#Henry Stein fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

insane-control-room · 2 months

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altar

Joey comes to ask for forgiveness. He says he's sorry. Henry doesn't think that's enough.

RATED: T - suggestive comments/behavior, uncomfortable situations

WARNINGS: Emotional hurt, tied hands

Length: medium (1750 words)

Ao3 link here. REMINDER: you must be signed into Ao3 to read my work on the platform due to AI scrapers targeting my work.

inspired by this drawing by @twinktor-frankenstein :) go check it out its great :D

Joey stared at the man around the corner, his heart rate accelerating as he observed him. Henry was resting in a hammock, one leg off the side so that he could rock himself as he relaxed. Joey stared, and bit his lip, slowly finding that he was losing his nerve. He was about to slip away when an eye opened, immediately fixing on him.

A wave of panic crashed over Joey, and he made a move to disintegrate and disappear, but it was too late for him. Henry had made it to him in less than five bounds, his calloused, firm hand wrapping around Joey’s exposed forearm.

“Joey,” he greeted, smiling, but there was something uncomfortably cold about the flash of his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

Joey stared at him once again, throat dry, hands trembling. Henry’s smile was still bland and neutral, but with a frigid emptiness laying beneath it. It made Joey quite uncomfortable, rather perturbed by the lack of emotion on his old friend’s face. He looked at him quietly, brows furrowed as they stared at one another in silence.

Henry’s hand tightened sharply on Joey’s arm.

“I asked you a question. I expect you to answer,” he spoke slowly, clearly, that low voice making Joey want to tremble. “What are you doing here, Joey?”

“I… I wanted to…” Joey looked to the floor, finally breaking his gaze from the other man. He steeled himself with a breath, though still could not bring himself to look at Henry. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me, Henry.”

“Forgive you,” Henry repeated, staring at him. His smile made his soul ache painfully, yearn to escape. “You’re here to ask me to forgive you.”

“Yes.” Joey said, simple and soft. “I am.”

He was not sure what he was expecting. A punch in the face, maybe. Being shoved away with the door closing in front of him. Maybe even a good kick between the legs.

Joey was not expecting laughter. It was low and amused, tranquil but with some darkness lingering on the edges of the mirth. It made Joey’s lungs constrict. Henry released his arm at last, and folded his arms as he looked at Joey, raising an eyebrow.

“Forgiveness,” he commented, “Is less-”

“For the person you’re apologizing to, and more for yourself, I know,” Joey restrained himself from snapping at him. “Stop messing with me, Stein, and take me seriously. I’m sorry for what I did, okay? For all of this. It never should have gone down like this, and I never should have dragged you down with me- what are you doing.”

Henry sighed, raising an eyebrow as he lifted the tie he had pulled from beneath his collar. Joey, unsure of what the man was playing at, frowned. Henry put his hand out, gesturing with four fingers once for Joey to put his arms forward.

Joey did so, and was baffled by the loop Henry tightened around his wrists. It was loose, though, but Henry’s firm hand came to Joey’s arm once again when he tried to pull away out of instinct. A vague sense of alarm rippled through him, but he was confident that Henry would not harm him, resulting in a conflicted meld of emotions.

“Henry-”

“On your knees.” Henry calmly demanded. Joey stared at him, and watched Henry’s eyes harden. Swallowing harshly, he opened his mouth to protest, only for Henry to cut him off again. “Do you want to be forgiven or not? Show me you mean it.”

Joey’s mouth closed slowly, and he hesitated, glancing to the floor again. It came closer as he knelt down slowly, discomfited but trying to put on a brave face (he was failing miserably at that, and they both knew it). As he moved down, the fabric of the tie tightened around his wrists, and honestly, he felt like crying, though he ignored that urge as hard as he could.

“Okay, Joey,” Henry smiled at him again. “That was a good start. Try again.”

“Try- try what?” Joey asked, confused and upset. Henry’s smile relaxed him just a touch, encouraging. Joey wracked his empty head, shaking it in an attempt to figure out what Henry wanted from him. “You want me to apologize again?”

Henry did not reply with words, only smiling once more. Joey took a deep breath.

“I’d like to apologize,” he started, his voice tight. He paused, clearing his throat to loosen his words. “For everything I’ve done to harm you, and- and everyone else. But, you first. You didn’t deserv- hey!”

Henry, his hand still on the end of the tie, had yanked on Joey’s arms with it, making him pitch forwards off balance. To add insult to injury, Henry’s jacket suddenly landed on his head, blocking his vision entirely as he landed harshly on his hands. He scrambled back onto his haunches as he yanked down the jacket over his face, opening his mouth to give Henry a piece of his mind- only for it to go dry immediately.

Henry’s shirt had been partially opened, and Joey struggled to keep his eyes from dipping between the fabric and onto his chest. Henry’s hands were on the straps of his suspenders, pulling them off his shoulders deliberately, still smiling down at Joey.

“Henry,” Joey mouthed, looking up at him with wide eyes. He fought the liquid that threatened to build up within them, blinking rapidly and it went away. Henry’s blank smile stung like wasp bites. “I’m sor-”

“Are you?” Henry asked calmly, with an icy edge as he removed his suspenders. He sighed as he snapped them between his hands, making Joey flinch at the twang. “Are you truly sorry, Joey?”

