#or pendles being able to float for a few seconds.))

[daemoninfluff]

Nightmares

*GWEN DO NOT INTERACT* (you already got the link,,,)

finally remembered to put this on tumblr too! Will put the link to ao3 into a reblog cause tumblr somehow doesn’t show my posts in the tags when there’s a link in it (sad life)

In short, Frey has nightmares since McG fell out of the window and cause I’m uncreative the title is nightmares too. Tell me if y’all find any errors pls and thx, much love and let’s begin!

Ian Frey sat on the side of his bed, the room dark apart of the small illumination the glowing embers were giving off. The heavy curtains were blocking the moonlight, but also the cold from creeping through the window so he hadn’t yet chosen to open them.

He drove his hands through his still damp hair; at least the shivering had stopped.

It hadn’t been the first night and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Since they had come back to Edinburgh, since the Ardglass case had ended in the tragic death of Miss Caroline’s father, he hadn’t slept well.

Frey wasn’t stupid. He knew his brain was just trying to work out the events in Lancaster and on Pendle Hill – at least that was what he told himself. It had been a rough week after all, but now two weeks had gone by and he still wasn’t able to get a normal amount of sleep. And when he was honest to himself, he knew why it was. Better, what it was.

In the beginning he hadn’t been sure if it wasn’t just because he had fallen asleep on the train back. The dreams had been vague, a mix of colors and shadows, the smell of fire and the feeling of cold going through his body. But they continued every following night – or whenever he fell back into his restless slumber – and when he finally started to really see, he realized his numerous near death experiences weren't the full volume of his dreams, not even what woke him up, every time in a cold sweat, heart beating fast and breath rattling as if he had run for what felt like a hundred miles.

Instead it had been McGray. McGray’s death, to be precise, or what Frey had thought to be the end of the man. And every time it got worse.

Frey knew McGray was alive, probably awake even, as he knew the Scot was plagued from nightmares just as well.

If Frey just knew why McGray’s apparent death was eating on him so heavily, why it didn’t seem to let him go; Maybe it would let him sleep easier, find some peace. The whole affair was a riddle to him though.

Frey made his way out of his room, didn’t even bother to close the door. The corridor wasn’t much colder so he didn’t saw the need to close it which might would have aroused whoever else was still awake – worst of them McGray. Frey knew he had to pass through half the house to reach the kitchen, but he preferred his small chance of going unnoticed.

Already as he came to the end of the stairs he realized he wouldn’t have such luck. To his demise most of the doors stood ajar, showing that McGray had once again been roaming around the house before deciding where to stay and therefore probably having left the door open to whichever room he had chosen in the end.

Frey went on still, trying to be as silent and inconspicuous as possible. It shouldn’t work, as he soon found out.

“Ye still awake”, came McGray’s voice from the drawing room. It didn’t feel like a question but Frey still felt obliged to answer.

“Just getting something to drink”, he said but didn’t even look at McGray. “Maybe something stronger…”

Frey strode on, following the dimly lit corridor into the kitchen, not even registering the scrapping noise the legs of the chair did as McGray stood up to follow him. He opened the door and only two steps in he registered the lack of light. The fire had burned out as it seemed, an hour or so ago, still warm but the embers weren’t glowing anymore. Joan also had turned out all the light and since the kitchen wasn’t on one of the outer walls there were no windows to let the moonlight or that of the streetlamps in. Just as Frey turned around the big shadow of McGray appeared in the door frame.

“Why didnae ask ye nanny to bring some juice, lassie”, McGray grunted. He moved to the side just to bring up a candle.

The light was bright between just the two of them and Frey had to squint for his eyes weren’t ready for it. McGray inspected him, Frey could feel the man’s eyes moving over his body. Heat run up his head and ears but he ignored it. As McGray took a step forward Frey turned around and walked up to the pantry. He couldn’t stand looking him in the eyes. Sure, they were alive, nothing like the cold, glassy globes he saw in his dreams, but whatever he knew he would see in them didn’t become him.

