#startist tries to write

[startistdoodles]

How did you meet your wife, Hyde?

(I was in the mood to write something and I’ve always wanted to tell the story of their meeting so I put this together :3 Hope you enjoy!)

‘Where’s Joey?’had gone from the most asked question to the least asked question in a matterof months once the boy figured out he could sneak away from home when hischores were done. And the worry that his parents once displayed was turned toa simple roll of the eyes as they figured he was off to that place again—his sanctuary.His spot where the grass had split in accustom to him sitting himself downagainst the rough bark of the grand oak tree behind.

It was a small, tranquil space just outside of town and up andover the hill where lush trees and soft grasses had made themselves a littlehome of their own among the wildflowers. It was the perfect spot for watchingthe butterflies dance over yellow blooms and listen to the trees rustle as ifthey were speaking to one another. Joey may not have believed in magic, but if therereally was any, he knew that this spot was where it called home.

And that spot was exactly where he sat on this Septemberafternoon, its harvest skies shifting from cool blue to a warm orange and soon,violet. Which meant that if Joey didn’t want to be carried home by the seat ofhis pants in the firm grasp of his father, he should be making his way back downthe hill.

But the boy dismissed this thought as his legs curled to sitmore comfortably, sketchbook in his lap. One more sketch is all, he decided.Then, he’ll at least start thinking about heading back.

Maybe.

And he would forever be glad he stayed.

The lead of the pencil scratched against the page, outlininga small, horned monster among various other sketches, its large mouth curvedinto a sharp-toothed snarl with a slender, arrow-tipped tail trailing behind itsback. Joey smiled to himself in pride of his work. He had always had afascination with the strange and mysterious. Perhaps this would make a goodcharacter to add to his little brother’s bedtime story.

But his daydreaming thoughts were interrupted by a swish ofblonde and a button nose very nearly smushing against his own as a kid—a girl, swung from a branch above like ananimal and hung her head down in the face of the young creator below. And wasthere ever a louder or more pathetic scream to come from him.

The dark, doe-like eyes of the girl stared into the shaken duel-coloredones of her terrified victim, his hand over his chest as he took deep and heavybreaths. His face flushed bright as he could hear his screech echo through thetrees.

“Why did you–!” he began once had caught his breath,turning his fear into frustration. But he wasn’t allowed to answer.

“Are you a alien?” The girl tilted her head to the side, herface scrunched in almost exaggerated questioning.

“…what?”

“You have weird eyes,” she explains, her hands reaching downtowards her reddening face as blood began to rush to her head. “Are you aalien?”

Joey scrunched his brows at this comment. And though hehated to admit how insecure he was about people pointing out his odd eyes, hedecided now wasn’t the time to waste explaining such feelings to this…kid.

“No, I am not an alien,” he huffed. “I’m a person. Like you.Although you appear to be more monkey than human if I’m to be honest. You’regonna pass out, kid.”

The girl appeared to agree and after a moment of haulingherself upright on the branch, she slid herself back down to reunite with theearth beneath her feet. Her hair was able to be quite easily compared to anatural disaster after what it had gone through what with all the swinging aroundand such, but it seemed not to bother her as she waddled over next to the boyand settled down at his side. Joey, however, was already scooting himself awayas he stayed close to the perimeter of the wide trunk.

“What are you drawing?” she inquired as she continued tocrawl alongside him as he inched himself around the tree uncomfortably.

“…Nothing.” He mumbled.

“Show me!”

“No!”

“Show me!!”

“No, leave me alone, kid!”

The girl made a final grab for his arm in an effort to makehim stop moving. And it worked, as Joey turned to look at her red face anddesperate, curious young eyes.

“…Please?” she asked more quietly. And despite him notknowing this girl or where she came from, what she was doing in his tree in thefirst place, he offered her a low sigh and finally settled down again.

“Fine. If you…really want to see, I guess.” He agreed as hebrushed off the cover of the sketchbook with another small huff through hisnose.

“I do!!” She chirped happily, snuggling closer into his sideand looking over his shoulder with a bright smile—a smile so curious and kinddespite lacking two front teeth.

Joey winced a bit as she curled next to him, the red in hischeeks returning. But as he opened his sketchbook, all attention that mighthave been drawn to his face was instead hooked to his doodles.

“Wow,” she breathed as the boy slowly turned the delicatepages of the worn book. “You’re the best artist I’ve ever seen,”

“It’s just a hobby,” he mumbled, flattered as he continued flippingthrough. He listened as his admirer and possibly biggest fan next to Henry ‘ohhh’and ‘ahhh’ at his work, his lips curling into a proud smile and cheeks pressingup into his eyes.

It wasn’t long until he reached the last page in his book,revealing the sharp-toothed monster he had drawn just minutes earlier. This one,however, made the girl frown a bit.

“…It looks mean,” she admitted.

“Well of course it’s mean,” Joey explained matter-of-fact. “It’sa demon-monster. Like the ones they teach us about in church.”

“Not all demon-monsters have to be mean,” She replied as herhead tilted up to look at him, her hand brushing stray, pale strands out of herface. “Some can be…good, right?”

“I don’t think you understand—”

“Can I try?”

The boy winced at this question—kids always want to have achance to do the same as older kids do. Which is why it didn’t necessarily surprise him that she wanted a chance todraw, but it did still make him laugh nervously as he tried to stall for timeand think about how to feel about someone else drawing in his sketchbook.

“…Okay,” he finally sighed after handing her the pencil. He supposed hecould always erase it later if he needed.

And as the young girl took the pencil, she gently erased thesnarl from the monster, replacing it with a wide and friendly toothed grin andadding scribbly rosy cheeks for good measure.

“There,” she said finally, leaning her head on Joey’sshoulder once she had finished her work. “She’s perfect now.”

“’She…?’” hemuttered questioningly before fixating on the drawing. And after a moment, hiseyes softened as he took a hand to gently ruffle the hair of the girl at hisside.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, the smile in the drawing beginning to reflecton his own lips as well as the ones on the girl’s face. “She is.”

“What’s her name?”

“She…doesn’t have one.”

“She has to have a name, you know.”

“I know, but I’m not too terribly good at names.”

“That’s alright, name her whatever you want!”

The pressure began to sink as he desperately looked aroundfor inspiration. But there was nothing here, just plants and shrubs and mosslaced together with ivy as they climbed up the tree trunks…–

“…Ivy,” he saidsuddenly.

“Huh?”

“Her name is Ivy.”

The girl took a glance back down at the drawing in his lap,her lips pursed in thought before her head nodded excitedly. “I like that name,”she agreed with a small yawn. “It’s…pretty.”

Joey smiled to himself before he looked back down to thedrawing, only to notice it was getting a bit harder to see. And almost as if itwas on queue, he could hear the gruff voice of his father calling his name inthe distance. Drat–

“Listen, kid,” he said suddenly, rising to his feet andbrushing off clinging bits of grass from his overalls. “I gotta get back homenow. My father is calling and if I don’t get back, I’ll…uh…I’ll get in trouble.”

“Oh,” she replied softly, wiping sleepiness from her eyes asshe pushed herself to her feet. “Ok then…I guess…”

The boy only had to take one step before he turned back tothe younger child, almost hesitantly.