“I am,” Joey tried to keep a whine out of his tone, getting more stressed, watching the suspenders twirl around Henry’s hands. At least it was a distraction from his chest; as lined with muscle as it was. Feeling warmth trickle into his face, Joey looked away. “Really.”

“Are you, now?” Henry asked quietly, snapping the metal tipped straps once again. Joey could not meet his eye. “Joey. Look at me.”

He glanced up, and then broke his gaze again, face blazing with shame.

“Joey.”

He repressed a shiver as the suspender strap came under his jaw, forcing him to look up at Henry once again. The metal clasps of the suspenders were strikingly cold, bringing forth the shudder Joey tried to hide. Mercifully, Henry tossed aside the suspenders upon noting the uncertain discomfort with which Joey was eyeing them, but he made no comment on it. Joey bit his lip as he watched the arch of the elastic. Slowly, he managed to look back at Henry.

“I-” Joey swallowed down his nerves again. Joey’s eyes strained to remain on Henry’s form, focusing as hard as he could on his eyes. He mumbled his next words. “I said that I was sorry.”

“Said?” Henry laughed again. It was like ice on his arms, causing goosebumps to rise up. “You said. There’s just a small problem with that, Joey. You say a lot of things. Make a lot of promises. Talk up a pretty picture. It’s rare that you deliver on it- like you are right now.”

Joey’s mouth was full of cotton; dry, stiff and unable to say a single word in his defense. Half lidded, Henry’s eyes came to his mouth, and then his hand did, a gentle caress on his jaw slipping up to a grip on his mouth.

“Do you think that you’re able to get whatever you ask for?” Henry laughed, eyes crinkling with humor. Joey did not know what he found so funny. “You said you’re sorry. Do you really think you deserve forgiveness, Joey?”

Joey kept quiet. He did not really think that way, but knew that saying anything was not going to be a good idea. There also was the fact that Henry’s strong hold on his face prevented him from saying anything coherent, anyways. Joey’s hands tightened on his own knees, digging crescents in the fabric with his nails.

“Said,” Henry scoffed, though his voice was sunshine; and he leaned even closer, starry smile even brighter than before. “Maybe you should try begging instead.”

Now the tears began to drip. Henry jerked his hand away from Joey as though his skin burned him. Staring down at him, his smile was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Joey choked, sniffling as he tried to keep his roiling emotions under control. “Please, please, please forgive me. If you don’t, at least say so. I’m trying, I promise, I’m trying to make it count. Henry, please forgive me!”

“Joey-”

“I’m sorry that our studio wasn’t working out, and I’m sorry that I put more on you than you could take, and I’m sorry that I didn’t know where to stop,” Joey went on, sobbing harshly. The crushing weight of his failures felt like shackles on his wrists, tied to the heavy chains with naught but Henry’s tie. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, please forgive me for everything I’ve done to wrong you. Please. I- I am begging you, Henry. I’ll keep begging you until you believe me. Please, please….”

“Joey….”

“I don’t know how to make it up to you,” Joey looked up at him miserably through his streaming tears. “I’m sorry that I don’t know… please, give me a chance. Please. I’ll- I’ll do anything, just say it, please-”

“Okay- okay- I-” Henry looked down at him with a torn look, smile completely gone, jarringly made uncomfortable by his own demands. After a moment of shifting where he stood, he knelt down and put his hands on Joey’s shoulders. “Maybe that was a little cruel of me. We’re both in this hell.”

Joey looked at him with the saddest, wettest eyes Henry had ever seen. Henry quickly spoke to try to get rid of them.

“I can’t forgive you,” he said quietly. Joey’s gaze broke away again, and his tears restarted. Henry lifted his head despite the fact his tears burned his hands. “Not yet, okay? If I see you really mean it-”

It was Henry’s turn to be cut off, Joey’s bound arms coming down over his shoulders in an awkward, but tight, hug.

Henry slowly hugged him back as he cried.

“It’s okay, Joey,” Henry soothed, though they both knew it was not okay. “You’ll make it. I believe I can forgive you, one day.”

Joey almost believed him.

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akiraidraws · 6 months

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Imperfections Snippet: When Your Past Comes To Find You

Summary: Trying to escape the studio's most twisted fiend, Bendy finds himself running into an unexpected face deep in the bowls of Drew's old studio.

(Contains: Hurt/Comfort

Joey Drew Studios is a dark, dangerous, ink filled nightmare, that, to all that called the vile place 'home' was common knowledge. There weren't many rules to this twisted reality… but one. One that was respected and followed by all of the studio's inhabitants. Stay out of the ink demon's sight, for if you see him coming, well, you better run.

Nobody followed this rule as rigidly as Bendy.

For Bendy knew what lie under that gangly and depraved ink. Oh, he knew, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He had already had too many close calls with the man behind the mask, ones that left him haunted. He wouldn't put himself in that situation again, never again, it was better to stay hidden in the shadows and out of sight. Which given his small stature and the dark nature of the place was relatively easy for the most part.

The studio was littered with dark, shadowed hallways who's light had faded long ago. Bringing with it a saving grace as well as a curse. It was easy to hide, sure, but you never knew what else could be hiding in the shadows with you.

Not to mention the ink that seemingly oozed out of every decrepit pipe and dripped down every abandoned wall. Ink as black as night and as vicious as the demon himself. It puddled in odd places just waiting to give rise to its next army of searchers or drag you down into its depths. Into the screaming, pleading, howling fishbowl of voices.

