well as the lunchbox they’d already dented two days before. 

In a puff of purple smoke that stings the nostrils of everyone close enough to get caught in it, Kurt’s gone, teleported right out of that grip.  He doesn’t even hear the swears or threats of worse violence from his tormentors. 

*

I want to grow up

Every day it’s a new assault, a new bruise under his fur; he’s grateful for the fur so that his dads and uncle won’t see, a new cut that’s harder to hide from adult eyes. 

They aren’t really his fathers or uncle, but they’re all the family he has left, and he doesn’t want them to be disappointed in his inability to shake these assholes at school.  All three are great warriors, and while Kurt’s no slouch, they never let him do as much of the fighting while they were dimension traveling to kill off the evil Xaviers.  Kurt always had to stay back just out of the way of the rough stuff.  They respect him and his abilities, but first and foremost, they want him to be a kid and not a soldier.  Not a warrior. 

Not yet. 

All American Barbecue

Back in 2012, Brian Michael Bendis wrote the atrocious AvX (Avengers vs. X-Men) series that pitted the X-Men against the Avengers, specifically Steve Rogers, who behaved like a jackbooted thug on the urging of a Logan-scorned, when the Phoenix was intending to come for the mutant named Hope. Scott believed that with the right training, Hope could handle the Phoenix better than Jean ever did and could rekindle the mutant population that Wanda Maximoff had decimated during her "no more mutants" storyline (also written by Bendis, who stated several times that if he's given the mutants to write, he'll destroy them). To say that I was pissed about this comic series is an understatement, and I generally like to pretend that it didn't exist now.

Here are my summary and my notes from the WIP that maybe one day I'll finish writing.

Summary: Captain Steve Rogers investigates the report of a missing girl, Hope Summers, on the mutant island of Utopia, only he doesn’t quite find what he thinks he’ll find.

Notes:

This is an odd crossover idea that came about because of a page out of Marvel 1602 where Scott introduces himself as “Scotius Summerisle.” I had read it once before and it hadn’t even registered with me then – Summerisle – not until recently when I saw the panel again and the connection between this Summerisle and Lord Summerisle from the 1973 Wicker Man hit me. And I laughed. I laughed really hard, which I needed after all of the Schism and AvX fuckery that Marvel has been putting us through over the last year. And then Bendis decided to break up Scott and Emma, which has pissed off a lot of us fans. So in essence, what I’m doing with this fic is much like what I did with “Never Piss Off a Telepath” – I’m taking out a lot of my anger over this whole situation on the character I blame the most, and I’m going to have wicked fun doing it so that if nothing else, while it won’t have removed AvX from existence nor will it keep Bendis from doing what he’s doing, it will at least have put a smile on my face.

Keep in mind that because of AvX, I really did NOT like Steve Rogers at the time, and it was through the sheer perfect acting of Chris Evans that I ever did start liking him.

Snippet:

Tony reached over into the stack of mail that Clint had brought in about an hour earlier and rummaged around until he found one in particular. “Speaking of the X-Men, this came addressed to you. Don’t know who sent it…just that it’s from Utopia.” He shook it as if he could hear something rattling, which he couldn’t, then he handed it up into Steve’s waiting hand.

“Doesn’t look official,” Steve commented, glad that he could focus on something other than his goofy singing that was still playing on the laptop and the big screen. He tore open the envelope and tugged out a letter that had been typed, and inside it was a picture of a redhead in her mid-to-late teens.

“It’s not even in e-mail. Who the hell sends letters like that anymore?” Tony groused, his nose wrinkled over his goatee, which he scratched three fingers through before flopping back against the couch. “Even Erik’s gotten with the technological age…and he’s in your geriatric group.”

Steve arched a perfect blond eyebrow at his teammate and responded to the jab with only a sneer. Then he dropped his eyes to the letter.

Captain Rogers,

Things are so different here on Utopia than they were in Westchester, and I’m not entirely sure where to begin in telling you about my concerns. The worst of which involves the young woman in the photo I’ve sent with this letter. You see, this girl, Hope, has gone missing. No one has seen her in weeks, and she’s not quite old enough to leave the island by herself, even though everyone knows she’s been receiving piloting lessons since she became of age. None of the island’s jets have left, however. All are accounted for. Everything is accounted for, actually, except the girl herself.

This is most distressing, Captain Rogers. Hope is a sweet girl and very responsible. She wouldn’t have just up and disappeared on her own, so I suspect that something has gone terribly wrong. I hope you can and are willing to come here to get to the bottom of this yourself. I hesitate to say that this is so extreme that it requires the whole of the Avengers, but you are a respected figure here, and at the very least, if you were to show up yourself, I have no doubt that this matter would be straightened out right away.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Citizen of Utopia

“So what do the good citizens of mutant-world want, Steve? Don’t tell me. Logan’s hosting a bake-sale and wants you to put in an appearance so he can jack up the prices of his beer-cakes,” Tony quipped. Already, he’d moved on from watching Steve humiliate himself in the elevator to searching the internet for a donut shop that would deliver.

Steve snorted. “No. Nothing so amusing this time. It seems as if the mutants are having trouble policing their…well, trouble. I didn’t think they could make things work on that island without problems. Then again, look at them. They’re hedonistic…so many of them always were, but since they’ve stopped pretending to live in normal society, they’ve just gotten worse.”

Tony looked up at Steve with a ‘what the fuck’ look stamped on his features. He squirmed on the couch until his ass was firmly in a ‘ready to listen to Steve go on a tirade’ position. He typed something on his laptop and just waited. And waited. And when he glanced up at Steve again, he could see the Boy Scout’s nostrils flaring as if he already pictured some grave injustice being done on that island across country. Other than the mutants who still made their home in the city or wherever they did, most of them were well-out of the way and not worth worrying about. Even Erik wasn’t causing problems anymore. Why was Steve so bothered?

Because he was Steve.

WIP Game

[lil-artist-blog-fandoms-ocs]

The tale of a broken voice

Chapter 3

Behind a wall

(Previous)

- Another failure, - the man's disgruntled voice cut the air with its harshness.

If it weren't for the ringing in the ears, the tone might even have been frightening in its aggressiveness. But honestly? Bendy was too busy with his melting body to sort out the meaning of those words. And even more so, he was somewhat used to it by now.

Ever since the beginning of his existence, his creator had been trying to "fix" him. The demon didn't know exactly what was broken in him or how he could be repaired, but he believed that the creator could know better. And Bendy was even grateful to him. In the beginning. But this "fixing" had been going on for... how long had it been going on anyway? A month? A year? He couldn't say exactly. It's hard to keep track of time in a dark room without windows or even a simple clock.

Each time went the same way: his body would ache, then dissolve, his consciousness would leave the room and be transported to some incredible-weird scary place. And then he would return to his former state. And the process of coming back was the worst part. The pain was unbearable. And, worst of all, he couldn't get used to it. But even that couldn't compare to the way the creator's words began to burn and cut. He called him a mistake. Called him his failure. And if before the demon had let it pass his ears or simply didn't understand the meaning of these words, more recently the realization of what was happening tormented him as much as the "fixing". He had once tried to confront the creator and his insults, saying that he didn't like it. He asked him to stop. He was angry at him. But over time his anger turned against himself. It turned into guilt. The creator couldn't be angry over nothing, surely it was really the demon's fault.

All the time he spent recovering, he wondered. When would this torture stop? When would he let him out of the room? What is wrong with him?

Why was he so...broken?

His room looked more like a closet. Small and cramped. The only furniture was a bed that Bendy could barely fit into. At least the mattress was soft. Like cardboard.

It was another day of "fixing". A weakened and still melting demon was thrown into his room, with no care about the pain it might cause him. After dropping the routine phrase, the door to his room was closed. Completely exhausted, the toon climbed onto his bed with a low whimper, lay on his side, facing the wall, and tried to relax. His heavy breathing and wheezing sounded like it was pushing off the walls and attacking him as a pack of hungry dogs, deafening him. His head ached as if a hundred nails had been driven into it, one by one, just waiting to split his skull open. His body felt so weak, as if he were made of cotton instead of ink. It was so hard to breathe that Bendy looked around the room to make sure no one was trying to strangle him.

Why was he treated like that? He knows he wasn't meant to be created this way, but what could he do about it? He couldn't just take his body and change it with his mind. Why should he suffer for it? Why should he have to endure this terrible pain? Why is his creator so cruel to him? From all this, from his powerlessness, incomprehension and guilt, another problem came over him: tears. He felt so bad. And he was all alone in the darkness.

But then he heard...something. Was it... music? A pleasant and soothing melody permeated his room, enveloping him like a soft blanket. Each note played by the string seemed to pull the nail out of his head, chasing away the pain. It became easier to breathe. The darkness slowly parted. Somehow Bendy didn't feel so alone now. It was strange, because he hadn't even seen the human who was playing that tune. And the melody was muffled because of the thick walls. Still, it made him feel better. Somehow he felt like somewhere out there, behind that thick wall, was someone who would give him a hand... if they knew the demon was here.

Bendy hadn't yet seen people other than his creator. And he was sure the creator didn't waste his time playing instruments. The creator certainly wouldn't be able to play such a beautiful and soothing tune. Bendy wasn't sure if this person would show up another day, and so he listened very carefully, trying to remember every muffled note. For the day, this mysterious human would be his comfort.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

16. Play.

Noticing the power shift created by Joey’s new form and role in his story, the Ink demon, the Prophet, and the now much more lucid searchers are interested in playing a few games with their old pals Henry and Joey. (Or not very interested, in the prophet and searchers’ cases) (Set in the AU where by yeeting Joey into the ink machine before going through the portal-door in the kitchen, Henry is accompanied by a chatty, useless, and overall insufferable little imp.)

The novelty of Joey accompanying him as a friendly, (Henry used that term loosely considering what he knew now.) tiny, cartoon demon wore off the second the story actually kicked into play. For starters, the former animator knew that whether either of them liked it or not, Joey was going to be clinging to him whenever he felt like it and following him like a lost puppy.

At the moment, the imp was running ahead of the animator, tapping his feet impatiently as he ‘waited’ for the old man to catch up before scurrying off again and occasionally tripping, but Henry knew that by the time the Ink Demon came into play, the little devil would use him as a meat shield.

 Speaking of the two devils, Henry approached the freshly boarded up ink machine room which Joey was already peering into with an uneasy expression on his pale face. The animator also peered into the room, but instead of being greeted by the Ink Demon popping out of the hole and starting the chase, he watched the Ink demon pace about the small room with an expression he’d never seen on it before: a grimace.

In addition to the demon’s seemingly much more expressive face, he seemed to have a different approach to his role as a villain now that he had no script from Joey to follow; a villain who was much more dangerous than a smart animal.

“SAMMY! JACK! JOHNNY!”

The Ink Demon shouted and called up three figures of ink.

“Alright, now listen up you three good-for-nothing, sewer-water-brained Lackeys, the creators will be here ANY second now, and if I find out YOU STUPID INK BLOTS let them get away, I’m gonna wring your necks out like wet towels! Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, your vileness.” The swollen searcher with a bowler hat replied in a tired sounding tone.

“Clear as day, your assholiness.” The Prophet added, sounding like more of a smartass than he had ever been when he was alive.

“Y-yes… Lord Ink Demon… We’ll take good care of them all right! W-well not good, but- EEEP!” a third searcher that appeared to have teeth made out of piano keys meekly stuttered and hid from the Ink Demon’s untrusting glare from behind the safety of the Prophet’s legs.

“Good! Now listen up: they’ve started up our machine already so we don’t have much time to plan: So what do we do to stop them?”

“Uh... ...Same thing as always?”

“W-well… I’m sure that you’ll have the best plan out of all of us, your rottenness!”

“You can stick your hand out of the holes in the boards and watch them run and fall to their doom like a pair of stray sheep who don’t see the cliff.”

“NO! When Joey’s not in control, I’m calling the shots around here! And I say: We’re not going to run his stupid story through the machine any more! We’re doing something completely different, something that will really make ‘em suffer...”

“Henry!” Joey tugged on the man’s pant leg and whispered loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to grab the ink monsters’ attention. “He can think and talk! He’s not supposed to do that! Hell, aside from Sammy, none of them are supposed to be any smarter than feral animals! Not to mention, they all look different… I think that stuff on Sammy is supposed to be hair, but it’s never been THAT long before...”

The Ink Demon slapped his forehead and grumbled under his breath.

“Speak of the %*#@ing devils…” He then stared expectantly at the confused trio of searchers. “WELL?! THEY’RE HERE; RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DOOR! ARE YOU GONNA MAUL ‘EM OR ARE YOU JUST GONNA SIT AROUND WAITING FOR THE COCKROACHES IN YOUR HEADS TO CHEW UP THE GARBAGE YOU CALL BRAINS FIRST?!”

“Why not take the pleasure in offing them yourself, your dicklessness?”

“Uh, Yeah, and when you fail at that, we’ll set up traps for ‘em downstairs. It’s not like they’re gonna escape the studio.”

The searcher with piano key teeth sheepishly nodded along.

“What?! But I had this cool dramatic entrance planned out and everything- ARGH! FINE!” The Ink Demon grumbled as he started breaking the boards. “If you want a mauling done right...”

