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rose-lizzzy · 10 months

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The three on the overworld side of the end portal were left dumbfounded, or appeared to be so.

Pearl sheaths her sword, going over and putting an arm around Fwhip.

"Fwhip?" She asks gently, and he shakes her off, clenching his fists and staring at the portal, expression hardening.

"Come on." He barks out, standing on the edge. "We don't have time for this. We need to keep the dragon alive."

Pearl frowned, but reaches out and helps Shrub up, before stepping next to Fwhip.

"Let's go." He orders, jumping in, the other two following.

Gem enters the portal and immediately turns to the other two. "I'll get the crystals. Joey focus on the dragon. Sausage help Joey, and protect him from our dear friends who will be following us momentarily."

Sausage nods robotically, while Joey folds his arms and lets out a humph. "Alright fine." He complains, heading for the middle, Sausage following him.

Gem levitates herself into the air, positioned so she could look over all the towers. The dragon roared, swooping nearby, but she didn't care.

She shot out fireballs at the pillars, one by one they went down. It would've been much faster had she had her staff, as she required much more recovery time between each spell without it. She'd used the staff to prevent the spells from depleting her energy.

Right before the last one, she noticed three people running towards the middle, and she sighs.

After finishing off the last crystal, Gem swoops down, landing in front and blocking their path to the other two who were fighting the dragon.

"Can't let you do that." The wizard announces, stopping them in their path.

Fwhip glares at his sister. "Gem. Let us through."

Gem pauses, pretending to think. "Mmmmmm.... No!"

Pearl draws her sword, giving her an uncertain glare. "Gem. I don't want to fight you. But you have to let us through."

The wizard laughs, shaking her head. "I don't think I do!"

"Gem." Fwhip demands.

Gem just laughs, putting a small fireball in the palm of her hand. "Careful Fwhip."

The tinkerer glares at his sister. "Gem. Please. Cut this out."

She rolls her eyes. "You're so idiotic."

"What?! I want my sister back!"

Gem turns her back on him. "You could've gotten her back. If only you opened your eyes up and looked closer." She glares over her shoulder, her gaze landing on Shrub standing behind the two, who glares back at her.

The wizard takes off and releases the fireball at the dragon, and then summons a dark scythe to slice at it with from the air.

She sees an arrow whiz past her, and turns just in time to see one bury into her arm.

Gem sees Sausage fighting Pearl, while Fwhip was beneath, sword drawn, and Shrub was grinning up at her, bow pulled tight, arrow pointed right at her.

"oh you're enjoying this, aren't you." Gem mumbles, and swoops down to attack the gnome. "You're just having so much fun with this!"

Fwhip gasps, but before he could go after them Joey stabbed him, and he fell over.

Shrub grins at her. "I don't know what you mean. I'm simply trying to prevent you from killing the dragon!"

"You know if this thing dies with you here, they're gonna know." She hisses in the gnomes ear.

"Why do you think we're fighting out of sight." Shrub whispers back.

Gem looks up, realizing they were behind a pillar. She realized the dragon was almost dead. "Oh."

"You killed me. Okay?" Shrub hisses in the wizards ear. Gem nods before going back to the main area, where she saw some chaos.

Fwhip was on the ground, blood pooling around him.

Sausage was wounded, and still fighting Pearl. Joey was trying to fight the dragon, but he couldn't aim well, and it hadn't yet perched.

Gem sighs, tosses a fireball at the dragon, and then feels a hand grab her ankle.

She looks down to see Fwhip, in pain.

"..Gem." he croaks out. "Please."

Gem stares at him, and she sighs, dropping a healing spell on her brother before turning to go help Joey.

She aimed another fireball at the dragon and fires it, and she saw it wince, and knew it was on the brink of death.

"Finish it." She tells Joey as the dragon was sinking down to perch.

Just then, she heard the clashing of swords in the background slow, and then stop.

Turning around, she sees Sausages glowing eyes fade, and it makes her panic, and she tries to hold the spell, keep him under her control.

"Pearl?"

Pearl stops and looks at him. "Soos?"

Gem struggles, and his eyes flicker the glowing red again, and he swipes at her, turning and coming to stand next to Gem as Joey takes the last slice and the dragon explodes.

In the chaos, she loses grip on the spell, and she can hear Sausage gasp as he reclaimed his mind.

"Gem?" She sees him looking at her, and then the dragon laying dead. "NO! Joey what did you do?!"

Gem grins at him. "We released our master. And I wanted to thank you for your help!" She uses her magic to shove him back to Pearl, as Xornoth appeared in front of them all.

"It has begun..."

Gem stares coldly at the others. "Try as much as you want, but nothing will change. You will fail. Trying to resist will only cause more pain. ..trust me."

Fwhip stares at his sister, and recognizes the hurt behind her cold gaze. He'd seen her try to be strong before. Even corrupted, she still had those tells.

Pearl snuck behind them all, while they were distracted, and scooped up the egg. "Come here little buddy."

Xornoth had turned to Gem, forming a dark staff, with a dark magenta crystal in the center.

Gem takes it gratefully, and Xornoth disappears.

Joey had a crown on his head as well, and Gem looks around.

"Well. I'm done here. Bye losers." She dives into the portal, and Joey shrugs and follows behind, leaving the others to figure out what to do next.

#shrubnoth au: the wizards tale #empires smp #shubble #shrub berry #empires shrub #xornoth #geminitay

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falcqns · 3 years

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Hey, thanks again for the last request, I loved it and good luck with the semester! 🤗

I was thinking about one gif with Henry where he is in the car with mobile phone in hand, imagine sending him nudes and his reaction when he gets home. 😃❤💌

Lingerie

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: grumpy!henry, smut, swearing, bodily fluids, unprotected sex (don’t whisk it, wrap your biscuit), slight dirty talk

A/N: I apologize for this taking so long! I had it close to complete and my laptop broke. By the time I had enough money to have it looked it, the draft was gone :( But, I hope you enjoy this rewrite!

Henry had been on set entirely too long, he decided.

He had been there since 5 am, and it was nearing 8 pm now, and all he wanted to do was be at home with you more than anything. He had just spent the last two weeks at home with you, and he wasn’t enjoying that he had to be separated from you. Everyone else on set had noticed he was grumpy when he came in this morning, but they didn’t say anything. It was more internalized grumpiness, and he wasn’t causing any problems, so they let him be.

But throughout the day, his attitude had grown worse. He refused to speak unless he had to, and his eye roll was very close to becoming permanent. Joey had mentioned to Anya and Freya that he was beginning to act like Walter, which they thought was hilarious,but chose (wisely) to not bring up to him.

He had finally finished filming for the day, and stormed past his co stars with a determined look on his face. He didn’t say anything to anyone, and slammed his trailer door shut behind him so hard the trailer shook. He stripped off his clothes and placed the back into the wardrobe bag, before looking at himself in the mirror and realizing he still had his wig on. He was most definitely not in the mood to go to Hair and Makeup, and resolved to just take the damn thing off at home. He’d done it before so it wasn’t too big of a deal. He packed up his things, and almost walked out of the trailer without his phone. He grabbed it, and unlocked it to see the messages he’d received from you throughout the day.

He groaned when he saw the pictures you had sent him. You were wearing a pair of baby pink lingerie. The bottoms were a solid pink with frills on the sides where your hips would be, and it was decorated with strawberries. The top was translucent, and was also decorated with strawberries. You were also sitting in various positions, each one become more provocative than the rest. Henry made sure he had everything he needed, and then headed out.

A few people looked at him as he left, but he ignored them. He hopped in his car, and didn’t waste any time in leaving. He sped home as fast as he could, without getting pulled over. He could see that the kitchen light was still on, so he knew you were likely still awake. He got out of the car the second it turned off, and all but ran in the house. He could hear music playing, and found you in the kitchen, doing the dishes and dancing. You had on an oversized sweater and sweatpants that he suspected belonged to him, and your hair was in messy atop your head.

He dropped his phone and keys onto the table, which alert you to his presence. You turned and smiled at him from the sink.

“Hi honey, how way filming?” You asked, but confusion washed over your features as Henry stormed over to you. He lifted you up, and sat you on the counter next to the sink before he slammed his lips to yours. He pulled your sweater off, and to his delight, you still had on the lingerie set.

“Fuck,” He moaned, and buried his face into your breasts. “Missed you,” He began pressing wet kissed to your chest, and you threw your head back in pleasure at the feel of his stubble scratching your skin. His hands ran down your sides, and undid the knot at the front of your sweatpants, and tugged them off. He removed his hands from you for a moment, to unbuckle his pants, and pull his hard cock out, and pump it a few times while making eye contact with you.

You watched as he pulled your underwear to the side, and moaned at the sight of your wet folds. You went to giggle, but it was caught in your throat when Henry pushed inside you. He dropped his forehead to yours as he waited for you to adjust, and he tried not to cum at the feeling of your warm walls wrapped around him.

“Y-You can move Henry,” You whispered, and his hands slid up your back and cradled your head against his chest, as he began to thrust in and out of you. You pulled his shirt down slightly to expose his collarbone, to where you attached your mouth, and began sucking hickeys into his soft skin. He moaned in response, and bit down on your shoulder before letting out a loud moan, his hips moving even quicker.

His hand fisted in your hair and pulled it away from his chest. He pressed another hard kiss to your lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, and the two of you continued to make out as you felt Henry’s hips get sloppier with their thrusts, signifying that he was close.

Your hands drifted up his back as well, and gripped his hair in your hands as hi left hand came down your body, and in between your legs to thumb at your clit. You pulled away from his kiss for air, and rested your forehead on his.

“I’m gonna cum,” You moaned out, and Henry nodded in acknowledgement.

“Do it.” He grunted, rubbing your clit in fast circles with his thumb. “Cum on my cock. Do it. Make a mess.” He encouraged, and you let go, unable to hold back the pressure in your lower abdomen any longer. You came, and threw your head back in a silent scream. Henry continued to thrust, his high drawing near as well, watching as you gushed around his cock, and your entire body trembled. You clenched down on him moments later, and he was pushed over the edge as well. He stilled inside you, and moaned as his load filled you up, some of it seeping out and mixing with your release.

His head dropped to your shoulder, and he pressed kisses to your skin. He felt your breathing return to normal after a few minutes, and he lifted his head. “Did I hurt you?” He asked, but you shook your head.

“I’m fine baby. Perfect actually.” You said with a blissed out smile on your face, and Henry picked you up. he walked to wards the stairs, but stopped at the bottom to press another kiss to your lips.

“Come to set with me tomorrow?” He asked, and you nodded. “definitely.”

He chuckled, and began the journey to the bathroom with the intent to run you a bath. “Good. I can’t be separated from you any longer.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry!holmes #fluff #august walker #mission impossible #geralt of rivia #henry cavill x reader smut #henry cavill x reader fluff #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n

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lore97a · 3 years

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slumber envelopes him. completely unaware of the outside world as he lies powerless, unconscious. battles rage inside his head, five decades worth of bloodshed fighting to be the dominant memory on display. [ tiny hand with equally tiny fingers wrap ‘round his twin’s hand ; it’s quickly swatted away by their father. the following sting is manageable . . . but it was so sudden that it’s scared him. a small malachai looks up to joshua parker with shock, hurt, tears welling in his eyes. ‘i told you you can’t touch anyone!’ --- then he is all grown up, his coven is in shambles amidst the ruined wedding ceremony. once smacked away from human contact that same hand now reaches forward, beckons the bloodied and limp form of joshua toward him. ‘vodux.’ so helplessly gliding along the floor . . . ‘here’s to being different, dad.’ a single finger swipes at the blood pouring from joshua’s forehead ; the smear of red completes the transition to a heretic. --- just moments prior, he is watching what most consider to be a tear - jerking ceremony. it makes his stomach turn. white covers a happy and pregnant josette laughlin as she faces her almost husband. kai approaches, waits for the right moment. . . fuck it, he’s impatient.

the knife in his hand plunges into her from behind, then again, then again. a sense of victory floods him, and he can’t help the smile he feels creeping to his lips. --- ‘you’re not fit to lead the coven and you never have been.’ ‘you’ve never even given me a chance!’ ‘i don’t need to! you’re a parasite! a stain on the family name!’ kai laughs, bitter and enraged. ‘all because of something i have no control over. don’t hold your breath for any mommy of the year mugs in your stocking this christmas, you fucking failu-’ smack! not strong enough to send him back, but there is a hot pain along his face after the backhand. fists clench at his side. ‘ you’re a disgrace, malachai. don’t you ever speak to me like that again.’ it’s then he decides. . . he’ll never feel defeated again. --- blood is splattered over his shirt, douses his shoes, stains his hands. red is all he sees, rage is all he feels. no pleas, no amount of begging will stop him. a boy is trying to retreat into the wall for safety, a hand held up as if it will hold kai off. split skin along the boy’s cheek oozes blood ; he intends to spill more. ‘kai, please!’ another connect of his fist to joey’s face. now his noze bleeds. ‘stop it!’ pound, pound, pound. it passes in a daze. adrenaline courses through his veins, prevents him from feeling the throbbing ache in his knuckles.

he beats joey until coherent sentences are no longer possible, until the boy is hardly recognizable, until no breath leaves his body. and then he is left there in a pool of his own blood, swollen eyes staring lifelessly to the floor, hair matted with already drying blood. beaten to death by someone he trusted. kai moves on to one of his sisters. . . her noose is already prepared on the stair banister. --- all alone. nobody to torment, nobody to talk to. months ( years? it all blurs together. . . ) have passed in this place, each day equally as miserable as the last. hopefully it ends now. at last he’s found the guillotine ; a real guillotine as opposed to the fakes a lot of museums hold. kai draws in a deep breath. he’s ready for this. anything is better than this hell. rope in hand, blade awaiting the fall, he crouches in the head space. as he opens his palm the blade falls through the air with a hiss and--- ]

why is he reliving all of this?

kai awakes with a start, gasping for breath. unusual for him to appear. . . startled. shocked. there is a touch on his temples ; he whirls around violently. fire blazes in his eyes as they set on the nearest living being to him. hope, in close proximity. and a vampire nearby, to assist in the unwarranted head dive, no doubt. his face sets with the bubbling anger. clenched jaw, furrowed brows, frown. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

#cosmicvrse #lore97 // kai + writing #violence tw #death tw #holy hell i couldn't stop typing lol #you do NOT need to match this ... at all #long post cw

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sxveme-2 · 3 years

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blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Four: The One With the Wine

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2629

"I'm telling you! I was standing right there, he could not take his eyes off of you! Buddy was one hundred percent into you." Gen laughed while tossing a kernel of popcorn into her mouth, chasing it with a sip of cherry wine.

Lily crossed her legs, shaking her head, tucking her hands into the oversized grey sweater she wore. Never in her life would she believe someone could be so taken with her. Especially someone who looked like Bucky. He was more than just a man, he was a whole different kind of breed. From the story, his eyes were able to tell. Or how his mannerisms gave away the constant anxiety coursing through him. Everything about Bucky told a story. The scruff that outlined his jaw, the perfect cut of his hair. He was the type of man Lily dreamed of, that most girls dreamed of. Rugged, mysterious, brooding. But his voice, soft, yet deep and gravelly. Perfection, in the eyes of Lily. And yet, she didn't know anything about him.

"You're delusional. we had a two-minute conversation where I spoke two words, maybe," Lily chuckled while pulling her sweatpant-covered knee to her chest, "There's no way in hell he was looking at me how you claim. It's just...nope. Impossible."

A groan escaped Gen's lips as Lily watched her throw her head back and lean against the arm of the couch, "Would you stop with your self-deprivation? Lily, you are beautiful! You have a beautiful son, a beautiful home, a too-good-to-be-true dog, and look like you should be a model," Gen chuckled, sipping her wine, "I never understood your ability to be insecure."

Lily answered with a gentle shrug. It was in her DNA, she supposed. She's always been insecure and down on herself. Her parents booked her in for counselling because just like her son, she too faced development issues. She never spoke, kept to herself. She'd busy her hands and mind with drawing, reading, and writing. It was later discovered her IQ was off the charts for her age. Eventually, she began to talk again, but she never believed herself to be pretty, or have an overall appealing personality.

It's what kind of made Gen and her work as a friendship. Gen was confident and carefree, living her best life and just taking it every day at a time. She never fretted about the future or focused on the past. And on the other hand, Lily was neurotic. Insecure. Living in the past, especially the years of emotional trauma from her ex-husband. She planned the future and tried to always ensure what would happen. The yin and yang of newcomers high school in long island. No one understood their friendship, or how it managed to stay alive. But it did, and it saved Lily from venturing into dark areas of her mind multiple times.

"We should text him!" Gen squealed while grabbing Lily's phone off the table

"You're funny. I don't even have his number, doe doe." Lily grinned, leaning back against a pillow as she watched Gen try to think of a retort.

"Noo, but Sam Wilson gave you his. Maybe, just maybe, he could give you Mr. Barnes’s number." Gen winked while typing in the blonde's password, pulling up the contact that lily had created for the falcon.