It was enough to drive anybody into madness.

But Bendy knew this place like the back of his hand… well, glove and knew which areas were safe enough to be tread and which areas were not.

Hiding had become second nature to the little devil throughout the years. Even before this whole ordeal started and the studio was still producing those old cartoons, he learned to hide. After Henry left and Norman disappeared, Bendy had no choice. But all those years of evading detection were paying off now as Bendy quickly made his way through the halls.

He had to get back to Alice. She was sure to be getting worried by now.

Alice, the angel made from heaven and sent from above, his Alice. She and Boris are the only ones left from the original studio crew. Everyone else was dead or worse than dead.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Bendy could swear he heard the voice of an old friend ring out from one of those inky monstrosities everyone referred to as 'searchers'. The very thought made him ill, but it wasn't unlikely, that Bendy knew all too well.

'No, don't start thinkin' 'bout that now!' He told himself, shaking away the thought as he turned another corner.

Only to run right into the back of a tall figure with an audible "Oof!"

The impact was enough to knock the little devil darlin' backward.

Stunned and a little dazed, Bendy rubbed at the back of his head as he sat up to see what or who he had just run into. Only to be greeted by the sight of a familiar face that looked just as stunned as he was.

A face Bendy thought he would never see again.

"Henry…?"

"…Henry!"

Before Bendy could even register what he was doing, he was running straight for the still stunned animator and wrapping his arms tightly around the man's thigh earning a small gasp in return.

"Where have ya been?"

"W-what?"

"Where have ya been, Henry!?"

Excitement quickly gave way to anger as Bendy stepped away from the man, glaring hotly.

"Y-you left us! Left ME!"

"Where WERE you! Why didn't ya come back!? Y-you just left one day without as much as a goodbye! Why!? WHY?!" Bendy screamed, large inky black tears streaming down his yellowed face and fists shaking at his sides as he trembled with rage.

If looks could kill Henry would be a dead man with the icy hot glare that Bendy was giving him. It made his heart ache. He knelt down and firmly but gently grasped the shaking toon by his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Bendy. Please, let me explain before you decide to hate me." Henry pleaded.

"Why should I? Ya just gonna up and leave again?" Bendy spat back coldly, still glaring daggers at the man before him.

"I never wanted to leave you-"

"Well ya did, Henry!" Bendy cut in, brushing off Henry's grasp.

"I know I did! I know!" Henry pleads, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

"But I didn't want to, Bendy!"

Henry all but whispers pleadingly, hoping to reach the little toon he took in all those years ago. His little Bendy.

"Me and Joey…, We had an argument about… well, you. The way he treated you… Things got heated and he fired me, screamed at me to get out and made me leave without you or the others. I tried to come back for you, believe me, I did, but Joey changed the locks, I couldn't get in."

Bendy rubbed at his now tear stained face as he looked away from the man "Ben… Ben said that ya left because ya didn't want me anymore…"

"Bendy…"

"H-he said *sniff* th-that ya left a-and that it was my fault!"

Henry couldn't help but feel heart broken for the now sobbing toon in front of him. He expected this kind of deceit and blame from Joey but never from a sweet little toon like Ben. Henry wasn't going to lie to himself. It stung. A lot.

"Bendy. You know I'd never just leave you."

Bendy shot Henry a hot glare through his tears "How do I know that, huh?!"

"Please don't shout, Bendy."

"I'll shout if I-"

*CRASH!*

"wannaaaAAAAHHHHH!"

"TTHhheeEERRrrrREE yYOooOUUu aARRrre!"

Henry stood frozen in place as a tall dark figure appeared from around the corner. It was much bigger than the ink demon but shared a striking resemblance. One thing stood out from the demon though, the arms. Four very strong looking arms that were visible from the silhouette of the creature. Whatever it was.

"No! No no no no no! Not again! I don't wanna! Leave me alone!" Bendy screamed as he curled into himself shaking more violently than before.

Henry only caught a glimpse of the tall four armed monstrosity that Bendy had apparently been running from before their paths intertwined. Every instinct in Henry's body kicked in at that very moment out of the pure horror of what he was seeing. He grabbed Bendy and made a run for it as fast as his legs would carry him. Hopefully he could find a little miracle station before whatever that thing was caught up to them.

Dark inky shadows quickly encased the narrow hall behind them. Chasing, hunting down its prey.

Henry's heart was pounding in his chest as he ran. Holding Bendy tightly in his arms as he tried to keep a lead ahead of the quickly encroaching shadows. A battle he was slowly and surely losing. He could hear the loud beating of a heart behind him. Or was that the pounding of the creatures footsteps as it made chase? He didn't want to look back to find out.

Turning a corner, Henry tried desperately to pick up the pace. His legs were already carrying him and Bendy as fast as they could but it wasn't fast enough. The creature was gaining on them and fast. The shadows were ahead of him now, consuming every speck of light and encasing them in darkness. It was getting hard to see were they were going. But they had to keep going. The creature was closing in.

Henry nearly lost his footing as the creature took a swipe at him, just missing the back of his collar.

He was breathing heavily now and his heart was beating so loud in his ears it nearly drowned out all of the sound around him. Bendy must have heard it too as he clutched onto Henry tighter and squeezed him so tightly with his tail that it was almost painful.