“What’s your name, kid?” he raised the question to her asher head lifted back up slowly.

“Charlotte,” she answered gently. “What’s yours?”

“Joey,” he said with a smile. “Joey Drew,” and once again hetook a hesitant step away but not able to pull himself to go back home. Justyet, at least.

“Uhhh…Charlotte, huh? Will you, um…be here tomorrow?”

At that, Charlotte’s eyes lit up with surprise and her headnodded excitedly, long strands of hair bouncing on her head.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course!” She agreed with a bright smilepaired with eager bounciness in her feet. “Wh-when? Tomorrow night?”

“Oh anytime,” the boy grinned as he took a few steps backtowards home and his father’s voice. “I’m always around.”

[startistdoodles]

The soft knock at the door lifts the eyes of the child up from her pillow, eyes wide as if she was only pretending to be asleep. Her lips part to reply before the door cracks open and allows for the soft, gentle, all-too familiar voice to chirp through. Her legs swing over to sit on the side of her bed, hands pushing herself off before smoothing the wrinkles of her nightgown and trotting over to the figure.

In her hands is placed the delicately-wrapped gift, the weight a touch heavier than she thought it would be, and she immediately realizes it must be a gift of great care. As her papa gently urges her to open it, she does so, using one hand to carefully remove the bow and undo the fine folds of the paper, so neat that the paper might as well be reused later.

“A box,” she giggles quietly as the wrapping is placed to the side. But as the final bits of sticky tape peel back, her lips curl into a small ‘oh...!’ as she realizes this isn’t just a simple box. Of course it isn’t--this is Gingie’s gift, of course. And if there’s anything she’s learned from him it’s to always look closely to discover the magic of ordinary things.

Her thumb rubs softly against the elegant designs, soft eyelashes fluttering as she admires the intricate detail.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes before her hand finds the small knob on the back of the box. Small, feminine fingers clasp around it as her gaze turns up to the man, almost as if non-verbally asking permission to open it. He, of course, nods, his smile only growing brighter in anticipation for the bigger reveal inside.

And turning the knob, she hears the small sound of winding gears inside and her lips part in the awe only found in a child.

“A music box...?” she guesses before opening the delicately crafted lid. And as the ballerina pops up and begins to twirl, the music begins. Soft, gentle sounds to mirror the elegant spinning of the porcelain figure.

“A jewelry box...!!” Mary speaks so softly yet with an undertone of pure thrill and magic beyond compare as she watches the ballerina spin to the light sounds of the music box inside. And rich, dark eyes flutter down even more as there was still more to discover. The bottom drawer is opened, providing room to put small trinkets and whatever she so wishes inside.

But what’s this? A box within a box? Only this one is much smaller and lighter than the prior one. And popping open the lid to this one reveals the locket, its own floral design and carefully embedded stone making her even more speechless than before. The locket is opened to reveal the flower within, and this makes her giggle.

And this seems to be the queue that the ginger man was waiting for as he caresses her head with gentle hands. The girl’s head rests in his palm, her cheeks flushing and her mouth trying to find words to express this pure amount of magic and joy in her heart.

She hears him say her name, and her gaze is finally lifted to listen to him. He speaks of love, magic and wonder...all thanks to her. And it’s too much for her to hold back in anymore as crystal tears bud at her lower eyelids.

“Oh papa...” she blubbers as her hands close the lid to the wooden box and place it aside on the soft support of her bed. Her now open hands choose to clasp around his chest and bury her face into his warmth.

“Thank you...thank you, I...”

And he feels her shake with immense emotion and her voice turn to muffled squeaks.

“I love you too...I love you so, so much...you’re so much more than I ever could have dreamed or asked for...I never asked to be part of your family...and yet...”

Mary’s gaze turns to the side as she observes the locket in her palm, passed down from one generation, a family not her own, to someone like her. Someone who was family not because of blood, but because of love.

“...Thank you...thank you for everything.”

Mary-Jane Drew’s Birthday

@startistdoodles

A soft rap knocks on Mary-Jane’s door, a pause before old Ginger Drew peeks in, just a sliver of the door open. 

“Darling,” he coos gently, but his voice still trembles with excitement like Christmas morning, “I have something for you…!" 

Finally, the redhead steps inside, hands behind his back until fully within the confines of her bedroom. A bit of a pause, maybe one to raise anticipation, before he  reveals a box hidden in his hands. It’s- well, to go by the guessing game- just a touch smaller than a bread box, a present with lavender and green polka dots and a bow of rosy pink on top. He puts it in her hands…notably gently. It’s a weight heavy compared to its size, but not too much so. 

"Open it.” Again, that voice. He’s just as excited as if he was the one receiving a present, not she.

Inside the gift box is yet another box- a wooden one. Engraved on the top of reddish wood are elegant, elaborate designs of flowers and vines and leaves. There’s a metal knob on the back meant to be twisted. Upon opening, the box reveals a compartment in the bottom half for storing things…with another box in it. There’s a small porcelain ballerina that twirls to a music box’s “When You Wish Upon A Star” when the box is wound. In the lid is carved in cursive, “My Darling Angel." 

Within the smaller box is a bronze-gold locket, heart shaped with a flower and stem on the left and a small amethyst on the right. When opened, a tiny pressed flower is inside as a placekeeper for a picture of her choosing, if she so wishes. 

Eyes glistening with tears not fallen and a shaking smile across his face,  Ginger gently puts a hand to her head, stroking her head and then cupping her cheek and chin while the other gets to her shoulder. 

"Mary-Jane,” he states softly, purposefully, “You are a beautiful, brilliant, magical girl. My life has been immeasurably, indescribably wonderful thanks to your presence in it. This locket was my mother’s and I- I want it to be yours. You are my family, Snowy’s family, our family, and I need you to never forget that. You’re the best daughter we could ever ask for. Happy birthday." 

That tear finally comes down his cheek. "I love you.”

[startistdoodles]

Hey MJ. How much do you remember about being the Wanderer?

Brown locks intertwine between youthful fingers as the girlin question recalls her past life—life through the eyes of an abomination shenever asked to be, and yet she still was.

“To be honest,” Mary-Jane mutters as she meets your gazeagain, her hands anxiously smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “I don’tremember much clearly…it all seems so blurry. Like it was all a dream and at thesame time…so very real.

It felt as if my brain had turned to mush and all I couldthink of was how…hungry I was. But no matter how much I ate, the hungrier Ibecame. Almost like I was hungry not for food, but for something else entirely.

I remember feeling weak—top-heavy. As if I was carrying theweight of the world on a crown upon my head. And I remember walking. Walking.Walking.

I didn’t know where I was going, and yet I still walked…foreternity.

I was never alone; she was always with me, but I still felt…lonely.

Breathing was difficult—if…if I did indeed breathe at all.It felt like my lungs were filled with water and yet I did not drown. It simplysloshed up and down, side to side as I felt my way around on hands and knees.

I…I remember flashing lights and sweet singing. Prayers inthe dark and endless weeping. Cages above chasms and smiling faces.

And I remember…voices.

I remember hearing her as she spoke to me.

‘Keep smilin’ darlin’’ she had told me.

And I did. I kept smiling. For her.

It made the reflection in the puddles look a little lessmonstrous.

…

And then I remember…people.

Real, actual people with real skin and soft hair and life intheir eyes.