Rolling her forest green eyes, Lily pulled herself off the couch and towards the kitchen next to it. She poured herself another glass of wine before pulling out the blueberry pancakes she had grabbed earlier, watching as Gen's fingers typed feverishly on the iPhone 11 that Lily gratefully owned. Shaking her head, the blonde put the pancakes onto a plate and stuck them in the microwave for a minute. She could hear the clicking of Gen's fingers against the phone screen and a small chuckle escaped the girl’s plush lips.

"What're you doing? Typing him a whole novel?" Lily called, turning down the volume on the Amazon Echo that currently played nineties tunes.

"No, he's just fast at answering. Aaaand...I got the number!" Gen squealed and hopped off the couch towards the kitchen where Lily stood, "What should his name be? Hunky Bucky? Mr. Barnes?"

Rolling her eyes, Lily pulled the plate out of the microwave, taking the margarine out of the fridge, along with a knife and fork from the drawer beside the fridge. Whatever Gen was planning, Lily knew she wouldn't be able to talk her out of it. Whenever her best friend conjured a plan or set her mind to something, she had zero chance of getting in the way. Gen reached new levels of stubbornness when it came to these sorts of things. Especially Lily's love life. Gen has set her up on dates and different escapades...but Lily never took to any of the men. She never felt as though she could see it going anywhere.

"How about just Bucky? You could even add Barnes if it makes you happy," Lily sighed, a piece of blueberry pancake wedged into the side of her mouth. Leaning on her elbow, Lily cupped her chin in her hands, sipping her alcohol, watching as Gen continued to type, "What the hell are you typing?" Lily laughed, cutting up a few more pieces.

Gen merely replied with a simple shrug, "He thinks he's texting you. Bucky won't send you a text. But I said that you would not be making the first move."

"There are no moves being made!" Lily snapped and stole her phone back from Gen's grip, glancing at her messages, "I'm not looking for a relationship. I don't want one. I have all I need. Like you said, a beautiful son, a lovely home. great friends. A relationship would only create dysfunction and chaos."

A wave of silence rolled across the two. gen stared at the blonde in front of her, who was gripping the fork in her hands so tightly, her knuckles turned a sickly shade of white, with a tinge of green. A sigh escaped her lips as Lily dropped the fork back down onto the counter, running a hand down her face. Her green eyes avoided the stare that Gen was sending her way, a knowing look. One that let Lily know that she knew exactly what was going on inside of the blonde’s head, even when Lily herself didn't know. A strange ability Gen seemed to have, knowing what was repressed deep inside of Lily's subconscious.

"Lily-"

"Just drop it gen!" the young mom exclaimed while lifting her hands with clenched fists, "Please just drop it..."

"Okay...okay I'll drop it," Gen sighed, filling her glass once more with wine, "but Sam did mention you coming by? With Hunter? What was that about?" she wondered, crossing her legs as she took her seat on a stool at the counter.

Dropping her now empty plate into the sink, a small laugh escaped Lily's lips, "Sam offered to give Hunt a trip around the compound. Give him a tour of everything, meet everyone. Might ask Scott to grab him a bit early tomorrow and take him by."

Gen nodded. and the rest of the night went on like that. A bit quieter than before, due to the fact Lily's mind was still reeling from the small outburst earlier. They sipped their wine, finishing the two bottles. They both fell asleep in Lily's bed, both drunk and sprawled out. It was picturesque really. The two of them. An iconic duo to say the least.

-----

The next morning, a bright beam of light streamed through the sheer curtains of Lily's bedroom. Joey snoring gently beside her, his soft fur tickling her forearm. Sucking in a quick breath, the blonde reached her arm up to rub her eyes, before pulling herself up from her laying down position. She glanced around, noticing how Gen was nowhere in sight. Furrowing her brows, Lily turned to pick up her phone, noticing a text from her.

GEN

had to go to the cafe. spoke to Scott for you, you're picking hunt up at 1. love ya

Lily's eyes glanced at the time on her phone, 11:30. she had an hour and a half. Throwing her duvet off of her legs, startling Joey, she stood up. Her head pounded and she glanced to her right, noticing the empty wine glass from the night before. Chuckling gently, she picked it up and headed down the stairs towards her kitchen. Having nights alone with Gen typically helped Lily relax, make her calm those nerves that were constantly in a loop of anxiety and fear. But the slight argument they had the night before kept replaying in her head. She got so angry. As if finally, after all of these years, all of the trauma she faced in the name of love was coming to a head. That the heart Scott broke had yet to heal properly. Four years later, Lily still believed herself to be unlovable. Incapable of finding someone. Her deep subconscious believing that she had her one chance at love, and blew it.

A warm petal slid down the blonde’s cheekbone. Her bottom lip quivering. In an attempt to stop the shaking of the plush muscle, Lily bit down. Her breathing became shaky, her hands gripping onto the cool countertop so intensely that it mirrored the same shade as the night before. Gasps escaped her lips as she fumbled for a cup, leaning against the counters for support as she wandered over to the sink. Flipping on the silver faucet, the clear liquid ran into the cup. The moment she deemed enough, Lily chugged back the water. Her eyes relaxed and her breath steadied back to a regular pace.

When Lily finally regained the composure she needed to continue with her day, the blonde stood up straight. Glancing around the empty home, Lily's head dipped down so her chin gently rested on her collarbone. Pursing her lips once again, Lily sucked in the air around her through her nose. She dropped the cup into the sink and gave her body a shake, letting all of those feelings that just bubbled to the surface return to their rightful place deep within her. Where she didn't have to deal with them, and the people around her wouldn't see them. It was her way of hiding what she was truly feeling. and that's exactly what she wanted. To hide those fears, those doubts. everything.

She had to be strong, had to keep that facade up to maintain composure. She couldn't let Hunter see just how broken his mother was. Even though he may already know...she had to play ignorant just in case.

After scarfing down a croissant, Lily jogged up the stairs (much to her head’s dismay). Her start to the day was already hectic, and typically, that meant an extreme day ahead of her. Lily wasn't sure if she was all too prepared to handle that, especially after her little moment just moments ago. But she couldn't allow that small anxiety moment to consume her mind again, and destroy the rest of her day. She had sent a quick text to Sam, confirming the tour before placing her phone against the mahogany dresser she and Hunter had painted white. The dark green of her iris found itself staring back at herself in the mirror that was hung too carefully above the previously mentioned dresser.

She looked rough. Mascara smudged below her waterline, hair sticking out in three different directions. Her eyes were puffy and her lips were swollen, with a gentle tinge of scarlet displayed on the tip of her nose. Her chest heaved up and down, her neck expanding and retracting as her breathing continued to follow the path of relaxation. Almost instantly, she averted her eyes. No one wanted to look at a broken shell of a woman for too long, which became depressing. Especially when the said woman was nursing an existential hangover from two bottles of wine split with a person that could drink Captain Morgan under a table.

She pushed open the door to her closet and sighed. Maybe she did need a new wardrobe. She had been wearing the same dresses and shirts for years. She never had time to go shopping, or, when she did, she chose not to. Because shopping meant trying clothing on, which meant looking at her own body. The stretch marks across her hips, and the few that littered her stomach along with her belly button. Of course, these were caused naturally when she was pregnant, and because she’s grown from a baby. Regardless of how they came to be, Lily couldn't help but feel worse about herself with them. The pale pink shade they showed against her fair tone, making them prominent. That's why she never went shopping. Shame.

Lily changed into a cream-coloured lace spring dress with spaghetti straps and a brown leather braided belt, slipping a red cardigan over top due to the fact it was September, and there was a new cool breeze alongside the muggy heat. Her feet stepped into a pair of black flats before trudging to the bathroom. Checking the time, it read noon. She let out a sigh and picked up her can of dry shampoo, shaking the cool metal canister, causing a gentle noise to escape. Her morning routine was basic, but today she added the fact of cleaning the oiled up and overused makeup that stayed on her face from the night before. When she was done, she let out a sigh and quickly turned from the mirror, not looking at it once again. She fed Joey quickly, kissed him, then headed out.

time to pick up the boy that kept her going.

-----

Scott lived in Brooklyn, New York. He lived with the mistress that broke the horses back of their marriage and the daughter that was created out of it. Bitter wasn't the word she would use to describe how she felt towards the entire situation. Resentment, denial, those were better. The affair only made Lily more sure of her lack of worth. Not to mention how it broke all trust she had in the male sex or anyone that she dated. She hadn't had a relationship since Scott and hadn't even been physical with someone. A goodnight kiss, sure, but that's where it ended. Nothing more. She couldn't do it. And she one hundred percent blamed the father of her son.

Him and his new wife, Mary, aka the mistress, bunked in a two-story apartment near the edge of the area. It was a quiet area, but more urban and modern than the cozy and domestic vibe of Lily's area. That was a source of many arguments between the two as well. Scott preferred the non-stop of the city, while Lily preferred the privacy of the more so suburban areas of the city of New York. But now, the two were able to agree. She lived in a rural area, and he lived in the city. Was it a bit of a venture when it came to sharing custody of their child? Sure, but being divorced, the two didn't have a say in where the other lived.

Pulling into the driveway of her ex-husband’s apartment building, Lily turned off her car and pushed open the door. The heat hit her like a wave before the cool air broke down the wall the mugginess had created. Pressing the button to be buzzed in, the blonde rocked back and forth on her heels. When she heard the door unlock, she pushed through. After a few moments and one elevator trip, she reached the door of the apartment. Her fragile hand knocked, and seconds later, it busted open.

"Hey, Scott.”

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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take me out to the back of the shed (and shoot me in the back of the head)

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Title is from the song Old Yeller. It’s apparently a TikTok trend song but I first heard it from a furry animation when I was in 8th grade lol

Word count: 3112

Prompt: “Calm down! You’re scaring me!”

———————

“Jane! Jane, look at this painting I made for you!”

“Yeah, yeah- hang on a moment. I’m busy.”

“Jane-”

“In a minute.”

“But-”

“In a minute!”

This is the exchange Anne watched from down the hall- Joan following Jane around with a canvas gripped tightly in her hands like a little duckling and Jane doing her best to pretend the girl didn’t exist. After she was snapped at, Joan moved away slightly, but then perked up, hope glinting in her eyes.

“Okay...I’ll wait in my dressing room, alright?”

“Alright,” Jane said, not really listening to what was being said to her.

“Just come in when you’re done, okay?”

“Okay, Joan.”

“Great!” Joan beamed. “I’ll be waiting!”

With that, Joan turned around and scurried back to her dressing room, an excited smile on her lips. Anne watched her go, waited a moment, then walked to Jane’s room. Inside, the woman seemed to be packing up to leave for the day.

“You’re going to go see Joan, right?”

Jane looked up as she was grabbing her purse. She sniffed, nostrils flaring slightly, clearly miffed.

“She can wait.”

“She would starve to death by the time you finally got around to seeing her,” Anne pointed out, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. She raised an eyebrow at Jane as if to add, “Am I wrong?”

“I have other things to do.” Jane said, sliding past the comment instead of facing it head on.

“Like what? Knit? Watch Love Island? Cuddle Kitty for the hundredth time?” Anne narrowed her eyes in an accusing stare. She’s been defensive of Joan ever since the Live where the music director fell asleep in her lap. “All of that stuff will still be there after you take ten minutes to go see what Joan made for you.”

Jane’s soft, kind facial features contort into that of a snarling white tiger’s- teeth bared, eyes alight, ears pinned back. But Anne wasn’t scared of her- not anymore. Deep down, she knew that Jane was nothing but a scared little kitten trapped in a circus cage.

“Joan isn’t my main priority,” Jane said dismissively, but the tiger’s claws remained unsheathed. “I don’t have to do anything for her.”

“Jane, that girl would take a bullet for you.” Anne said, stalking closer. Her voice went into a low whisper- a growl of sorts. “You know that, Jane. She would do anything for you.”

It was like a stare down between a tiger and a mountain lion- neither wanted to back down or step away.

“Why can’t you just be a good person? I’m not asking you to sign adoption forms for the kid, I’m asking you to just be a friend to her and go see what she wants to show you. It’s not that hard. It’s— her presence isn’t going to strike you dead! Just go look at her painting!”

Jane stared into Anne’s smoldering eyes, adjusted the strap of her purse hanging from her shoulder, and stepped past her towards the door.

“Kitty needs me.” She merely said.

“Of course she does,” Anne rolled her eyes. “It’s not like there’s three other fucking people living in that house than can respond to her every beck and call.”

Jane didn’t reply, as she was already out the door and making her way to the lobby by the time Anne finished her grumbled comment.

Anne considered going after her and dragging her to Joan’s dressing room by the hair, but she didn’t want to give the woman anymore thought. So, instead, she went to the dressing room herself and her heart broke a little when she saw Joan sitting patiently in the chair at her desk, legs swinging back and forth excitedly, smiling down at the canvas in her hands. Her head snapped up when she heard Anne step inside, but her expression dimmed when she saw that it wasn’t the silver queen.

“Oh. Hey, Anne.”

“What? Am I really that bad company?” Anne said teasingly.

“No,” Joan said, giggling slightly. “I just- I thought you were Jane.”

Anne frowned. She walked over to the girl and set a hand on her shoulder. Joan looked up with those adorable, glistening lamb eyes of hers and the words momentarily caught in Anne’s throat.

“I don’t think Jane is coming, dear.”

Joan blinked. Anne knew she knew what she meant, but she was trying to not believe it by playing dumb.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“She just left.” Anne answered gently.

Like that, all hope and excitement is gone in a flash, replaced with deep sadness that forms over Joan’s head like a thick, dark rain cloud. She looked down at the painting lying in her lap and clenched her fists tightly around the edges.

“Oh.” She whispered.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said. She looked down at the canvas, too, and before her eyes soft watercolors and metallic paints and dark line-art came together brilliantly to form the beautiful painting of Jane Seymour. It was a bust shot of her in her show costume, but she was also adorned in shimmering strings of diamonds and pearls and topazes, and had a sparkling crystal crown sitting atop her head.

“This is beautiful, Joan!” Anne exclaimed honestly, because it absolutely was true. Joan truly was skilled with paints and pencils. “You’re so talented.”

“Thanks,” Joan replied, slightly disconnected. She appreciated the comment, Anne knew she loved praise, but she didn’t want to hear it from the green queen.

She wanted to hear it from the silver one.

Joan sighed and stood up, and Anne half expected her to destroy the painting or throw it away, but a tiny, hopeful smile actually tugged at her lips.

“I’m just going to leave it on her makeup table,” She said. “So- so it’ll be the first thing she sees tomorrow!”

Anne smiled and gently rubbed the girl’s head.

“That’s a good idea, Joey!” She said, even though she knew the odds of Jane actually going to Joan and telling her how much she loved the piece of art were very slim.

Still, for the time being, it cheered Joan up and she beamed at Anne before hurrying to go put the canvas in its place. Anne’s smile disappeared the moment she was out of sight and she sighed. She made a mental note to stay up until 11:11 that night so she could try wishing. Might as well see if the superstition was true.

———

Anne ended up falling asleep way before 11:11, but it didn’t matter because she knew trying to wish on a set of ones on her phone screen and alarm clock wouldn’t have made a difference since Jane would still be prancing around the theater like she is now, as if she hadn’t been gifted a gorgeous work of art. Anne wasn’t even sure if she had even seen the painting, but upon peeking inside the dressing room and seeing that the canvas was moved to the side of one of the makeup tables proved that Jane had, in fact, seen it.

She just didn’t care.

And that made Anne furious.

Poor Joan. She didn’t even have time to warn or distract the girl before she was skittering up to Jane with excitement glittering in her eyes.

“Jane!”

Jane sighed as she was getting a cup of coffee from the break room. If Joan heard the noise, she didn’t acknowledge it and just kept up her eager demeanor.

“Hello, Joan,” Jane said. All evidence of the warmth she had been speaking to Kitty with just a few minutes earlier was now gone.

“Did you see my painting? The one I made for you?” Joan asked. “I waited for you yesterday, but you didn’t come in and I just assumed you were too busy, so I left it on your table! It was there, right? Did you see it? Or did it get moved? Was it there?”

“Joan!” Jane growled, her hand clenching tightly around the cup she was holding. The sudden sharpness in her voice made the girl before her step back slightly. “Joan.” She smoothed out her tone, but remained as caring as Zira from The Lion King 2. “I saw it, yes. It was there.”

The momentary flash of fear and anxiety from getting yelled at disappeared from Joan’s eyes. She perks back up again, her feet now shuffling and tapping happily on the floor (her “Happy Feet”, as it's been dubbed by Maria).

“Oh! Great!” If she had a tail, it would definitely be wagging. Or if she were alone, she’d probably be frolicking around the room like a happy little lamb. “So? What did you think? Did you love it? I mean—like it? Did you like it?”

“It was nice,” Jane said, trying to swerve around Joan and her radiation of glee blocking the path to the door.

“Really?” Joan wanted more. She wanted more than just ‘nice.’ She needed more. “I’m really glad, Jane, because it was the first time I tried out watercolors and metallic paints together in one painting so I had no idea how it would turn out but it seemed to be good, right? I mean- obviously! You just said it was nice! B-but, umm-” She watched Jane walk for the door without really listening to her. She followed after her desperately. “S-so— Are you gonna hang it up?”