Henry held Joey like a football as he ran through the rapidly flooding studio as the Ink Demon cackled manically throughout the chase.

“READY OR NOT HEEREEE I COOOOMEEEE~”

Henry found himself having to jump and duck to avoid a lot more falling debris and had felt the demon’s claws at his back at times, the situation was not helped by Joey screaming and crying the entire time.

He felt more dread than relief as he saw the exit coming in, no matter how close it got, he never got to it, like every time before, the floorboards broke underneath his feet. He always fell, and now, someone would try to catch him.

“HA! NOT WHEN I’M IN CHARGE, CREATOR!”

And would succeed.

It happened so fast that Joey couldn’t tell if he did it intentionally or not, but he had slipped out of Henry’s grip and had fallen down to the depths of the studio with a loud ‘splash’ announcing his arrival.

Announcing that he was alone, defenseless, and weak. In a studio that Joey now knew no longer was his to control, and was filled with many, many enemies who would fully take advantage of that.

“Y-you just need to stay c-calm, Joey...” He pulled himself up on a floating piece of stray wood and started paddling towards the valve. “There’s an ax nearby, all you need to do is get to it and you’ll be fine. you’ve seen Henry do this hundreds of times, you’ll be alright, you just need to believe in yourself.”

In spite of his reassuring speech, the scared little imp felt a large pit of dread in his gut. The former Music director, former lyricist, and the former organist would probably hesitate if it was Henry instead, but those three caught him... Joey shuddered just thinking about it. 

As the ink drained he took his miraculously unstained bath robe off of the floor and put it back on. He was also missing his pants now, but it wasn’t like he could go back up to get them, and even if he could, he wasn’t going to fight the Ink Demon for a pair of fucking pants that were too big for him anyway.

“Get the ax, get back with Henry, get the ax, get back with Henry, get the ax, get back with Henry...”

He repeated to himself under his breath as he repeated his task of descending and turning valves as an attempt to keep himself from jumping at every twist and turn. The imp also kept his eyes peeled for anything that looked suspicious or out of place, fearing the looming threat of the searchers’ traps.

The ax and the room was exactly how Joey had left it, not a single thing changed, which did make him feel relieved.

When he moved forward, he didn’t find any evidence that Sammy was worshiping Bendy at all when in the shrine room, there were plenty of ritualistic circles, plenty of cryptic messages, but they all had the little devil as a thing that was meant to be sacrificed, not as something worth the former musician’s worship.

“Of all the runs for Sammy to not worship Bendy...” He groaned. “It HAD to be the one where I became an imp...”

He wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or even more afraid when he didn’t see Sammy moving the cutout around.

------

When Joey got to the music department itself, he heard the sounds of laughter, pool balls clacking, cheers and glasses clinking in the distance. Following the sounds, he found the three searchers lounging around the pool table in the middle of a conversation and a game.

The upbeat atmosphere fizzled out when the three noticed him. The Swollen searcher muttered something about the game just getting good, the Piano key-toothed searcher groaned about Joey spoiling all the fun as usual, and the masked mad maestro smiled at him.

Not in a sarcastic or forced way like how his human self smiled at people, it seemed genuine enough. But it also wasn’t a warm or kind smile, it seemed more ...hungry.

“Hello little Lamb.” The prophet stood up and got into the imp’s face,  “Are you interested in playing a game with us?”

‘Oh fuck, he’s still crazy.’ Joey thought to himself. “N-no thanks!” He smiled and waved hoping that he didn’t look as terrified as he felt. “I’ve got a friend of mine to get back to and I really don’t have a lot of time to play.”

The imp dashed out of the break room and slammed the door shut behind him, completely unaware that the merriment had returned to the room.

“Thank god he didn’t go for it.” Johnny sighed. “If The Ink Demon found out about this room because of that little runt...”

“I told you it would work.” The prophet took the mask back off and set it aside on a crate. “...But he’ll probably come back to pester us into trying to help him find Henry, maybe even take up the game offer.”

“Yeah...” Jack poured himself another shot. “Kinda surprised that you didn’t jump at the chance to make his life hell though.”

“Less is more.” The prophet hit the eight ball and watched the rest of them knock against each other. “If you get one big punch left to linger, it hurts like a bitch, if you get hundreds of them, you grow numb to the pain. But I don’t think that Inky understands that.”

“Well, at least he can have fun playing his game of cat and mouse with Joey...”

“Yeah.” Johnny raised his glass. “Cheers to those two being each others’ problems instead of ours!”

“Cheers!”

[artnerd1123]

Chapter One

All Moving Pictures End

——————————————

Chapter one is always quiet. Until the end, that is. Henry knows this better than most. That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier. 

DTRH!AU masterpost AU askblog

——————————————

This is my first fic for BATIM, and my first fic i’m posting anywhere! I’m a lil nervous, but mostly excited! Hope y’all enjoy!!!

                                                   ————

Chapter one was always quick. Sure, he could drag his feet if he wanted. The breathing room did him good some days. But there was only so much to do. Only so much to explore. The only other “person” up here was a wolf’s corpse. Not exactly the most welcoming environment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it all a hundred times, anyways. He could do the whole thing blindfolded if he wanted. Not that it mattered. Everything in this place ground to a halt eventually. Every movie has its credits. Every book has its final page. And every chapter has its ending twist. It was as inevitable as his next loop around this godforsaken studio. Might as well get it over with.

                                                  ————

Henry Ross strolled slowly down the halls, gaze flicking around him. He knew it was safe. Old habits die hard, though, and so would he if he didn’t keep an eye out. And he was pretty sure there’d be a cutout jumping out somewhere soon. He eyed the end of the hall suspiciously. “Last thing I need is to get startled into fight or flight early,” he mumbled to himself. One more step. Nothing yet. Another. Still nothing. Huh, he thought, brows furrowed. Maybe it was down the other hall? His mind was drawing a blank. Always an encouraging sign. Or not. The toon shrugged. Whatever. He had a valve to turn. He took one last step, and the sharp trill of a violin sent a violent chill up his spine. His hand flew to his chest as his body shivered comically. A hollow grin peeked out at him from around the corner, ducking back around before he could do anything more than gasp. “Oh- oh c’mon, that wasn’t even fair,” Henry complained. “Cutouts don’t even do anything. Sheesh.” He rubbed his temples as he caught his breath. It’s still chapter one. The scriptwriter just wanted to throw him off his rhythm. As per usual. Once he quit his toonish shivering, he resumed his stroll down the hall. The cardboard cutout earned itself a slightly stern look as he rounded the corner. “You best behave yourself,” he told it simply. At least he still remembered the projector room’s tricks. Henry strode right in. He didn’t even blink as the projector suddenly sputtered to life. Its light spilled onto the wall, ready for an audience long gone. The animation was simple. Just a cheery demon doing a jaunty dance. Unseen speakers crackled along with it, an old recording whistling over the sound of film spinning. Henry couldn’t help but smile. There he was. The little devil darling. “Right on cue, bud.” The demon kept right on dancing as Henry ducked under the projector. Sure, he could’ve walked through the light. But it’d been a long while since he’d seen bendy dance. He wasn’t about to stop that, even if it was just a fleeting ghost of the past. Henry whistled softly along with the recording, straightening back up on the other side. The valve was right where it should be, next to where he’d grabbed the plushie earlier. Not for the first- or last- time, he wondered why he couldn’t have turned it earlier. Why Joey has me running all over kingdom come is beyond me, he thought. Gripping the sides of the valve wheel, Henry gave it a strong yank to one side. It loudly protested the movement, the grating groan of old metal ringing out. He grimaced at the sound. “C’mon, you can’t be stuck now,” he huffed. Though the racket made his ears want to bleed, Henry pulled harder. The groan resounded again, rusty joints straining as much as the toon, before they finally gave up. He let out a satisfied grunt as it spun a few slow turns. “There she goes.” The valve ground to a stop after a moment or two, clanging as the pipes above it started to rumble and creak. They might have been old, but they held the pressure of rushing ink well enough. Henry gave it a nod of satisfaction. Good. Ducking back under the projection, he gave it a thumbs up. “Step one done, bud,” he told it. “I’ll see you in a b-” What more he had to say was cut off by a very loud pop. A mini monsoon of ink burst out of a pipe directly overhead, gushing onto the toon below it. Henry gasped and sputtered like an angry cat as he scrambled out from the ink. He tripped over the step on his way out, flopping onto the floor with a wet splat. He was utterly drenched. Soaked gloves slapping against the floorboards, the poor toon tried to prop himself up. “Augh- that stuff’s spoiled- uck-” he choked, hacking up some ink. It burned on the way out. As if it was trying to stick to him. The sensation made his muscles tense as he struggled to get his feet under him. No. Not now. Not ever. His breaths wheezed as he swiped ink off of his arms, shaking out his legs and hair. Ink flew everywhere in a haphazard fashion- as if a dog was shaking itself off instead of a man. It was all gone in moments. He was clean again. Never had Henry been more grateful to have a trope at his disposal. “Eugh… talk about a bad time to be short a shower…” Henry said shakily. Looking over his shoulder, he could still make out little bits of light through the spurting ink. The cheerful whistling still reached his ears over the little waterfall roar. The sound eased some tension from him. Even under all the ink, Bendy was still there. Let’s hope that stays true, he thought grimly. Henry’s footsteps quickened as he traversed the halls again. The noise of the machine grumbled along behind the walls. Just one switch to flip, then he could really get this nightmare started. And he was gonna do his damn best to make this loop count for something.

The relic room was the same as he left it. Well, almost the same. Everything sat silently on its pillar. Dust still sprinkled over the floorboards. The screen next to the lever, however, flashed with a single word- READY- in big, bright letters. The rumbling of the pipes confirmed as much. Henry stared grimly at the screen from the doorway. Sure, the machine was ready. And him? “... ready as I’ll ever be,” he said softly. Time to start the show. He crossed the room without another thought, setting a hand on the lever. Despite the state of the studio around it, the metal was warm to the touch. As if someone- or something- had put it to recent use. He didn’t care to think on it further. Henry tugged it down with a grunt. The screen darkened for a moment before the letters changed. “RUNNING,” they declared. At once, the machinery along the wall sputtered to life. Slow at first, but getting faster as ink oiled the worn gears. Henry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when the lights suddenly dimmed. The only light left in the room was a bright circle- illuminating the machine’s life-giving power source. And, of course, the toon standing before it. He turned to the door as the clanking, rumbling, and groaning of old mechanics and ink ticked up louder. Step two was over. Now, he had a meeting to keep. The halls- once lit brightly- were now as dark as a tomb. More fitting, he mused, than the false mirth the old lights had given off. All that was left now were candles and emergency lamps. He passed by them quickly, trying to ignore the way they flickered and dimmed. Just one foot in front of the other. Another turn to the right, and a sign greeted him. It proclaimed itself as the “ink output schedule.” As he neared it, a couple other signs came into view. “EXIT,” one said. “DANGER, KEEP OUT,” cautioned another. He slowed to a stop before them. The ink machine was close. One more turn. “... this thing’s gonna need some serious updating,” Henry muttered, giving the output sign a tap. “As for the rest of these…” He snorted, shaking his head. If I could actually follow them, I’d be set, now wouldn’t I? But no, he’d ignore them. Again. He peeked around the corner instead. The way to the machine was boarded up already. How the boards got there, he wasn’t sure. But he supposed a little protection from what was in there didn’t hurt. The fact that he needed it, though, did. Could the demon see him? Did he know he was here? Was he already out of the machine, lurking just out of sight? Was he just a whisper of script? Words yet to be written? Or rather, words yet to come to fruition? He didn’t know how to answer any of those questions. Answers or not, the toon still knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Fists clenched at his sides, he stepped over the pipe before him. The floorboards creaked lightly as he closed the gap between himself and the boarded up doorway. He raised a hand, forcing his fingers to flatten out. Though the determined look on his face couldn’t hide how he shook. Behind the boards, the room was quiet and calm. Deceptive as the rest of the studio. Just touch the boards, Ross, he thought to himself. Get it over with. You’ve done harder. It’s not like you can go back now. His hand wavered. Moved forward, pausing again. Trembled. And quickly, before a moment more passed, he pushed his hand against the old wood. The studio around him instantly burst into inky chaos, a devilish grin erupting before him. Clawed gloves swiped out from the gap between the boards, a loud shriek accompanying their deadly strike. Demonic talons dug themselves into Henry’s chest before he could so much as flinch. The movement knocked him off his feet, the toon crashing backwards into the floor. He let out a strangled wheeze, stars bursting across his vision. All the wind had gotten knocked out of him. He couldn’t get in any air- he couldn’t breathe- oh g- fuck- c-c’mon- By the time he managed to suck down a breath, the demon was long gone. The remnants of its appearance, however, were still very much in effect. Henry’s chest heaved as he lurched to his feet, clutching his torn shirt. Morphing stains laced over the walls as ink poured from the ceiling. There was so much- too much- that it was flooding the halls. Move move mOVE MOVE, his mind screamed, nothing more than wheezing coming from his mouth. The ink was already lapping at his feet while he struggled to get over the blasted pipe in the hall. Dark liquid clung to his legs, splashing up against the walls the more he struggled through it. He just did what he could to keep moving. Each new crash of ink rupturing old planks made him flinch. But he didn’t need the herding of inky waterfalls to get to his destination. The toon pressed on towards the door he knew was waiting for him. Henry caught a glimpse of a scrawled message on the wall- DREAMS COME TRUE- before another cascade of obsidian sludge obscured it. The irony wasn’t lost on him at all. The only dreams that come true here are fucking nightmares. He let out a strangled chuckle, grabbing onto the corner to pull himself through the rising ink. It was up to his waist now. A slow burning sensation on his legs spurred him on, the toon now throwing himself around the next corner. His hands scrabbled desperately against a chest of drawers against the wall, breaths hitching in his throat. He could see the main room to his left. The exit would be right around the corner- right there! He was close! Just a little farther, Ross! Chest leaking ink, ceiling overflowing with sludge, and spoiled liquid eating at his form, Henry splashed his way around the last corner. The sliver of light shone enticingly in the darkness. Once again, he couldn’t help but wish he could reach it. So he tried. Lurching forward, Henry all but jumped towards the light- -only for his foot to pass through nothingness. His outstretched hand was illuminated for only a moment before the rest of him pitched downwards. He let out a cry- both of fear and of rage- as he tumbled, once more, into the depths of the studio.