I remember how they reached out to touch me…how their voiceschoked up when they spoke to me…

I remember feeling the floor leave from beneath my feet as theyheld me…and soft lips press to my head as they accepted me…”

And it’s at this moment eyes that had been hanging dearly totears at her bottom lids finally let go and allow them to slip down hercheeks. Mary swiftly uses the back of her fist to wipe away the wet streak witha small giggle.

“I…I think I got a bit carried away there, didn’t I?” sheadmits, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m sure that was truly more thaninsightful for you.”

[startistdoodles]

Gingie’s Birthday

For @pipesflowforeverandever

Snow crunches beneath their feet as gloved hands clasp in the cold of drifting snowflakes. Gingie’s beloved daughters walk beside him, their cheeks rosy with the kiss of sharp frost as well as the anticipation of celebration.

Being a child doesn’t grant the ability to provide others with flashy gifts, but Mary-Jane knows that such a present isn’t what the older man desires. She shifts the bag on her shoulder up a bit with the thought of his gift.

The toon on the opposite side shuffles through thick snow as she tries to keep up with the taller people. Booted feet kick as she walks, girlish giggles escaping questionably existing lungs.

But this isn’t to just be some everyday walk through the snow, and as Mary stops in her tracks, her eyes lift to meet her father’s, who was growing even closer to eye level every day. How she dreaded the day when she would start towering over him.

Her hand gives his a small squeeze as she breaks the soft sound of snowflakes hitting the ground.

“Papa?” She says gently, her mouth opening to say more, but instead shifting the bag in front of her and retrieving a small, wrapped gift. Ivy peeks out from behind the man’s legs, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“What’d’ya get ‘im, sugar cookie?” She asks with a curl of her dark brow. Mary giggles in response, placing the gift into Gingie’s hands.

“Well it’ll just be a surprise for both of you, won’t it?” She smiles.

The gift is elegantly decorated with Christmas wrapping, a delicate ribbon tied around in a lovely bow. Removing the bow and wrapping reveals a small box withholding a snow globe, small snowflakes twinkling around a miniature tree. It’s small enough to hold with one hand, and accented with gold paint around the base. Far too expertly crafted for it to be made by her.

Ivy squints at the gift, her head tilting in curiosity as to why a snow globe would ever make a good birthday gift. Wouldn’t he rather prefer fireworks? She shuts up immediately without even saying anything as MJ gives her a hushing expression.

“Oh goodness,” Mary’s eyes wince as she digs through her bag again. “I—I thought I put the card in the box but...h-here!”

The girl doesn’t believe she is good with words, and so she resorts to writing a handmade card for the older man, the folded craft paper slipping beside the globe into his hands. The paper itself is doodled on with small pictures of flowers, presents and snowflakes.

“Dear Papa Gin,” the card reads on the inside. “Thank you for all the wonderful memories this year has offered. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve truly felt like part of a family, but it’s something I treasure every day. I feel like I can be free to express my innocence and creativity not just for the enjoyment of others, but for enjoyment for myself as well. To know people are there for me and love me and protect me is so much more than I could have ever asked for. So my wish for you is that I can provide you with the same love that you have given me. Merry Christmas, and happy birthday to a magical papa.”

Beneath is written in large, youthful handwriting is Ivy’s message, scrawled with black ink.

“I LOVE YOU PAPA GINGIE YOUR LIKE A REAL LIFE CANDY CANE OF JOY THANK YOU FOR MAKING ME FEEL LIKE A STAR YOUR A STAR TOO.”

Both girls then pull into Gingie’s sides, their faces buried as they snuggle into his warmth. Snow continues to quietly float down into their hair, sparkling them with white stars.

“Thank you,” Mary says in a slight hush, eyes sparkling with happy tears.

They’re quiet now, simply enjoying the presence of a father and reflecting on their second chance of life.

The girls are alive, and what greater gift than to be able to have a family to celebrate not only Christmas, but a birthday with?

[startistdoodles]

No one

A little spooky drabble I threw together in honor of Halloween!! ^^

Hope you all enjoy!~

After hours. Doors locked, everyone has gone home to their families.

All is quiet. Empty.

Like a breathing tomb.

Your steps are uneasy—feet feeling like they carry the weight of the world along with you as you drag them along dimly-lit hallways.

You know what needs to be done…but do you have the strength to do it?

Only one way to find out, you suppose as you try to swallow your fear only to choke on the lingering, bitter anxiety.

And through the dark arch looms the Machine—the bringer and destroyer of dreams. The ultimate judge on whether you will prosper or whether you will perish.

And tonight, you decide to take that chance. For you. For your family. For the good of the company.

Your knees meet the ground, candlelight surrounding and illuminating the beads of sweat forming on your temples. And this is when the doubt hits—like a painful jab to the gut that just keeps throbbing…throbbing…throbbing inside.

What if this is…wrong?

What if this doesn’t work?

….but oh, the glorious triumph and success you will feel if it does.

An inner voice convinces you that temporary pain will be worth the lifelong joy. And you blindly decide to listen to it.

And as your knees press against the dusty, hollow floorboards beneath, a slow hand moves to your back pocket, feeling for the cold, smooth texture of the handle.

The handle of the blade.

Trembling, your hand retrieves the weapon from behind, its crystal blade shimmering, taunting you as the golden light reflects onto your quivering lips and insomnia-stricken eyes.

It’s not too late to turn back, you know?

You can still drop the knife and walk away.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

But you’ve made your choice. And now…it really is too late.

A grunt escapes clenched teeth as the metal hits the ground with a clank, your hand flying to clutch your collarbone. That will definitely leave a scar, but not one that anyone will find out about.

“I’ve lost…everything,” you breathe as your eyes turn up to the machine. “But…no longer. From now on…I can be the man everyone needs me to be. I can be stronger now. Do more. Be more. And this time…I can’t lose.”

Drip…Drop….Drip…Drop…

In response, the nozzle of the pipe begins to drip—thick, black liquid slowly but steadily picking up as it leaks from the opening and into the tray below.

..........

But...

But nothing is happening.

No…

NO!!

You step closer to the edge in panic, looking up in an attempt to see inside the dark abyss of the nozzle, but to no avail. It’s simply…empty. Nothingness. Hollow. Just like the pit in the stomach you clutch as rage begins bubbling up inside.

“HEAR ME!” You cry up to the machine. “AND LISTEN!! I Don’t have much to offer…but I beg!! Please!! Help me! Do whatever it takes and help me, dammit!!”

And the pipes that thread in and out of the walls begin to speak back. A foreign language of echoed clanks and thuds.

They’ve heard you. They’ve heard your plea.

And they are here to help you.

For the right price.

The blood of the pen is now pumping through the halls: pumping, pumping, pumping, louder, closer…

Until the black flood cascades into your eyes and hurls you back in your place, your voice releasing a pitiful shriek.

Bitter fluid fills your mouth and leaks out from the corners of your lips. You try to cough, spit it out, anything. But like a virus, it seeps down your throat and clings to your body. And within a matter of moments, your eyes render useless.

You can only watch as the gold of the halls fades into nothing but a blur before your eyes.

But that, as you soon discover, is only the beginning.