That’s what got Jane to stop. She turned to the girl impatiently fidgeting behind her and looked at her as if there were elephants parading out of her ears.

“Why would I do that?”

Up until that moment, Joan had been looking at Jane in a way that made it seem like there were swelling hearts in her eyes. But those hearts just broke with that single comment. Joan is left scrambling to pick up the pieces, but can barely catch anything, as all her hope also bleeds out through her fingers.

“B-because I...I made it. For you.” She said meekly.

“Fans make me stuff all the time but you don’t see me putting it on the fridge,” Jane chuckled, actually quite amused by the situation. “It was nice, Joan. And I appreciate it. No need to push it farther than that, because then it’ll just get weird. Like I’m worshiping a simple drawing or something.” She laughed again, then continued her stride out the door.

Joan was distraught, but as she watched the queen leave, her words fully sinking in, anger bubbled up inside of her. She grit her teeth, fingers clenching into fists. She could feel the ram horns poke uncomfortably against her forehead and slowly breach from her flesh, primed for blood.

“It’s not just some simple drawing, you—!!”

That’s all she could yell before Jane wheeled back around and stared at her from the hallway. Then, she enters once again and Joan backs up in fear, as if she were being stalked by a starving white tiger. She could almost see it in Jane’s face, but her teeth weren’t bared. Her lips were just set in a startling flat line that brought out the horror of the rest of her blank features.

“What? What?” Jane prodded. “I’m what?”

“Nothing...” Joan squeaked, hunching her shoulders in and lowering her head.

“I’m what, Joan?”

“Nothing!”

“A jerk? A prick? A bitch? A cunt? What am I, Joan?”

“Nothing! You’re nothing!” Joan cried. “I’m sorry!”

Jane had Joan cornered- literally. The girl was backed up in the far corner of the room near the window, which she glanced at for just a moment, as if she were considering jumping out of it to get away from the queen’s sterling wrath.

Jane calmly set down her cup of coffee on the nearby counter and laced her fingers together against her stomach. Her gaze was callous and cruel, offering absolutely no pity to the girl cowering beneath her uncaring stare.

“I’m going to explain this to you once, Joan, so you better listen because I will not tell it to you again.” She said. Her words are slithering slowly from her lips like venomous snakes, scaly and fanged. They bite Joan’s ears, pumping their poison into her brain no matter how hard she tried to combat them. “Nod if you understand that.”

Joan nodded shakily. She isn’t making eye contact, rather focusing her gaze on the floor and nothing else.

“I am not your mother figure.” Jane said bluntly, not even bothering to sugarcoat the comment. She was so tired of having Joan trying to force her way into her life. “You are not my daughter.”

With just those two simple sentences, it was as if Joan’s entire life just ended. It didn’t just come crashing down to her feet- it was over. She was nothing without her queen.

“B-but—”

“You are not my daughter.” Jane repeated coldly. “Do you understand me?”

This time, Joan doesn’t nod.

Jane narrowed her eyes dangerously.

“Nod, Joan.”

“Wh-what about—Kitty-”

“Don’t bring her up, Joan. This isn’t about her.” Jane warned lowly.

But Joan couldn’t stop the words that began to bubble up in her throat. Her voice comes out way too loud and way too shrill and way too desperate, but she can’t choke it back.

“Why? What does she have that I don’t? What did I do? What can I do to make you love me like that? Why her? What makes her so—”

The sound of a slap resonates through the room.

Joan was hit so hard she actually stumbled into the wall. She tentatively touches her stinging cheek, which burns upon contact, then looks up in fear at Jane, whose hand is slightly red from the force she had used.

There is no remorse present in the queen’s steel grey eyes.

“Do NOT speak of my daughter in that way again, you vile little pest!” Jane roared. Her old self, her fearsome queen self slips out in her words, and it chills Joan to the bone. “I will bring your guts into your mouth if you even THINK to do it again!”

It’s as if Jane was dehorning Joan- grabbing onto the ram horns with strong, clawed hands and twisting and twisting and twisting until they snapped off and are pulled out of her flesh with copious squirts of blood pouring free, leaving twin gaping red horrors open in her head.

“C-calm down!” Joan squeaked. “You’re scaring me!”

“And you WONDER why I don’t want to be your mother figure!” Jane went on, ignoring the plea. “I could list a hundred reasons right now and that still wouldn’t be enough to explain to you about how much I don’t want you as a daughter!” Joan doesn’t ask for any of them, but they’re still shoved down her throat anyway. “You’re clingy, you’re needy, you expect everyone to like you, you’re always tugging at my sleeve, you seem to think everything is about you, you act like a complete attention whore, to name a few! Why would I EVER want to be the mother to someone like you?”

“HEY!!”

It was like watching two big cats fight on a wildlife documentary- Anne seemed to come out of nowhere and charged her entire body into Jane’s, sending them both slamming into the back wall.

They tussle and squirm for a moment, snapping and hissing and clawing, and then Anne’s hand closed around Jane’s neck. Not enough to choke her, but enough to shove her head back up against the plaster and grind her skull into it.

“Anne, get off of me—”

“You bitch! You fucking bitch—”

“Get off—”

“You’re absolutely—”

“Stop—”

“What gives you the fucking right—”

“Let go—”

“You deserve to—”

Jane shoved Anne’s shoulders with both hands, causing the woman to totter backwards before she regained her footing. She almost lunged at the silver queen again, but somehow managed to tame herself enough to not pounce on her like a puma and gouge her eyes out, as much as she wanted to at that moment.

“You are SICK!” Anne yelled.

“You were about to strangle me!” Jane fired back.

“Yeah? Well, I wish I fucking did! Because God knows you deserved it!”

Anne paused her spray of fire to look at Joan, who was hunched against the wall, knees buckled and barely holding her up, tears streaming from her eyes, one hand cupping her swollen, red-purple cheek. Anne snapped her head back to Jane, bloodlust and rage blistering in her eyes.

“Did you fucking hit her?” She snarled.

“She was being a—”

“BULLSHIT!” Anne snapped, cutting Jane off. “That’s not what I fucking asked! Did you hit Joan?”

Jane just glared at Anne, as if she were an angry child that didn’t get the toy they wanted.

“Oh my god,” Anne half gasped, half laughed. “You absolute cunt! You really think that nobody else in this world matters, huh? Some ‘cast mother figure’ you are. It’s just you and that spoiled little weasel you keep on a harness!”

Despite loving Kitty to death, Anne couldn’t care about the comment she just made about her baby cousin because it was true.

Jane went to say something, went to somehow defend her actions, but Anne was talking again.

“I get it now! I finally understand!” She said. “You didn’t die of natural causes at all! You died from God striking you down because he KNEW what a horrible, cruel mother you would have been. He SAVED Edward from you!”

Finally, that’s what got Jane to crack. And, damn, it felt good to watch horror twist up her features.

“You really do have a heart of stone.” Anne spit.

She crossed over to Joan, who had been crying silently, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, helping her stand. The poor thing was shaking so badly.

“Come on, sweetie,” She whispered, her tone softening in an instant. “Let’s go.”

Joan staggered for a moment, nearly collapsing, but Anne managed to hold her up. She grappled onto the queen’s shirt and Anne could see that her cheek was definitely bruising.

“Oh, Joan…” Rage bubbles in her veins. She hears the girl whimper. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let her hurt you ever again.”

Anne casts a dark look at Jane.

Jane does nothing but stare forward blankly, lost in her own memories.

“Come on. Let’s go get something for your cheek.”

Joan didn’t resist. She let Anne guide her out of the room.

But not without Anne shooting out one last comment.

“Oh, and I’ll make sure to vote for you as Mother of The Year, Jane.”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #six fic #sixfic #anne boleyn #jane seymour #nana boleyn #joan on the keys #katherine howard #take me out to the back of the shed

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artnerd1123 · 4 years

Text

Chapter One

All Moving Pictures End

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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

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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!!!

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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.̸̸̧̳̱̣̠̺̭̖̦̹̳͙̼̳̠͠͡ͅ

#batim au #arty writes #dtrh!au #down the rabbit hole au #dtrh!henry #dtrh!bendy #dtrh!thomas #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #this is queued bc its like midnight as i'm formatting this lksjdflkjfkls #anyways!!!#here!!! is the thing!!!!!!!!!!!#someone yell at me to rb this to my askblog if i haven't later!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i'm v v happy with this tbh ^^#idk exactly what i wanna say abt it #but yea i did this in like. three days of adrenaline filled hyperfixation LSKDJF #go me!!!#i hope u guys like it!!! ;w;

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

Ronin

Ronin: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Rating: E

Square: @clintbartonbingo - Missing Scene

Word Count: 1954

Warnings: smut (M|F, one-night stand, vaginal sex, oral sex)

Synopsis: A strange keeps coming into your shop without an appointment to work on his Ronin tattoo.

Ronin

“He’s back again.”

Joey didn’t even need to say who he was talking about. You knew right away. He'd been in a couple of times. Never gave a name. Never booked a further appointment. Yet he somehow managed to show up blind each time when you didn't have anyone booked in.

He was getting a sleeve done. A skeletal samurai that turned into a snake at his elbow that then wrapped itself around his forearm. It was in black and green and highly detailed. You were only about a halfway done, if you were thinking optimistically about it.

The situation was odd but you strangely never felt worried with him. He was quiet but non-threatening. Always polite when he spoke and friendly enough. You didn't mind the drop-ins. He’d ask if you were free but clarify that he understood if you weren't. It was fine. Besides he had gorgeous arms. It was fun working on them.

“Alright. I'll get him.” You said.

“You sure? I gotta head out. You gonna be okay alone with the guy?”

You shrugged. “He seems harmless. Just lost people. And really, who hasn't?”

“True that,” Joey said. “I'll send him back and lock up. Be careful though.”

You pulled the design from your file. “Always am, Joey.”

The guy appeared in the doorway barely a moment later. “You're sure this is okay?”

You gestured for him to sit. “Yeah. I mean if you'd book a time, it’d be better. But business is a little quieter since… Well, you know.”

He nodded. “Sorry. I just travel a lot these days. Never know when I'll be here.”

You felt he was playing with half-truths. Maybe that was some of the reason, but it wasn't the whole reason. It didn't matter though. He could tell you straight up blatant lies if he wanted, as long as he sat still and paid at the end of the session. Which he always did so there was no reason to question him.

He took off his coat and sat down in the chair. You set up next to him and began to prep his arm, shaving it and washing it down. He smiled and chuckled softly. You’d never seen him crack a smile once since you first met him.

“Did I tickle you?” You asked as you dipped the needles in the green ink.

“Yes, No. Just thinking about how nice the prep feels and then its pain.”

“Metaphor for life.” You said with a small shrug.

You began to do the shading on his lower bicep. The muscles in his arm all tensed at once, the vein that ran down his forearm becoming more prominent. He had gorgeous arms. You wondered what he did that gave him that particular set of muscles. They weren’t the bodybuilding kind of muscles, just swollen and worked so that each one is large but none are really meant for anything. He was muscular in the way that people who used their arms were. The mohawk he sported said it he wasn’t military. Tradesperson maybe? He had been sporting bruises and cuts each visit, so maybe he was an MMA fighter?

Slowly he relaxed as you worked, as usual not really talking. The first time he had come in he’d asked if it was okay not to talk, so you hadn’t pushed it since. It was fine with you. It was much easier to focus when you weren’t making idle chit-chat.

“Did you lose anyone?” He asked.

The question had pulled you out of a daydream you’d started having about what he could do with those arms and you startled a little. It took a moment for the question to sink in. When you realized what he was asking you frowned and focused a little harder on the art. “Yeah. Of course. Who didn’t?”

“Right.” He said, frowning and tensing a little. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. You weren’t a therapist, you were an artist. It wasn’t your place to try and unpick whatever it was that was going through his head, but he’d never really said boo to you outside of the original tattoo design process. Now he seemed to want to get something off his chest.

“Who did you lose?” You asked.

“Everyone.” He said.

“You lost everyone?”

He gave a curt nod. “My parents died when I was a kid. I had a guy take me on a mentor, he’s gone. My wife. My kids. Even the woman who I’d taken under my own wing. I lost everyone.”

The way he spoke was that of a man who was trying to show no emotion. Someone just wanted to be numb from the pain but couldn’t quite manage it. “They said it was random. Doesn’t always feel like it.” You said. “So you’re alone?”

He nodded and looked down at the artwork on his arm, not saying anything. You went back to focusing on the tattoo, working methodically down his arm.

“What I don’t get is how can it have taken all those innocent people. Kids even. Yet there are still fucking monsters in the world. You know?” He said.

“Yeah. I know. Also, all those people who got taken out because they were in planes whose pilots turned to dust. Or the people in fallout zones from power plants that overloaded because suddenly half the staff was gone. Half of us turned to dust and then a whole bunch died right with them.” You said.

He scowled and clenched his fists for a moment. The rest of the time was spent in silence. It was interesting. Since half the world was turned to dust, a lot of the people who came in got tattoos commemorating people they’d lost. Portraits of their wives. The names of their kids inside hearts or teddy bears. Symbolic things that meant something special just between them and their loved one. You felt this samurai was like that too, but there was something darker. He had no tattoos at all coming in. Now he was getting this clear sign he was a different person than who he had been.

You supposed you got that. Who was the same after what had happened? People kept saying you had to move on. But how could anyone really do that?

You finished up after about four hours. It was late, well past when you normally went home for the day. “What do you think?” You asked as you washed it off.

He looked it over and nodded. “Looks great. Thank you.”

“What you wanted?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah.” He said. “Just how I pictured it.”

You covered the new parts with Vaseline and covered it in plastic.

The guy followed you to the register to pay. “Guess I won’t see you again.”

You smiled. “Guess not. Unless you want some more art done.”

“Well, thank you for that. I needed … something.”

You reached over and touched his arm. It was familiar and you wouldn’t normally cross that line, but you had been touching him for four hours now. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

There was a moment where something seemed to pass through you. You didn’t know what it was exactly, or what made you do it, but you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. It was like you could tell he needed it. That he needed some affection, even if it was brief.

He turned his head and leaned into you, like he was going to kiss you, but stopped and hovered there. You could see the cogs turning as he began to overthink what was happening. You took the initiative and brought your lips to his.

He reacted quickly, pushing you up against the wall and kissing you hungrily. Desperately even. Trying to grab this brief piece of human intimacy while he could. This safe piece of connection that meant nothing, but he needed with every piece of him.

You ran your hands along his jaw and down his neck as he ground into you against the lockers. His tongue danced with yours, circling it and running along your lips as you kissed. You scrambled to open his belt. The frantic, desperate nature of his movements affected you. It made you want this just that little bit more. As you opened his belt he broke the kiss and pulled your shirt off. He ran his hands up your sides and cupped your breasts, then yanked your bra down so your breasts spilled out. He squeezed your tits together end leaned down and began to suck and bite at your nipples. You moaned and wrapped a leg around him, drawing him closer to you, rolling your hips against him.

You pushed his pants down enough to free his cock and you wrapped your hands around it. He groaned and pushed into your hand. “Fuck,” He groaned. “Fuck, I want you.”

“Then give it to me.” You growled.

You unfastened your jeans and he pushed them down and barely gave you a moment to step out of them before he lifted you and slammed you against the wall again. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he ground his dick against you. You moaned loudly, your cunt wet and ready to take him.

His cock slid up and down your folds a few times before he thrust inside of you. You moaned throwing your head back and dug your fingers into the corded muscles of his back. He started to thrust, each one accompanied by the roll of his hips as he kept you pinned to the wall. He kissed you passionately, making you light-headed as he fucked you hard. The shelves rocked above you adding to the sounds of your moans and grunts.

Your whole body began to tremble against him as you felt your orgasm approaching. You moaned and threw your head back. He slipped his hand between your legs and rubbed your clit hard and with a loud moan you came.

Clint groaned and bit down into your shoulder as he continued to fuck you through it. You pulled off his cock and pushed him back. “Let me.” You said.

He submitted to you quickly, letting you guide him back to the tattoo chair. You pushed him down into it and crouched between his legs. You licked up the length of his cock and dropped your head down, taking his full length down your throat. He groaned and arched his back, his stomach muscles pulling tight as he gripped at the arms of the chair. “Fuck.” He groaned. “That’s it.”

You started bobbing your head up and down, sucking and hollowing your tongue. He moaned loudly as his cock began to twitch and leak precum. “Fuck. Gonna come.”

You picked up your pace and teased his balls, letting him know it was okay to let go. He mewled and with a sudden jerk of his hips, he came in hot, salty ropes, filling your mouth.

You swallowed it all down and licked your lips. He lay back panting as you got up and pulled your pants back on. When he finally seemed to come down from his orgasm high he tucked himself away and got up. “I - Thanks. I don’t know why that just happened. But… it’s been a while.”

You came over and rubbed his shoulder. “I enjoyed it too.”

He looked at you and the ghost of a smile passed over his features. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yeah.” You said walking him out. You knew that probably wasn’t true, but you did hope that whatever it was he was looking for he found it.