                                                  ————

A loud splash and a stream of curses announced Henry’s arrival at the bottom of the pit. He sat up with a groan. Ink still leaked down from above, pattering against his dark stained clothes. He swatted at it halfheartedly. Frankly, he’d already had enough of it. His free hand reached to gingerly rub his back, the other keeping him from flopping backwards. He got up as carefully as he could. How in the world he didn’t break his spine from that fall was beyond him. But, he thought ruefully, it wouldn’t be much of a story if the protagonist died right away, would it? At least the pain and injury would fade quickly. The trope of animation errors at its finest. “Alright… alright,” he grumbled to himself. “I better get a move on. Where’s those blasted valves…?” A glance around the room didn’t reveal much. It was a simple space. What wasn’t cut off by a small ink waterfall was still half flooded with the foul sludge. A metal shelving rack sat against one wall. A pipe with a valve was against another. Easy enough. Henry was about to wade to the pipe when something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head towards it, not caring that his neck protested painfully. What looked like a thin box glowed softly on one of the shelves. Henry’s brows furrowed. If it glowed, it had to be important. He paused a moment to see if he could recall… “… Oh!” he snapped his fingers eagerly. “Right! Tapes!” He splashed clumsily over to the shelf, giving the “box” a look over. It was an audio log. He could see that clearly now. A little beat up and stained, but unmistakable. A small smile twitched at his lips as he ran a hand over it. He couldn’t quite remember who this one was… but he didn’t think it mattered. Any trace of his old friends was good enough for him. The voices made him feel less alone. He could do with a little less loneliness. Henry gently pressed the play button, watching the little machine come to life. The tape clicked softly into place. There was a moment of quiet whirring before a grumbling voice rang from the speaker. “It’s dark and it’s cold, and it’s stuck behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about pressure that I don’t, or he’s some kind of idiot,” a man barked gruffly. Henry recognized it instantly, his smile widening into a grin. “Tom!” he said brightly. “Good to hear from you, old friend.” Ah, yes. Thomas Connor. The studio’s repairman. Henry shook his head as the tape continued, the memories of Thomas complaining about pipes drifting up in his mind. … of course, a few choice phrases in the recording made the toon’s smile slip. “Like a dying dog on its last legs,” Thomas said about the pipes’ noise. He wasn’t wrong, but the mention of a dying dog… “This whole darn thing… just isn’t natural,” Thomas grumbled uneasily. “You could say that again,” Henry muttered darkly. Of course, it was the last phrase that really sobered him up. “You can bet, I won’t be doing any more repair jobs for Mister Joey Drew.” The final click of the recording echoed in the silence. Henry gave the log a long, hard look. “... well, you weren’t wrong, Tom,” he finally sighed. “You certainly weren’t wrong.” Reaching for the log, he flipped it onto its back. If he remembered right, he could probably get the tape out of there… a muffled click let a smile flit across his face. “There you are. C’mere, you.” He slid off a panel in the back to reveal an old tape. It had a labelled transcript taped to it, thankfully. That’d help keep track of names. He carefully slipped the tape into his pocket, setting the empty audio log back on the shelf. With the tape listened to and taken care of, Henry turned his focus to the task at hand. Draining all this awful ink. He slogged through the black sludge that stuck to his knees, making his way to the first valve. It turned easier than the one upstairs, but still made the same godawful groaning noise. “Geez Louise, you were right about the noise, Tom,” he winced. The ink level was falling, though, so he didn’t complain more. He was just glad the valves worked. “One down, two to go.” Glancing around, he spotted the door to the stairwell through the waterfall of ink. Because… of course it would be back there. Where else would the door be but behind more ink? Henry put his arms over his head as he jogged through the inkfall, shuddering at the feeling of old ooze on his limbs. He continued his jog down the steps, grumbling as yet another waterfall blocked his path. Stepping through this one gained him more than a shudder, though. It was a downright uncomfortable grimace. His foot had splashed right down into another deep puddle of ink. “Aw, c’mon now,” he sighed, wading down once again. “Can’t ever leave things simple and easy, can we?” At least this valve’s right in front of the stairs…

Another two rounds of groaning pipes, descending ink, and running down steps deposited the now soaked-and-grumpy toon in a rather cramped room. Calling the space a “room” was almost too generous. It was more like a glorified broom closet. A very drippy, very busted up one at that. “We’re gonna need a dozen teams of restoration architects in here,” Henry said flatly. “And that’s at a minimum.” Ink dripped slowly down from his hair before he flicked it away. A quick shake off had him relatively clean, minus some staining on his shoes. Once he was satisfied, the toon turned to the one other defining feature of the room. A closed door. It didn’t remain that way for long, the knob turning easily in his hand. He knew his way clearly from here. The door swung in to reveal an old workshop. Henry strolled right in, gaze sliding over the sparsely furnished area. All that was of note were a few stacked barrels, and an old workbench, and a boarded up doorway along the far wall. The bit of graffiti spattered around- a venomous declaration that “THE CREATOR LIED TO US-” drew a soft snort from the toon. Yeah, you could say that. Overall? The room was nothing of interest. No, what he was really looking for sat on top of the workbench. An axe lay out on top of it, its blade glinting dully in the dim light. Henry picked it up, testing its weight thoughtfully. It looked pretty sharp. Pretty durable, too. An axe had always served him well… “Hmm… yeah, I could go for a new one,” he said decisively. Swapping the axe into one hand, he shoved the other into one of his side pockets. He pulled out another axe a moment later. This one was slick with damp ink, its blade blunt and its handle full of hairline cracks. It had certainly been through the ringer. He gazed at it fondly as he set it on the bench. “So long, bud,” he sighed softly. “We had a good run.” Henry took a minute to swing the new axe around. This room was as good as any to test it out. It was a little different than he was used to- no doubt because it was newer- but it swung and balanced well. He gave it a pat of approval. Approaching the doorway, he glanced it over, sizing it up. “Now-” grunting, he hefted the axe over his shoulder- “new friend of mine-” tightened his grip- “let’s get-” and swung hard at the boards before him- “to work-!” The splintering of wood made a wonderful soundtrack as Henry chopped his way through the final hall. The work went quicker than he liked, but it still felt good to swing a proper axe again. Breaking boards was easy. Breaking boards was kinda fun. And, most importantly, breaking boards meant progress. At the end of the short hall, he leaned on the wall to catch his breath. The new axe really was nicer. Hopefully it’d last a few loops. One last door was before him, three boards holding it shut. He eyed it somberly. At long last, there it was. His entrance into chapter two. The toon straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders. The axe dragged against the floor as he walked purposefully over. One more door. One more room. And one more unfortunate headache. Flipping the axe up, he promptly slammed it into the old wood. All three boards gave away like butter to a hot knife. Satisfied, Henry tucked the weapon behind his back. It was better to save things in his hammerspace than to trust that a certain scriptwriter would provide him another axe later. The door opened with a slow creak after he turned the knob. Before him was a small room, lit only by candlelight. Some sort of large ritual circle was drawn in the center of the floorboards. Candles sat flickering at six points around its edge. Edging in, Henry kept an eye on his feet and the circle. That thing might be his ticket to chapter two, but he didn’t want to jump on the train early. The location didn’t feel fuzzy as he looked around, but… well. You never know what could pop up next in this studio. At the wall across from the entrance, two coffins leaned side by side. A boarded up door was to their left. On the right side of the room, three chairs were set up. On the left side, there was an empty shelf. Whom the chairs or coffins were for, Henry couldn’t say. The sight of the door, at least, was reassuring. All that was left now was to step into the circle. “... you better make this quick, Joey,” he muttered.

Without further ado, he planted a foot squarely in the inky circle.

The pain he felt was immediate, surging up through his leg and into his head like a lightning strike. He couldn’t help but gasp, hands flying to his head as he doubled over. An image of the ink machine flashed before his eyes. By the time he squeezed them open and shut to dispel it, the pain had lurched him sideways. An image of a wheelchair greeted his newly opened eyes, and he groaned desperately. The pain was cranking higher- higher- so much he could barely see straight. He fumbled around, vision clouding up as he tried to turn back to the door. All that greeted him, though, was one last horrifying image. The ink demon was standing there. Illuminated by the light of an open door behind him. Reaching for him. Some distant part of Henry felt his body stumble backwards. His mind finally fell into darkness. And then… Then… … Nothing.

Nothing but the dark of the ink.

E̶̷̸̮͍̮̤̪̠͔͚̬̻̼̰̤͉̱͔̝̰͠Ņ͈͉̙̣͙̜̣͖͔͍͍̯̟̬̭͢͠ͅD̷̨̼͇̖̮̙ ̶̴͎̪͓̯̮̲̼͠O͏̶̸̸̞̣̦̟̫̦̞̪̳̤͎͚̯̦̝̳F̶̵̥͚̘̣̮͔ ̣̫̞̰̬͚͞͞C̭͎̥̠͔̩͕͕̯͉͍̤̬̩̙̟͎̱͉̕͠͠͠͞Ḩ̢͜͠҉̲̥̮̫A̴҉͕͚̬̳̲͙̮͙̝͡͝P̵̩͎̩͓̲̬̕͟Ţ̯̱̠͍̝̲̠̗̼͜͜E͏̷̮̬̪̬̠̙R̷̡̹̖̥̖͘͜ ̧̪͈̥̝̞̘̰̬̻̺̞̠͎͟͟͞Ó̠͙̲̞̰͔͕͡N̵̬̜̣̜̬̻̖͈̙͍͍̻̰̤͎̙̜͜͝ͅĘ̰͎̩̺̙̱̯͈̭̬͙͇͔̕.̸̸̧̳̱̣̠̺̭̖̦̹̳͙̼̳̠͠͡ͅ

.

[zanzaflux]

Lets say Henry made a room for Ben at his house. Would Ben ever go to his house? I'm really curious about this, since, in 'Back to where it all Began' chapter 7, he mentioned something about making Ben a room. (If Henry made a room for ben) What would Henry put in it for him? Would he try to copy what June did for his room or go for something different? And how would they be if Ben came over, along with shadow? Would they act different around them?

I think it would take a lot of convincing to get Ben to stay with Henry. The only reason I say that is because they still have a lot of bad blood between them. There will be awkwardness between them. Bendy and Shadow would probably do things to break the ice. They'll try to get them to relax so it's not so tense around the house.

Henry doesn't have a problem with Shadow. He's even grateful to the ink cat for their help back at the studio. It would just be strange to have a cat that size roaming the house. Bendy certainly loves playing with them. Ben and Henry will just need time to get used to one another.

As for the room, Henry would try to get things he thinks Ben would need. He would make sure the demon would have choices in how he wants his room, just like he did with Bendy.

[youllallriseintheink]

Early Ink Hell, Chapter 3

---Sammy Lawrence---

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, my lord finally came, seeping through the doorway into our prison like a creature of liquid salvation. He took his sweet time, strolling through the rows of cages and reaching through the bars to give each ink creature a gentle touch. They screamed and writhed as though they were in pain. Ingrates. I thought that I could handle it better. At a certain point he heard another ink creature- I couldn't see which, but I'd guess it were Alice- ripping a vent off the wall, but that merely distracted him from the task at hand. When he finally reached my cage, I dropped to my knees and held out my hand for him, humbled. I'll admit- I was wrong about being better than them at accepting his gifts, but only because of how much it burned. It was a burning- a melting- searing through my entire body! I screamed. I cried. But I looked into his... where his eyes would have been... with love, and I held onto his hand until I finally lost consciousness.