Frey could hear McGray grumble behind him as he searched for something high percentage. He found some whiskey behind a few old looking bottles of wine and took it, short of just opening the bottle and taking a few gulps out of it, wouldn’t McGray stand right behind him. So instead he turned around yet again to march out of the smaller room and get himself a cup just to have McGray stand right in front of him once more.

He sighted, “Can you let me get a cup or should I take your own measures and drink out of the bottle?” McGray didn’t need to know that Frey would have done it either way, even though he would have waited until he had reached his own room again.

“Why ye do nae sleep anymore, Frey”, this time McGray squinted, not because of the light and also not because of his eyesight – that had gone back to it’s regular sharp self just a few days after they had arrived in Edinburgh again. No, Frey knew he was searching for something, searching for answers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he mumbled though while looking away. Frey just wanted to go back to his room, maybe relight the fire so he would be able to let the curtains open, just for a bit. He would drink and then he would finally be able to sleep for some more than just an hour or two at a time. Maybe he would end up like Nine Nails himself, not able to sleep without tossing around, staying awake most of the night and drinking himself to sleep. Going crazy. He was sure he would end up being crazy when it went on like this.

“Tell me or I’ll talk to ye wee brother and I’m sure-”

“Don’t you dare talk to Elgie about this”, Frey hissed. His younger brother didn’t need to know about his sleeping problems – if they could be called that.

“Then ye would rather me talking to Joan?”

Frey pressed his lips together. He would have loved to just punch McGray but he knew that would get him nothing but a bloody nose himself.

“Ye as scared talking ‘bout yer feelings as ye are ‘bout believing in witchcraft, it seems”, McGray mused.

Frey huffed. He tried his best to shove McGray aside, pressed himself through the small gap and made for the corridor again, but before he could reach the door he was gripped by the arm, pulled around and in the next second Frey found himself pressed against the kitchen wall. He nearly let the bottle fall, but McGray was faster, grabbing it just a second before he let go.

McGray’s blue eyes were stabbing him with intensity. Frey wasn’t sure if the man could even see his face in the darkness of the room since McGray had abandoned the candle somewhere near the pantry, but he was able to see McGray’s face, mere inches in front of his own, eyebrows scrunched together and mouth tight in a slim line.

“I’m not scared of witchcraft”, Frey huffed, “since it doesn’t exist. It is not real.” He tried to control the heat running into his cheeks but it was pointless as McGray’s breath hit his face, the warmth of the man’s body floating through his too thin night clothing, making the heat of McGray’s hand – still on his forearm – even more noticeable.

“Same goes for yer feelings, then?” Frey gulped. McGray’s eyes squinted again and Frey reminded himself of the man’s great eyesight. McGray almost smiled. “Nae? Then tell me.”

Maybe Frey could have ignored McGray, could have ignored the fear of him telling his Brother – or worse, Joan, who would have announced it to half of Edinburgh until the next evening for sure – but there was something in Nine Nails’ eyes, something warm, nearly caring, that made him break. And within a second Frey had to suck his next breath in, heavily, his lip already trembling and feeling his eyes burning.

He tried to tell himself he wasn’t going to cry, but he knew if he wouldn’t get away soon, he would. And he knew he wouldn’t get away.

“It’s all your damn fault”, he said, his voice quivering. McGray frowned, already opened his mouth to deny his doings in whatever Frey was about to claim, but Frey was faster: “I can’t sleep. I can’t stay asleep. Cause every time I dream of this stupid stunt of yours and Ms Oakley! And every time it gets worse and all I can think of are-” He stopped for a moment, his breath heaving. Frey pressed his eyes together, he wished he was drunk for this, at least lightly. A first tear made it’s way out of the corner of his eye and Frey wasn’t sure if he should brush it off – which would also risk McGray noticing. “I- I see your eyes and they’re- they’re cold and lifeless and… I-It isn’t you! I know you are alive bu- but I just-” Frey gulped some more. He realized McGray had loosened his grip around his arm, had started to move his thumb over the soft skin on the inside like Frey had seen him do to his sister.