#clintbartonbingo2019 #clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #angst #ronin

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mitterstorm · 4 years

Text

Dance For Me

Chapter 1

“Finally we are here today to seek and to receive comfort. We would be less than honest if we said that our hearts have not ached over this situation. We are not too proud to acknowledge-

You couldn’t take it anymore, just by standing here listening to that preach addressed his departure. Your knees feel weak and your eyes burn, but you refuse to make a scene, taking deep breaths while clenching your fists is helping you calm down.

Still, it’s not enough.

You want to scream again just as you did when you saw his body limp against yours, scratch your arms in attempts of making the pain and hurt go away. To drift your mind from these ugly feelings.

A sick way of coping indeed, teensy bit of self-harm ain't going to kill you. It helps you somehow, preventing yourself from breaking even further in a public place like the cemetery.

Finally, you regain control of yourself and shift back to the preacher. Unfortunately, he concluded, now you have to prepare for the worse.

Henry, who is your most precious friend, is dead. His body was being carried away in the concealment of a coffin; he said his last farewell to you early in the morning when you ate breakfast with him, offering your company so he wouldn't feel alone, regain some strength by appreciation itself.

Something was up that morning; the old fart was more talkative than usual and flashed a smile here and there. You are at fault for not noticing from the start. You should have been more perceptive and observant; you are keen on people after all, especially when he gave you that look as if he was parting ways with you. He didn’t fight death, accepted it as embracing a hug from an old friend. That thought alone fills your head with doubt.

Was he even happy when he left?

Did he feel satisfied with the life he lived?

Were you enough?

Fuck, you never would've imagined his passing will affect you this much.

<<You old geezer, why were you so kind to me? Why did we let ourselves get attached?>>

The time is near, you will eventually have to confront him with all of these people staring at you, but you need to be strong for sake. You are what’s left of his loved ones. Linda died long ago. They never had a chance to procreate and bring a new life, Joey went mad or something along those lines.

Just like the rest of the crew, and he didn’t make any friends while he was on service for the military. If he did, they were dead. He didn’t like to talk about it.

<<I tried to make you happy, make you feel at ease as you did for me>>

Yet he kept secrets from you, of course, you respected his wishes and didn’t pry any further.

However, it stung.

<<Now it’s not time to reminisce, there’s nothing to reminisce for me at the moment>>

They called your name to the front; you ran out of time. It’s your turn. Is your first time burying someone, yes, you have assisted other burials besides this one, but now you are who’s lost a loved one. Those past times were favors people close to you had asked a long time ago; they said it felt nice to have somebody there when someone else is missing in their lives. In other words, you were there as comfort. A shoulder they could use to cry and lean on.

Hesitant, you take away from the burier’s grasp his shovel and with a gulp. You start shoveling some dirt into the hole were Henry’s coffin lies.

<<Shit, I can’t stop trembling! Come on, stop being a pussy and get over with this!>>

Despite that, your body wouldn’t obey, it made you look clumsy. No matter how much you lied to yourself.

You are scared.

After burying Henry, your vision goes black.

Waking up tomorrow morning at home without a clue of how you got there made your mind fuzzy.

How fun.

You try to get up, but end up failing.

“Fuuuuuck! Why do I feel like absolute shit! Everything hurts!” These feel just like a hangover. Why does it feel like one? Did you go to a bar once Henry’s funeral ended? How much did you drink?

“Enough to blackout it appears,” You say under your breath. Of course, your dumb ass would go to a bar and get drunk to cope with the pain! An upcoming headache awaits you for being arbitrary, instead of showing apprehension towards the situation and mourn, as you should, your voice of reason zonked out. “I reek of booze. Agh, it stinks”.

No more addressing what happened yesterday; feeling like trash isn't doing you any good. Henry would have called you out on your bullshit.

"Stop whining like a whore and man up, chum! I'll buy you a drink. Later we can relax and cut you some slack, nothing a magsman like myself can't do".

“Ok boomer,” You said in a humdrum tone, at least it made you laugh internally. “lo and behold, this will be a shitty morning-err afternoon, it’s 1 PM, I thought it was too early to be awake”.

That means it’s time for brunch.

Must compel your stomach desires, eat a lot little of food. Therefore, you'll have to leave the bed, go downstairs where the kitchen is; you force yourself out of the comfiness that are your covers. So you walk out of the room barefoot towards the kitchen. You open the fridge faking interest with whatever is inside and close it, then repeat, only that this time you pay a little more of attention.

You grab the water pitcher and pour some in a glass, then look for oatmeal and toss three spoonfuls of it at the water, after that you chuck a spoonful of sugar and mix it. A simple drink full of roughage. It’ll suffice for now.

*Clink clink*

Metal hitting porcelain serves you as a white noise to rearrange your thoughts. Yesterday was hectic and had your mind high wire, you were thinking about the old man; how long have you two been friends? Five or six years more or less, you met each other by autumn at a hospital. On that occasion, you were merely an intern in the middle of their practice and had to change sheets, deliver meals, give them their meds and reassure they took them at the time the doctors had said. Like a nurse or carer (the difference it’s you possess more knowledge than one and can prescribe medication, it was also part of your duty as a trainee assisting the doctors with whatever you could). That’s how both of you came face to face with.

Mr. Stein was sick and injured. He needed to tend some wounds since they required special treatment. Battle scars, you didn’t know at the time, however, as days passed, you became close to him, he told you how he got them; the biggest can be found on his back.

Unfortunately, a sharp pain arose, preventing you from wandering further in the past. You had forgotten about your headache, which it’s more noticeable now, you are sure there aren’t any pills left.

“I ain’t leaving being this crappy, besides I don’t feel like moving right now…” Your eyelids are heavy and keeping them open, it’s such a pain, so you shut ‘em in hopes of relaxing for a little bit. Leaning your back on the kitchen island while drinking your beverage, its coldness helping you somehow with the throb.

Once again, your mind wanders.

Thanks to it, you know where to find some ibuprofen.

“Are these the ones?” You asked while holding a box for him to see, squinting Henry finally recognized the packet.

“What’s it called again?” He questioned, rubbing his head to ease the ache a bit. His voice raspy because of a dry throat. His normal soft tone replaced by a croaky. He’s clearly suffering.

“Ibuprofen.” You read aloud as you’ve been asked and turn back to look at him.

“Yup, that’s the one, lass. I know I’ve bothered you enough, but could you serve me a glass of water?”

“You old coot, not a bother at all. I’ll be back with your water in a jiffy”.

The pills are somewhere inside Henry’s studio. You can do that, going upstairs isn’t as demanding as buying them, cuz leaving home means changing clothes that look presentable and aren’t dirty. Henceforth, you don’t feel in the mood for seeing the outside.

“I should stop thinking of how lazy I am and look for those meds…” Talking to yourself it’s quite common, so you ain’t no stranger to these situations.

Therefore, you took a break from your bullshit and went upstairs where Henry Stein used to draw; he passed most of his time in there, secluded from the outside world, before military service, he worked at an animation studio owned by the man he once considered his best friend, Joey Drew was his name if your memory doesn’t fail you.

Your friend called him a bastard, never explained why only responded by saying: “He lost his mind.”

Nevertheless, Henry kept drawing cartoons, and sometimes, he would let you watch him sketch and answered your questions. He carried on with his old comics he left unfinished long ago. The same he had drawn back thirty years ago. The main characters are three little fellas: Bendy, Alice Angel, and Boris. Henry said they animated their adventures and later on, added side characters. The Butcher Gang, if you recall, also consists of a trio: Charley, Barley, and Edgar.

When Henry started storytelling, you felt like a kid back again, he could’ve marked your childhood just as the rest of animators who made those toons while you were a child. Oh, how you treasured these memories, you’ll never forget the time you spent together.

Evoking past times has helped to soothe your headache an itty-bitty, yet you still need to find the ibuprofen.

“Where could it be…” You asked to no one, hoping the walls may respond, even though it’ll never happen.

Seeking everywhere you soon turned the room upside down, papers on the floor resembling a carpet, art supplies rolling across the table (pencils, colors, pens, paintbrushes, blending stumps, etc.) and some books based on anatomy and animation were disorganized on their bookshelves. It all ended after you opened a drawer (this one didn’t need your touch, it was already a disorder) and found what you were looking for, and because of your rashness, more papers fell on the floor.

“Damn, what a mess…” You muttered under your breath a little irritated with yourself for being so careless while searching. You collected the papers and put them in order back again one by one, because of it you grew curious and read some of them, a letter grabbed your attention.

It was one of those fancy letters with a seal and all (what does it say? Seems of importance).

You don’t consider yourself nosy, just interested in its contents.

<<From Joey Drew? Huh, looks like your old buddy send you his salutations after all this time>>

Oh, you had no idea.

Henry knew about the letter, he already read it and did as they told him. The old studio where they used to make dreams come true transformed into a living hell.

‘DEAR HENRY

IT SEEMS LIKE A LIFETIME AGO SINCE WE WORKED ON CARTOONS TOGETHER.

30 YEARS REALLY SLIPS AWAY, DOESN’T IT?

IF YOU ARE BACK IN TOWN, COME VISIT THE OLD WORKSHOP.

THERE’S SOMETHING I NEED TO SHOW YOU.

YOUR BEST PAL, JOEY DREW’.

You finished reading the letter.

*Snrk*

Well shit.

Did you just read a confession or a love letter? Why not both? You don’t know why, but it feels like one.

“Okay, let’s stop right there. I can’t make jokes on circumstances as these ones”.

What could be so urgent for Joey to write a letter after thirty years of silence?

Should you investigate?

<<The letter could’ve been sent years ago! Henry surely read it; otherwise, it wouldn’t be inside a drawer of his studio, though there’s a possibility he didn’t, I doubt it. He must have seen his friend has written message>>

Okay, sure. Let’s suppose he didn’t pay any mind to the damn thing, you can pretend, now the real issue it’s the location. Joey Drew Studios must be closed (or broken down into pieces, you didn’t know if they decided to demolish the whole building).

“Wake up ___! Face reality, you shouldn’t be fantasizing, this ain’t some silly story with you as a heroine…instead of wasting my time, I shall swallow that damn pill and take some zzz’s”.

You left Henry’s solace and went to bed once again after you swallowed the pill with some water. A dreamless sleep greeted you.

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Bendy’s POV

“ん乇'丂ムの刀乇”.

Even though he should be celebrating, the Inkarnate can’t seem to find any joy in his being, no emotion tried to overtake him. Why? He doesn’t feel anything. True, he may not possess all the emotions a human has, but anger, joy, sadness, and hysteria weren’t unbeknownst him. There’s no satisfaction nor sorrow towards his creator’s death, not even an ounce of regret. Ok no, he won’t sense any guilt for what happened to Henry, he deserved to die just as much as Joey, but he was grasping straws in here!

How’s it possible to not perceive the slightest of emotion within himself?

The Ink Demon was turning apathetic in regards to the subject; he didn’t have an answer as to why. One thing he’s sure of, his world turned dull no longer exciting as he thought.

It was as if the little dancing demon had opened his eyes for the first time, after all those years blinded by the dripping ink, before that, he only saw what his mind showed him. He finally realized how monochromatic his world truly is.

All is black and white for the demon’s eyes.

A wave of indifference invades his mind and his mind is fuzzy, he dissolves into his inky form and rests.

However, not for much.

“-aHahaHAhahaHahaHAhaha!”

Alice.

That bitch.

He despises her nearly as much as those liars, yet the little devil darling couldn’t give a damn about her right now. Let her laugh all she wants as the malady she’s. The Angel probably got the word, celebrating, unlike him.

Immersing himself even more inside the ink, he found…peace. He can work with that, serenity aids his jumbled thoughts; darkness envelopes him and swallows his body whole.

<<In the end…I feel empty. Is this how revenge it’s supposed to be like?>>

He can’t respond to that, how could he? He doesn’t even know what’s life supposed to feel like.

<<Their imagination cursed us all with life, they couldn’t take responsibility for their actions and show us how to drive through it>>

Back when he was the small little imp everybody loved, there were all kind of colors, unlike now. The studio felt warm in contrast to all the ink that surrounds it now.

The remains of those old days lurk inside the deep abyss as ink creatures, husks who replaced the humans that worked here.

Thinking about it got him tired, Bendy finds himself drifting from consciousness, he’s falling asleep.

“Was it worth it?”

<<Again that cunt>> Despite his thoughts, the Inkarnate didn’t feel irascible towards the narcissist woman. Actually, there isn’t much for him to perceive.

She’s not in here, she wouldn’t dare to step a foot on his domain. The wench had the nerve of placing her cutouts and posters; he destroyed a few just as she did the same. She is communicating with him using a damaged poster with her face.

“I know you can hear me, demon, don’t fake pretend.”

“Wんﾘりのﾘのひ ᄃﾑ尺乇?” He hopes to scare her, even though he knows it won’t work while using his beast form for some reason his speech turns nightmarish. Yet he doesn’t wield it often because of how difficult is controlling his instincts. Thoughts become more primal, talking it’s hard after a few hours transformed in it gets tiring, and he can’t measure his own force. He favors his inky form best: practical and gets the job done.

“I don’t”. So she’s just shitting with him, insufferable.

“Then why ask?”

“Spirit of inquiry. Your relationship intrigues me, up there in Heaven, we get curious as to why you didn’t kill him yourself. And don’t even try to justify your actions. You had many opportunities. The little errand boy nearly ends up killing you, he tried the same with me”.

After listening to what the Angel had to said, his permanent smile turned slowly into a frown. It’s never a good thing when the Lord ain’t wearing one.

“…”

“Well?”

The fallen angel is laughing at him.

“Not even you know the reason behind your acts of mercy!” He remains silent, it’s not like she’s wrong, the little devil does not why he was so resilient with Henry.

After that fiasco, she left him be.

Thanks to Alice’s short visit, Bendy finds questioning why she dropped by. They hate one another, true. She has eyes here and there, but it’s to keep him in line, so he won’t cross an inky limb on her domain. Unlike the female cartoon, he does not have any cutouts, posters, plushies, or ink servants near her place. He wants nothing to do with her. That’s why he finds it so unusual, it’s not like her.

Unless…

She fancies something he has.

<<If that bitch knows what’s good for her, she won’t be picking her nose in my business>>

Later he’ll do his rounds throughout the studio, maybe, the imp will find what she’s searching before she does, whatever it may be, he won’t let her have it.

He’ll make sure of it.

Who knows what her deranged mind has planned; he’s tired of the gruesome scenery this place is in, corpses all around, clones of his ol’ friend bring back unsavory images from the past. Oh, Lawrence, he’s a madman, made satanic circles as a way of showing his devotion towards the black devil. Thanks to Sammy, he has eyes in nearly the entire place.

Yes, he’s aware the musician it’s alive, but Sammy Lawrence continues being of use for him.

<<I’ll take care of him when I wake up…>>

He’s exhausted. However, he stays on his beast form sunken in ink.

The demon’s slumber it’s a peaceful one…

Until you enter his kingdom.

An animalistic rumble shakes the tinted walls.

He’s coming for you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days.

You paced on the issue for three days, until you finally had an answer.

“I’m gonna pay a visit to your ol’ pal, maybe he’s still alive…or not…” You lowered your voice in the last part; Henry called Joey a bastard and accused him of being mentally unstable, you trust his word, but what if…what if he changed? There’s a possibility he redeemed himself and went through a rehabilitation process to help him with his instability.

<<I need to look for the address and from there I’ll see what can be done>>

You googled ‘Joey Drew Studios’ on your phone and within seconds Google Maps showed up, you were going to click at it, but then something catches your eye.

An article and it’s quite old.

‘Joey Drew Studios, also known as the workshop. Is an American corporation and an animation studio of the Bendy franchise, established in 1929.

Founded by Joey Drew and Henry Stein in an unknown full date other than the year of 1929, Joey Drew Studios is located at Broadway, Brooklyn, New York City, New York.

In 1946, Joey Drew Studios was under investigation after reports of hazardous work environments, missing employees, harassment, and excessive back pay, as well the company's danger of being bankrupt, all of which are a result of Joey's mismanagement of the studio. Anonymous employees threatened to make labor unions over the poor conditions, which included unpermitted buildings, hazardous electrical wiring, and a plumbing system prone to bursting. In addition, there were excessive work hours, most of which were unpaid and several animators were unable to see their families in weeks, after being threatened with disciplinary action and termination if they were unable to finish animations on tight schedules.

There were reports of barricaded offices, employees locked up in work spaces, and complaints of crazy malfunctioning machinery. Despite the evidence against the company, Joey Drew remained firm that the studio has done nothing wrong, calling the accusations "preposterous" and "ridiculous", dismissing them as either complaint from menial employees, or feeble attempts by competing studios to discredit Joey.

On August 16, 1959, the law firm known as Snooks, Spitner and Snooks sued Joey Drew, having heard the rumors of Joey's mismanaging of his own workers. 12 days later, the studio was closed down in accordance to legal regulation 11 U.S Code § 1125 (which forbids the misrepresentation of legally established companies) as evident by the bankruptcy report found in Joey's apartment, as well as health and safety concerns directly by the mention of a health and safety board meeting schedule found in the appointment lobby.’