Pain seeps through your veins as your body begins to fall apart, rip at the seams. You can only struggle as the sting of a thousand needles pierces into your leg and contorts your ankle. It is a blessing that you don’t have the proper eyesight anymore to witness your foot crunch and twist until it is in a position that is almost unrecognizable.

You cry. You cry and you cry for someone to come for you.

You didn’t want this. You never wanted this.

But your cries are nothing more than white noise as the ever growing hell swirls around you. Grasps you and pulls you in.

You give one last painful shout through drowning lungs.

But no one comes.

No one ever comes.

[startistdoodles]

Henry and Joey Drew were once close business partners...but one man's foolish actions lead to their separation and consequently, the desire for vengeance. 

This one’s for you guys!

[startistdoodles]

It's hard to maintain your identity when your father is an absolute madman. There's something deep down in your heart that makes you wonder if you are really more similar than you would like to believe. Others might say otherwise, but how can you ignore the face of your sinful father staring back at you in the mirror? 

---

I wrote a thing!!!!!!

I have been really inspired by the Dad Privileges Revoked series that @queenofcats17 has been writing so I did my own little thing expanding on how Mary-Jane is trying to recover from all the black magic she’s been a part of and the scary memories she has.

Hope y’all enjoy!!

[startistdoodles]

Joey Drew wasn't always the madman he is now. After suffering a terrible loss, he consoles his 8-year old daughter after she had a nightmare, and he has to come to terms with facing hardship and embracing comfort from others... 

Let’s pretend I didn’t forget to post this a week ago when I wrote it, shall we.

[startistdoodles]

Despite the force of pressure put upon it, the door will simply not budge. Its frame wails with every push as if it was sentient enough to feel pain, and also had the humanity to whine.

It’s no use--it’s simply a dead end.

However, behind the sturdy wooden door you can hear the faint, hallow voice of...a girl? No...it was too deep to be a girl’s. And yet it was so feminine. It croaks back and forth between that of a beast and that of a child, its throat so clearly damaged it could only do its best to create small and insignificant sounds.

Slowly you press your ear to the door, muting the sound of your breath in the fear of whatever might be lurking within might somehow find its way out.

When suddenly, it begins to speak.

“Oh, mY dEAr, sWEEt cHilD...yoU wILL taKE cARe of yOUr fAthEr noW, wON’T yOu, LoVe? He’S QuITe a RaSCal!

oF coURSe, mUMmy...”

A pause.

A pulse.

A drip.

He’s here.

You force yourself to tear away from the voice and tighten your grip on the wrench in your hand, knowing full well it won’t be able to defend you from the demon.

A Miracle Station sits parallel to you, but the cold figure of death stood perpendicular. It takes all the strength you can muster to make a flying dash to the boxed haven before the eyeless, grinning figure somehow pierces its gaze on you and lunges.

Ink bleeds on the rough surface of the walls, threatening to swallow you whole.

Growls erupt at your back.

You can feel your heart beating in your ears desperately.

Until...

Safety.

The quick slam of a lockless door puts the demon to a screeching halt. It stands, the station still under the dark spotlight of its presence before it turns on its heels and drags itself back to the darkness.

The waves cease, and the station door opens with a cringe-inducing squeak. Almost as if nothing else mattered, you trot back to the locked door on the opposing side of the room and immediately press the side of your face to it.

Hoping to hear something...anything.

A soft, gaspy breath? A whimper? A cry?

...no.

It was gone.

It certainly couldn’t be, there was no other way in! Your brows furrow as you take one last turn of the doorknob and you almost trip over your feet as you don’t expect it to actually open--but it did.

Before you is a small room--a room certainly used as a closet many, many years ago as it is stuffed with old records and dusty broken projectors.

You almost don’t notice until you hear a soft squeak beneath your feet; a plush. Not one, but two. Two soft and friendly-looking faces innocently placed on the floor.

You reach down to scoop them up, wet flakes of ink dripping off their soft bodies. In one hand is very clearly an Alice doll, her pie-cut eyes smudged. In the other...a sheep.

You take a quick glance around the closet for any sign of life before carefully placing the two dolls on the shelf, in a safe space between the records and projectors, and shutting the door.

...perhaps it was just all in your head, after all.

[startistdoodles]

A Star is Born

Another one-shot ^^; I had been throwing around ideas for ages about how Wanderer was created and Joey’s true feelings towards his creation. I finally just wrote this out. Hope you all like it!

(Warning: This fic contains elements of body horror as Mary-Jane transforms into Wanderer. So if you are sensitive and/or scared of that then...read at your own discretion :,D)

It had all gone by so suddenly…so quickly. So…painfully.

As the ink flooded down on her wounded body, the girl took a solemn glance up at her father, who simply sat a way back in his wheelchair to which he was recently bound to. And his eyes—they were dark and unnatural. Their normal heterochromatic state was now flushed out with the dark emptiness inside. No emotion. No sorrow, no anger. Just a hollow shell of a man. A living corpse.

Mary-jane threw her right hand forward as her body began to fall victim to the numbness of the ink. The pressure…the disturbing pulse as if the fluid were more than just an artistic element. It was alive. Consuming her soul till she, too, was just a hollow corpse like her father.

Her fragile fingers gripped onto the bars of the cage from which she was enslaved. It was suspended from the ceiling by a chain that went who knows how high, and looking down wasn’t any different.

The child’s eyelids flooded with murky tears as she desperately reached out to her father—her protector. Her dependent. He didn’t mean this…he LOVED her…she knew he did, somewhere in his old heart.

“Papa!!” she screamed, followed by an inky gag. “Let me g-go!! Please! Save me!!”

Joey sat immobile, as he watched his daughter writhe in pain and cry out to him. His thick brows winced at her every choke and gag and furrowed completely when she screamed. His withered hands clutched the arms of the wheelchair as if he was preventing himself from leaping to her aid. But why? Was this really love? Was this the kind of dream he had…hoped for? No--this…this was a nightmare.

Finally, the man couldn’t bear the sight of it and turned his head away, teeth gritted and hands curled into fists. His daughter continued to scream for his aid, and his muscles tensed at every cry. Every plea for the man she trusted and loved to rescue her from the darkness. His palms raised to his head and gripped at his prematurely greying hair, trying to block out the painful screeches that he himself caused.

This is what you wanted.

Dreams come true, Joey.

You wouldn’t back down now, would you?

He would.

In a sudden change of spirit, Joey’s eyes lit up with recognition for his sins. He reached out for his daughter, who by this point had stopped screaming and appeared to be nothing but a writhing lump of ink—a transformation still incomplete.

“MARYYYYY!!!”

His crippled foot cramped under the weight of his body rising out of the chair. A cry in agony—a new one, rang through the large room, but his determination to save his daughter rang stronger than that of his disability. Joey turned to dash towards the controls of the machine, but his disease wouldn’t let him go so easily. He had limped frantically towards the controls before only collapsing halfway and forcing himself to drag his lifeless body the remainder.

The inky lump in the cage groaned as two eerie horns began to sprout from the flesh beneath it and slowly curl around the sides of the head.

“Oh, Lord, please…what have I done…my--my precious flower…”

The father gripped the edge of the control box, heaving himself up and frantically shutting down the power. With a loud click, the ink stopped flowing and the cage swung softly from side to side, its inhabitant immobile.