He knew he shouldn’t feel like leaning in. He was a man, grown up already, had studied twice – with rather little success, but still – and worked since some many years already. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t lean in, wouldn’t search for body contact, not in any form. He was an adult. He didn’t need that.

“Hush.” McGray drove his free hand up to Frey’s face, brushed over his cheek and wiped the tears away Frey hadn’t yet realized were running down his cheeks. He blinked, tried to see, but his vision was blurred. “Speak, Frey. What are ye fearing?”

Frey wanted to snort but instead his breath hitched and he let out a small whine. He was sure he started to blush furiously.

“I- I don’t know”, he finally answered. “I just don’t know.”

McGray hummed, “Then why ye crying just thinking about it?”

“I don’t know.”

Frey was sure he didn’t fear McGray dying, why should he. They weren’t even friends, they were barely partners. McGray didn’t like him and would never do and specifically not after what they had thrown at each others heads in the week in Lancaster. They didn’t get along, maybe when it was about Campbell or the Lady Glass, but never much further. Frey was sure McGray hated him and he shouldn’t feel any different to the other, but just the thought of it made him lower his head and sob.

“Och, stop the whining, pretty boy!”

The next moment Frey found himself pressed against McGray’s broad chest, the tall man rumpling through his hair which would have bothered Frey if he hadn’t just fallen out of bed anyway. He lifted one hand, told himself he wanted to use it to push McGray away, but it just ended in the man’s shirt, his fingers quivering as he clutched them into the fabric.

“I just can’t bear the thought loosing you”, he whispered so silently he was sure McGray wouldn’t catch it, even if his face hadn’t been nearly crushed into the man’s shoulder. Frey wasn’t sure where that had come from, but he knew it was the truth.

It was the truth and it scared him.

[pendles-is-friendles]

“Oh mate, you’ve got much to learn on blendin’ in,” he retorted on the critique of his… admittedly ridiculous attire. “I mean, I might be a star assassin and furiously handsome Roa. But I’d stick out even more like a sore thumb if I went some place and didnt even pretend to like the culture of it.” Although even Pendles could admit that this aesthetic was difficult to pull off, but he felt he looked quite dashing in it, awkward, useless straps and D-rings and all. “And I could’ve brought someone home if I wanted, I just didn’t.”

Some part of the passionate assassin noted the particular lack of enthusiasm from the teen for his story of cunning and murder. Not that K' got excited over much, like any broody teenager, but Pendles figured his interest in violence lent itself to a love of death. But, it was not the first time he had run into that attitude. Maybe, somewhere beneath all that black and sunglasses, K' was a little soft hearted.

A smirk split scaled lips.

Pendles gave K’ a curious tongue flick at the requested drink at this ungodly hour. “Those're that bad, huh?” He gave a small circular gesture to the couch to indicate the teen's nightmares. Realizing that he had just sat down before offering a drink, he promised himself just one more minute of rest before tending to the coffee pot. “You don’t have anythin’ important to do tomorrow, right? ’T’s not good to train if you’re exhausted, mate.”

Granted, Pendles’ words were hypocritical. He made no secret of his long hours and near non-existent sleep schedule. It was only the incessant nagging of Alani’s wisdom in his ears that leaked through his fangs.

Despite himself, a grin - small and tired, but nonetheless there - crept onto his face. “I’m surprised your flirting went anywhere when you look like a walking traffic cone. Seriously, whoever told you that thing was fashionable was lying; you look ridiculous.” Not that he had much room to talk about terrible choices in clothing, but at least the straps of his all black ensemble had purposes. The ones over his right arm did, anyways. The ones around his thigh, not so much. However! They could be unbuckled and used as impromptu bonds, tourniquets, or weapons to strangle, at least. The ones on Pendles’ orange monstrosity, on the other hand, looked purely cosmetic, all sewn in and too small to really do anything; useless as nipples on a breastplate.