---Susie Campbell---

Alice attempted to consume me as I watched the ink demon tormenting the other ink creatures, saying that if I turned myself over to her, she'd protect us. I didn't listen. The vent was thick enough for me to crawl through, and so I made my way out. I honestly should have thought to do this before, but I guess nothing greases the wits like desperation. At times, the vents were so steep I was more climbing than crawling. Finally, I came to an outlet. I heard voices- human voices! Still, I chose to stay still for a moment, make sure that whatever those voices belonged to, they meant well. Finally, I saw it- a group of people. Real, in-colour, people! I pushed against the grate, but it wouldn't come off.

"Over here!" I called out, and they came to my aid.

---Sammy Lawrence---

The next thing I was aware of was a steep drop to the floor. It took me no time at all to figure out where I was- I was at the gates of the ink machine room. The ink machine was chugging along furiously- as though it was jammed. I supposed, if it was being made to reproduce all of those ink creatures at once, it would make sense that it was overworked. There was butcher gang trio in the corner of the room, but no other ink creatures. As well, the room's textures had not gone back to normal, and neither had my disgustingly inky, black body. My lord must still have still wanted me for something. To spread the word perhaps! The butcher gang trio looked fairly intact, and coming out physically appropriate and coming out with the correct dominant presence tend to go hand-in-hand, so I approached them.

"Excuse me? Would you have a moment to talk about our future saviour, Bendy?"

The Charley turned to look at me, turned back to the others, and said, "that's the guy who helped kill me! Let's get him!" and with that, they were chasing after me, but thankfully not very quickly, with their short little legs. After turning a few corners, the sound of their chattering died down. I found myself in the music department, which was strange, given that I didn't recall the ink machine chamber being so close to it. I felt the need to go someplace private and regroup my thoughts, so I did the ritual to open up my sanctuary. Thankfully, it worked. At least some things about this world remain unchanged. Just as I'd struck the last cord on the violin, right down the hall from my sanctuary, I heard a scream. I turned, and learned exactly what had become of Norman Polk.

---

I wasn’t sure how long I’d spent huddled in my sanctuary. Days, probably. Maybe weeks. The last thing I remembered before that was running from the monster that had once been Norman Polk. I have sealed myself up here for protection, and to wait for my lord's commands. I had only twice ventured out of my sanctuary. The first time was to take an extremely wishful try at the front door. As I would have assumed, it was locked. The second time was to gather up a cutout of Bendy and as much Bendy memorabilia and supplies for my rituals as my arms could carry. During both times had been late at night, and I made as little noise as I could, in an attempt to avoid others. That encounter with the Butcher Gang had showed to me that that I would be none too loved by anyone if I came out now.

So if not to convert others, what was my purpose? What did my lord want of me? No matter how I tried, I couldn’t seem to figure that out, nor figure out what had happened. But Bendy must have had something to do with it, surely. At no time in which we practiced Satanism together had I gotten the impression that either of us was capable of something like this. Bendy, a creature capable of manipulating ink, and that I’ve long speculated to be the reason the ink machine was capable of the impossible, was the obvious candidate for why the world and my body have betrayed me. It might have been a long-shot, but I nonetheless found myself praying to a Bendy cutout, knowing that Bendy could hear me through it. After enduring days of its silence, I began to beg it for a response.

Maybe this was Bendy’s revenge for imprisoning him.

I could remember all the screaming from when the studio had just newly turned sketchy. It had gradually calmed down- perhaps people finding a way to escape, or simply adjusting to their new life. One highly muffled call, however,  coming seemingly from directly beneath me, was still there. It hadn’t moved in days, so it most likely was trapped.  What could have been directly below me? I was on the bottom floor (although it seemed that the geography of the studio was shifting). The only thing that came to my mind was the sewers. The sewers! Jack had mentioned hiding in the sewers to get away from the noise of the ink machine. Well, that did it- I had to find Jack. And at least in the sewers, I was unlikely to run into anyone.

I got up at once and headed for the sewers, grabbing an axe along the way for protection. The sewers didn’t smell of sewage anymore, only ink. I passed a desk that must have been set up by Jack, assuming it wasn't just another example of the studio rearranging itself. The call was getting clearer- I was sure it was Jack’s voice now, and it was definitely a call for help. Finally I came upon him. He was laying on his back, his leg caught in the gears of some machinery that looked to be from the ink machine. I dropped the axe and ran to him. Jack screamed again, and it occurred to me that I currently looked like an inky abomination.

"Shh... it's alright, Jack. It's me, Sammy Lawrence. I'm here to help you."

“Sammy. Oh, thank goodness. Please help me out of here.”

“Of course. How?”

“There’s a lever on the wall to your right. If we’re lucky, it’ll make the gears turn the right  way, and this machine will spit my leg out. If we aren’t lucky, well,  turn it off quickly and hand me the axe. Alright?”

I agreed,  and did as I was asked, looking carefully at the gears as I gently pulled the lever. Thankfully, the gears were attempting to turn the right way, and with my help, Jack was able to pull out his leg. It looked thoroughly crushed, but at least it was still attached. According to Jack, it didn’t even hurt. It was also covered in gooey ink.

“How did this happen?” I asked.

“About the same time that the place went sketchy, the machinery started  growing. I went to investigate, and- just my luck-  the ground just opened up beneath me, and the next thing I knew, my foot was caught in gears and getting dragged halfway up the wall. Thankfully, it seems like it’s calmed down since. Hasn’t moved at all in many days.”

“Days? Oh, Jack. Come back to my sanctuary with me. You must be starving.”

And that’s what we did. Thankfully Jack was still able to walk, albeit with a limp. Once we were safe in the sanctuary and had some bacon soup in our stomachs (though Jack seemed to struggle to choke it down. I tried to ignore that- lack of appetite and aversion to liquid were symptoms of ink infection), Jack finally asked that uncomfortable question:  “Sammy, I know you were, uh... messing around... with Mr. Drew. Do you have  any idea as to what happened here?” There was no accusation in his  voice, but I still felt under attack.

“No. I had nothing to do with all this!” I snapped, before I could stop himself.

“I’m not accusing you. I just know you know about the supernatural. Don’t you have any idea at all?”

“Right. Apologies, Jack. I do have my... ideas, but they’re something I have to  work on myself. Anyhow, they probably hate me out there, but you don’t  have that problem. You’re better off finding other people to live with, out there. But let’s at least get the ink off your foot before you go.” Hopefully it was merely on his foot.

Jack attempted to claw the ink from his foot, but it was as though it was endless. All his efforts  gave him was a clawed-off foot. And by the looks of it, no pain. The ink then re-attached  itself to his ankle. “S-Sammy? Did you see that?”

I nodded in resignation resignation, then knelt down to examine the infected area. In addition to his foot being gone and replaced by an inky stump, Jack's entire calf was purple, with inky black veins reaching up into his thigh. Those gears must have caused an open wound, which allowed the ink to get in.

“W-what’s happened to me?”

“Jack..." I looked into his eyes. This wouldn't be easy to say. "You've been infected by ink. We need to amputate your leg, or you're going to end up looking just like me.”

"Oh... Well, where are we going to do that? D-do you think ink creatures can smell blood?"

"I don't know. I guess, the best thing we can do is to find where there's people, and failing that, get you to the infirmary and do it ourselves. But first, we should get to a bathroom so you can drink some water. It is honestly a miracle you aren't totally transformed by now, and even more amazing that it's progressed this slowly while you were dehydrated."

---

The two of us had been walking in silence a while when I decided to try and tell Jack the truth. If anyone would listen, it would be him. It took him quite a while to figure out the sanest-sounding possible way to explain everything. “Alright, Jack. Maybe I should tell you my ideas. You see, the ink machine is supernatural, and it’s not just that little thing that we lift up with chains. There lies a much bigger one- the size of a church- in the basement. Joey and I were the only ones who knew of it, and we used it to make supernatural creations. And at the very core of the machine, something is trapped. I’ve heard it pounding and scratching at the walls. And Jack, Joey and I had practiced the occult together before, but the things this ink machine let us do were beyond any of that. Towards the end, Joey even told me that it was the forces that be that were making me look like this. The creature calls himself Bendy. He sees through cutouts, and he controls ink,” Sammy examined Jack’s face for signs of disbelief. Thankfully there weren’t any yet. “And it gets even more bizarre. I think that Joey Drew imprisoned one of the old gods we used to pray to. Enslaved it so we could do the impossible with the ink machine. And all this is just a sign of it having full control of its powers again. Through the cutout in my sanctuary, I’ve been begging it to let me go. Jack, if we get it on our side, it will set us free.”

By now, Jack was staring at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “Come again?”

“I know that sounds bizarre, but look around you. Nothing of this conventional, and neither will be our escape. The only way out is to please the ink demon.”

“Okay. Well, if that’s the case, we need to tell everyone. Even if that’s not the case, we at least need to tell everyone not to let the ink eat them.”

“I don’t think so, Jack. People will be upset, and-“

A familiar roar emanated from the walls. The projectionist’s roar. We scampered out of the room so not to be cornered and found themselves nearly face-to-face with the monster. “Run!” I commanded, before beginning to tear down the hall. Looking back, I could tell that Jack, limping on his ink foot, was doomed unless something was done. I threw my axe, and in a stroke of sheer luck, it landed in the middle of the projectionist’s head. The projectionist wobbled backward, stunned. Jack tore the axe from the creature’s head, and, in an act of extreme cleverness or extreme stupidity, threw it as hard as he could down the hall. The projectionist turned away from to investigate the sound. At the other end of the hall was a little miracle station. It could barely fit the both of us, but this was a matter of survival. We watched the projectionist idly wander past and stayed in the station for several minutes afterward.

"And what I care about is your safety. I have my sanctuary to return to, and after we find someone to amputate your leg, I will be returning to it."

Jack protested that I should join the other humans as well, and we argued a while, but eventually Jack relented. We walked a bit until, in the far distance, they saw a young woman collecting bacon soup cans. The two of us ducked around the corner, and I whispered. "Alright, Jack. Go talk to her and see if she can bring you to the others. If she can't, come back to me. And if not," I gave Jack a hug, "Best of luck."

Jack hugged him back. "Thanks Sa-"

"Not so loud. Don't scare her away!"

Jack lowered his voice. "Right. I really do hope you join us, though. I bet people will be more forgiving than you think."

With that, he left. I could hear the girl promising to take Jack to a place she was calling "the village." All seemed well, so I made my way back to his sanctuary.

[rosekard]

Consequences of our Actions

Josiah Drew What did you do? being rewritten to give him more character depth and because It sorta really needed some help. https://archiveofourown.org/works/24345253/chapters/58704835

Chapter 1: The beginning of the story

TW: Nightmares, minor character death, murder, abuse

Fear. The only thing he felt in that moment. He was so small, and the man looming above him was so tall. He was going to hurt him. He had to run, but where to? There seemed to be nowhere safe anymore. Looking at the halls of his home were like looking a snake in the eyes and he hated every second of it. A knife was held by the man, a weapon that would forever haunt him.

The small boy,  formerly known by the name Josiah Drew, now the owner of one of the most successful animation studios; Joey Drew Studios. His hair was short and black making his bright blue eyes stand out in the dark. The man, who Joey knew to be his father, loomed overhead.

Suddenly, the scene changed. He was no longer looking at the halls of his childhood home, but was now leaning against the wall of the living room. The room was spinning, but even in the ensuing nausea he was able to see the body lying on the floor. He pulled himself off of the ground as quickly as he was able to and ran to the body. With as much force as he could muster her pushed his father, causing the man to fall and render himself unconscious. He looked down at the body, tears welling in his eyes as he screamed.

“Mother!” Joey lurched awake in his bed, sweat pouring from his brow and tears falling from his eyes. His hands gripped the cream collared sheets of his bed as he attempted to stabilize his breathing.

After around ten minutes he pulled himself together with one big, shaky breath. He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his glasses. The square brown frames a gentle contrast to his, now long, black hair.

When he had nightmares such as this he knew that he would be unable to return to his slumber, at least peacefully. Carefully he walked to the desk in the corner of his room. It wasn’t a very good desk, but it served its purpose. Laying on the desk was one reel of film, it was labeled ‘Little Devil Darlin’. He had finished it the night before, and was excited to bring it to the local theater.

The owner of the theater was a kind older man. He was not rich but was quite well off. After working as a newspaper boy and bringing the paper to him daily,  Joey had forged a sort of friendship with the man. He had been offered to play his film reel at the theater, as a payment for the paper for so many years.  Joey would be ever thankful to this man.

Within the week his animation was being played at the theater. With his limited money he bought a ticket to see his little devil darling up on the big screen.  At the end of the short movie, he was relieved to see the audience leaving the theater with smiles on their faces. Perhaps he had a chance in this afterall.

Within another few months Joey had finished his next short titled ‘The Dancing Demon’.  With this cartoon coming out right before the great depression hit, he was very grateful for the perfect timing and immense popularity of the theater. With people flocking to theaters to get away from the struggles of real life he was receiving more money than he had expected from this short.

Within around a month he had enough money comfortably saved up to buy himself a small building. Luckily the prices of buildings were quite low due to the low demand to buy housing, which left him with a bit more money than he had planned.  So, he used that extra money to buy himself a sturdier desk. One that he wouldn’t have to worry about wobbling, or moving if he leaned on it.