Oof.

<<That’s a lot to take in>>

Why the fuck would Henry’s friend would want to meet at that nightmare show? Has he learned nothing after all this years? And not only that, the sucker it´s/was an abusive prick with his employees!

<<Man, you weren’t joking>>

You fear a screw lose isn’t Joey’s only problem.

<<He sounds like an asshole, I don’t want to put up with his shit...I’ve got enough dealing with people like him on a daily basis. Sure, not everyone it’s an ass and there’s some decent/kind people out there, but handling jerks as the likes of him tires me out>>

Sometimes you aren’t the most patient person, it all depends. But this whole ordeal it’s too much for you.

<<The studio is in the big city, New York it’s fucking expensive. I don’t have the money for travelling that far, I’ll have to bid on my savings and package supplies for the journey>>

Crap. Three days and you didn’t think all of this through! How can you be so stupid?!

Now this looks like one of those impulsive decisions you take for being careless and inattentive.

<<How could Henry put up with me when not even I can stand myself?!>>

You need an adult, that’s what you ought to have beside you.

Your life is such a mess sometimes…

“Before spending money on my idiocy I should read more and prepare myself.” You mutter angrily to yourself.

That’s exactly what you did the next two days, finally you are ready for departing.

You grab your backpack and the car’s keys. “Cellphone in the front pocket, all that’s left is open the door, lock it and call Abby, easy.”

During those two days you made a few calls and went up for gas, it was going to be a long trip from Miami to New York. Sure, it ain’t that extensive, but you’ll be driving by yourself for approximately 20 hours. A place to stay, money, gasoline and food are big girl’s problems. Not counting the money you’ll spend on a cheap motel to rest your head.

“That or make a few stops on gas stations…maybe sleeping in the car won’t be that bad…” The good thing is you have options; you aren’t tied solely to one alternative.

<<Abby won’t charge me for doing me this favor, another plus>>

She’ll guard the house in your absence and will call if any emergency transpires.

Now, you are free to go.

<<I hope I made a good decision doing this>>

The first 8 hours were a torment, bored and your ass felt numb of sitting for that long, the last time you remained that still was in high school, since you made your schedule. Your feet hurt just as your arms did. You made a stop for eating and going to the bathroom, after that another 8 hours.

Overall, the journey was relaxing, while driving you admired the views offered to you, savoring each sight. It helped you keeping away some melancholy.

You miss Henry, no matter how much you tried to distract yourself with this excursion of yours, the emptiness stays in the back of your mind.

Your wounds are still fresh, you haven’t mourned properly, because you don’t want to. That’s why you are doing this, to keep yourself busy so you won’t think about it. You need it, you ain’t prepared for it yet.

Soon you’ll be.

After a short nap (before that you made many stops, ‘cuz you’re a whining bitch who ain’t strong enough to control her fucking bladder), you started driving again. You have three or four hours left on the road.

Time to listen some music, you activate Bluetooth and connect your phone to the car’s stereo, finally you found a song of your liking in Spotify and play it. You spent the rest of the trip singing along; sometimes you’ll speed up a little bit on the spur of the moment.

Soon you got to your destination, didn’t waste time changing clothes, you collapsed on the bed in the motel and slept for an hour. After that, you washed yourself and got ready for visiting Joey Drew.

“Here goes nothing…”

You regret already coming here, silly you just ruined a change of clothes! Why is there so much ink? You’ll never get out the ink of your shoes, fuck! You have been here for less than ten minutes and all went to shit for you! It doesn’t help this place keeps giving you the heebies-jeebies! Every time you take a step on the creaky wooden floor it feels as if someone is following you, like a slithering sound. The ink splashes keep creeping you out, if it wasn’t black you would think it’s blood, Jesus Christ.

<<Thank God, the lights still work; it would make this place spookier if they didn’t>>

As you venture further deeper into the studio, a beast rumbles, shaking everything around you, more ink drops fall.

At that moment…

…you knew you fucked up.

So you hide.

Your mind provides you one last thought before going high drive

‘WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?! WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?!’

<<FUUU-

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #fanfic #bendy #boris the wolf #alice angel #bendyxreader #sammy lawrence #henry stein #reader #Dance For Me Fanfic #bendy fanfic #BATIM fanfic #batim fanfic

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queenofcats17 · 4 years

Text

The Line In The Sand

@randomwriteronline wrote this awesome thing and I wanted to write something with my own Joey.

I need to flesh out his character more. Please tell me if there’s anything I should change.

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Investors learned quickly not to mention their thoughts on Judaism in front of Joey Drew.

Normally, he wasn’t one to express anger toward his investors. Even when they made disparaging comments about some of his staff, he never lost his temper.

They called Norman the usual slurs and suggested Joey was a fool for trusting him with the projection equipment.

They chided Joey for hiring Irishmen, most notably Wally and Shawn, citing how lazy and shiftless ‘their types’ could be.

They expressed distaste and disgust that he’d put a woman in charge of the animation department, calling Ms. Lambert some rather unsavory names and insinuating she was trying to be a man. There was the usual, ‘she’ll never find a husband if she keeps on like this’ as well, although that one applied to most of the women employed at the studio.

(Nothing was said about Lacie Benton since she was under Bertram’s employ, and he had likely shut down any attempts to disparage her.)

Through all this, Joey never attempted to correct them. Never bothered to defend his workers. His investors could throw around all the slurs they wanted and he wouldn’t bat an eye.

“What’s the harm in hiring them?” He’d say with a shrug. “As long as they do good work, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t hire them. Besides,” he’d add with one of his showman smiles. “No matter how poorly I treat them, they won’t leave me. Who else would hire them?”

This always got a round of laughter from the investors. None of them noticed Joey’s smile never reached his eyes. None of them noticed the hatred that burned in his eyes when he looked at them. The contempt that lurked behind his amiable smile. Oh, how he’d changed from when he was young.

He just told the investors what they wanted to hear, proved that he could play their game. And that was enough for the greedy bastards. They never thought to probe any deeper than what was on the surface. After all, he was young and handsome, he dressed the right way and said the right things. He was one of them, as far as they were concerned.

But when they brought up the Jewish people in his employ...That was when they saw a side to Joseph Drew that he kept closely guarded. The first time one of the investors made an off-color joke on the subject, Joey got very quiet. His smile vanished, replaced by a stony mask.

The ‘joke’ had been about Grant. One of the investors had said that Joey’s studio was probably losing money because Grant was stealing it. He hadn’t called Grant by name, of course, referring to him in a less than flattering manner.

“Mr. Drew, is something wrong?” One asked, pausing in his uproarious laughter when he noticed Joey’s expression.

The mood in the office had changed the moment the ‘joke’ had been made. The air suddenly felt...heavier. An intense aura radiated off of Joey and all of them could tell it meant he was not pleased.

“Fine,” Joey spat, his lip curling up in a snarl. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this meeting short. I’m suddenly feeling rather ill.” He stood up with fluid grace, holding the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles were turning white.

“Is this because of what I said?” The instigator asked with a smug smirk. “Come now, don’t tell me you can’t take a joke!”

Joey turned very slowly to the instigator, his snarl turning into a smile. It was a wide smile. Almost unnatural in how wide it was. It made everyone present feel rather ill at ease.

“I’m just feeling ill, that’s all,” he replied with an eerie degree of calm. The intense aura had become even stronger, causing a few of the men to pull nervously at their collars.

“I have a weak constitution, I’m afraid,” Joey continued, gliding out from behind his desk and opened the door. “I wouldn’t want to lose consciousness in the middle of a meeting. So why don’t you all leave for the moment? We can continue our conversation at our next meeting.” Although his voice was calm and jovial, there was an underlying edge that left little room for argument.

Admittedly, any one of them could likely have taken him down. Joey Drew was a small man, short and slight. But the terrifying presence he possessed tended to discourage others from enacting physical violence against him. Nowadays, at least. So, the investors left.

Joey waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps anymore, turned, and screamed at the top of his lungs. His secretary didn’t even bat an eye. Sighing, she got up and went into his office to make sure he didn’t break anything.

It happened more than once, as well. Every time an investor said something disparaging or made a joke about the Jewish people in Joey’s employ, or Jewish people in general, Joey immediately shut down the meeting and made them leave. His outbursts of anger after their departure became more and more frequent.

The latest instance was the worst of them. The curses that she heard were worse than any Joey had used in the past. It almost sounded as though he was crying as well. Despite her better judgment, she went to see what was going on. When she entered the office, she found Joey holding onto the back of his chair and muttering darkly to himself. His expression was positively demonic and she could see tear tracks running down his cheeks. She was a bit surprised to see he’d been crying.

“You know, if you hate meeting with them so much, maybe you should stop,” she said.

“What a lovely idea, Gloria!” Joey growled through gritted. “I hadn’t thought of that!”

“Don’t get snippy. It was just a suggestion.” Gloria sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. As far as the studio was concerned, she had the patience of a saint. In reality, though, she was one of the few people who was willing to call out Joey’s bullshit. For some reason, Joey didn’t object to this either.

Her incredulous look made Joey pause and take a few deep breaths to calm himself.

“As much as I would like to cut all contact with those overgrown bullies,” he said, making a concerted effort not to yell. “It’s extremely difficult to find ways to raise money for this sort of thing. Placating those fat pigs is my best option for securing a reliable source of funding.”

“If that’s really how you feel, I’m surprised you actually draw a line on the bull you let them spew,” Gloria remarked, her lip curling up a bit in distaste.

The things she’d heard those investors say made her blood boil. And yet Joey had never protested against any of it. What made this topic different from the others?

“It’s...complicated,” Joey said slowly, avoiding her gaze. He quickly shook his head and sat down in his chair. “In any case, I have work I need to do.”

Gloria raised an eyebrow but left without another word.

Left alone, Joey stared down at the stack of expense reports on his desk. It was amazing how all the expenses added up. Math had been his worst subject in school. It was a miracle he’d managed to keep the studio running before he’d hired Grant. That man was a lifesaver.

Thinking of Grant made his mind drift back to the comments to investors had made. He gritted his teeth, almost snapping his pen in half as his fist clenched in rage. He despised them. Despised having to grovel to them to get the money he needed. When he looked at them, he saw the schoolyard bullies who had made his childhood years a living nightmare.

Listening to them insult his workers was maddening, but he could keep his distaste under wraps because the slurs they used had never been applied to him. When he heard the slurs about Jewish people, though, he was transported back to the schoolyard. That time when he’d been small and weak and helpless and no one had lifted a finger to help him. He was unable to control his anger then.

One thing people learned very quickly was that Joey was incredibly protective of his workers. While he’d (barely) tolerate slander from the investors, no one else was allowed to speak ill of his workers. If anyone was actively harassing an employee of his he never hesitated to protect them. No one could prove that the misfortune that befell the harassers was due to Joey, but everyone knew.

Because of this, many of the employees weren’t entirely sure how to feel about their boss.

On one hand, he could be manipulative and callous toward them. If you were no longer useful to him, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw you out on your ass. He treated them more fairly than other employers, but those who knew him best knew that they meant very little to him in the long run.

On the other hand, he was indeed fiercely protective of them. They actually mattered to him, even if it was only because he cared about what they could do for him. His showman act fooled many people as well. So much so that many of the younger employees genuinely believed he cared about them.

Not to mention, there were strange moments when he was actually...kind. Normally, he didn’t give paid vacations or time off, and he certainly didn’t let people leave early. When these requests were put in he’d reject them. But early in the history of the studio, Grant had come to Joey to ask if he could leave early. The workday normally ended at 6, but the lighting of the menorah for Hanukkah was usually done between 5:30 and 6, and Grant didn’t want to miss it.

He’d fully expected Joey to tell him no. He’d fully expected to be yelled at.

Instead, Joey had gotten a strange look in his eyes. Something tender and almost wistful. Grant was a bit taken aback. He’d never seen such an expression on Joey’s face.

“Alright,” Joey said after a moment, his voice quiet. “You have my permission to leave early when you need it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Grant nodded and left quickly, lest Joey change his mind.

Joey didn’t change his mind, though. Every time Grant asked for time off or to leave early, Joey granted it. Grant wasn’t an exception either. When other Jewish employees made similar requests, he granted them too. He had a fondness for his Jewish employees that no one understood.

No one felt brave enough to ask about this, but Grant had some idea. Not that he’d ever share that idea, though. No, he knew how to keep his mouth shut. And so, Joey’s surprising compassion toward Jewish people remained a mystery to his employees.

This was why his reaction to that lawyer Mrs. Klein was so surprising. He reacted to her with such vitriol. He’d always been respectful toward other Jewish people who had come to the studio. He’d never responded with such hatred before. It was almost as if they knew each other or something.

#bendy and the ink machine #joey drew #freckle drew #fanfiction #tw: antisemitism #tw: racism #grant cohen

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scourgewins · 5 years

Text

How It All Began...

(Okay, sorry I don’t post nearly as much as the Drawing Entity does. I’ve got four fanfictions I’m working on at the moment, including the Mafia AU one. Bear with me, folks. This particular piece is about how Sammy came to be hired at Joey Drew Studios, and is, again, not related to Mafia. There is a fight scene later on, and a bit of blood, but nothing too gory, in case anyone’s bothered by that.)

Gosh, this place is huge, Henry thought to himself as he exited his car, a pack of art implements slung over his shoulder. The young animator stared up at the massive studio, which he would now be working at, his brown eyes wide with wonder, taking it all in. It all seemed like a dream. Ever since he’d met Joey when they were teenagers, he had always talked about how he would own a cartoon studio one day, one that would become renowned worldwide. Henry wasn’t sure about the latter bit, but the former had come true; he and Joey had started a cartoon company, and today was day one in the long journey ahead.

The door to the studio swung open, and Henry watched as Joey stepped out, grinning as he caught sight of him.

“Well, Henry,” he said, “What do you think?”

“It’s amazing, Joey.” said Henry, feeling a wide smile spread across his face, “How did you afford something this big? Even with the money I donated, we couldn’t have been able to buy this.”

“Oh, I just asked my parents for some cash, to add to the loan. I had to be a bit vague on the details of why I needed it, but it all worked out.”

Henry frowned, “You mean you lied to your parents?”

“Lie is such a strong word…” Joey said, “I merely kept some information from them. Now, are you just going to stand there gawking, or do you want to go inside?”

Excitement at stepping into the studio he’d helped to found drove the doubt from Henry’s mind, and he followed Joey inside.

The place looked a bit worse for wear. There were some loose floorboards that creaked worryingly, seeing as how if they broke one would fall into the downstairs area below. Joey assured Henry he’d get them fixed as soon as the studio was up and running. There were cobwebs everywhere, and as soon as Joey switched on the light, Henry swore he saw a mass of insects crawl away. Henry glanced at his friend skeptically, and Joey responded with a slight shrug, then led the way to a space next to the entrance. In it was a drawing desk, and a chair. It was very simple, but Henry found it one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, for as Joey gestured to it, he stated, “This is your space.”

Henry gazed in wonder for a second more, then seated himself at the desk. He could just picture himself drawing here. Joey smiled at Henry, then briskly turned away.

“Alright,” he said, “We have to get down to business. We have to hire animators, repairmen, musicians, voice actors, projectionists, everyone we’ll need to get this company up and running.”

“But, Joey,” Henry began, frowning, “We haven’t even moved in yet. Shouldn’t we wait to hire people until we’ve gotten all of our equipment in here?”

“All of that will come in due time, don’t worry.”

Henry’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue; when it came to business matters, Joey usually knew what to do. “Okay, so what’s our first move?”

Joey smiled, “We call upon an old friend.”

Twenty minutes later, Henry and Joey found themselves in front of a dilapidated apartment building. It was two stories high, and one of the windows in the first story had a sizable hole in it. Again, Henry wondered who it was they were meeting. I hope Joey isn’t about to hire a ruffian. Joey had refused to answer any of Henry’s question during the drive there, seeming to enjoy his suspense. Henry decided he should ask again.

“Joey, would you please tell me who we’re going to see?”

His friend glanced at him for a second, then proceeded to march into the building, “Someone who will make our cartoons one of a kind.”

Henry hurried after him, “That doesn’t fully answer my question…”

Joey swiftly ascended the staircase, with Henry following nervously behind. The inside of the building was as rundown as the outside, and Henry couldn’t help but feel wary. The whole place seemed quite shady. A few people walked past them, giving them suspicious glares, which didn’t help. Henry felt his muscles tense instinctually, ready for action. Joey, for his part, seemed quite relaxed and confident, and as they reached the upper floor, turned swiftly left and halted at the first door they came to, giving it a sharp knock.

At first, no noise was heard, then there was a slight shuffling sort of sound, as if someone were looking for something. Quiet ensued following this, and Henry glanced at Joey, who was waiting patiently for the door to open. Eventually it did, but in a rather unexpected manner.

The door flew open, to reveal a man around Henry and Joey’s age, wearing clothes that probably had not been washed in a while. He had long, tousled blonde hair, and eyes that were strikingly blue, and blazed with hostility. Henry didn’t take in any of these traits at first, though, for his main focus was on the wooden bat the man held in a two-handed grip.