Rounding another corner, Henry was relieved to see the faint glow of a miracle station tucked along the right side of the hall, peering out from behind a wooden beam.

Racing down the hall he threw himself and Bendy into the station and slammed the door shut. Just cutting off the creature's attempt to apprehend it's prey.

"HhheeeenNNNnrryyYYYYYYyy…"

The massive creature croons.

It's voice is like a horribly distorted radio station. A sound that fills him with a sense of horror like he's never experienced before.

"YYyyoouUuu ccaAnnnTTt HhhiiiddDEee FffrrroooOMmmm MMmmmeEEee"

Terror floods his system as the demon breaks out into demented cackling. Rasping its clawed fingers against the wood of the miracle station. Threatening to break right through the safety of the little box.

Bendy is trembling in his arms, whimpering and keening to himself.

"No no no no no no!"

The little demon is stock terrified. Trembling and crying to himself as the creature continues it's threatening taunts.

The rasping of fingers soon turns to angry scraping, like knives cutting into the wood and making both man and toon shiver in fear.

"IIiii wwWWwiiillllLLLL GGggeeeeTtt mMyyy hhHAaaaaannnndddDSSSssss oONnnn YYyyooooOUUUUuuuu, eeeEEeeevvvVEEeentttuaALLLLlllyyyyyyyyy~"

With that, the cackling creature shuffles off down the hallway. Leaving Henry and Bendy to recover from their shock in the safety of the little wooden closet.

Oh, thank god…

Henry collapses onto the bench within the station, heaving out a hefty sigh as his body trembles with endorphins. Relieved but uncertain. That thing could still be out there, waiting for it's prey to reveal itself before it strikes.

It's better to stay here for the time being.

At least here they'll be safe. Or so he hopes…

Henry's attention shifts down to the shivering toon in his arms. His frown growing deeper at the sight.

"Hey~ Sshhhhh~ It's okay~" He tries to comfort, gently petting the back of the demon's head as Bendy sobs.

The action is comfortingly familiar for both man and toon. A reminder of the bond they shared so long ago, muddled by time and distance, if not a little bit of misplaced resentment on Bendy's part.

The little demon looks up to the animator as they sit in terrified silence. A silence that is soon broken by the ever inquisitive toon.

"Is that *sniff* really why ya left?" Bendy sniffles quietly.

"It's not 'cause ya didn't love me anymore?"

The question snaps Henry's heart in two.

"What?? No, Bendy… I never stopped loving you."

Henry nuzzles into the side of Bendy's head, placing a tender kiss to the velvet like ink that's still as soft and warm as he remembers.

"Then why?" Bendy questions. "Why did ya leave me with HIM?"

The toon's question is loaded with so much unspoken pain.

He'd suffered more than he cares to tell at the hands of that man. Hurt and humiliated at every turn simply for being imperfect. Just the thought of his time with that awful man brings fresh tears to Bendy's eyes.

"Oh, Bendy… My sweet baby boy… I'm so sorry. I didn't want to. I never would have. But Joey had me dragged out kicking and screaming."

Henry hugs the little demon close.

"All I wanted was to take you home with me, but Joey wouldn't have it."

He never meant for any of this to happen. He just wanted to protect his beloved toons, he never imagined it would all boil down to this ink stained nightmare.

"I love you so much, Bendy. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Worrying about you. Terrified of what Joey might be doing to you. Your momma and I, we were devastated without you."

"Momma…" Bendy repeats softly.

He can't even remember what she looks like…

He rests his cheek on Henry's shoulder, looking away from the man. He's still so angry and this is all so much. He just wants to get back to Alice. His Alice.

"Bendy..?" Henry speaks.

"You okay, Kiddo?"

The toon's silence is starting to weigh on him. Just a few minutes ago he was under the assumption that his little boy was long dead. But now, oh, he has so much work ahead of him if he ever hopes to make it up to the little demon.

"Alice." Bendy states plainly.

"I need to get back to Alice."

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #au #imperfections au #henry stein #bendy #kiddo #ink demon #keymaster #joey drew #in the nightmare #fic #my fic #fanfic #my art #akiraidraws

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 1 year

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Sketches and Symphonies flown through the vents

Henry's capture was abrupt and came out of nowhere. One minute he was looking for secret messages, the next, he was waking up in a cold, dark cell with none of his items in hand and only a stool to sit on in the room with him, not even so much as a sheet stretched over a wooden frame to pretend to be a bed.

For the first few days of his captivity, he tried his best to press on, to find a way out, but no matter how many times he searched his cell or how many times he tried to talk to the Keepers holding him here, he couldn't do anything. There was a vent but it was not big enough for him to squeeze through, there was no secret rooms connecting to the cell, no way for him to break the glass, no real sympathy from the Keepers... nothing. He was trapped for good without even a shadow of a hope for a way out...

His time here reminded him a lot of his first time meeting Allison Angel; his capture was sudden, one minute he was seconds away from being mauled by Alice, the next, he was imprisoned with no way out that he could find. No vent big enough to squeeze through, no knowledge about the secret bathroom, no way for him to break the boards with his bare hands, only false sympathy from Allison and real scorn from Tom. But this time, he wasn't the sole prisoner.