The next short he released was called ‘Hell's Kitchen’. This short was far longer than his previous ones, but it was a vast improvement from the previous animations. As Joey went to release this new short he found himself swarmed with people wanting to know more about the future of Bendy.  Many questions were thrown at him, as he did his best to answer them as quickly as he could. He received a few offers from other theaters wanting to show the new film as well, something that was quite exciting for him. One question stood out though.

“Mr. Drew, will you just be publishing under the name Drew, or will this character be the start of a new animation company similar to Walt Disney and his character Mickey Mouse?” Joey had to think over the question, as he had not thought that far into the future of this simple cartoon. “I would most certainly like to use this as the start to a new animation company. It would be a great joy and pleasure if this were to become popular enough to be classed up with Disney and his Mickey Mouse.”

Once again this reporter asked him a question that he hadn’t thought ahead very far ‘what would you name this studio?’ Such a simple question that had so many complex aspects to it. “I think that I would call it ‘Joey Drew Studios’ since it would be my studio.”

After a while he managed to get himself out of the growing crowd and to a shop where he could get copies of his film reel made. Throughout the day one thought stayed in his mind ‘Joey Drew Studios’. It had a ring to it. Perhaps this could be something bigger than he had first imagined.

[jadewhisper]

what goes up, must come down

Rating: G Characters: Boris, Ink Demon Warnings: none Description: That elevator sure is never where you leave it

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027205

----

My girlfriend is a bully so this is getting put on tumblr I guess

Technically this fic is an au work, within our Strike up the Band au. But it can be read without knowledge of the au and taken like a piece of canon fanfic.

----

The elevator was quiet as he waited there for Henry to return. Boris was a patient person, but waiting here...

It was nerve wracking.

The place he once knew so well had turned into something out of a nightmare.

Henry didn't want him wandering around with him, while he did that... “angel's” chores. It was too dangerous. Too many monsters. He would rather Boris stay safe in the lift.

Honestly, he felt bad, letting Henry do all the work. He was out there, getting chased and hurt. But he couldn't argue with him.

He was a good boy, honest. He would listen and do as he was told.

At least he could pretend that he was helping out by guarding the elevator.

Not that he was much of a guard dog.

Boris shuffles nervously, listening to the creaks of the building and dripping ink. Luckily, the monsters were always noisy, and he could hear them long before he saw them. Right now, there were no monster sounds. No snarls or groans or manic chatter. Not a single hiss.

He was grateful, of course. But somehow, the quiet was just as nerve wracking as the sounds the monsters could make.

Hopefully, Henry would be done soon. Done fetching things for that nasty lady.

He didn't want to think about her, or the things she had done, or the things in her room. He just wanted Henry to come back.

Boris resists the urge to whine. He shouldn't make noise. Just in case. Even though he wanted to whine and pace. His weight shifts from foot to foot as he stands in the far back corner of the elevator. It was safest in the back, against the wall. That corner where nothing could reach him through the elevator doors.

Everything was going to be fine. He just had to wait. Just a bit longer. Surely Henry would be done soon-

Thick, dark shadows start to sprawl across the room. They were sudden, blotting out light sources and making the room dim. Ink began to rain from the ceiling.

Boris froze, and held his breath.

He should be safe. He should be fine. He was in the elevator. And that thing- that thing he really truly doesn't want to believe is Bendy shouldn't be able to get him here. He should be safe.

Like everything else, he hears him before he sees him. Raspy, labored breathing. The wet, uneven footsteps. The quiet growling that almost meshes with the harsh breaths.

The Ink Demon slowly drags himself into Boris's view from the elevator, entering the room from the stairwell. The aura moves with him, crawling across the room as if to swallow it whole. Ink bubbles up off his body, rising like smoke.

Boris clamps his hands over his eyes almost instinctively, cowering in his corner.

Don't look, don't move, don't look, don't move, he'll leave in a minute, don't draw his attention-

The footsteps stop.

His heart hammered wildly, almost painfully. A new heart shouldn't be put under this strain-

Hissing. Rising in pitch, right outside the elevator.

Don'tlookdon'tmovedon'tlook-

A beat of silence. Boris can't help himself, and peers through his fingers.

Even without eyes, he could tell the Demon was staring right at him.

The world lurched for a moment, leaving Boris staggering into the wall to his side. The Ink Demon doesn't move, and continues to stare.

What was he doing? What did he want? Boris wasn't doing anything, he was just standing here!

His legs threatened to give out underneath him as he leans against the wall he fell into, one arm braced against it for balance. His other hand he kept clapped around his face, almost with a childish notion that if he just hides his face, maybe the Demon will go away.

He is not so lucky. In fact, the Demon draws himself closer, melted foot dragging behind him as it sticks to the floor. The smile it wore was manic, strained. Still peeking out between his fingers, he stared in horror. Boris felt so dizzy that he thought he could see that smile shaking...

The Demon stops at the gate to the elevator, leaning against it with a quiet growl as the old metal creaks from the weight. Boris fails at keeping himself upright, and slides to the floor. There, he balls up with his hands over his head.

Goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway

There was a weird sound, something between a rumble and a hiss, a sound that rattled somewhere deep in the Ink Demon's chest. Boris flinched and whimpered softly, unable to move.

Another creak of metal, then uneven footsteps as the Demon starts walking away.

He was leaving... Was he really leaving? Boris risks moving enough to peek out from the terrified ball on the floor. Sure enough, the Ink Demon was slowly ambling his way across the room, having seemed to lose interest in him. Boris stayed dead still as he watched the demon slowly make his way up the short flight of stairs and up onto the balcony.

With enough distance between them, Boris lurches across the elevator, half scrambling to his feet as he throws himself at the button panel and slaps as many buttons at once. The elevator grinds loudly for a moment before it starts moving, heading down.

Boris has no idea which floor he was heading too, but as long as he was off level K and away from the Demon, any floor was good.

He thought he saw him falter, turn to look at him as the elevator sank into the floor.

His heart was still beating uncomfortably fast in his chest as he leans against the button panel, not willing to move until the elevator picked a floor, so he could make sure the doors stayed shut.

Henry will have to forgive him for abandoning the floor he was on. Hopefully he would be alright. But Boris couldn't stand to stay, even if the Ink Demon was wandering away. He felt sick to his stomach, and after double checking to close the doors when the elevator slides to a stop, he moves back to the safe back corner of the elevator and sits down heavily, a loud whine escaping him.

He's not sure why the Demon stopped to stare at him. So far, his attention had been on Henry. Hardly spared him any attention.

But that was the first time he had been alone in the room when the Ink Demon arrived. For whatever reason, he had stopped to stare. And for whatever reason, he chose not to pursue attacking him.

Presumably, he had left to find Henry, something that twisted in Boris's gut. Hopefully, he had somewhere to hide.

Be safe Henry...

----

[inkabelledesigns]

So the time has finally come to unveil one of my favorite prompts from Demon-th, Crossover! I hope you enjoy part one of my short fic, Too Many Eyes, now with 20% more cinnamon. Here’s the A03 link, but under the cut, I’ll have the story here for the rest of you to enjoy. (Don’t be fooled on A03 though, it says one chapter, but there’s another coming before the end of the year) 

Summary: When one Joey Drew finds another, it can be a joyous occasion, but not every Joey is made of sunshine and rainbows, especially when power is at stake. What will become of a fusion when a dastardly old coot tries to pry at their secrets? 

Credits at the beginning because darn it these peeps deserve recognition!

Characters Included:

Briefly Alluded to: 

Edward @metallicartist

Magenta (Chestnut) @halfusek

Algernon @wolfheart7snow

Joy @obscurelog

Snowy, Ana, and Joy, (Frosty) @aceofintuition

Gingie and Baby Linda, (Cinnamon and Frosty) @pipesflowforeverandever

Hyde, Mary Jane, and Ivy, (Cinnamon, Chestnut, and Frosty) @startistdoodles

Giuseppe, Bella, Eliza Stein, and Belphene me, @inkabelledesigns

Sammy Lawrence, Henry Stein, Bertrum Piedmont, and Joey Drew all belong to Kindly Beast as part of the Bendy and the Ink Machine property. I do not own these characters, but this fiction does include them and my interpretations of them. 

Joey Drew was a name shared by many universes. Some were kind and made honest mistakes, while others had hearts darker than the blackest of ink. But then you had cases that fell between the extremes, painted in shades of gray, and those were the cases that often found each other. For where there is a Joey Drew, there will always be a cat-like curiosity, an interest that often spirals into obsession. Such is the case with our fellow here today. 

It started as an innocent slip of the tongue. The demon known as Belphene has been chatting with her contractor, just casual talk after a long business meeting, when she said “I’m grateful that you’re my Joey.” Never once had she considered that he would inquire about the realms beyond his own. He had everything he could ever want in this one, what more could he desire? That was the day Giuseppe Drew learned just what kinds of worlds existed outside of the reality he crafted.

It turned out there was a plethora of worlds to explore, all equipped with a chap that shared his proud name. And stranger still was just how aware they were! Some crossed into each other’s realms all the time, for silly things as well as serious ones. And stranger than that: they were friends. It sounded awfully narcissistic to be friends with yourself, but they were all so different, so colorful and inspired, that maybe it wasn’t so self-involved. Giuseppe had many reasons to fear and admire them. From the raw intensity of Edward’s aura to the soft and gentle joy in Polaris' smile, there was something beautiful in all of them. But one trio caught his attention, one that seemingly feared no consequences when it came to the untapped potential of magic. 

Yes, of course it had to start with a spirit as bright as Gingie’s. Giuseppe had always been attracted to bright lights. Like a moth drawn to flames, he set his sights on the elder, curious. Where did his childlike wonder come from, how was it that he was so magical, so mystifying? Many a time, he considered inviting his apprentice to watch with him, sharing such visage with a young mind ought to be good for them. But he had never been good at sharing. Of course, he had a rationale, saying he’d let Bella taste true magic soon enough, once they were out of his hellscape of a studio. But alas, would it ever be true? From his ancient office, he pondered such possibilities, watching lives much happier than his own. He saw so much love and spirit in the pumpkin haired fellow, so much happiness that it threatened to burst right through his heart. If a man like Gingie could be happy, surely so could he. Surely so could his family, couldn’t they?

Giuseppe took great pleasure in watching him, especially when Snowy or Hyde were around. A very strange family they were, but between loving spouses, lovely sons and daughters, and their hearty circle of friends, it was better than anything a television station could hope to air. Through the looking glass on his desk, a stolen monocle from the great Bertrum Piedmont, he spied on everyone’s antics without making so much as a peep, no different than when he watched his prisoners. It was as though he were reading a book by a genius author, he felt a connection, like he was beginning to understand them as people, even though he’d never uttered so much as a word to them. From Magenta’s dark duality to Hyde’s grieving heart over his sick sunshines, from Snowy’s bravery and style to Algernon’s frozen soul, all the way to Joy’s ever-shifting emotions. He saw their tears, their hope, their pain, and yet something was missing. Something intimate he had not earned. For while Giuseppe thought he knew them, he could only see the surface. No different than within his studio, he couldn’t search the depths, he couldn’t see what they did not reveal. 

And as to be expected from a man named Joey Drew, the more he saw happiness, the more envious he became, the more he wanted to make it his. He was jealous of just how deep their ties were. Never in his years had he felt such comradery, such a sense of family, not since his childhood days climbing trees with little Henry Stein. Some days he yearned to reveal himself, but how could he? A first impression was difficult to form, how could he make a good one when there was so much resting on his conscience? No, they’d never want him, they couldn’t understand why he’d done what he’d done, and there was no way he could hide it from them. If his own family couldn’t love him, then how could they? He’d tried so desperately to get Eliza and Bella back by his side, away from the monsters he made, but they wouldn’t return, they ran away. They were so dead set on freeing his former staff from the curse he’d placed on them. Foolish children, why wouldn’t they listen? Why didn’t they understand that there were sins for the monsters to atone for?

Then, just like a cartoon’s script, a glimmer of hope was found. It wasn’t until he saw Minty that he knew what must be done. It was him that helped him to theorize how to truly understand another. At first he’d only heard the strange name in passing, spying on the ginger-haired grandfather as he recalled such events in his journal. But eventually, he witnessed fusion for himself. And boy was it a secret to be in on! So many possibilities filled his mind the more he saw, from the bumbling Chestnut to Frosty and his overzealous amount of limbs. But no matter his watching, he couldn’t decipher the spells that merged these men together. Fate seemed to block them from view. Of course he wanted to know how it was done, fusion seemed to be the ultimate partnership. Perhaps it could be the key to getting back his legacy, his progeny. Lawrence and the others caused his daughters’ trust to slip, their view of him to change. He had to stop it before he lost his chance for good, or else he’d never be able to take back what had rightfully been his. So like any good storyteller, he hatched himself a plan, a devious, ethically questionable plan. His watching shifted, as did his empathy, from entertainment to observation. And like any good scientist, he recorded every detail that mattered, until he deduced the best candidate to give him the answers: Cinnamon.