Without any further hesitation, Joey lowered the cage back down to the platform below. Cascades of black trailed from the spaces between the bars, and collected on the floor beneath. The man looked silly as he desperately hopped on one leg over to the cage but he couldn’t care less. That was his daughter--his starling. The last remnant of his broken family. The girl he had so foolishly twisted and reshaped for his own desires.

“Mary…my sweet Mary-Jane…” he panted as he frantically opened up the cage to retrieve the inky abomination. She was curled in a fetal position, as if she had fought so hard but ultimately had accepted her fate. The only things poking out of the dark blob were two large horns that hadn’t quite set yet before the ritual had ended, causing them to twist out demonically.

“Mary, say something…please, speak to me…” Joey blubbered as he wiped the excess ink off his daughter—or what was left of her. Beneath the soft outer shell laid his precious child, but it was too late. She was already so close to completion, that when the power was cut she was left a disgusting, lifeless beast.

With trembling hands, Joey grasped her face and pressed it to his forehead, soft cries murmuring through his lips.

“My baby girl…what have I done…oh what have I done…”

You did what needed to be done.

Joey gritted his teeth as he held the monster close to his body and slowly rocking back and forth.

“I hate this…I HATE IT!” he roared to seemingly no one but himself before turning back to gently place his quivering lips on his daughter’s forehead. “This is all my fault…all mine…my sweet child I am so, so sorry…my little flower…”

The reborn child slowly opened her eyes, her dark, swollen tongue running over her jagged teeth. Carefully she raised her hand and rested it on the man’s cheek, a gesture that caught him off guard as he didn’t realize she was still alive. A sharp gasp escaped his lungs.

“Mary…” he whispered, as the monster’s head tilted. She released a soft purring sound as she examined the being before her.

“You aRE mY sUNShiNE…” she mumbled softly. “MY oNly sUNshine…”

She remembered…she remembered the song she learned not even a month ago. The father tried to smile, but his grief and pain only led to a severe frown with sparking, cheery eyes.

“You make me happy when skies are—"

Your dreams can be a reality, Mr. Drew.

Look what you have done.

Dreams come true…

Joey paused, his grip on the monster loosening till she tumbled off his lap. She tried to stand up, but her incomplete legs were so weak, she could only sit on all fours. She stared at the man, whose gaze had turned to stare at his own trembling hands. His eyes. They were dark. And the hollow man he was before shone through again as he sat up straight and stared at the creature he created.

The creature in question leaned forward towards him, but squeaked in terror when he wrapped his hand around her feeble neck in a firm squeeze and gently raised her up as he stood. Her thin legs flailed as she tried to touch the ground and her small hands could do nothing but paw at the arm of her captor.

“L-leT mE g-Go…” she grunted weakly as Joey released a deep chuckle.

“Dreams come true, Mary-Jane,” he said with a malicious grin.

“Dreams come true...”

[startistdoodles]

Two lost souls come together for a time of understanding and empathy. When so much death...so much pain has been on your heart, sometimes its nice to be able to talk to someone about it and gain some perspective. But when Piper goes to do so, it appears that Joey Drew might be in the same boat as her--or possibly in an even worse one.

I wrote a thing!!

It’s mostly a “what if” scenario where Piper and Grey are in @pipesflowforeverandever‘s studio-verse where they meet a broken Joey Drew.

Also this is based off of her work, “Hymns of Struggle” which you should totally go read like right now cause spoiler territory incoming.

This one’s mostly about Piper and Gingie, but I plan on doing a second chapter focusing on Grey and Gingie in the relatively near future.

Um SO YEAH ENJOY

[startistdoodles]

No Longer Lost

I’m...not a writer ;w; Or at least I’m an amateur one. But I really wanted to write a short story of an interaction between a character and Ivy like they had encountered her in the game. This is pretty much a one-shot, but I hope you guys like it nonetheless!! ^^;

(A brief backstory on the characters ok so Piper is a journalist who visited the studio to make a report on the whole history of the place and Grey is an 11 year old boy who is really chill and followed Piper inside because he wanted to brag to all his friends. Right now they’re on level P)

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

The eerie ticking counting the dancing feet of the Bendy clock also counted the heartbeat pulsing within the journalist’s chest. She swallowed hard as her sweaty fingers grasped around the handle of the mysterious gun. Each tick of the clock seemed to count down to the moment of her untimely death.

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

“Piper?”

She snapped back to attention as the dusty-blonde 11-year old waved his hand in front of her nose. Grey raised his brow. “Earth to Piper, do you copy?”

“Yes, yes,” she panted, pushing his hand out of her face. “I’m ok just…” Piper didn’t know what she needed. At least—what could actually be given to her right then and there. Boris gently placed his gloved paw on her shoulder sympathetically. She didn’t know why, but the beast seemed quite…human. And not like the other seemingly heartless monsters they had encountered so far. Compared to them, Boris was a gentle giant whom she didn’t mind having around--despite him being very unnatural to look at. The woman looked over her shoulder and patted the wolf on the head, his eyes closing in content. “We won’t be long, buddy,” she said softly. “Just stay out of trouble.”

The hallway was damp and dark, with pillars of ink cascading down the walls, and making the floorboards squeak and groan. And the dripping. The dripping. A chill ran down Piper’s spine, and she turned to Grey for hope of mutuality. To her frustration, the kid seemed unfazed by the studio – his collected demeanor and how he encountered each monster with such a chill attitude made the woman feel almost like she was seeing visions. Either that, or Grey was insane.

“Five hearts,” the boy recalled, scratching his chin. “Where could they be…?”

“Like I’d know,” Piper replied, trying to mask her fear with wit. Grey was unamused—or perhaps he was? His blank expression and the way he clenched his sucker between his jaws said absolutely nothing. She regained her senses a bit before speaking again. “But we should hurry. Who knows what will draw the…the demon in…”

Grey nodded as he already knew what was at stake before turning his head and pulling on Piper’s sleeve anxiously. “Pipes! Pipes, lookit!”

“I told you to stop calling me—” the woman began to snap back in irritation before reluctantly glancing up in the direction the boy was pointing. She made a sound quite reminiscent of a squeak and leapt back, her only means of defense once again squeezed between her grasp and trembling in her anxious palms. Before the two stood, or more accurately sat, a creature. An almost human looking creation with massive horns that pierced through the sides of its small and deformed skull. Its mouth gaped, revealing several jagged teeth and ink dripped down in front of its one cartooned eye and one pit that held a tiny glow – almost like it held some sort of spirit inside. The creature stared unblinking at them, breathing heavily enough to almost throw its small frame off balance.

“What…the actual—” Piper breathed softly as she awkwardly tried to hide behind the boy. Grey stood immobile for a few moments before reaching out his small hand.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmured, slowly inching closer. Piper gripped his hood and yanked him back, a movement so sudden the monster crouched low like a cat about to dash away from a vacuum.

“Grey are you insane??” she snapped at him in a harsh yet whispered tone. “Everything down here has done nothing but try to KILL us! Stop trying to befriend things you don’t understand, it’ll only kill you!”