There were two prisoners in the pit; himself and the prophet. Technically there were five if the 'hidden' angel and the disembodied heads that stayed put and never moved or spoke were included. The Keepers did count them, insisting that the angel which they "definitely" didn't lose had melted into a message on the floor of her cell in an attempt to trick someone into opening it to look for her only for the cunning Alice clone to run off before anyone knew any better. Henry didn't know if they were really that dumb or if they were lying to themselves and sticking with the story in a (most likely) fruitless attempt to keep whoever was running this prison content.

The Keepers also insisted that the projector that screamed when people tapped the glass of the box it was contained in was the most dangerous of the cycle breakers. If there was an explanation for how and why the decapitated head the size of a full-grown man was there, Henry didn't overhear it.

However, in the Artist's eyes, the only other real prisoner in here was the Prophet. Regardless of how he felt about the other inmates in the original story they might as well have been dead. He never saw a glimpse of them, never heard a peep out of Bertrum, and on the rare occasions that someone hit the glass the Projectionist was in, the metallic shriek that emanated from the box never felt alive or human to him. It might have been callous of him to think that, but not even Alice took him when she broke out, and he knew she was undoubtedly strong enough to break the Projectionist's glass and carry him out with her. ...Then again, if she didn't have the time to spare to taunt him and the others, then she most likely didn't have the time to take the head.

Henry also never saw a glimpse of Sammy in the flesh (or in his case ink), but unlike the other two, he could feel his presence no matter how subtle it was; The shadow out of the corner of his eye that he only saw when the Keepers left the former music director's shutter open on accident, the faint yet still present smell of candle wax that lacked a bacon-y accompanying scent candles down here usually had, and more obviously, the sounds that came from that cell; When someone opened the shutter, he and whoever opened it were greeted with the slow, solemn as well as sour plucks on a banjo that seemed to mirror the musician's downcast emotions. During random intervals the musician would be repeating his favored rhyme to himself. Every morning, he heard a rhythmic 'thwack' which the artist couldn't tell if it was the ink man trying to create a tempo to a song in his head or him doing clapping pushups. Lastly, when it seemed that the prophet's spirits were higher than usual, Henry heard prayers from that cell.

Whispers mostly, and nothing he could understand, the English prayers ones were often too faint for him to make out but in a language Henry didn't know, the ink man's voice could be heard loudly and clearly. He was not shouting, but the pit carried his voice throughout the area with ease.

---------

"Mae'n ddrwg gennyf, Arglwydd, am fy ngwendid, fy llwfrdra, fy hurtrwydd, a'm diffyg amynedd. Cefais fy nallu gan fy mân chwantau fy hun ac roeddwn wedi eich cymryd chi a'ch doethineb yn ganiataol. Ymddiheuraf yn fawr am fy niolchgarwch. Nid wyf yn gofyn am eich maddeuant gan nad wyf yn ei haeddu, ond yr wyf yn gweddïo am eich dychwelyd, eich adfywiad, yr wyf yn gweddïo am y diwrnod y gallaf synhwyro unwaith eto, i chi fendithio neuaddau hyn o Inc melltigedig gyda'ch presenoldeb. Yn enw Peiriant y Duwiau, Amen."

"SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-EIGHT, MAY I REMIND YOU THAT THE INK DEMON HAS BEEN TE-E-E-E-E-E-E-ERMINATED?" The Keeper opened the shutters on the pair's cells, presumably for testing purposes as they had no problem with yelling at them while the shutters were closed "THAT HE CANNOT SAVE YOU NO MATTER HO-O-O-O-O-OW HARD YOU BEG?"

"Gogoniant i Arglwydd yr Inc, bydded dy allu yn ol yn gryfach nag y bu erioed o'r blaen, bydded i'th gablwyr grynu a syrthio dan bwysau eu celwyddau eu hunain, bydded cosbedigaethau yr anffyddlon eto yn gyfiawn, os cynhwyswch. fi yn eu plith felly boed felly. Bydded i'ch teyrnas ffynnu ar eich adfywiad. Yn enw Peiriant y Duwiau. Amen."

Henry snorted in laughter, he might not have understood the prayer, but he could recognize the musician's snarky-annoyed tone underneath the air of devout dignity he was trying to uphold, and he could piece together that the first prayer was likely one that praised the Ink Demon while the second one was insulting to Wilson.

"IS SOMETHI-I-I-I-I-I-I-ING FUNNY, SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-FOUR? DOES SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-EI-I-I-I-I-I-IGHT'S DEFIANCE AMUSE YOU?"

Henry stayed silent...

"FOU-U-U-U-U-U-UR-ONE-FOUR! YOU ARE REQUI-I-I-I-I-I-IRED TO ANSWER THIS!"

"He just.. reminded me of something.."

"REMI-I-I-I-I-INDED YOU OF WHAT, FOUR-ONE-FOUR?"

"...The man he used to be."

The Keeper let out a howling, cackling laugh that would've turned into a coughing fit if it was human.

"THE MA-A-A-A-AN HE USED TO BE! AS IF HE EVER *WAS* HUMAN TO BEGIN WITH! SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-EIGHT, JUST LIKE YOU, SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-FOUR WAS CREATED AS A BEING OF INK FROM THE START. YOU TWO ARE-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E NOT LIKE WILSON. YOU ARE NOT OUTSIDERS COMING IN, YOU ARE CREATIONS OF THE MACHINE ITSELF. JUST WITH THE MEMORI-I-I-I-IES OF THE PEOPLE YOU THINK YOU ARE."