Gingie and Hyde were an unlikely pair. What made them merge together was still unclear, but on the rare occasion they did, it was dreamlike. Gingie had even gone to the trouble of starting a small garden just for them, a quiet place to talk and bond as they tended to the blooms and spices. Sometimes, Giuseppe caught Cinnamon babysitting for Snowy and Ana, always a relaxing experience. Cinnamon brought the best out of both men and put it together like a nicely decorated cake, or maybe snickerdoodles in this case. They had tenderness, a side Hyde wasn’t usually quick to reveal. The fusion was so gentle, acting as if the world was glass, and one misstep would break it. It was like he feared what he was capable of. In some ways, it brought out the heavy heart in both of them, fears of repeating past mistakes. No one would dare call them insecure, but uncomfortable seemed to be accurate. For beneath their frilly bows and ruffles, they danced with demons, demons who knew all too well how to lead a tango. Giuseppe could relate. He didn’t feel remorse often, but when he did, it hit like a brick to the face.

It was this shared vulnerability that made Cinnamon perfect for his needs. Joey kept an eye out, always waiting for a time to get them alone. After all, he wouldn’t dare drag anyone else into this. There was no way he would let Snowy come to their rescue, nor would he let harm come to the children they cared for. As heartless as he may have seemed, even Giuseppe had standards. Though since children were clearly the key to a father’s heart, then perhaps they could help him. After all, the other path to someone’s heart is through their stomach.

It was a peaceful evening in the Drew household. Snowy and Ana had gone out for the night, while Hyde and Gingie had volunteered to babysit. After all, Mary Jane and Ivy would never pass up on a sleepover with Joy. Even baby Linda had fun when they were together. The girls could be trouble though, especially with the mischief Ivy liked to cause. So naturally, it took a super parent to keep things under control, certainly a good reason to join together. Cinnamon was the perfect guest for dress-up and tea parties, and he was equally loved by all the daughters. They had a grand old time playing and baking as he helped them to make a tollhouse pie that night. 

But as all good things must come to an end, the girls eventually had to go to bed. After reading stories and singing lullabies, four little heads were tucked in tightly, a tender kiss left upon each brow. Cinnamon made his way back down the stairs, cotton candy swirls of sparkles trailed behind him to keep their dreams sweet. Like a sorcerer, he conducted with his hands and cleaned up the mess from all their fun, sweeping away spilled flour and loose chocolate chips. He crossed over to the kitchen’s kettle and smiled to himself as he brewed his favorite tea. So many lovely thoughts filled his head, his three eyes threatened to burst with joyful tears. How grateful he was, to have so much love in his life. He stood there lost in thought until the whistle of the kettle pulled him back to reality. He poured the hot water into his favorite teacup and proceeded to cut himself another piece of pie. Content, he walked over to the living room and laid back in the cozy recliner, much too small to accommodate his height. He sighed dreamily, content with their evening and ready to enjoy the fruits of their labor. He savored every last bite of that scrumptious pie. The girls had doubled the sugar when he wasn’t looking, which made it terribly grainy, but oh so sweet on the fusion’s tongue. 

Though speaking of not looking, there was something amiss that failed to catch his attention. The earlier chaos in the kitchen had too many cooks around, making it difficult to notice the appearance of another. Belphene had invaded undetected to share a little extra in their recipe. It wasn’t a bad ingredient by any means, just a few drops of sleep elixir. Nothing lethal, she wouldn’t dare, just enough to make sure no one woke up before the time was right. 

Clearly, the time had come. No sooner had he finished dessert, poor Cinnamon fell into a deep slumber. While visions of sugarplums danced in his head, a dark curtain hung itself over the room. An inky void slowly opened in the corner, letting a smog slip above the carpet. The demoness manifested as quietly as a mouse, mindful not to disturb any of Snowy’s interior decorating. She set her sights on the three-eyed man, her own eyes glowing softly in the darkness. Even in her regret, she was graceful, gliding soundlessly across the floor she picked them up and carried them off like a bride to a happily ever after. 

If only that were their destination.

On the other side of the void, an old man tapped his foot to the ticking of the Bendy clock on his wall. His grin shone brightly under the low lights, anticipating his lovely Belphene’s return. Sure enough, she was prompt to arrive, her precious cargo snoozing away as she entered. Belphene wore a smile for Mr. Drew, carrying Cinnamon to the secret room within the office: the prison cell. Usually, it was reserved for the worst outliers in his twisted little world, but he was happy to relocate them in favor of his most treasured guest. Yes, Mr. Cinnamon would get the V.I.P. treatment, Mr. Drew was sure of that.

Once his limbs were secured to the wall, Cinnamon was left to rest for a little while longer. That part of the task was in Joey’s hands now. Belphene scurried off. She had other things to attend to. After all, it would be awfully irresponsible to leave the children without a babysitter. 

Cinnamon didn’t know where they were when they awoke. Two minds were groggy and troubled as they gained consciousness in their predicament. But the minute they felt the chains that held them back, the fight for freedom began.

Thank you for reading all the way through! So glad you made it to the end. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please let me know! It always brightens my day to hear your thoughts! Hope you have a wonderful day! 

[daresplaining]

Who are your favourite DD villains? Fisk, Bullseye and Mr Fear all sound brilliant from what I know of them, but are there any others with similarly iconic influence on Matt?

    There are! Daredevil comics aren’t known for their well-crafted villains to the extent that, say, Spider-Man or Batman comics are, but I really enjoy a lot of Matt’s rogues gallery. Fisk and Bullseye are probably the two biggest names, but there are many others who have had major impacts on his life, and the Marvel Universe in general, over the years. Here are some of the most notable DD villains, in my opinion:

Gladiator (Melvin Potter) is a major antagonist who, over the years has become arguably one of the most nuanced and interesting Daredevil characters. I wrote a longer post about him, way back when we thought we might actually get a Gladiator origin story in the Netflix show, but in general, a lot of his lasting appeal comes from the complexity of his character. When he was first introduced in Daredevil vol. 1 #18 he was a pretty standard Silver Age villain: a guy with semi-logical origin story, a funky costume, and a penchant for monologuing. Specifically, Melvin Potter was the owner of a costume store who was sick of being disrespected by his customers, and so decided to make a name for himself by attacking people with spinning blades. 

[ID: A panel from Lee’s Daredevil run. Daredevil is battling the Gladiator. Daredevil hoists himself up on a big crate to dodge one of the Gladiator’s spinning wrist blades.]

Matt: “He’s not fooling with those wrist blades… he’s fighting for real! But, why? I’m certain I’ve never met him before!”

Melvin: “You can’t keep dodging me forever! And the moment you slip, you shall have the honor of being my first victim!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #18 by Stan Lee, John Romita, and Sam Rosen

    Over the years, various writers have worked hard to add nuance to his character. Despite his fearsome appearance and goal of gaining respect, most early Gladiator stories involve Melvin being manipulated by stronger, smarter supervillains. Later, he becomes even more sympathetic: a dangerous killer who, at heart, is gentle and naive and hates when he loses control and hurts people. This creates an inherent discord in his character that adds an emotional hook to all of his stories. Matt tries to help him, and Melvin is grateful for Matt’s friendship and returns that favor when he can, but sometimes they end up having to fight each other. Essentially, Melvin’s story is the relentless tragedy of a man who wants to live a peaceful life but keeps falling victim to his own demons and the cruelty of the world around him. 

[ID: A page from Miller’s Daredevil run. Matt Murdock, in civvies (a tan suit and blue tie) confronts Melvin Potter, who is in a prison uniform and holding his Gladiator helmet.]

Matt: “Melvin, we’ve come so far. I know how much you want to be well… to go straight. We can help you, Betsy and I.”

Melvin: “I been trying, Matt. I been sitting in that courtroom, listening to them say those things about me, feeling my guts churn up, wanting to rip them all to pieces… They hate me. They all hate me… so I’m gonna hate them back!”

Matt: “I’m not letting you off that easy. If you want to become the Gladiator again, you’ll have to get past me.”

Melvin: “Past you?! Look at you– you’re just a skinny little blind guy! I’d break you in half! It’d be easy…”

Matt: “Is that what you want?”

Melvin: “Why not? I’m the Gladiator! The Gladiator! When I’m wearing my armor, I’m unbeatable, I’m…” 

[ID: Melvin throws the helmet and falls to his knees.]

Melvin: “I’m all alone. Help me… please…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #173 by Frank Miller, Klaus Janson, and Glynis Wein

    This complicated and heartwrenching characterization has helped Melvin to remain a fresh and popular antagonist (anti-hero, even) and a regular guest in Daredevil. He is one of several characters who complicates the hero/villain dichotomy, and thereby both emphasizes and challenges Matt’s own heroism. 

Typhoid Mary/Mary Walker is another one of the more famous Daredevil villains, and someone who has had a significant impact on Matt’s story over the years. I wrote a longer post on her as well. Female antagonists in particular seem to suffer from a variety of weaknesses in their depictions, and Typhoid– as a sexual character by nature, as well as someone who plays upon “crazy” villain tropes– has had her share of not great depictions over the years. However, at her core, she is a wonderfully compelling character and a dangerous villain who is literally multifaceted by design. Even moreso than Melvin Potter, Mary plays upon the concept of a good person who is powerless to prevent themself from doing violent things– in Mary’s case, through genuinely having multiple psyches inhabiting one body. She is in constant conflict with herself, as gentle Mary and bloodthirsty Typhoid battle for dominance. As much as she is an antagonist to Matt and the other heroes whose paths she crosses, she is her own arch-enemy. 

[ID: An excerpt from Nocenti’s Daredevil run. Typhoid Mary and Daredevil are both underwater, in the East River. Mary looked panicked partway through strangling Daredevil, and flees out of the water.]

Mary/Typhoid: “Don’t kill him! You! Shut up! I love him! Stop! Get out of my head! You can’t kill him! Get out of my head! Oh, god! Where am I? Why am I dressed like this? What have I done?!”

Matt: “Curious. That’s a completely different woman running away! What came over her?”

Daredevil vol. 1 #256 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

    Matt’s dealings with Mary have brought about some of the more unheroic moments in his career. In Joe Kelly’s attempt to integrate the Man Without Fear-verse origin story into the 616 universe, he proposed that Matt nearly killed Mary on his first superhero outing. When Typhoid, in her introductory arc, is hired to seduce Matt, it works– he cheats on Karen with her. Later, when attempting to bring down the Kingpin’s empire, Matt removes Mary from the equation by sleeping with her to get her guard down and then forging documents to have her locked away in a psychiatric hospital. She hits all of his weak points: as Mary, she is a victim who needs rescuing… and an attractive one at that. As Typhoid, she is a dangerous enemy who must be stopped. In addition to her skill with weapons, she has all kinds of awesome psychic powers– including, most notably, pyrokinesis– and something about her physiology messes with Matt’s senses and makes her difficult to fight. She is a challenge on every level, and in many ways, Matt serves the same purpose for her– Mary (and, arguably, Typhoid as well) accidentally falls in love with him, representing a loss of power and control that she can’t stand. 

[ID: Excerpt from Nocenti’s Daredevil run. A series of panels alternating between Daredevil falling off a bridge and a tear sliding down Typhoid Mary’s cheek.]

Daredevil vol. 1 #260 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

The Hand I love the Hand– which is to say, I love the Chaste, and part of why I love the Chaste is because I love their rivalry with the Hand. On some levels, the Hand are your standard Big Bad Secret Organization, but I also find them to be a lot of fun, and they have been a significant force in Daredevil comics since they were introduced. The Hand are key players in Miller’s updated version of Matt’s origin, which introduced Stick and gave him a purpose for training Matt. They also had a huge role in Elektra’s origin, since her attempt to singlehandedly bring them down from the inside led to her becoming an assassin. And of course, Matt’s role as leader of the Hand and temporary vessel for their patron demon, the Beast, was a defining moment in recent DD comics and a low point of Matt’s career. The Hand are dangerous because they are vast, and their high-ranking members have all kinds of cool powers, which I love. And there’s also a certain amount of weakness and dysfunction to the Hand that makes them appealing. They are a once-great organization relegated to being mercenaries-for-hire. Their low-ranking members are fairly weak– as Matt quips in Volume 1 #380, “a little harsh language and [they’re] up in smoke!” They were led by a Skrull (disguised as Elektra) for a while, and didn’t even notice. Arguably their most dangerous enemy, Master Izo, mostly just bothers them with Hand puns. 

[ID: A panel from Diggle’s Daredevil run. Daredevil, seen from the back, is standing in an empty room. The light from the sunset streams in through the windows. Izo is sitting behind him on the floor, drinking tea.]

Matt: “Look, you wanted me leading the Hand, you got it… but I never agreed to be your puppet.”    

Izo: “‘Hand puppet.’ Heh.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #503 by Andy Diggle, Roberto De La Torre, Marco Checchetto, and Matt Hollingsworth

    I also enjoy the way the Hand and the Chaste operate and Matt’s relationship with them. Matt isn’t an official member of the Chaste (like Elektra, he was rejected for being too emotional– which, in his case at least, is a fair assessment) but he still teams up with them on occasion, and the experience almost always puts him out of his depth in really entertaining ways. Matt is one of the Hand’s biggest enemies and one of the Chaste’s most useful allies, so he gets dragged into their business even when he doesn’t want to be involved. 