The boy stared into the woman’s fear-struck eyes and furrowed his almost nonexistent brows. “Let go,” he said sternly, not giving a chance for Piper to respond before jerking his shoulder away from her, his own fiery eyes still fixed on hers. “And you don’t know that. Look what happened to Boris. And don’t you remember Sammy? Piper, these are all people. People who are trapped here and they have NO memory of their life. No knowledge of good and bad and are just doing what they do because it’s the only thing they know. You tell me all you want to do is tell people the story of this place? This is the story. The blood of it, actually. You don’t give a care about these people. You only care about yourself. And your stupid article.”

As Grey backed away from her, he scowled. Disgusted at the woman he considered to be a bit rough around the edges, but was soon revealed to be a lot more rough than he initially thought. She stood dumbfounded, her own brows quivering as the kid spoke the truth that pierced her very soul. Grey continued to make his way towards the monster, his hand palm-up and carefully outstretched before him slowly bridging the gap between the lost soul and the boy. The creature twitched anxiously and released a croak, its neck stretching out to carefully examine the act of affection this stranger was offering it.

“I’m a friend,” the boy said quietly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s ok…” The inky, drippy mess of a person adjusted itself to be more comfortable. Perching on its hind legs and using one of its forearms to carefully touch the hand. No one had ever been this gentle with it, or Grey assumed as such as its clawed paw quivered with anxiety and hesitated greatly before placing its cold, wet hand into his.

“a sUrPriSe…?” the creature asked in a gargled, yet feminine tone. “whAt iS It, fATheR?”

Piper sighed deeply, her limbs releasing the prior tension and fear of the unknown. Perhaps Grey was right. Perhaps this studio…did still have some good left in it. As the woman began taking steady steps towards the creature, it perked up and hurriedly crawled away, its breathing becoming more intense. The journalist froze before looking where it had gone, her face twisted in confusion. But the beast sat a good thirty feet away from the humans, bouncing up and down as it purred and mumbled random phrases.

“I’m gonna follow it,” Grey announced, not looking back at Piper in spite. “You can just stay here and…try not to die, I suppose.”

The woman said nothing to argue, and instead watched as the boy trotted after the creature. It looked happy and bounced off, Grey right behind it. Piper stood alone for a solid second before following suit as well. She may not trust or even like the creature, but she would hate to see the kid get hurt. Plus if he did get hurt, she could be there to witness it. And perhaps remind him of his foolishness.

The scrawny beast found its way to a mysterious door—one of which the likes of the two humans didn’t even notice when they came this way before. Piper was taken back in shock—did she just not notice it? Or did it just…well it couldn’t have! …Could it?

At the right base of the door was a vent shaft—too small for the two to fit inside but the perfect size for the little monster to squirm in, adding more inky stains to the entrance as if it had gone in before many times already. Grey frowned as he watched the being slink in and create deep, metallic vibrations through the walls and floor as it climbed through the darkness. But a sudden click of the door alerted to the confused humans that the monster didn’t just decide to ditch them. It was allowing entrance.

Grey eagerly turned the handle to reveal a small room behind it with many relics scattered across the remains of the floorboards. A gramophone was placed on a wooden desk bearing many scribbles of a mysterious character—one that looked similar to Bendy, but the way its sheep-like horns curled around the sides of its head instead of pointing upward like the little devil they knew proved to them this was something completely different—yet familiar.

Piper gently brushed off the collection of dust from the small shelf bearing many plush versions of the horned cartoon character with delicate fingers. “This is…it,” she marveled looking down at the boy then turning to see the small beast who was now sitting in the corner. Its eyes…its eyes now held a more gentle and fragile glimmer to them. A human-like glint of sadness that was trapped behind the smiling shell of a disgusting abomination.

“PapA sAid…hE woULd maKE mE a sTAr…” it whimpered silently as the two looked over at its pitiful face. “whY woULD he eVEr LiE to Me…”

Grey slowly removed his lollipop from his mouth and placed it back in his pocket. “Someone lied to you?” he asked gently.

“I trUSt yOU pApa…”

Piper didn’t care that that wasn’t a legitimate answer. This creature was trapped. Forgotten. Lonely. Betrayed.

To the right of her sat a golden tape player, in which the woman lifted up and slowly pressed the ‘play’ button. From all she knew of these strange tapes, perhaps it would be able to provide the answer that this creature couldn’t with its limited speech. Grey’s ears peaked to listen as he sat with the creature to provide comfort with a doll. A gravely voice soon echoed through the speakers, creating a chill to run down the monster’s jagged spine.

“…She’s not really dead. I saw it. Mr. Drew murdered her, but by some godforsaken sorcery or whatnot, she was revived—but as a slimy, distorted…IVY!! I couldn’t believe my very eyes. I had to get the police involved as soon as I could. But when I did, they couldn’t finds her anywhere. I tells them what I saw, and they just LAUGH at me. They couldn’t believe me, and why would they? It was silly, yes, but I saw it! With my own two eyes!

But Joey…oh, he goes and he tells these men that it was all just a big misunderstanding. He straight up LIES to their faces!! Tomorrow…I’mma confront that man again. I ain’t workin for nobody like him no more! That filthy rat has another thing coming! I quit!”

Click.

The room fell under an uncomfortable pin-drop silence. The silence where all you could hear is your heart racing and the ink dripping. Grey looked up to match gazes with the monster, but it wasn’t looking back. It only gently ran its fingers along the outline of the wood grains in the floorboards. It said nothing—didn’t even make the slightest gargling noise. Instead, it just breathed slowly, its raspy breath being caught in its throat. “Is…is that you?” the boy finally asked after a long pause. The creature finally raised its heavy head.

“LovE rEquiRES saCRiFice…”

The beast bent her head back down and raised her paws up to bury her pitiful face into them and releasing a quiet sob. So much grief, so much emotion all swirled up in what remained of her former heart. Piper joined the two, and knelt down to put one hand on the poor monster’s sticky shoulder. Her paws slowly slipped down her inky face as she tried to wipe away tears—only no tears came. Just the dark embodiment of the lifeblood of the studio.

“How can we help her?” Piper finally asked, not even expecting a proper answer. She knew Grey had no idea either—if there was something they could do, they would probably know it already. And it came to no surprise when the boy sighed and shook his head. The beast, however, did. She raised her gloved hand to point at the forgotten weapon the journalist left behind at the door frame—the Tommy Gun.

Piper shook her head violently. “No, no, Ivy, we’re gonna save you! Come with us, we’ll introduce you to Boris, and we’ll take you back up to the surface!! Trust us!”

The creature shook her own head, heavy horns swinging from side to side and flinging specks of ink onto the humans. “saCRiFicE…” she mumbled as she stood to her feet and crawled almost lifelessly to the weapon.

“No, Ivy. Put that down…” Piper almost choked on her words. “We’ll get you out of here! You won’t have to suffer any more!”

“Piper…?” Grey muttered as Ivy clutched the gun to her chest and wept softly. “We can’t help her.”

“Shut UP, Grey!” she snapped again, tears beginning to form on her lower lids. “You said yourself, these are all people! We can’t leave her here to just…suffer!”

“She’s already suffering!” Grey raised his voice for the first time, catching the woman off guard. The boy quickly retracted his harsh tone and sighed. “…and she always will. Pipes, taking her to the surface won’t change her physically. She will always be a monster, always continue from the suffering brought upon her. We have to end it for her.”