"...What are you talking about..?"

"HOW WAS IT NOT O-O-O-O-O-O-O-OBVIOUS TO YOU, FOUR-ONE-FOUR? WE HAVE NOT GIVEN YOU OR THE OTHER SUBJECTS RATIONS BECAUSE YOU DO NOT NE-E-E-E-E-E-ED THEM AND YOU HAVEN'T EVEN NOTICED. AND WHAT ABOUT OTHER TYPICAL HUMAN FUNCTIONS YOU HAVE NEGLECTED? YOU SEEM TO NOT NEED TO SLEEP, DRINK, OR EAT. YOU DO SO OUT OF RITUA-A-A-ALISTIC OBLIGATION. AND WHILE YOU HAVE BEEN IN HERE FOR YEARS, YOU HAVE NOT SEEMED TO AGE A SINGLE DAY SINCE YOU HAVE "ENTERED" THE STUDIO. TELL ME FOUR-ONE-FOUR, WHEN YOU BLEED, DOES IT COME OUT RED LIKE HUMAN BLOOD, OR BLACK LIKE INK?"

"N-no, I'm human... I can survive in deep ink! Ink creatures would melt, it's like losing a drop of water in the ocean..."

"THAT WAS TOLD TO YOU BY A SUBJECT WHO HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY EVADING CAPTURE, SHE-E-E-E-E-E WAS NOT BEING HONEST TO YOU AS SHE VALUED HER AND THE OTHER EVASIVE SUBJECT'S SURVIVAL ABOVE YOUR OWN, THUS MAKING AN EXCUSE FOR YOU TO FIGHT THE INK DEMON WITHOUT THEIR ASSISTANCE. WE HAVE OBVSERVED THE CYCLE BEFORE WE HAD INTERFEARED IN IT."

Henry didn't know what to say, as much as he wanted the Keeper to be wrong, there was a lot more evidence pointing towards him being made of ink instead of being human.

No matter how many times he fell, he never broke any bones, he never felt hungry or thirsty and mostly ate the bacon soup for its presumed healing properties (why didn't he question why ancient soup in a cartoon studio had healing properties), he had an insane amount of endurance and stamina, especially for an old man, he... he couldn't be human...

The Keeper left without another word or care for the broken man on the floor, already having wasted enough time on them and not wanting to face Wilson's wrath for being late.

"I'm not human..." Henry whispered out of shock. "I... I never was human to begin with, was I..?" He slumped to the floor staring at his own hands, looking for fingerprints or veins or even the subtle lines on the palms, seconds away from crying out from anguish.

Then he heard a strange rustle from the vent, directing the shock of his inhumanity into being on guard for his survival. He didn't have a weapon, but at least the stool in the room would be a good makeshift one if a keeper was going to stick its arm through that small vent. He held it up and carefully walked towards the vent...

...Only to see what looked like a piece of paper folded in half stuck in between the bars, the hand of ink that shoved it through already retracting back into the vents.

Curious, he opened it to read; Do not let what they say seep into your mind with the intent to doubt yourself, the keepers mirror their maker's morality. Truths and lies are just tools in their eyes.

There was still plenty of blank space on the paper, so he wrote back; Do you think they were lying or telling the truth when they said we aren't human? And stuck the paper back through the vents with a knock, waiting for the musician's reply.

There's room for both; they tell the truths they know because they do not fully understand what we are AND they lie, telling us that we are no longer human in a way that implies that we are not people.

No longer human? Do you mean you think we *used* to be human?

My sheep, I do not 'think', I know. The man I used to be was not born of ink and molded with memories, he was flesh, blood, and bone before he had rotted into me. At least, I know that you and I are both formerly human ink creatures, I cannot speak on behalf of EVERYONE down here.

And how do you know that?

The cultist's next response was a... gift of a human finger bone covered in ink, accompanied by a drawing of a ritualistic circle that was familiar to Henry as well a note on a second piece of paper.

I now understand why my lord was so wrathful towards me every time I tried to sacrifice you; You were not a virgin sacrifice.

I'm sorry my whore blood made your god mad at you.

Henry smiled when he heard a faint snicker from Sammy's cell.

Amusing, but I think we're not on the same page. I am not referring to your sexual virginity. My Lord does not care about *that*. Even without the cycle in play, I was damned from the start because you had already been subjected to a ritual before I could sacrifice you.

Why would he care about that ritual? I don't even know what it did aside from show me a bunch of images I still can't make sense of.

Imagine being in a crowded restaurant for a while and when you're finally served, your food has bites taken out of it by an unknown entity. Or rather in YOUR case, seeing that your once-hamburger and fries dish has been transmuted into soup.

Wait, what about transmutation?

The circle is a transformation signal. Have you noticed that the majority of your inhuman feats had taken place after that ritual?

..Now that he thought back on it, the prophet was right. When the floorboards broke that first time, there was a deep pool of ink to break his fall. And that ritual happened so early in his travels in the studio, so of course it could explain how he survived everything after that.... But what was the difference to him? Regardless of him not being human anymore or not being human to begin with, he still wasn't human. ...Unless.

"Sammy, if we were once human, is there a way for us to turn human again?" He tried to face where the Prophet was as best he could, wanting to hear the ink man's response. "Is there a way for us to leave, to go home?"