The door had been open barely a second before the man exclaimed, “Listen, pal, I don’t want any trouble, now why don’t you just-” He had raised his bat while he spoke, and Henry found his right fist clenching, and before anyone could do anything, he had landed a solid blow to the shocked man’s jaw. The man reeled backwards, his entire face slack, and fell down in a dead faint onto the floor.

For a moment, Henry and Joey just stood in silence, then Joey gripped Henry by the arm and dragged him into the unconscious man’s room, slamming the door behind them, and locking it for good measure. Turning to Henry, Joey eyed his friend crossly.

“Why the heck did you punch him?”

Henry, in his turn, grew angry, “He was about to hit us with a bat! What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to let me handle it. He wouldn’t have hit us if you’d given him time to recognize me.”

“Well, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll just wait patiently as someone raises a bat, to see if they know you.” Henry replied, sarcastically.

“Thank you!” Joey returned. Henry glared, but decided not to engage any further. Instead, he looked back at the disheveled man, still out cold.

“Help me get him to his bed.” Together, Henry and Joey lifted him up, and plopped him down on the bed, placing a pillow beneath his head. As they did so, Henry took the time to examine the man’s room. There was nothing remarkable about it, except for the large amount of musical instruments strewn about the place. There was a bass in a corner, a banjo resting by the bed, a clarinet on a shelf, and a harmonica lying on a desk littered with sheet music. Henry glanced at Joey.

“So we’re hiring a musician?”

Joey nodded, a smile spreading over his face, “We’ll be one of the first cartoons to include music! And on top of that, we have a master musician to compose it!” Joey gestured to the man on the bed, who was now drooling a little. Henry looked at Joey skeptically.

“Well, I don’t think he’ll want to work for us, now.”

“Baloney!” Joey declared, “Once we’ve explained everything to him all will be forgiven and he’ll be thrilled to take our offer.”

Henry doubted this would all work out as smoothly as Joey hoped, but decided they’d deal with the matter once the man woke up.

“What’s his name, anyway?” he asked.

“Oh, his name’s Sammy, Sammy Lawrence.”

The name didn’t ring any bells, so Henry asked Joey how he knew him. His friend explained how the two of them had met in college, and how impressed he had been with Sammy’s music skills.

“He knows how to play most every instrument you can think of, and could probably learn how to play another like that.” He snapped his fingers. Henry raised his eyebrows, impressed with the man already. If what Joey said was true, then their cartoons would be unique, indeed.

The two of them sat in silence, waiting for Sammy to awaken. Henry settled himself on the edge of the bed, while Joey occupied the only chair in the room. After awhile, they both grew bored, and took to exploring the tiny living space the uncleanly musician resided in. Henry plucked absentmindedly on the bass strings, and even took up the bow and scraped it experimentally on them. The sound was so unpleasing, though, that he stopped. Joey studied Sammy’s music sheets, then proceeded to rifle through a pile of books that had not been touched in quite some time, upsetting a few on to the floor.

“Hey,” said Henry, “leave that alone. It’s rude to go through people’s things.”

“Says the man fiddling with the bass.” Joey replied, continuing what he was doing.

“At least I haven’t disturbed anything.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll put these books back in their messy pile once I’m done browsing.”

Henry turned to face him, “This isn’t a library, Joey. This is where someone lives.”

Joey looked up from scanning a book titled, ‘Lyrics Journal’,“Well, I have to do something to preoccupy myself, since my business partner knocked out the man we came to see.”

“I had good reason for doing so.”

Joey eyed his friend sternly, “We were never in any trouble. Honestly, Henry, how could you ever think that I would willingly put us in danger of anyone?”

“You’ve done it before.” Henry muttered, just loud enough for Joey to hear.

Joey glared, “When?”

“That incident at the bar.”

“I knew we could handle those goons.”

Henry stared hard at his coworker, “Those guys at the park.”

“They needed to be taken down a peg.”

“That guy with the knife!”

Joey paused for a second, nervously gazing at the floor, “Okay, I admit… that one probably should have been avoided.” So saying, he absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder, where Henry knew he had sustained a scar from that fight. He himself had gotten a scar on his right arm, which he, too, unknowingly rubbed, recalling the event.

The two sat in an awkward silence for a couple minutes. Henry was just about to resume strumming the bass strings, when he heard a long, drawn out groan from the bed. Glancing at his friend, Henry hastily moved back to his previous spot on the bed, while Joey retook his seat on the chair.

Sammy Lawrence sat up groggily, rubbing his jaw carefully. His blue eyes lazily roamed over Henry and Joey, then sharpened after a second, and became fully alert as he sat up. Both Henry and Joey just stared at the alarmed musician, until the latter’s face broke into a grin.

“Sammy!” Joey said, in a warm, cordial tone.

Sammy’s gaze darkened, “Joey.” he replied, sounding not at all friendly. His eyes shifted to Henry, and he glared, “Person who knocked me out.”

Henry nervously met Sammy’s gaze, “I thought you were going to attack us.”

“I thought you were someone else,” Sammy explained, still scowling, “but even so, I might still have tried to knock you out, Joey.” Joey met the man’s accusatory stare with an expression of innocence.

“Me? What have I ever done to you?”

“Have you honestly forgotten?”

The blank look on Joey’s face told Henry that he had no idea what Sammy was talking about. The musician sighed, “You picked a fight with somebody, then left me to defend myself, alone.” Here his eyes blazed with a sudden fury, “They smashed my violin!”

Joey’s brow furrowed as he seemed to remember these events, “I think I recall someone getting a little testy with us, but I’m sure I didn’t run out on you.”

“Tell that to the remains of my violin.” Sammy growled.

Joey shrugged, “If it’ll please you.”

Henry was sure Sammy was about to strike Joey, so he hastily stood between them, “Alright, everyone calm down. Nothing will get resolved if we resort to blows.”

“Maybe not.” Sammy said, with a grim smile, “but it’ll sure feel good!” With that, he pounced toward Joey, but was halted as Henry held him back. The furious man struggled against Henry, wriggling this way and that, but the more experienced man held him in a tight grasp. The unsophisticated and non damaging nature of the blows Sammy inflicted on Henry as he fought to get free told the cartoonist he was not used to physical violence. So, Henry easily shoved him back, and Sammy could only glare at them with a cold dislike.

Just as Sammy opened his mouth to speak again, there came a loud knock on the door. Instantly, Sammy’s face grew pale, and whatever words he was about to say died in his throat.

“I’ll get it!” said Joey, obviously wanting to gain Sammy’s favor.

“No! Don’t!” But Sammy’s warning came too late. Joey had unbolted the door, and opened it to admit two big, rough looking men, with an identical leer on their faces. Henry distrusted them instantly, and Sammy’s panicked expression told him his caution was well-founded. Already, his hands were curling into fists.

“Can we help you, gentlemen?” Joey asked, politely. Henry knew his friend well enough to know that his friendly demeanor was just an act, and that he, too, was tensed and ready for a fight.

“You can’t,” said one of the burly men, “but he can.” He pointed at Sammy. The musician’s pale face flushed with red as he glowered at the man.

“I told you, I don’t want any trouble.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten any, if you’d just given us what we asked for.” The other man spoke up.

Sammy’s furious gaze pierced the two men, “I am not giving you any of my instruments!”

“You see,” said the first man, rubbing one of his knuckles in a casual, yet obviously threatening manner, “that’s where the trouble comes in.”

Henry stepped forward, “I recommend you think about your next move. Either walk out of here and leave this man in peace, or stay, and face the consequences for doing so.”

The first man shrugged, “I think we’ll stay, consequences or no, and-”

Henry was anticipating the punch coming his way, and was already dodging to the side, just as the fist hit the air where he’d been. In a flash, Joey had pounced on the other man, and the two instantly became locked in combat. The adversary Henry faced gave an exclamation of anger at having missed his target, and turned to face him. The cartoonist delivered two blows to the other man’s face as he did so, and the man reeled back, but recovered quickly and swung a right hook towards Henry. Henry tried to dodge this one, but Sammy’s apartment was so cramped, that he ended up stumbling into the bed, on which the musician was crouched, fearfully watching the skirmish.

The blow caught Henry right in the jaw, and stars exploded in his vision. But, years of brawls had taught him well, and he rolled with the punch, so it was not as effective as it would have been. The two foes faced off again. Henry realized his enemy was much stronger than he was, and he’d have to fight smart to win. He aimed a punch at the man’s solar plexus, which he blocked with contempt. Beside him, he heard the smack of a blow that had hit home, and the subsequent grunt as someone reacted to it. Henry knew it was Joey who had dealt the blow, so didn’t take his eyes off his enemy. His opponent, however, glanced over at his comrade for a moment, which was all Henry needed to deliver three solid blows to the man’s gut. The man stumbled back into the the desk, gasping, and Henry raised his hand to deliver a palm strike to the man’s face.

“No!” came Sammy’s anguished voice. Henry spun toward him, afraid Joey’s foe had gotten past him and was attacking the helpless musician. But Sammy’s cry was only for his banjo, which Joey had grabbed and was about to use to smack his enemy. Turning away, Henry caught a fist full in the face, and fell with a loud crash to the floorboards. The other man was on him in an instant, raining blows on his head. Henry just had time to throw his arms protectively over his face, but the force of the punches still made his vision blur. There was a small pause in the man’s assault, probably to get his second wind, and Henry took the opportunity to sit up and elbow him straight in the mouth.

The man reflexively lifted a hand to his face, and Henry used the moment to wriggle himself away from the man, kicking him in the stomach as he did so. His opponent gasped, and scowled at Henry, reached for him, then stopped. Henry had no time to react as the man grabbed something nearby, and raised it up. Henry just had time to recognize it as Sammy’s banjo, before it descended towards his face, and he was forced to cover up again, hoping for the best.

But the blow never came. Instead, there came a loud whack sound. Henry allowed himself to cautiously peek up at his adversary, who was swaying where he crouched, his eyes rolling up. Moving out of the way, Henry watched as the man collapsed in the spot where he’d been, unconscious. Above him stood Sammy, with a bat in one hand, and his banjo in the other. He observed his victim for a moment, then dropped the bat and hugged his banjo tight.

“Nobody touches my banjo.” he said, icily.

Henry didn’t know what to do for a moment, then turned as he heard Joey’s laugh of triumph. He had successfully knocked his enemy out, though by the way he clutched his hand, Henry was pretty sure he’d broken something doing it. Looking back at Sammy, Henry watched as the musician plopped down on to his bed, looking a tad bewildered. Henry sat down beside him, breathing hard, absently swiping a hand under his nose as he felt something wet. Looking down, he saw his hand was smeared with red. Apparently he’d gotten a bloody nose in the skirmish. Glancing down at his unconscious foe, Henry saw a tiny trickle of blood under his nose, and that was it. He was certainly a tough fighter, Henry thought, nodding to himself.

Joey came over and sat next to Henry on the bed, still grinning at his victory. Henry was sure that grin would turn to a grimace once his adrenaline lowered and he felt the pain of his broken hand. Sammy continued to clutch his banjo to him, staring at the bodies on the floor.

“I guess we’ll have to call the police.” he said, quietly.

“That’s usually how it goes, yes.” Henry agreed.

“You won’t have to worry about those idiots any more, Sammy.” Joey added.

“No,” said Sammy, suddenly realizing this, “I won’t.”

Joey was silent for a moment, then he looked the musician in the eye and said, as innocently as possible, “Do you think you could return the favor by letting me hire you?”

In a flash, Sammy’s glare was back, “I still haven’t forgotten what you did.”

“Nor did I think you would,” said Joey, “I made a mistake back then, and I am truly sorry.” He looked down at the senseless men on the floor, “Take these unconscious bodies as a sign of my good will.”

Sammy continued to glare, but was silent, and Henry liked to take that as a sign that he was warming up to them.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, sincerely, “for knocking you out earlier. And I also wanted to thank you for saving me from that man. I’m not sure what might have happened had you not intervened.”

Now Sammy was at a loss for words, and all he did was stare at the two of them for a while. At last, he looked down at the floor, and said, gruffly, “You’re welcome.”

Another silence ensued, until Sammy again spoke up, “What exactly did you want to hire me for?”

Joey grinned, “I’m glad you asked. We’re starting a cartoon company,” he pointed to himself and Henry, “and we need a musician to add music to our cartoons.”

Sammy frowned, “Films have sound, now?”

“Yes!” said Joey, surprised, “You didn’t know that?”

Sammy shrugged, “I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

Henry brought them back on track, “What do you say, Mr. Lawrence? Will you take the job?”

The musician considered it for a moment, then shrugged, “It sounds better than playing the same old music at the club every day.”

Joey looked at him eagerly, “So you’re in?”

Sammy glanced at both Henry and Joey, “I’m in, but only if you buy me a new violin.”

“It’s a deal.” said Joey.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Henry Stein #Joey Drew #Sammy Lawrence #TW Violence #TW Blood #Writing Entity

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ask-the-friendly-ink-demon · 6 years