The recount of the assassination, and the hapless idiots who were in the wrong place at the wrong time to witness it, garnered the occasional vague hum to prove he was paying attention. K’ couldn’t really find it in him to be as excited over murder as the roa on a good day, let alone tonight. It wasn’t a hobby for him, just another means to keep himself alive. And for all that he thrived on violence, having to take lives in the aftermath made some small part of him recoil, sick and horrified. As with all his weaknesses, he tended to squash that one down as best he could. Couldn’t earn his pay checks or assist in the efforts to save the last sliver of universe without charring some eggs to ash, after all. Unburying the frayed remnants of some soft, kindhearted, crybaby kid from a life he couldn’t even remember would only hinder him, in that regard.

He didn’t kick up any sort of fuss as his feet were pushed aside to make room. Didn’t even scowl. Because even if he couldn’t quite see Pendles’ face in the dark, the sheer exhaustion in all his movements was clear. With that in mind, he scooted aside some so the roa could sprawl a little more comfortably; one of his subtle, awkward, attempts at kindness. K’ brought a knee up to rest his cheek against, arms curling around the limb loosely. An icy eye, half-lidded and ringed by dark circles, settled on the glowing amber one across from him. “Cup of coffee’d be nice.” He’d been tempted to ask for water and some of the much-hated sleep aids, but figured his sleep would only be filled with more nightmares, as usual, making him more of an exhausted irritable mess come morning. Better to just skip sleep altogether… Again.

[gospelofdismay-a3]

CHAPTER 3 - MAJOR EVENTS

This is basically The Chapter where things really begin revealing themselves as canon-divergent, so if you haven’t played Bendy and the Ink Machine’s Chapter 3, it’s probably a good time to do so in order for you to know what I mean by everything I’m going to say.

This is a post compiling all major event changes; each portion is sectioned out so that reading is a bit easier, although there are definitely some items that may not be part of threads, but this is more to understand what to expect if you’re coming to the studio during Chapter 3.

ALICE’S JUMPSCARE

Instead of the jumpscare, the door in the spotlit room will open, and Seraph will slowly walk in.

For a moment, her true face is shown, before her saddened mask will float in front of her face, concealing her warped features with the face of her previous self, Alice Angel. She’d sing “I’m Alice Angel…” before the lights flicker out.

“We see you there. A new fly in the endless web of our tragedies. Come along now – let’s see if you’re worthy to walk with angels.”

The room will be mostly in the same condition as it was before, but the door at the back of the spotlight room will have a large splatter of ink around the door, especially concealing the Hollywood star and “Alice Angel”.

THE TWO PATHS

For those unfamiliar with the two paths, they are the Angel and the Demon paths; in canon, the Angel path has a tape from when Susie Campbell is replaced by Alison Pendle, and the Demon path has a tape from Joey Drew.

Here, the paths have two main differences:

THE TAPES; the Demon has Edward’s tape, while the Angel has Susie’s sacrifice.

YOUR SECOND ESCORT; the Demon has SKYE, the Angel has AGNES. Regardless of escort, the angel will greet and join you and Boris on your adventure.

THE ELEVATOR DIALOGUE - PT. 1

When first reaching the elevator, Seraph speaks again.

“It’s so interesting, isn’t it? I can’t say I was a fan of how the show was handled…but never mind that. It looks like you’ve got a date with the angels…! Come to me now. Level Nine. Bring back what’s mine, and I will tell you more…”

Then, when exiting:

“Come on, step out of the cage. The world here is twisted, but surely you knew that, right…?”

LEVEL 9

When going through the room of corpses, they are all instead covered; these are all Miracle’s victims, whether clones from the Ink Machine or thralls turned into Borises in order to keep an eye on certain things in the studio.