Piper once again stood speechless as Grey carefully took the gun from Ivy’s hands. “But…” she mumbled before receiving the weapon from the boy. The woman turned again to the beast, who sat up straight and smiled.

“It hURts, paPa...” Ivy mumbled as she slowly put her hands together, her paw and fingers holding each other gently. “leT me gO…”

Grey turned away, pulling his hood over his head to hide the pain in his eyes. With great reluctance, Piper slowly raised the gun to Ivy’s small and fragile chest—the chest of a tortured and twisted little girl. The chest that held a broken heart of a lost soul wo just wished to be free from this hellish pain.

“I trUST yoU.” The small voice whispered. “Don’T bE scAReD.” The woman smiled, her eyes reddening from tears and guilt. Why did she ever hate this small being? Why did she have to grow so close to her in such a short time? Why did she have to be the one to…save her? Piper gently stroked Ivy’s ink-stained cheek for the first and last time, the monster’s own quivering enhancing hers.

“Be free little one.”

[startistdoodles]

One in the Same

Guys ok so @pipesflowforeverandever wrote a loveLY fic about her OC from her fic Hymns of Struggle and my OC based on some art I did of them being part of the same universe.

So I wrote the second part to it cause I love it so so much.

PLEASE GO READ IT OK you kind of have to since this is a continuation

Despite the deep creaking of Francine’s shoes padding along the deep hallways, the studio itself was unusually quiet. It was serene enough to curb the girl’s anxiety and kept her moving forward but just suspenseful enough to keep her on edge and especially on the alert. But the creaking itself remained eerie, acting as a suspected cry that was counting down to the moment she would misstep and go plummeting down once again into the darkness.

But Francine knew it wasn’t her – is was the creature she carried on her shoulders. Ivy was definitely a lot heavier than she looked.

For a while, the two said nothing as they both processed the events prior. For Francine, it was the shock of finding a living, breathing, perfect incarnation of a toon in a place where that wasn’t commonly the case—or was it ever the case? Frankly, she didn’t know for sure. For Ivy, however, it was the disbelief of being spared from the clutches of the unholy god of the studio. But it was more than that; it was by the simple words of the human beneath her. She was but a mortal and yet, the Ink Demon abides to her. Clearly there was something more than meets the eye about this strange ginger girl, and the little toon was determined to figure it out.

“Ok,” Francine broke the silence as she hobbled to a halt. “You had your free ride, but now it’s…” she paused to gasp for air. “…it’s time to get off. You’re so much heavier than you look.”

The horned devil clutched the human’s hair between her gloved palms. “Aw, come on, Franny!” she whined, leaning over her head to perch her nonexistent chin at the peak of Francine’s skull. “I’m showin’ you how to escape, aren’t I? Do a little devil a favor and let her rest her poor feet.”

“You’ve rested quite enough,” she objected as her arms reached over to pluck the squirming creature off her shoulders. “Now let me do the same.”

“You would never fit,” Ivy sneered as she readjusted her bow, which seemingly just stuck to the top of her torso where her neck should have been, as if it were just a sticker.  “We discussed this.”

“No, I mean just…let me sit down for a minute, ok?”

Ivy frowned as the human took a seat at a table, walls lined with books encircling the pair. A library, or such as Frankie assumed so.

Thick silence once again filled the air, as the chandelier above squeaked ever so slightly as it dangled from the ceiling. Francine stared up to watch it sway, but her gaze turned down to see the sheep rummaging through the ancient books on the lower shelves of the display. Like a toddler, Ivy idly began just pulling out books, taking a quick glance at the cover, and throwing them behind her, creating a loud thud and a rustle as books planted open-faced onto the ground.

“The hell are you doing?” Francine said a little louder than a mumble.

“Dusty old books…” Ivy muttered as she continued to toss them behind her carelessly. It was barely an answer, but she sheep continued before the woman could object.

“These were all written in the ‘Bendy’ era…books…pages and pages of Bendy…” Her teeth gritted, and Francine could see her small spine tingle and her thread of a tail drip with rage. “How—” the woman gasped as Ivy swiftly chucked a hefty book at the bookshelf directly to the left of her. “…. dumb.”

“Would you stop throwing things?!” Francine asked, clear annoyance in her louder-than-expected voice. She didn’t now why she cared – none of this was hers and it was very clearly abandoned, but part of her just hated the creature creating so much of a racket.

“No one cares about this old junk,” she retorted, standing back up to her small yet full stature.

“Yeah, but I care about how much noise you’re causing, so just stop.”

“Why?” Ivy asked, slowly making her way back to the human. “You’ve already got the respect of the most feared creature in this entire graveyard. What’re you so afraid of?”

For once, Francine didn’t know how to reply. The devil…did seem to make a point. What was she afraid of?

“Just…be quiet, ok?” was all she could muster up before rising to her own feet. “And let’s get moving, too. Which way, again?”

Ivy’s dark brow furrowed. This human was so ominous, and just never seemed to give her a straight answer. Getting answers out of her was a lot harder than she anticipated it to be. With a sigh, she took a few steps forward and pointed behind the shelves. “This way,” she said softly as Francine followed her towards the opening in the back of the archives.

Before them was a seemingly bottomless pit, which caught the woman off-guard and she took a frantic step back. Ivy chuckled and her head did a 180, facing back towards Francine with a toothy grin. That did not make her feel any better.

“Where—what—why—WHAT IS THIS??” the woman turned back towards the sheep, who readjusted her body to make her stance seem more normal.

“Your ticket out, silly!”

“Down there??!?”

“Perhaps.”

“The hell you mean ‘perhaps’?”

“I mean if you die, you’ll be out of here!”

The woman pursed her lips together in a frustrated scrunch. Ivy certainly was a little devil. But after a few moments, her face softened once again and she released a slow chuckle; a noise that caught Ivy off guard and she looked up at her with confusion spread across her brows.

“You know,” Francine said finally “I know you’ve just been messing with me for the past half an hour, but honestly this has to be the most entertainment I’ve had in a while.”

Ivy’s brows softened as well, even raised up high as her dark pie-cut eyes widened. “…really?” she said softly, disbelief seeming ominous to Francine, as if Ivy had been wanting to have a playmate for ages.

“You don’t really know how to leave, do you?”

The devil’s face of disbelief turned to a slight half-smile and that was all the woman needed as an answer. She reached up to put her palm in her face before Ivy responded.

“Pal, if I knew how to leave, we’d all have left ages ago.” For once, honesty seemed to pour out of the toon and Francine could almost feel its tangibility between her fingers. “But since you ask, I suppose we could wander around and hopefully try and stumble into it. Two heads is better than one, after all!”

“Maybe. Don’t sweat it, though,” Francine waved a hand as she looked back down at Ivy. “Just going for a walk is nice. I—I don’t really get a lot of moments like this. At least with someone else.”

The two began walking back towards the archives after seeing that that road really did seem to lead to a dead end. “Yeah…been a while for me too,” Ivy replied. “A while, at least, since I’ve met someone who hasn’t tried to kill me…” she released a forced cough into her gloved fist, making it obvious to Francine that most creatures that tried to kill her were because of her stupid pranks. Just like how she stole her bag before. She lowered her brows.