[ID: Excerpt from Daredevil: Ninja. A conversation between Daredevil and Stone in a series of face close-ups.]

Stone: “We need your help.”

Matt: “You should have asked me to come.”

Stone: “Would you have?”

Matt: “I hate this ninja crap. I hate it. Every single time it’s nothing but lies, half-truths, and misguided loyalties. Stay away from me and my life.”

Daredevil: Ninja #2 by Brian Michael Bendis, Rob Haynes, and David Self

    There are also two excellent (and, I’d say, influential) alternate universes in which Matt joins the Hand and thrives in their presence: What If? Daredevil vs. Elektra and Earth-65 (Spider-Gwen-verse). 

Lady Bullseye (Maki Matsumoto) And if we’re discussing the Hand and the Chaste, I have to mention Maki– undisputed head of the Bullseye Fan Club and another of my favorite Daredevil villains. She’s relatively new (she was introduced during Brubaker’s run) and so hasn’t had a particularly big long-term influence on Matt, but she is a great character with extensive connections to Daredevil history. One thing I love about her is the fact that while she modeled her look and identity on Bullseye, she isn’t treated as just female version of him, as her name might suggest. They actually have very little in common; she just chose to honor Bullseye because he played a role in her origin story by indirectly rescuing her from a human trafficking ring.

[ID: Panels from Brubaker’s Daredevil run. Bullseye is single-handedly beating up a bunch of gun-toting mobsters in a warehouse building. Maki Matsumoto watches him between the bars of a large cage.]   

Caption: “She remembers that so vividly. Remembers the joy she beheld that day from her cage. She had never seen anything so beautiful, she thought. Of course, she was nearly insane already by then. But then, like a miracle… freedom.”

[ID: Maki reaches between the bars of the cage and grabs a key from a dead mobster’s pocket. As she tries to escape, another mobster runs toward her.]

Man: “You– back in your cage, girl!”

Maki: “I think not.”

[ID: Without looking at him, she slices his throat with the key.]

Daredevil vol. 2 #111 by Ed Brubaker, Clay Mann, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Since then, Maki has teamed up with Bullseye– mostly notably, resurrecting and caring for him after his death in “Shadowland”– but more often, she operates on her own as an assassin. Like both Elektra and Matt, she was trained by the Hand and the Chaste without forming an official allegiance with either, and it seems her primary teacher was Master Izo– thus making her Matt and Elektra’s ninja aunt and/or sister in the Chaste Family Tree that definitely exists in my head and nowhere else. 

[ID: Excerpt from Brubaker’s Daredevil run. Lady Bullseye and Izo are standing on a Manhattan rooftop as the sky brightens behind them. Pigeons are flocking around them; Izo has one perched on his hand.]

Maki: “You said I would lead the Hand.”

Izo: “I said a lot of things when I was training you, girl… Said whatever I needed to say.”

Maki: “You’re as bad as them.”

Izo: “No. I didn’t put you in a cage and sell you to the Yakuza.”

Maki: “You still used me.”

Izo: “Yes, I did… but I’m not going to apologize.”

Maki: “Someday I’ll kill you for this. You know that, right?”

[ID: Izo leaps off the roof.]

Izo: “Yeah, well… get in line.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #500 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, Matt Hollingsworth, et al.

    Maki masterminds the destruction of Matt’s life that leads him to join the Hand. She is extremely smart (she passes herself off as a lawyer during Brubaker’s run and fools both Matt and Foggy; as far as anyone knows, she might actually have a law degree…?), an excellent fighter (arguably better than Matt, not quite as good as Elektra), an absolute badass, and an all-around great antagonist who deserves her own solo series (hint, hint, Marvel). 

Death-Stalker I’m not sure Death-Stalker counts as a major Daredevil villain, but he was used about once a week in late 70s Daredevil so he’s certainly been a recurring presence. I also just find him really cool, conceptually. One of the interesting things about Death-Stalker is that he started his existence as a completely different supervillain: the Exterminator, who is best known for “killing” Mike Murdock! The Exterminator had a weapon that could shift its victims out of sync with the time-stream. When Matt blows it up to fake Mike’s death, the Exterminator is caught in the blast, with shocking consequences: 

[ID: Excerpt from McKenzie’s Daredevil run. A series of flashback panels: the Exterminator (a kind of goofy-looking villain with a purple and white costume and blue antennae on the side of his mask) watching Daredevil pull a lever, then the Exterminator getting caught in an explosion and falling into a void.] 

Death-Stalker: “How many long and empty years has it been, Murdock? How many… since you so callously destroyed my awesome Time-Displacement Ray… catching me fully in the time-shattering explosion?! How long has it been since I was hurled through the fabric of time? But what you believed to be my death proved instead a macabre rebirth! I found myself in a timeless limbo! Unobserved, I could go anywhere! Do anything!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #158 by Roger McKenzie, Frank Miller, and George Roussos

    Thus, the Exterminator returns years later as Death-Stalker– a villain who can move freely through time and space, become intangible at will, and whose mere touch is lethal. This, combined with his new appearance (glowing eyes, bony hands, huge billowy cape…) makes for an excellent creepy character concept, and some of the Death Stalker issues feel more like horror stories than the typical Daredevil comic. 

[ID: Excerpt from Gerber’s Daredevil run. A tired Daredevil is making his way through a swamp. Death-Stalker appears behind him out of the fog and puts a skeletal white hand on his shoulder. Daredevil collapses.]

Matt: “H-he’s gone! Nothing but an empty cape! It’s not possible! It– where did he go?!”

Death-Stalker: “Here, Daredevil. I am here. Death is at your back.”

Matt: “Huh? Wha– No!! My… shoulder… your fingers… like ice–!”

Death-Stalker: “Like death, Daredevil. Like the grim, glacial embrace of the North Wind. No use to flee… you can’t outrun the wind.”

Caption: “For Daredevil, for this sightless adventurer, all the world is blackness, all the time. But now, a different kind of darkness envelopes him, a sort of oblivion he has never known before. He hears his heartbeat slow… feels his mind empty of all thought… feel his every nerve tingle, then go numb… and he knows that he is… dying. And that is all he knows when the darkness claims him and the Death-Stalker relaxes his grip.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #114 by Steve Gerber, Bob Brown, and Stan G.

    Sadly, though, I don’t feel he was ever used to his full skin-crawling potential, particularly considering how dangerous his power-set was. He was mostly just a nuisance who rarely got the upper hand, and he was killed in Daredevil #158 when he accidentally materialized through a tombstone during a fight with Matt. One of my favorite details about Death-Stalker isn’t Death-Stalker himself– it’s that his mother lived in a booby-trapped mansion and owned an army of exploding robotic children that she sicced on Matt to avenge her son’s death. But that’s a story for another post… 

Jester (Jonathan Powers) The Jester gets no respect, and it’s a shame because he’s both genuinely a great villain when he’s used well and highly entertaining when his 1960s goofiness is played up, and he manages to embody both of those characterizations with absolute panache. He has played a role in some fairly major Daredevil stories over the years and I’d consider him a staple DD villain. His origin story is pure Silver Age silliness: he was an actor who received bad reviews for his first major starring role, found his career heading downhill, and so decided to become a supervillain instead. This is pretty typical of motivations for villains of this time period (see the Gladiator’s origin story above, and Stilt-Man below), but even this aspect of his character has been put to good use. Daredevil #218 features a surprisingly touching story of the Jester stealing the chance to reprise that first starring role– and of Matt keeping the cops distracted (by pretending to be the Jester!) so that his enemy can finally live his dream. 

[ID: Excerpt from O’Neil’s Daredevil run. The Jester is dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac. He pulls off his false nose and bows dramatically to Daredevil and the cops who have come to take him in.]

Jester: “A moment ago you unmasked. Now I shall perform a similar gesture… I am your humble and obedient servant… the Jester! At your service!”

Matt: “You deserve the bow. You were magnificent.”

Jester: “Indeed! I trust the critics will change their tune.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #218 by Denny O’Neil, Sal Buscema, and Christie Scheele

    Throughout the issue, Matt draws comparisons between himself and the Jester: their shared mask-wearing and the experiences of disillusionment that shaped their lives– and while it certainly doesn’t give the Jester the emotional depth of certain other Daredevil villains, it’s a memorable connection. 

    But where the Jester is at his most dangerous is not as an actor looking for attention– it’s as a creator of chaos. The Jester is a master of illusions and media manipulation. In his introductory arc, he frames Daredevil for his murder and turns Matt into a wanted criminal. Later, he uses a campaign of false news reports and misinformation to sabotage Foggy’s run for District Attorney, turn the superhero community into targets, and throw the whole country into an uproar. Most recently, in Waid’s run, he manipulated TV footage to cause rioting in NYC in the wake of an unpopular and highly publicized court ruling. His plans don’t always succeed, but even then, the scope and effectiveness of the damage he causes makes him a truly formidable villain.

[ID: Excerpt from Waid’s Daredevil run. The Jester is sitting in front of computer monitors in a dark room, yelling into a microphone. In the next panel, we see random civilians in a cafe, watching “Mayor Jameson” (played by the Jester) on TV.]

Jester: “Listen to him. God, he’s so smug. No matter. This is a minor setback. Daredevil’s not the ultimate target, after all. The city’s the target, and it’ll burn. Voice synthesizer on… People of New York… this is Mayor Jameson! Effective immediately, I am rescinding all handgun regulations in Manhattan! Take up arms– for your own protection– and await further instructions!”

Daredevil vol. 3 #32 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

The Owl (Leland Owlsley) The Owl has, unfortunately, been overshadowed by the Kingpin for most of his existence, and as such, hasn’t been given anywhere near the same amount of character development or nuance. They were created based on the same character concept: a high-powered mobster with a shadowy network of pawns who controls the city’s criminal underworld. 

[ID: A series of panels from Lee’s Daredevil run, showing a man in a long green coat and brimmed hat walking into an office building. His face is not shown; the people he passes looked at him with fear.]

Caption: “This is Wall Street, heart of New York’s Financial District, where fortunes are made and lost by the world’s greatest financial wizards! And, within the canyons of this street, we are about to find one certain man… a merciless man… a man with no friends… no loved ones… nothing to connect him with the human race, save the fact of his birth! Let us follow this man… let us study him as he walks into a towering office building, his heavy footsteps reverberating through the huge marble lobby! For we shall see much of this man on the pages that follow… He walks slowly, but with a sure, steady tread… looking neither to the right nor the left… ignoring those he passes and those who pass him! But he himself cannot readily be ignored by others! His very presence seems so fraught with evil, with menace, that his fellow humans shrink back from the mere sight of him! There are some who recognize him… who speak his name in whispers… for his wealth is said to be legendary, and his power almost beyond measure!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #3 by Stan Lee, Joe Orlando, and Sam Rosen

    Unfortunately, the Kingpin just ended up doing it better, and while there are a few Owl story arcs that I really like, I’ve never found him that interesting. However, he is hugely significant because he was the very first Daredevil supervillain, introduced all the way back in Daredevil #3! (In #1 Matt fights the mobsters who killed his father, and in #2 he fights Electro, who is a Spider-Man rogue.) Thus, he has had an impact on Matt’s life simply from having been around for so long. This also means there’s a huge range in his stories, verging from extremely ridiculous (he sometimes eats rats, and used to own an owl-shaped airplane. How cool is that?) to slightly more grounded. There is a great Owl story arc in which his bird-like body modifications start killing him, which gives his law-breaking more nuance, because he is doing it to look for a cure. Matt, upon discovering this, tries to help him. 

[ID: Excerpt from Chichester’s Daredevil run. Daredevil and the Owl are on a fire escape together. The Owl has metal cybernetic legs and has collapsed. Daredevil is comforting him.]

Matt: “You’re going to make it, hear me? You’re gonna–”

Owlsley: “You should’ve let me…”

Matt: “Unh-uh. You take my hand– you’re willing to take my hand– I don’t let go. You’ve got some long ways to go, mister… but you can count on me…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #303 by D.G. Chichester, M.C. Wyman, and Christie Scheele

    There’s also great point in Bendis’s run when the Owl, in a surprising demonstration of cleverness, hires a lawyer to sue Daredevil for breaking and entering. It doesn’t work, but it throws Matt off and is absolutely priceless. 

    The Owl has also had several children– two unnamed young kids who were introduced in Alias, and Jubula Pride, who was introduced in Daredevil Volume 4 and worked alongside Matt to rescue her father. Jubula’s brief-but-memorable appearance added a bit more depth to the Owl– allowing us to see him in the role of a parent as well as a villain. But mostly, over the years the Owl has remained one of the more insidious of New York’s mob bosses, always scheming to stay in power and fight his way out of the Kingpin’s shadow. And he’s been doing it for so long that he feels like an integral part of Daredevil comics. 

Turk Barrett He’s not a costumed supervillain or even much of a threat, but Turk has become an iconic Daredevil antagonist for both his sheer ineptitude and his plucky ability to stay alive. Of all of the recurring low-level mobster characters, he has the most engaging personality, and his dynamic with Matt is one of long-held friendly animosity. Daredevil isn’t the most dangerous person in Turk’s life, Turk isn’t the most dangerous person in Matt’s life, so they mostly just annoy each other. They’ve even been known to team up, when Turk thinks the odds of survival are in his favor. 