Text

Inky Terrors Of The Past Chapter 1- Back To Hell

A.N: heya guys this is the official chapter of my au's story after an long. Whole while of thinking I just felt the need to rewrite this entire story but its not gonna be fully canon with the actual game itself. Without futher to do hope you all enjoy! ---- 30 years have passed ever since Henry had left his dream job. He was in his room looking a an picture of him with bendy on his first ever birthday he looked so happy in that "....." He sighed he really missed him his creation, he just wished he could of brought him Along "Jess would of liked ya bud.." He said to the picture. Just then Jessica came running in "hey there kiddo" Henry said to his daughter. "D-dad, I have an letter for y-you" he looked confuse "who in earth would sent me an letter" Jess muttered "you'll never guess.." Henry grabbed the letter and opened it while Jess walked upstairs about to look like she was gonna scream. "Dear Henry, its been an while since we worked on cartoons together, 30 years really slips away doesn't it? If your back in town come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you, your best pal, Joey Drew" The letter kept playing in Henry's head as he drove towards the studio he remembered how to get there even after 30 years. "What does Joey have to show me that's been belated for 30 years?" He talked to himself as he reached the studio he looked at it "been an long time since I was here" he said as he parked and got out of his car. He opened the door to the studio and entered it. "Alright Joey I'm here, let's see what you wanted to show me" he said as he walked. An lot has changed in the studio. For one there was no one around it almost looked abandoned, he saw the projecter on "heh this thing still works?" He said as he waved his hand slightly on the lighten of the camera smiling slightly. He explored around in the studio as he saw how much has changed. He looked at the board of ink pressure. "Wow looks like Joey really was ruined without me to help" he muttered to himself as he jumped over an pipe and saw an balcony with chains. He walked over and saw that there was an generator and a machine. He rubbed the back of his head confused "alright so how do I get this thing to work?" He said as he looked to see the power box was missing two boxes he grabbed one and found the other in a box and placed it in the slot and turned on the lift "this lift could use an few drys, let's see what's your hiding down there, old friend" he said to himself as he saw the ink machine being rose up "so this thing is still standing even after all this time?" he said as he inspected the makeover it received "huh gotta say joey must of done some improvements with it.." he figured how he should turn it on than he remembered the flow ink room he walked out of the ink machine room and came across the gate that was closed before now opened. he was curious and walked through it "how much did joey change this place?" he said as he walked observing the oak wood red colored floorboards as this place sure got old when he last left he walked into one of the other rooms and saw the ink pressure was off and there were these six small pillar that looked like they each held something "hmm..." he looked at each picture "looks like those are the items i need" he said as he turned around to go look for them when he suddenly got jumpscared by the cutout he gasped before breathing "who put this here?!" he said as he looked around before shaking his head "scaring me with your cutouts this time kid?" he said to the cutout who did not response as henry rolled his eyes and kept walking. soon enough he found the gear, the music disc, the doll, the book. He just needed to find the wrench and the inkwell. He looked for the wrench first but came as shocked from seeing the strapped corpse of Boris the wolf "oh god... Joey what were you doing?" He said to himself as he looked at the message of "who's laughing now?" He saw many other messages before he got to the room like "dreams come true" Henry stared with an sad look on Boris's corpse "how long has he been dead...?" He wondered to himself as he saw the tool box he opened it and was left now guilty. There was an bone in there now he was mad did they lure Boris Into here he clenched his fists "I swear Joey you and I are gonna have an talk.." He said to himself as he sadly got the wrench out of boris's chest and had to cover his mouth when he saw ink starting sporting out of the wound. He started hearing whispers in the ink "this is getting weird" he said to himself as he walked away. Along the way he found one of the tapes showing Wally he had an smirk on even in all of this wally's catchphrase never cease to amaze him. He went back to the main room and saw something he did not noticed. The closest door that was closed has an stained unknown substance. He slowly opened the door and got jump scared by an corpse as it landed on the ground how long had the corpse been there he had no clue. He saw something stuck in the corpse's back he pulled it out it was an large sharp hunting knife with strange markings and words on it he felt like this was Joey's and putted the knife in his belt loop. after staring at the inked corpse henry then walked off and found his old desk but no inkwell “hey here’s my old desk, I wasted so much time on this chair” he said as he turned around and said an room that wasn’t there before “huh, that wasn’t there before” he said as he walked in “looks like joey knocked down an hole here, must of took an few people to replace me” he said as he looked around admiring the doodles and saw one certain doodle that kept changing it’s pose whenever henry looked away he smiled at one of them that had the little devil laying on the ground with his hands under his chin with an cheerful expression “how you doing buddy? miss me?” he said to the drawing while smiling slightly as he saw the inkwell “ah okay that’s all of them” he said as he did’int noticed ah figure moving slowly towards him. henry picked up the inkwell “alright, now ba-” before he could talk more he felt something slammed against the back of his head and henry’s vision darkened. it only took more than 20 minutes for him to wake up as he was still in the same room he goraned which he heard an startled reaction coming out of whoever hitted him he turned slowly and his eyes widen as did the figure he saw someone he never expected to see again but he couldn’t believe it. same dark hoodie, same blue jeans, same green gloves and the same face “b….bendy?” bendy stared eye wided he couldn’t believe it himself but he was looking at his creator he tried closing his eyes and opening them but he was still there same kind voice, same jeans same grey shirt and same green vest. he had an big smile on his face he was right he told alice that henry would come back one day and he was right! he finally did came back! his big happy smile then turned to an big frown as he dropped the mallet as huge inky tears dripped down sniffling “h-h-h…..hen–ry?” he said his voice cracking and breaking. henry smiled and opened his arms to which the little devil ran up to his creator and hug tackled him crying as henry hugged back as the little devil cried into his shoulders “i missed you so much henry…” henry shush him as he rubbed the little devil’s head “i know buddy… i’m here now alright? it’s gonna be alright” he said as bendy kept hugging him sobbing into his shoulders. it wasn't long before henry had to let go of the hug and got back up "henry... where are you going?" the little devil asked "well to put these back in those pestidals i guess" bendy's eyes widen "h-henry w-why would ya do that?" he asked him as henry turned around the corridor realizing the cutout is gone as he putted the offerings on where they need to be "because i need those in order to turn the mac-" bendy stopped him "woah woah woah! henry trust me you do not wanna turn on that damn machine!" bendy said grunting as henry noticed he needed to flow the ink not really paying attention "kid i seen weirder things than thist but believe me. why should i be afraid now?" bendy growled "henry trust me really, you. do. not. wanna. turn. on. that. machine!" henry kept walking and was jumpscared by another cutout "old man, your not scared of anything but your scared of one of those cutouts peeking out?!" henry glared at bendy "it surprised me!" henry stopped before sighing "sorry... did'int mean to push ya buttons hen.." bendy said now feeling guilty "no it's fine bud... but please do understand once i turn on the machine then we can talk all you want. alright?" bendy shook his head "no henry please listen there's a reason why the machine is turned of-" henry pressed the button to flow the ink and a pipe burst causing the room to be flooded. the two saw the projecter turned on by itself as they heard an whistling sound coming from every direction. when it ended henry grew concerned and walked out of the room quickly with bendy following. the two heard an clanking sound from the ceiling as it looked like someone was crawling above them. henry quickly pressed the button to the power as the room suddenly dimmed down. "okay... that should be it" bendy was still crossing his arms while muttering "don't say i did'int warn ya..." henry looked at him with an confused look "what was that?" bendy quickly shutted up "nothing!" Henry noticed ink sprouting out of the boris corpse as he looked midly disgusted by it as he walked off with bendy following "come on henry you gotta hear me out!" henry payed him no mind as he stepped over the pipe "henry please!" it was too late bendy knew as they saw the ink machine room now boarded up "what the..." he said as he walked closer and closer until he about an inch to the boards when suddenly something slapped him "H E N R Y" henry looked horrorfied as bendy helped him up and dragged him "what in the hell is that?!" henry yelled out "questions later! RUNNING NOW!" modern said as the two ran and ran as the ink demon roared and broke out of the boards and chased the two down. it wasn't long when he leaped foward slashing henry by the leg from behind as the animator fell. bendy looked in horror and quickly distracted the ink demon by slamming an chair. the ink demon hissed in annoyance and punched bendy hard in the stomach and threw him aside. it noticed henry trying to crawl away as it's unmoving grin grew wider as it grabbed henry by the leg and threw him at the pouring ink like wall barrier hearing an thud like crashing sound as henry was thrown to it and crashing onto crates. henry weakly pulled out the strange knife but he was thrown yet again out of the ink pouring wall as he hit the wall with an thud. the ink demon walked towards henry as it raised it's claws but then something slammed into the inky beast. it was bendy but he was different for one he was taller and ink was covering his face. he roared and kept clawing at the ink demon with his clawed hand as henry got up and slowly ran towards the door. the ink demon grabbed bendy and threw him at henry the two falling through an hole in the floor as the ink demon watched them fall from the upper floor to sammy's floor, he walked off taking the long way. Henry got up slowly while holding his side as the knife was foreceally stabbed into his stomach during the fall. he slowly got up while holding the wound as he slowly drained the ink well. suprised to see bendy still up and about but in a daze "H....HENRY?" he asked "y-yeah bud i’m still here" he said wincing "c-can you.... t-turn back?" he asked him as he nodded and reverted back to his toon form. after minutes of walking and draining the valves that made it to an clear room. henry cleaned again the wall with the "THE CREATOR LIED TO US" message as he bit down on an strange looking object that seem to be a gun as he pulled out the knife as he grunts in pain. bendy was now worried more "i-im alright buddy... j-just gotta.... take it slow" he said as he putted the object away and the knife back in his belt loop as he looked towards the axe and picked it up "this will come in handy" he said as he carefully made an path for him and bendy. when they arrived in a room suddenly the path behind them caves into the ink "h-henry!" bendy said as henry suddenly had an headache as he dropped the axe when he stepped onto the pentagram flashes of visions filled his mind as he couldn’t handle it as he passed out with bendy running to his aid in a hurry.

#finally this is done #i will fix any errors on it tomorrow #for now enjoy reading this #god i worked my butt off for this #now time to work on chapter 2 tomorrow #xD #also sorry but for some reason it won't show the tite cover drawing so sorry all #but you call can view it on my DA i'll be posting an link to it when i get the chance #my writing #inky terrors au #my batim au fanfiction #this is fixed now kinda

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ask-joeydrewstudios · 7 years

Text

Henry's Unfortunate Ink-antation [Part One]

[submitted by: @the-elusive-blue-skittle]

Sigh… The animation is WELL overdue AGAIN. Henry sits at his desk, with a chewed-up pencil resting between his teeth like a cigar- not that he’d know how to smoke one. That’s Sammy’s thing.

“Ugh, this is all wrong… How did the pose get so stiff,” the man asks himself, slumping over in his chair. “It’s been a hard week, and it’s only Tuesday…”

He tugs at the tie tucked beneath his sweater. Why can’t he seem to get his hands to work today? Perhaps he just hasn’t had enough coffee…

Meanwhile, the toons are chasing each other around the studio. Bendy, who’s filled a plastic bucket with ink from the Machine, is running as fast as his little inky legs can take him.

“Bendy! You put that bucket down right this instant,” Alice yells, holding her halo over her head with one arm, the other desperately grasping for Bendy’s tail.

“Fat chance, sweetcheeks! I never get ta pull pranks ‘round here,” the demon replies, kicking up his speed as ink sloshes in every which direction. The bucket doesn’t seem to get any emptier.

A wide grin creeps its way onto Bendy’s face as he spots a certain someone’s wide-open office door.

Henry’s office.

The man rakes his fingers through his soft brown hair, smiling as he finally gets the details right on his drawing. He’s getting somewhere at last.

“There we go… Much better.”

…

“SURPRISE, HENRY!”

“BENDY, NO-”

S P L A S H.

… Ink is EVERYWHERE. Henry blinks a couple times as the liquid dribbles down his entire body. He grimaces and tries to wipe the ink away from his eyes and mouth, but to no avail. It’s as if the ink replaces his entire form en masse. Henry coughs a wet cough and stands up, leaning against his desk.

’… Huh. Well, that’s a little funny. The desk looks a little higher up than it was when I sat down. Maybe it’s just the fumes getting to my head…’

At least, that’s what Henry THINKS before his body seems to hiccup, sending him another inch closer to the ground. That CAN’T be right. The shrinking seems to speed up as the man’s sight seems to get blurrier and blurrier, though quickly fixing itself as his field of vision converts to full color-blindness. The poor sap, now lacking nine inches in height, unwittingly gets simpler under all that ink. His hands shift and shape into chubbier, more exaggerated versions of themselves, with four fingers on each now-gloved hand. The changes travel up his arms, which get thinner and more versatile as they lose definition, becoming simple curved lines, free to wiggle, contort, and stretch as needed. Henry’s inky frame gets chubbier as the ink soaks in to over-exaggerate the facade his sweater gives off, making the man look weightier than he really is. His legs go through similar changes to his arms, getting thinner and stretchier, though his feet get larger to make the ‘character’ look more grounded, and less likely to topple over.

On Henry’s face, his features get simpler. All constructs of his eyes dissipate, except for the ‘pie-style’ eyes they’re replaced with. The man’s eyebrows reduce to simple lines as they gain the freedom to even surpass the top of his head to convey more dramatized expressions. His neck slimming, Henry’s vocal cords regress, making the changing man’s voice much more high-pitched, though not in a boyish or unflattering way. The fluffy, brown hair doesn’t change, much to the dazed man’s relief, though soon enough, all the color seems to leak out from the bottom of his form, and therefore, with the rest of the thick ink that would soon soak through the floorboards and leave Henry as… A toon.

He’s a toon.

“Gosh…” Henry slaps his hands over his mouth. What did he say? “What happened to my voice?! Did you hear me say that just now?!”

This is when he starts to panic, though in a cartoonish, goofy way. ‘Sweat drops’ fly from his forehead as his noodly legs wobble underneath him. He chews at the tips of his gloves like they’re his usual fingernails. “H-How much of that stuff did you even get on me, Bendy?”

“Uhh… I got a bucket full 'f ink from the Ink Machine?”

“YOU WHAT?!”

“Uh.. Eheheh… Whoops,” Bendy grins a big, nervous grin, placing his hands behind his back and backing away cautiously. “But ya know what? It’s gonna wear off in a few days! No need to worry at all!”

Henry glares with a menacing scowl, stomping the floor and groaning in frustration. “I have a wife waiting for me, Bendy! She’s gonna be looking all over for me, for pete’s sake!”

“Well, gee, Henry, I’m sorry,” Bendy sighs, kicking the floor in a meek manner as he shoves his gloved hands in nonexistent pockets, head hung low. And what a way to make Henry feel guilty, for as soon as Bendy apologizes for the horrible prank, the man-turned-toon’s expression softens. Henry inspects his body to the best of his ability, seeming somewhat shocked at the remaining joints in his arms. Clenching and unclenching his fists, the former human looks up from the floor to Bendy.

“… You know what? This can’t get any worse, I guess!” Henry exclaims with a sudden determined expression, pounding a fist into an open hand. “It shouldn’t take too long to wear off, right?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been an hour. Henry ALREADY can’t stand the sudden change, feeling very uncomfortable at the loss in height and mass. He finds himself a lot more prone to tripping and comedically falling on his face on every loose nail or floorboard. Tired of this nonsense, the new toon pouts and plops down in the middle of the floor, resting his head in a four-fingered hand.

… To which someone obliviously trips over him and lands with a light 'thud’ nearby.

“Gosh, are you okay?” GOD, he still hates that. The person that unfortunately didn’t see the tiny toon sits up and rubs his forehead, turning around to locate the source of Henry’s voice. Uh-oh.

It’s Joey.

“Pfft-” Joey starts to snicker before Henry would hastily shove a finger over his boss’s mouth. “Don’t. Laugh.”

“He-Henry, you- heheh.. You’re-”

“Choose your words CAREFULLY.”

Joey breaks down wheezing and giggling (like an idiot) as Henry reacts by turning a darker shade of grey, presumably getting red in the face from embarrassment. Joey wipes the tears from his eyes, catching his breath. “Y-You’re so… So CUTE…”

Leave it to Joey to find any and every way to push every button Henry has. The toon balls his fists and stomps angrily, like a toddler having a temper tantrum. And really? He’s not too far off from being just that.

“I am NOT cute, Joey,” Henry yells in his new, expressive voice. This prompts Joey to pinch the toon’s cheek, stretching it far past any human’s elasticity capacity.

“Ohhhh, yes you aaaare,” Joey teases with a big grin on his face. “How did this even HAPPEN?”

“Take a wild guess. And let go of me!”

Joey lets go of Henry’s cheek and gets up off the floor. “Let me guess. Is it something to do with the little devil himself?”

“Yeah, and when this is over, I’m getting rid of ALL the buckets in the studio,” Henry whines, crossing his arms and turning his back to his boss. “No exceptions! I don't WANT to be stuck like this forever!” The toon’s lip quivers as he’s thrown into a full-fledged, cartoony crying fit. He hardly seems to notice the shift in emotional expression, going from a stoic, no-funny-business animator to, well…

A goofy little dork.

Henry wails as literal waterfalls of tears flow from the corners of his eyes, water pooling on the floor at his sides. If someone doesn’t stop him, the entire room’s going to fill up!

Joey pinches the bridge of his nose. He ALREADY has to deal with THREE over-emotional toons! “Henry, you're NOT going to be stuck like this forever. But you WILL be stuck like this for at least a week.”

“A WEEK?!” Henry gasps, hands placed on each cheek. “I’M GONNA BE TRAPPED HERE FOR A WEEK? Ohhhhhh, this is UNBELIEVABLE…”

Joey rests a hand on the tiny toon’s shoulder, handing over a handkerchief so Henry can wipe his tears. Henry takes the cloth, sniffling pitifully as he blows his nose, prompting the sound of a trumpet blaring. “What am I gonna do this whole time? I can’t animate like this!” The toon produces a pencil from behind his ear and holds it out. The pencil itself droops weakly as a spontaneous sad-trombone noise plays out of nowhere. He tosses the utensil behind him, proceeding to hit a nonexistent cat, a loud 'REEEEOW’ ringing out, followed by a CRASH.

Henry pulls, with stretchy arms, a fainting couch from what could only be called 'off-screen’. He rests a hand against his forehead as he crumbles onto the sofa with a weary expression. Joey rolls his eyes. It’s not like he can just tell Henry to stop being so dramatic.

“Now, Henry, there’s no need to… Fret,” Joey rubs the back of his head, somewhat bothered by the loss of his favorite handkerchief. “I don’t usually do this, but just this once, I’ll let you have a break for however long this lasts. How does that sound?”

Henry sits up in excitement. “Really? You'd do that? For me?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that it’d be very easy to draw with four fingers on each hand, and…”

Suddenly, Joey is wrapped in a hefty squeeze, with the toon’s arms wrapped around his form several times, like a coil. “Oh, thank you, Joey! I knew I could count on you,” Henry exclaims, with a big, goofy grin on his face.

“… It’s no trouble,” Joey smiles softly and hugs his co-worker back. “Now run along and do… Whatever it is you do when you’re not working. You can even try playing around with the other toons for a while!”

Henry pushes the fainting couch 'off-screen’ with a kick, resulting in another anomalous crash. “Play, huh? I haven’t played since sixth grade…”

“Well,” Joey starts. “What’s a toon to do other than goof around all day?” Henry raises a brow. “Oh, yeah? No. Not doing it.”

“You know you want to.”

Henry hesitates. Something in him agrees with his boss. He has some internal instinct to run amok and cause trouble, for sure. But on the other hand, he doesn’t want to get FIRED.

Plus, it’s REALLY embarrassing.

“… Well… I don’t know about this, Joey. It’s a little…”

“HENRY,” an unidentified voice, accompanied by swift footsteps rings out.

“Whuh, B-Boris- GUH!”

Henry gets tackled to the ground by the massive cartoon wolf, squeezed in one of his famous 'wolf hugs’. “Oh, Henry, look at you! You’re just like us!”

“Yeah, I, uh.. I noticed, buddy.”

Boris gasps. “You know what this means, right, Henry?”

Henry shrugs. “What DOES it mean, Boris?”

“It means that we gotta teach you how to be a toon!”

“I’m sure I know PLENTY.”

“Well, then, c'mon,” Boris exclaims, getting off of Henry, lifting him up and taking him by the hand. “Let’s go have some fun!”

“Wait, Boris-”

And just like that, Boris whisks Henry away as Joey watches with a smile. This is going to get interesting.

((hey guys in happier news, my friend skittle’s writing a super long and amazing toon henry fic for this blog’s au and this is part one. its amazing and adorable and i hope it gets the love it honestly deserves, and thank you again skittle for this Blessing of a fic :D))

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lucky-ladybugs-lovelies · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Fic, 14

The Big Five have repented and Yami Marik is torturing them. The cemetery that will be prominent from this point on is based on the Pioneer Cemetery in Idaho City. (Thanks, Moonlighttyger!)

Nesbitt was still reeling from their new surroundings. "Is this where we've been all along, or is it a new illusion?!" he exclaimed.