"The only way to be freed from these bodies of ink that I know comes with sacrifice. And even then, that door had been shut a long time ago; whether Wilson is telling the truth or not about the Ink Demon, I can no longer feel His presence in the wells. While I pray that His silence is a punishment for my reckless behavior, I fear that something more devious is afoot..." The Prophet sighed. "As for an escape... Forgive me for my curiosity, but is there anything you know of out there that is worth leaving for? And before you say 'It's free from the studio's struggles' you'd only be HALF right. It would be 'free', but it would have its own problems, and a familiar demon is safer than a stranger demon."

Henry opened his mouth and shut it as his hopes were extinguished by a soul-crushing realization; The keeper wouldn't have pointed out that he doesn't age in here unless he's been in here long enough for that to have been noticed.

"To be honest, with how long I've been trapped in here, I don't know if she's still out there or not." Henry's voice wavered a bit. "One of the reasons why I wanted to escape so badly was to come back home to my wife Linda and forget everything about the studio, just... pretend it never happened. But thinking back on it, I could've spent years in here, maybe even decades. I don't even know if she's still alive..."

"I both... envy you and pity you, Henry."

"...Do I want to know why?"

"While there is uncertainty in her existence, you still know someone dear enough to you to fight against armies, the will of gods and angels just for the shadow of the possibility to be with her again. To actively choose to go through such torments over and over again as opposed to succumbing to the relative safety of a small lodging cobbled together out of whatever you have on hand and whoever can tolerate you is a type of hope that is no longer in my comprehension. A hope that ends with a despair equally beyond my understanding..."

Henry nodded in thought.

"I on the other hand, only know that I once had such a person in my life through the oddly shaped void they left behind. Not any memories of them, not a name, a voice, or even a face... Just... questions leading to uncomfortable answers when I have the time to reflect. Why would one of my greatest regrets be "Not going to Coney Island" when the man I once was despised crowds, overabundances of grease, and loud noises out of his control? The only answer that comes to mind is because I promised to take someone who was dear to me and I never got to... -But I suppose the bright side is that all my grieving for that person is done. It's hard to mourn a memory that isn't even a memory."

"Oh Sammy... I'm so sorry to hear that."

The artist couldn't imagine himself in the musician's shoes, the idea of forgetting someone he loved so much to the point where he doesn't even know their face was horrifying, despite how long he was here, he could still remember Linda.

"It's quite alright my sheep... Thank you for talking to me, not too long ago I was practically on the brink of the pits of despair without feeling my Lord's presence, while there's still the lingering doubts, it's nice to know that I am not alone."

"And thanks for writing to me, Sam. I appreciate that you looked out for me back there."

"Anytime, my sheep. Anytime. And feel free to keep my bone, it might seem... macabre, but consider it a good luck charm as well as a reminder of your humanity."

Henry nodded as he rubbed the gift between his index finger and his thumb before putting the small bone inside his pocket.

The lights in the Pit flicked off and the shutters on the prisoners' cell windows closed, a presumed prompt to try and go to sleep...

-------

"WA-A-A-A-A-AKE UP SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-FOUR, YOU ARE BEING GIVEN YOUR DESIGNATED ASSINGMENT."

"Ugh..."

Henry peeled himself off of the floor as the relatively pleasant dream he was having melted away into nothingness and tiredly glared at the Keeper who put a pencil and a sketchbook into his cell and a model sheet of an ugly looking sailor character that was made with almost eye-bleedingly bright colors.

"...What is this?"

"YOUR ASSI-I-I-I-I-I-I-INGMENT IS TO ANIMATE THE PILOT EPISODE OF 'SHIPAHO-O-O-O-OY DUDLEY'. SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-EIGHT'S OWN ASSINGME-E-E-E-E-ENT IS TO CREATE A FITTING THEME SONG AS WELL AS OTHER BACKGROUND MUSIC AND SUBJECT NI-I-I-I-I-I-INE-TWO-EIGHT IS SUPPOSED TO VOICE THE MAIN CHARACTER AS SOON AS SHE REFORMS HER BODY." the Keeper explained. "YOU CYCLE BREAKERS MIGHT BE INPRI-I-ISONED BECAUSE YOU ARE TOO DANGEROUS TO ROAM THE STUDIO, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU ARE NOT USEFUL TO WILSON'S GOALS."

Henry gave the Keeper a blank stare, internally debating whether or not he should remind him that Alice had escaped a while ago.

"A-A-A-A-A-ANY QUESTIONS, FOUR-ONE-FOUR?"

"Yeah, uh... does Wilson take constructive criticism?"

The Keeper responded to Henry's question by punching the cell so hard it practically shook.

"...Okay then."

"WE WILL BE CHECKING IN ON YOU PERIODICALLY-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y TO SEE YOUR PROGRESS. SLACKING IS STRO-O-O-O-O-ONGLY DISCOURAGED."

"And what's the deadline for these projects?"

"THAT IS NOT SPECIFIE-E-E-E-ED YET."

Henry let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright."

"SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-EIGHT," the keeper turned to face the other cell. "WE ARE AWARE THA-A-A-A-A-A-AT YOU HAVE BEEN SHARING WHAT ARE SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR MUSIC SHE-E-E-E-E-E-E-ETS WITH SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-FOUR. YOU BOTH WILL BE PUNISHED IF YOU TRY TO SEND MESSAGES NOT RELATED TO YOUR ASSINGMENTS TO EACH OTHER."