“…I might regret saying this, but uhhh….I don’t think I can kill anyone.” The woman admitted as Ivy looked up at her, her pale face scrunched in puzzlement. “I’m surprised I’m actually still alive. Alice taught me that singing stops searchers, but…”

She trailed off long enough for Ivy to release a heavy and slightly dramatized sigh.

“Oh, her…yeah, she says a lot of things. She’s right about that though – most of the time the folks down here ain’t used to the positive nature of a good song so it tends to catch them off guard.”

Francine remained silent as she listened to the little devil’s high pitched voice. Something about the way she explained how singing affects the creatures down here didn’t quite sit right with her. But she allowed the toon to continue.

“…But I wouldn’t go and try and do that to anyone else, though. Especially those little gremlins. They’re too stupid to understand non-violence.” Ivy then released a devious chuckle as the woman continued to walk silently. Realizing she wasn’t responding, the devil thought quickly to bring the life back to the conversation.

“You know, …that angel is—well, she’d have my head if she ever saw me…again. Hee-hee…”

Francine’s eyelids fluttered down with a curved raise of her brow as she was seemingly brought back to life by Ivy’s statement. “Ah, goodness,” she said quickly. “What did you do??” It had never occurred to her that Alice was anything more than just…demanding. In-charge. She never thought she would be at all violent as Ivy’s statement suggested.

“Oh, just a bit of harmless fun is all!” the sheep said with a smile and a twirl of her bow. “All I did was…well I may or may not have stolen some of her cutouts.”

Francine rolled her eyes, as she recalled the recent experience of being the victim of Ivy’s thieving habit.

“And when she first saw me, she really wanted my perfect h—”

It had all gone by so quickly, but before they knew it, they were back in the Heavenly Toys, old rusted machinery surrounding them, their gears turning with exhausted whirrs and groans. Francine looked back down to make eye contact with the devil and allow her to finish her sentence, but there were no eyes to lock onto. Ivy had already gone over to the squeaking conveyor belt, where occasionally a small plush of a toon character would peek out and be transported to the machine next to it. The woman slowly stepped over to her as she observed the small creature reach out and grab a plushie of Bendy, its chubby body squeaking in her gloved palm and its familiar smile ever so permanently etched in Francine’s mind and, unbeknownst to her, in Ivy’s as well.

The said devil appeared to have been lost in thought for the first time since the two had met. Before Francine could have the chance to break the silence, Ivy beat her to it.

“You know…I’m kind of an outcast,” she mumbled, her voice no longer as perky as it usually was. “I’m not part of this world, or, I shouldn’t be. I was meant to disappear a long time ago. Perhaps that’s why I…” She took a quiet gulp, despite her having no neck to gulp from. “That’s why I don’t have any friends. Maybe that’s why…it’s after me.”

That last statement was more intended as a reminder to herself instead of an invitation for the woman to take a deeper look into this strange being. Francine paused and shook her head, trying to get back on track and comprehend the direction this conversation was going.

“Okay, okay, you need to walk me through this a step at a time,” she explained as she tried to wrap her mind around the smaller one that seemed to be thinking of a million different topics all at once. “You’re an outcast? Then where did you even come—”

Her own train of thought was suddenly slowed into a small gasp as she noticed the being before her beginning to dribble soft black drips. Ivy quickly shook her head before looking back up at the human and pulling a brave face. Francine, however, was not convinced.

“Hey, hey, hey…!” she said, her voice shifting into a comforting hush as she kneeled down to be at eye-level with the toon. “Maybe…maybe it’s too much to have you walk me through it just yet,” this seemed more like an admittance to herself and a reminder to not be too pushy. “Don’t worry…”

Even so, a sigh escaped her lungs as she gave up her longing for immediate answers in order to comfort this sad, lost soul. However, ‘sad’ wasn’t the term Ivy would have used to describe herself.

“Wh-what? I’m…I’m fine just a l-leak…” she violently shook out her inky body like a dog shaking its fur dry. “I—I’m ok, trust me…”

The sudden shake of her dripping self released a small shower of drips to splatter onto Francine’s face, causing her to flinch and consecutively blink to clear her eyes. She said nothing, but she refused to believe that Ivy was as ok as she said she was.

The devil in question suddenly sniffled and continued to dribble gently before turning her face away so that the human wouldn’t see her. Through blubbering lips, Francine could only vaguely make out small words like “overflow” and “just a leak” squeak from the small toon before she could hear her very clearly whisper something that caused her very heart to break:

“Why did this have to happen to me…?”

Francine sighed, as blinking eyelids watched the creature desperately wipe her face with the back of her gloved hands and breathing deep breaths. She even tried to improve her posture by standing up straighter and more confident. The mortal looked in silence at the horned toon, and realized that his could finally be their common ground—something that linked even their very different selves together. With a small chuckle, Francine nodded and replied.

“I ask myself that too,” she said with the hollow sound of experience flowing from her lips. Ivy slowly turned around, her hands still rubbing at her eyes before blinking them quickly and looking up at the freckled face before her.

“We’re…we’re all forgotten down here,” she said quietly. “None of us were ever meant to exist. But for me…” she squeezed her eyes shut as trembling palms turned to fists. “…I was gone before all of this even happened. I wasn’t even an accident, I don’t know why I’m here…I’m a completely different character from a completely different time and…” she pawed at her eyes once again before looking back at the woman. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, I suppose…”

A silence thick as ink flooded the air and beat Francine’s chest till she felt breathless, and the weight of the suffering hanging in the air was enough to pull her eyelids down in empathy.

“…Sounds like it,” she finally, yet slowly replied. “You said you don’t have any friends right?”

She interrupted before Ivy could even have a chance to speak, pointing a firm finger at her accompanied by an equally firm stare. “Wrong. That’s wrong.”

Ivy blinked as her mouth held open and her brows furrowed in confusion. She had very clearly just said she had no friends, and she thought she was not mistaken. It wasn’t until Francine’s hand rested back on her knee and slowly pointed her thumb at herself.

“…You got me now.”

Ivy still remained speechless as her eyelids fluttered in an effort to refrain any more black tears from dribbling off the edge. Her mouth still hung open as she tried to squeeze words out but her voice wouldn’t let her. The human spoke instead.

“We’re two people that don’t make sense in a world of nonsense. That’s enough for me to want to try and make it with you.”

Finally, Ivy’s jaw slid closed as she curled her lanky tail around her petite body to hold it shyly in her hands. “I’ve always wished for someone to…talk to…to make sense of this weird hullabaloo…” Her brows once again began to dribble before she brushed the drips back as one might push back some hair. “I was never meant to exist…but I guess that doesn’t mean I can’t make what inevitably happened to me…better for the rest of us…”

Francine’s eyes rolled around as she tried to comprehend if Ivy’s statement made out to be a positive thought. But seeing how the small devil seemed so hopeful now solidified Francine’s response:

“Damn straight.”

With a sudden movement, Francine was caught with a swift attack from the front -- no, it wasn’t an attack. It was a hug. An anxious, sticky hug. Ivy’s face buried into the woman’s shoulder as her gloved hands reached around her as far as they could go. For a moment she blinked and readjusted her position so she wouldn’t fall over before wrapping her own arms around Ivy in a comforting embrace.

“Thank you,” the toon mumbled softly as her tail swayed back and forth.

Perhaps life in this studio wasn’t completely loathsome after all.