"I don't know," Lector said in disbelief. "How could we really be tricked about being here? Even if we couldn't see the tombstones, we'd surely be bumping into them!"

Nesbitt stepped out of the mausoleum and over to the nearest grave. "This is definitely solid," he reported, "but our experiences with the building felt solid too, so it might not mean much."

The ground started to shift under his feet. Before he could move, it suddenly gave way, sending him plunging into the opening grave with a cry.

"Nesbitt!" Lector lunged out of the tomb and grabbed for his friend. Somehow Nesbitt caught the edge of the hole and hung there in mounting desperation until Lector's hands clamped around his wrists.

"Get me out of here!" Nesbitt yelled. The hole had opened up so much, the 19th Century coffin was visible directly below him.

Lector clenched his teeth and pulled, hauling the other man up to safety. When Nesbitt was kneeling on solid ground again, he gripped at the knees of his pants and trembled. That had been utterly terrifying.

Lector was shaken as well. He rested a hand on Nesbitt's shoulder and shuddered. "My poor, dear friend. . . ."

"Are we going to be able to get down at all?!" Nesbitt sputtered. "Maybe this will keep happening all over the hill!"

"I don't know," Lector said in chagrin.

"And if Gansley and the others are alive and here too . . ." Nesbitt looked at Lector in sickened alarm. "What if Gansley falls into a grave?!"

"We'd better keep looking for them right now," Lector realized. "If you feel up to moving yet."

"Forget about me; we need to think about them!" Nesbitt countered. He stumbled up.

Lector had to nod in agreement. "Stay right with me," he instructed. He stood as well.

Nesbitt was very willing to trail along with Lector as they began to wander the hill, calling for the others. As much as possible, they tried to stick to the trails and not walk directly up to the headstones. Nesbitt walked close to Lector, not even caring at the moment that it might look like he was afraid. The ghost town's cemetery had been disturbing enough in the daytime. At night it was absolutely terrifying. The feelings of unrest were almost tangible.

"Gansley!" Lector called. "Crump! Johnson!"

"Where are you?!" Nesbitt added.

It was only as they came down the side of the hill that they suddenly realized they were stepping into the burned area. That was perhaps the most unsettling of all, a place where fires had destroyed most of the wooden markers and a great deal of the brush. Any trees that remained in that section were blackened and dead, an eerie sight against the night sky.

Nesbitt stared pointedly at the ground. Without markers, they might step on graves without even knowing it.

"Oh, I hope they're not in this section," Lector fretted.

"It's all bad," Nesbitt grunted.

"We both know the ghosts seem to be particularly angry over here," Lector said. "It must be because of the missing markers."

"In any case, if the others are here, they're not coming out," Nesbitt said in dismay.

Lector sighed. "We'll just have to keep hoping and praying."

"We've been doing that," Nesbitt said. Something seemed to move in the shadows—or was it a shadow?—and he inched closer to Lector.

"I know," Lector said.

"And if Joey is somewhere in this cemetery, he must be screaming or in tears by now," Nesbitt remarked.

"It would be hard to blame him," Lector said. If he saw what Nesbitt had seen, he didn't give any indication. But he did draw a protective arm around his friend's shoulders as they kept walking. The last thing they needed or wanted was to get separated.

A strange sound to the right of the path brought their attention that way. "What was that?!" Nesbitt demanded.

". . . I can't be sure, but I do believe that grave may be sinking in just like that other one," Lector exclaimed. "I don't feel like shining my phone on it for a better look."

Nesbitt grunted. He certainly didn't disagree. They were shining their phones' lights on the pathway and into the grass, desperately looking for any trace of the others, but there was no need to deliberately shake themselves up more than they already were.

"This place is huge," Nesbitt said. "Who knows if we'll find them!"

"I know we're going to," Lector said resolutely. "We have to."

Nesbitt clenched a fist. He certainly wanted to believe that.

#ygo #yu-gi-oh!#fanfiction #cemetery #the big five #big five #big 5 #the big 5 #lector #leichter #nesbitt #whumptober2020 #alt.2 #falling

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shamelessly4shameless-blog · 7 years

Text

Another Way (pt 2)

Mickey wakes up with a hangover. Nothing new there but this one is accompanied by the sounds of his wife and father yelling at each other. Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose, dragging rough flecks of sleep out of the corners of his eyes, feeling around on the floor for a bottle of something. His fingers brush against the neck of an open beer bottle and he edges his chin over the lip of the mattress, before taking a tentative sip. The beer is flat and stale but it takes away the grim taste of morning.

The yelling in the kitchen has become more one sided, high-Russian accented wails of displeasure that seem to be about money but could be about any number of things.

Mickey rolls onto his back and absently scratches his belly. He could go and intervene but he knows his Dad won’t hit a pregnant woman and Svetlana isn’t dumb enough to stab her landlord so as far as Mickey is concerned, they can sort whatever the issue is themselves.

As the angry yelling continues, like a fucking lovers quarrel, Mickey thinks grimly, he realises there is a slim chance that if things escalate someone might get shot and actually, that would solve at least one of Mickey’s many problems if it was fatal. He could either stop paying rent or stop being married. Either would be fine. Maybe he could get crazy lucky and the bullet could ricochet off a cupboard door handle and somehow boomerang back and take out the shooter. Hell, maybe it could even clip Joey while it is doing the rounds and then Mickey could get the useless asshole to quit coming on jobs for a while and get his cut of the profits too.

Whilst Mickey is fantasising about some magic bullet winging its way around the kitchen, improving his life no end, Terry realises that he is losing the argument and decides it shouldn’t be his problem.

He stomps past Svetlana and slams into his youngest son’s room, finding the kid sprawled on his back gazing up at the ceiling as if there are tits hovering above his stupid grinning face.

“What the fuck are you doin’?”

Terry barks and Mickey jumps as if scalded.

“Fuckin’ … jerkin’ off. What do you want?”

“Your wife’s bein’ a bitch. Get your hand off your dick and sort her out.”

Terry glares at him and then slams back out of the room.

Mickey huffs to himself but obligingly rolls himself out of bed, taking a moment to plant his feet solidly on the threadbare carpet before hauling himself to standing.

He tugs on some shorts and a loose fitting grey tee that doesn’t technically belong to him. It is one of three shirts that he keeps in an actual drawer rather than just tossing on the floor and he gives the fabric the briefest of sniffs searching for a scent that has long been washed out, before leaving the room.

“What’s the fuckin’ problem?”

“He wants free rides! Tells girls they should show respect!”

“From you?”

Mickey’s eyes slide toward his father and his fist clench lightly but Svet shakes her head

“No. Too pregnant. Other girls.”

Svetlana points an accusing finger at Terry and gives Mickey a look that clearly says she is doing this for show because she knows he is too much of a pussy to say anything to the old man. Mickey pulls a cigarette from the packet and considers his options. If his Dad had been going after Svetlana he could have made a fuss and maybe got him to back off but not the others and Mickey knows that fighting him on it will just make things worse.

“Can you give him a … family discount or something?”

“Ty che blyad? Suka Blyad!”

Svetlana explodes and pushes past Mickey, shoving him roughly and with more strength than he would have credited her with having.

“Your wife is a bitch.”

Terry muses and Mickey closes his eyes briefly before answering

“Yeah. I know.”

Mickey grunts at his father and draws on his smoke irritably.

“Shouldn’t have fuckin’ knocked her up. You gotta marry ‘em if you knock ‘em up.”

Mickey’s hand trembles beside his leg, the fingers spasming in and out of a clenched fist but he manages to keep his voice level as he says

“You can have five bucks off the usual rate but no freebies.”

“Fuck you.”

Terry laughs and shoulder barges Mickey’s other side as he wanders through to his bedroom

Left alone in the filthy kitchen, Mickey cricks his head left and right and considers smashing something. He looks around and decides on the toaster because he figures it will make the most satisfying noise and piss off Svetlana as she is the only one who really uses it for that weird shitty black bread she eats.

He rests his cigarette on his lower lip, unplugs the thing and hoists it over his head. He is just savouring the moment before destruction when the front door is kicked open and four cops enter the house. Mickey doesn’t have time to react before there is an almighty crash from the hallway and two of them take Terry down whilst the other two draw their guns, one trained on Mickey and the other trained on someone in the living room, most likely Iggy judging from the slow, stoned sounding protest.

Terry is yelling curses and slurs as they drag him out, the cops are yelling back, something about a failed pee test, and Svetlana is yelling something in Russian but Mickey just quietly keeps his hands raised until they’re gone, the electric cord of the toaster draped over one ear.

“The fuck?”

Iggy’s head pops around the corner as the front door bangs closed behind the last cop and Mickey drops the toaster lightly back onto the counter.

“Magic bullet, man.”

He mumbles and pours a cup of coffee. The day is off to a fairly decent start all things considered. Svetlana appears in the doorway and glares at him as he sits down at the table and takes the left over bacon from Terry’s plate.

“He is gone?”

“You just saw the same thing I did. Yes he’s fuckin’ gone.”

Mickey doesn’t bother looking at his wife because he knows that kind of rudeness gets to her and he feels like being a dick.

“How long?”

Sure enough, her tone drops even further and her words become more clipped. Mickey feels a grim satisfaction but keeps it out of his voice as he answers

“How the fuck should I know?”

“I will have baby in three months.”

“Congratulations.”

Mickey snaps and then deadpans his wife as she very obviously contemplates hitting him. It is part of the weird balancing act of his marriage that Mickey finds quietly exhausting. His wife thinks he is a useless piece of shit who won’t even touch her, not that he thinks she is particularly sorry about that, but Mickey knows that the only thing that stops her occasionally flipping out and cracking him in the jaw is the fact that she doesn’t know if he’d hit her back. Mickey knows he wouldn’t, like, maybe if she tried to actually kill him he’d have to take her down but short of attempted murder there is no way he’d raise a hand to a woman, especially not his own damn wife! However, she doesn’t know that and the only way for him to retain any control of his fucked up relationship is to keep her at least a little uncertain about it.

“We need clothes, diapers, medicine ...”

“Yeah. I know.”

“No more rent means more money for baby. Not more money for cigarettes and beer. You will not ...”

“What I will or will not do is my fuckin’ business, not yours!”

“I will tell your father that ...”

It is a familiar threat and one that Mickey is suddenly utterly sick of. He explodes out of the chair and points a finger furiously at her, eyes blazing.

“Without him around, you don’t have one fuckin’ person in this house who wants that rugrat in your belly so before you make threats, you might want to consider your position.”

Svetlana looks away, wounded, and Mickey feels a tug of guilt but pushes it aside. It’s her own stupid fault for marrying him.

“I’m goin’ out.”

“Fine. Take phone. It will not shut up.”

Mickey nearly makes a quip about similarities but holds it back. They’re both scraped raw enough as it is and if he pisses her off enough to actually try and murder him, he’s going to have to add ‘wife beater’ to the list of shitty things he hates about himself and it’s too damn early to even think about that list.

“You need more vitamins or pregnancy shit?”

It’s a flimsy olive branch but it is all he can be bothered to offer. Svetlana gives a single shake of her head

“No. But we need milk.”

“Fine.”

Mickey nods and grabs the cell phone from her outstretched hand, stuffing it in his back pocket and scratching the back of his neck.

“I left money for the stroller in your purse, go buy whatever one you want but don’t get ripped off.”

“Thank you.”

Svetlana nods and glances up at him. Mickey sees himself reflected back in her eyes and realises they both look fucking tired and miserable. He feels sorry for the kid in her belly, being born into this mess.

“I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Yes.”

Mickey can’t think of any other thing worth saying so he grabs Terry’s car keys from the side, and his boots from the floor and stomps out of the house, barefoot, hungry and feeling like shit.

His phone starts ringing as he juggles his boots and car keys, vibrating against his ass.

“Jesus Christ! This fucker must have a fucking death wish!”

He rages. Mickey manages to wrench the door open and tosses his boots onto the passenger side, grabbing the phone from his pocket as he slams into the driving seat. It’s an unknown number and Mickey would ignore it if he didn’t want so badly to yell at whichever dumb fuck keeps calling him.

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?”

He barks into the little black speaker grill

“Mickey?”

The magic bullet ricochets off another fixture and hits Mickey square between the eyes.

“Gallagher?”

#shameless us #shameless fanfiction #shameless #ian x mickey #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #Another Way fic

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magicalmonsterhero · 7 years

Text

The Heart of a Toon

"This is bad."

Bendy's uncharacteristically worried expression made it all too clear how serious the situation was. After everything the four had been through, Henry couldn't argue.

"Whatever messed up magic Joey used to try and turn himself into a Toon is wreaking havoc, and if nothing's done, things will only get worse. Which means we have to end it now, before it spreads."

"But against a Toon, humans can't possibly win," Alice said, clutching her heart worriedly. "You'll get killed!"

"I know that. But I can't let you guys face him alone. That means there's only one way I can stop Joey."

Boris's eyes widened. "You mean...?"

Henry nodded. "I've got no chance as a human. But if I became a Toon..."

"You sure about this?" Bendy asked, watching his creator step into the magic circle. "Even if it doesn't go wrong, like with Joey, it's one way. No goin' back, remember?"

"I know that," Henry said again, closing his eyes. "But it will work. After all, I know where Joey went wrong." He spread his arms. "Hit me."

Nervously, the little demon approached the switch, remembering how he'd helped Joey not that long ago.

And look what happened to him, Bendy thought. Got himself turned into a monster. I don't want that to happen to Henry...

Please, please let this work.

(BATIM)

"DAMNIT!"

The inky horror that had once been Joey Drew slammed a fist into the wall, causing the Searchers to flee, lest they be destroyed.

"I should have called him here sooner," he muttered. "Maybe then he wouldn't have called me crazy. Maybe he'd have helped me accomplish my dreams...helped me become a real Toon rather than this accursed monster." He clenched one hand into a fist. "Why can't he understand?"

"You got it wrong, Joey."

Joey whipped around, droplets of ink flying all over the place. Standing in the doorway was a new Toon--a young man with brown hair, arms folded confidently. He looked very much like a drawing Henry had once made of himself as a cartoon, although the clothes were quite different.

"Henry?!?"

"That's right." The newly transformed former animator gave a small grin as he stepped into the room, followed by Bendy, Boris, and Alice. "I had a look at that ritual you used, and I figured out why it didn't work right for you. It was the most important thing you needed--'the heart of a Toon.' You took it literally--that's why you cut Boris open."

"That really hurt, y'know," Boris put in. "Thank goodness for that ink bath Bendy gave me."

"But it wasn't meant to be literal," Henry continued, putting a hand on Boris's shoulder. "Having 'the heart of a Toon' means understanding what it's like to be one: the desire to entertain, the willingness to overlook what should and shouldn't be possible, and most importantly, the love of laughter. Now, you may have had that once, but not any more. You've forgotten what cartooning is all about--joy."

Joey clutched his head, shaking in disbelief.

"No...I...you're...RAAAAAAGH!"

With a scream of rage, Joey launched himself forward, reaching out with clawed hands. Henry leaned backwards, bending further than he would have been able to were he still human. Flipping back, he reached behind his back and withdrew a cartoon axe. At the same time, Bendy, Boris, and Alice drew their own weapons and attacked the Searchers, who had been attracted by Joey's furious cry.

Before long, it had turned into an all-out melee, as Henry fought his former pal while Bendy and his friends kept Joey's minions at bay. Though Joey's liquid form made finding a weakness extremely difficult, the attributes of Henry's new form proved very helpful. Finally, Henry managed to land a blow close to Joey's neck, creating a nasty gash that didn't close and making Joey howl in pain.

"NOW!"

Hearing this, Alice grabbed Bendy and carried him over the heads of the Searchers. The demon Toon withdrew a small bottle from hammerspace, and as Alice released him, he landed on Joey's back. Holding on tightly as the beast tried to throw him off, he reached the wound and poured the bottle's contents into it before jumping down. Almost instantly, Joey's inky body began to quiver like Jello in a 9.0 earthquake.

"He's gonna blow!" Boris shouted.

Henry grabbed Bendy and bolted out, the wolf and angel right behind him. As they ran, they heard a sound like a balloon full of liquid bursting, and a wave of ink rushed towards them. Luckily, they were able to reach a staircase and avoid the river of black.

(BATIM)

"Everyone OK?" asked Henry, setting Bendy down.

Alice nodded as she landed, gasping for breath. "That was too close."

"Yeah," Boris agreed. "Thought we were goners."

The four sat on the floor, getting their bearings. Finally, Bendy broke the silence.

"So what now?"

"Well, we can't stay here. It's no place to live, even if there are good memories along with the bad." Henry let out a sigh. "Don't know how things will be for us Toons, but all we can do is keep going."

"Are you going to try and find a way to back to normal?" Alice inquired.

"Not really," Henry admitted with a smile. "To be honest, being a Toon's fun." He stood up, holding out a hand. "You guys coming?"

Bendy nodded eagerly. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"This isn't a popsicle stand," said Boris confusedly. "This is a studio."

"Boris, we really gotta do something about you bein' so literal."

All four Toons laughed.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Inky Tales #toon Henry AU #fan fiction

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