“Look around. So many of them died, without reason…every single one of them was left, strewn around like litter…why, why did he do it? I’ve…I’ve asked myself this for years…”

Where canon Alice was torturing a Piper, Seraph is introduced with the angel from the opposing choice of path ( Agnes in Demon, Skye in Angel ), merely telling her that they have a guest, just before Henry steps in.

“Now we come to the question…why have you come here? Is it out of your own desire, or out of one of his traps to lure us all into Hell…?

As an angel…our decisions are nigh-unbearable. The good of many for the price of a few, saving one for the cost of many – it is awful, to even be forced into this role, but he has forced my hand many, many times.

Take a look at these angels. They didn’t deserve this – none of us did, and yet, he…sadistic, greedy, reckless, he took their lives, and turned them into this!

…but we’re so close now. The time is at hand. He will fall by the hands of those he raked over the coals for his own delight.

For now, I will need a few small favors from you. If you do those, then we shall talk about your ascension – your freedom.

Return to the lift, dear. We have work to do – and keep an eye on your new escort. She will be a great help to you on these errands.”

While leaving, Seraph adds these words:

“There are so few rules to our world now. So little truths. But there are three rules that we all know and respect down here.

Beware the Ink Demon. Do not trust the Liar. Do not search for what’s Missing.

Stay out in the open for too long, and the Ink Demon will find you. For if you see him – you’d better hide. If you don’t, well…your little escort will bring you back here so we can mourn for you properly.

Now, let us begin our work.”

THE ANGELS

Your second escort, unlike Boris, actively journeys with you throughout your fetch quests, each with a strength and a weakness.

SKYE ( DEMON ): She’s more familiar with the various areas, and will thus be able to help you find certain items; however, she RUNS in order to find the items, because she wants to see the Ink Demon, so you have to be careful in making sure she doesn’t draw Blight to you by mistake!

AGNES ( ANGEL ): She’s not very familiar with the area, so she’d stick close to you thanks to that; however, she will guide you to Miracle Stations if Blight is nearby, before distracting him when he’s arriving. It’d be a few moments of talking, before Blight’s sent on his way in another direction.

THE MISSIONS

Each errand has different dialogues, all of which are implying that they are either needed for the well-being of Level 9, or as a part of the ritual she’s preparing for “the studio’s final act”. The cutout mission hints that you’re blinding the Ink Demon, leaving him to “fumble about, unknowing of his end”.

The Projectionist’s mission, collecting the toon hearts, reveals several interesting details: Seraph had killed Norman by mistake, brought him back to life with the projector head, but eventually found that he wouldn’t let anyone else but her safely into Level 14.

WHAT ABOUT BORIS?

After all of the errands are completed, Seraph will have Henry return to her, thus taking back her angelic escort as well as speaking to him face-to-face again.

“We are nearing the absolute. I need only one last thing, and that is a lure to bring the Ink Demon into this area without causing trouble – and your Boris is a near-perfect match to the one that he will respond to, his dearest friend.

In order to defeat the Missing Miracle, I will have to permanently destroy the final bits of humanity from the Ink Demon. Don’t worry…Boris will be alive and ready to leave with you after I have guaranteed the ritual’s success.

Now…will you help an angel one more time?”

IF HENRY SAYS “YES”: Seraph sighs in relief and opens another door, telling the pair to rest up, as she double-checks everything she’s prepared.

IF HENRY SAYS “NO”: Seraph will allow Henry and Boris to go to the elevator, but will force it down — chiding him on being so selfish and stubborn. “Even with the promise of Boris being unharmed, you wish to leave and let all of us SUFFER? I thought you a better man than that, Henry.” She will then take Boris accordingly, although she will state again that she means him no harm -- she’d make sure of that.

In the end…well, that’s all a matter of whether things succeed, isn’t it?