[ID: Excerpt from Daredevil: Love and War. Turk Barrett (dressed in a white shirt and blue pants) is mopping the inside of an elevator. The doors open, and Daredevil walks in. They ride the elevator together.] 

Matt: “Turk! You got the job!”

Turk: “No, man… this… I mean, I’m working undercover, man… I’m your backup!”

Matt: “I believe you, Turk.”

Turk: “Even know what level the doc’s on, man… So how’d you get in, Devil?”

Matt: “I flew in, Turk.”

Turk: “…Course. I knew that. ‘Spose the window locks weren’t much trouble…”

Matt: “Melted them with my heat vision.”

Daredevil: Love and War by Frank Miller and Bill Sienkiewicz

    Turk is an underdog. He’s kind of a goof and he’s certainly a criminal, but he’s also a small fish in a big and dangerous pond, working in a career where most people eventually end up at the bottom of the East River in concrete shoes (or a taxi, as the case may be). He’s slippery and resourceful, he stays just harmless enough to keep himself out of danger, and you can’t help but root for him, even when he does dumb things like stealing Stilt-Man’s stilts or trying to kill Daredevil for the hundredth unsuccessful time. 

Stilt-Man (Wilbur Day), of course, requires no introduction. He is another personal favorite of mine, and a rare case of a goofy Silver Age villain surviving into the modern era while remaining exactly as goofy as he was when first introduced. The great appeal of Stilt-Man is, in fact, that he’s a bit of a joke, while at the same time being quite dangerous, in a comic book physics-kind of way.  

[ID: Excerpt from Lee’s run. Daredevil is battling Stilt-Man on a daytime city street.]

Wilbur: “Hah! You missed!! Have you forgotten so soon how easily I can change my height, thanks to my magnificent hydraulically-operated stilts?!!”

Matt: “Mebbe so! But I haven’t forgotten that I’m the gent who whumped you good last time fought! (Man! It sure is lucky I was here! If Stilt-Man ever managed to get the Leap-Frog safely away, what a team those two would make! But, I hear the boys in blue hauling that human jumping jack right now! Which means Stilty and I can go it alone!) Heads up, dad! It’s time for fun ‘n games again!”

Wilbur: “Hah! Didn’t expect me to seize your cable, did you? I should have warned you, little man– I’ve modified my protective armor in such a way as to double my strength! Which means I’m more than a match for your limited talents!!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #26 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, and Artie Simek

    Part of the charm of this characterization is the fact that he’s a joke in-universe as well; most of his appearances in modern comics consist of Stilt-Man being made fun of and/or of the audience being reminded that he’s actually a threat. This creates a great balance in his depictions; the jokes are fun, the sight of various superheroes being beaten up (at least a little) by Stilt-Man is fun, and he remains an enjoyable, mostly lighthearted presence in a landscape that has become dominated by Dark, Serious, and Disturbing villains. 

[ID: Excerpt from Bendis’s Daredevil run. Matt is sitting at his desk in his darkened office, talking to Wilbur Day– a short, bald guy in a black jacket, with his arm in a sling.]

Wilbur: “Wilbur Day– I’m Stilt-Man. We’ve met four hundred times.”

Matt: “Stilt-Man– Huh. Oh, you mean that burglar guy Stilt-Man? Who wears the stilts and robs things?”

Wilbur: “Can we please just–”

Matt: “We’ve met when?”

Wilbur: “I–”

Matt: “Are you in some kind of legal trouble? Is that why you’re here?”

Wilbur: “Okay, fine.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #41 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Stilt-Man is just a short guy in a ridiculous outfit who wants to commit some crimes and get a little respect– and really, who can’t relate to that?  

Ikari (???) I’m mentioning Ikari not because he’s a long-established Daredevil villain– he’s not– but because I am fascinated by his potential. He’s a favorite of mine as much for what we don’t know as for what we do. In his introductory arc, we learn this: He was engineered/commissioned by Bullseye to kill Matt, his fighting abilities equal Matt’s, he has hypersenses, and (as a horrified Matt discovers later) he can also see.

Ikari: “Someone has, in fact, managed to re-create the toxic chemicals that blinded you, gave you enhanced senses. Someone whose hate for you keeps him alive. But he didn’t waste the process on weak, malnourished vagrants. He used it to baptize a warrior. A fighter trained to be every bit your equal in skill– and now, in power.” 

Daredevil vol. 3 #25 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

    And that’s it. We don’t know who he is or where he came from, or what the consequences are of having that degree of sensory perception (presumably his vision is heightened too?). We don’t know what his personal goals or motivations are, since we’ve only ever seen him as a pawn– first of Bullseye and then, later, of the Kingpin. But the concept of his character as someone who shares Matt’s powers plus some– who is essentially, skills-wise, a criminal version of Matt– and all the mystery that surrounds him, is hugely compelling to me. 

[ID: Excerpt from Waid’s Daredevil run. Both Ikari and Daredevil are out on the street, being shot at by cops. As Daredevil hides behind a parked car, Ikari attacks the cops and cuts their guns in half with his blades.]

Matt: “The cops are hunting me under an open-fire command. Presuming they’ve been advised of Ikari’s prison break, I’m sure the same order applies to him. I wish it scared him. I wish anything did.”

Daredevil vol. 4 #17 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Matt Wilson

    In his last appearance he was killed by the Shroud, but his body was stolen, leaving the door open for him to maybe return sometime in the future and receive more development. I hope he does. 

[trashboatprince]

Here’s a little drabble of SINdy meeting his best friend Benny for the first time!

Benny the Stitched Demon belongs to @fullmetaldevil-blog

On with the fic!

--

SINdy could hear Sammy inside of his sanctuary, his loud voice was obvious, even behind the metal grate. He’d be in there for a while. SINdy chuckled silently as he pressed his hands against the glass of the recording booth, he had been wanting to explore in there, maybe play with some of the stuff inside, and with his father-figure distracted, he could have fun!

He grinned to himself as his hands started to slip past the glass, he was getting so much better at these strange, teleportation powers he had! His hands went through first, then the rest of SINdy followed and he silently cheered as he stepped in past the glass.

Until he stepped into an ink puddle and suddenly vanished through the inky blackness. SINdy should have known better! Uhg, there was always some sort of portal in ever room, and he hated this!

Great, he hoped the universe or location in the studio he ended up in was nice.

--

Benny quietly sat in the little hut behind his home, it was such a lovely day and he couldn’t resist enjoying it in his little hideaway. As he finished working on the last few stitches of a torn leg of one of his toes, he noticed the familiar scent of demonic ink and he tensed up.

On the wall across from him he saw something black begin to pool, forming a large, dark stain on the surface. 

No, no, what was going on? It couldn’t be Bendy, he was with his parents, then... who could it be? An ink portal was a very, very bad sign!

He felt the mouth on his stomach start to split as Benny stood up, ready to fight or frighten the intruder if he had to! His pie cut eyes watched as a gloved hand shot out, well... okay, actually, it was just a glove.

Four fingers, two buttons?

Was it Bendy? No, the gloves were yellow, similar to his own, but the color sort of reminded him of the color of yellowed paper.

Wait, a second glove flew out, clutching a sign made of cardboard. Written on it in messy ink was ‘OH NO!’. Uhh... what was going- Benny yelped, backing up as something flew out a second or two later, dropping down on the ground in an almost comical fashion. 

There was a loud splat as the stranger landed right on their face and Benny couldn’t help but wince. The sign suddenly changed to read ‘Ouch. Gotta work on my landings...’.

Benny stared, blinking twice, before stepping closer, his second mouth still opened slightly, just in case. The figure was black in color, wearing a familiar set of boots, with a familiar set of horns on their head. Benny could see the edges of a bowtie on their chest, the same yellow at the gloves.

Actually, he noticed something strange, this possible-Bendy-lookalike had no arms! And the gloves... were moving? They walked on two fingers towards the body and he watched with wide eyes as the gloves seemed to push the body up, as if they had invisible arms!

The doll demon took a step back as the other got to his feet, stumbling. With a shake of their head, the stranger looked over at him with ink leaking from his widow’s peak, and small frown on his face. His eyes were completely off-model! They were not pie-cut at all, they had pupils, irises that were gold, and whites! 

The stranger Bendy looked at him, blinking a few times, confused, before his frown turned into a smile and he waved, holding up the cardboard sign. The ink on it changed into new words.

‘Hello! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you! Where am I? Oh! You’re a different looking Bendy! I’ve never seen one who is yellow and stitched before, makes me think of the Heavenly Toys!’

Benny stared at him, startled, trying to find his voice. It took a few seconds before he replied. “Uhh... alright, you’re in my backyard. And I’m made from a Heavenly Toys Bendy doll, and I’m not a Bendy. I’m Benny!”

The stranger nodded, still smiling as he held out a hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Benny! I’m SINdy!’

The hand was floating in front of Benny and he carefully took it, giving it a small shake. “Hello, SINdy? Are you a Bendy? Wait, are you from the studio? I don’t recall ever seeing you there!”

‘I’m... not really a Bendy? I mean, I was made from a Bendy cutout, and blood, and a demon, stuff like that, but no, not a Bendy per say. And I’m not from the studio!’ SINdy shrugged, though it seemed off with the lack of arms and shoulders. ‘Well, not the studio of this universe, I’m from a totally different one!’

Benny tiled his head a little, like a confused dog. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

‘Oh, right, uhh...’ SINdy looked lost in thought, before nodding to himself. ‘Okay, well, I’m a... special kind of demon? I guess? I mean, the ritual used to make me gave me this strange power! I can teleport to other universes, other realities where the studio exists! Or at least where Bendy exists as a character or real figure.

And this power of mine lets me end up in other universes through ink portals and cutouts! It’s weird, happens randomly, but I can always return home if I go back the way I came!’

He stopped and looked around, blinking. ‘Wait, did you say you were in a backyard?’

“Yes, you’re at my home.” Benny replied.

SINdy looked shocked and rushed to the door, much to Benny’s protest, and stepped outside. The stranger froze up as he stepped onto the grass, looking at it in surprise, before looking up at the beautiful trees that surrounded the small hut he had appeared in. The sign in his hand had a new message. ‘I’m... outside? Outside of the studio?’

Benny stepped up to him, his stomach having closed up, this toon didn’t seem like much of a threat. Actually, he seemed like a weird, little kid. The look on his face was of genuine surprise and awe, had he never been outside before?

“Yep, I escaped with my parents, and with Bendy and Henry.” Benny started stepping past him to be outside as well. 

SINdy looked at him, eyes practically sparkling, almost as if there were stars in them like a cartoon. ‘I’ve never... been outside. All the other universes I’ve been to, they were in studios. Or toon realities. Never... the real world.’

He flopped down on the grass, looking at Benny, his smile returning. ‘Do you mind if I stay here for a bit? I want to enjoy the outside, just for a little...’

The stitched demon looked at him before smiling a bit, sitting down across from him. “Sure, you can stay for a while! Not often I get guests, hehe. So, uh, tell me about yourself?”

SINdy grinned brightly as words appeared on the sign, happily telling Benny about himself, about being a cutout that came to life! How he has been in the studio for a long time, and that he recently started seeing Sammy as his father. He mentioned some of the universes he had visit, his powers were still new to him so he hadn’t seen that many.

This was honestly the first time he’s really able to speak to someone that wasn’t scared of him or trying to kill him. It was also nice to be around someone who gave off small whispers instead of loud screams or buzzing sounds from their sins and negative feelings.

Benny told him stuff in return, about his own past and who his parents were, about his own powers and his second form as Ragdoll. As they spoke, Benny showed him around the yard, pointing out plants and even insects, like when a butterfly landed right on SINdy’s face and the wandering demon freaked out from the unexpected face guest.

After that, Benny happily took him inside of the hut, showing him toys and even a plate of cookies he had. SINdy had never had anything outside of bacon soup before, so trying a peanut butter cookie was as if he had been gifted something from the gods.

‘You know,’ SINdy started as he moved his checker piece of the board in front of the two toon, ‘I never thought I’d meet another Bendy like me.’

“What do you mean?” Benny asked as he moved his own piece, capturing one of SINdy’s.

‘Well, I mean, you’re made from a doll, I’m from a cutout! How silly is that?’

Benny chuckled. “It is, but it’s pretty neat! I mean, it’s kinda nice to have a friend in a similar situation as me.” He looked up, seeing that sparkly look in SINdy’s eyes like when he first stepped outside. And when he rolled around in grass earlier.

‘Friend?’ The sign read as he seemed to mouth the word.

“Well, yeah! I mean, if you want to be-!” Benny was suddenly cut off SINdy was suddenly in front of him, doing something akin to a hug? He guessed? It was weird, seeing as he had no arms. “I’m guessing you’re okay with that?”

He saw the sign pop up above their heads, held in a floating hand. ‘Of course! I’ve never had a friend before!’

“Well, you’ve got one now.” The stitched toon grinned, returning the hug.

--

Sorry, it’s short, and kinda silly, but I had a cute idea based on something Fullmetal and I talked about.

Enjoy! :D