"...What about items?" the musician asked. "I only have two hands, so I can only play one, maybe two instruments at a time. But if Henry's allowed access to my instruments, as well as a lesson or two, we could actually make proper music."

"VERY WELL, ITEMS SUCH AS YOUR INSTRUMENTS WI-I-I-I-I-I-ILL BE ALLOWED TO TRANSFER TO SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-FOUR'S CELL AND SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-FOUR IS ALLOWED TO SEND DRA-A-A-A-A-AWINGS TO YOUR CELL. DO NOT ABUSE THIS, WE WILL BE CHECKING IN ON YOUR PROGRESS FRIE-E-E-E-QUENTLY."

"Am I also allowed to send drawings and sheet music to his cell?"

"YES."

"Very well..." he nodded.

"REMEMBER: KEEP NOTES, DRAWI-I-I-I-INGS, AND MUSIC ON TOPIC, BRAINSTO-O-O-O-ORMING IS ALLOWED, BUT DON'T STRAY TOO FAR FROM THE FACT YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO WORK ON THE PI-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-IOLT."

"Understood."

"GOOD. NOW, IF YOU EXCU-U-U-U-USE ME, I HAVE A LIBRARY TO GUARD."

The Keeper left the two prisoners alone after making sure the points were made clear.

"...I think he's out of earshot now."

"Good, his voice was getting on my nerves." Henry flipped through the empty sketchbook and took another look at the unsettling sailor character. "God that thing is so creepy... Is this how you felt when you were 'haunted' by Bendy's smile?"

"Dudley? no. The character might be ugly as sin and there is too much ink in his lips for comfort, but it lacks the subtlety and omnipresence that Bendy's has... It's creepy, sure, but it's too sharp, too wide, has too many teeth..."

"...Too many teeth?"

"Yes, he shows ten while Bendy only shows eight."

"Did you count them?" Henry chuckled.

"Anyways... It's as if Wilson's trying TOO hard to surpass Bendy with Dudley and it just comes off as pathetic. Imagine a dark hallway in your house that looked safe and normal when it was light but now has a more sinister appearance to it versus a hallway that's covered in fake blood, fake weapons and fake spiderwebs. One's genuinely creepy while the other's... Just an unfunny joke at that point."

"Fair enough." Henry nodded while folding the model sheet in half so he wouldn't have to look at it. "...How bad do you think the punishment will be if we do as little of the cartoon as possible?"

"Considering that they haven't put in a lot of effort into 'reforming Alice's body' I think we can use "We can't properly animate Dudley without his voice to work off of" as an excuse."

"We also don't have any writers to hand us scripts, the model sheet can only tell us so much about the character without any additional context..."

"There's also not a director in sight to oversee this mess, nor is there proper departments... For heaven's sake, the only other two people in this "Animation Project" that AREN'T our wardens in a prison are disembodied heads that aren't even lucid enough to say a single intelligible word! And not to mention how hard it would be to properly work as a team when we're not even allowed to be in the same room together and talk face to face..."

"Even if we genuinely wanted to make this happen and we both did the work of an art department and a music department, all that we would get to show for that hard work would be a short, nonsensical animation set to music that may or may not get sound effects. And while I'd be proud of what we made together; Wilson strikes me as the type of guy who has standards that can only be met by the perfect, imaginary versions of real people he makes up in his head."

"So I suppose we have plenty of reasons not to work on the pilot... but the question is how many will those things listen to..?"

Neither of them answered, but they both thought the same thing: "none of them". Henry looked at the folded in half model sheet, the blank sketchbook, and the vent...

"Hey Sammy, do you remember what you used to look like?" Henry asked, already penciling down what he remembered of him.

"What the man I used to be looked like? Hmm... Sharp and fluffy, and in hindsight, not as big as he thought he was." The former music director tapped a pen against the neck of his banjo in thought. "Although what I last saw through the mirror through his eyes was a worn-down ghoul... one with glassy, hollow eyes, sallow skin stretched over brittle bones..."

"...Sounds like the years weren't kind to you..."

"My Lord had found me at the darkest moments of my former life." The musician nodded in agreement. "When I had lost all reason and hope to press on... He was there in the dark to give me light again."

Henry heard a rustle of paper and noticed the drawn-on music sheet put through the vent.

What Sammy had drawn was not human.

The formerly blank side of the music sheet now was graced with doodles of a small, cartoon bird. Not a character with birdlike features, but an animal that would most likely play the part as a silent yet borderline-sentient and expressive pet another character would own if it was animated. But the musician's old personality shown brilliantly through the adorable little menace; it pecked at the fingers of someone who played the piano incorrectly, it beamed with pride when conducting a choir of other birds with a twig in its beak, it got itself stuck in a glass of water it was trying to drink out of and instead of relying on help, it tried to use the glass as a new instrument.

It didn't look like Sammy Lawrence because it was "Sharp and Fluffy" (although Henry could accurately use both adjectives to describe the musician and the cartoon bird), it looked like Sammy Lawrence because the little thing was short tempered, weary of others, behaved strangely, yet at the same time was a passionate, creative songbird that never let anything or anyone stop it from what it wanted to do, and most of the time, it simply wanted to make music.

The animator even thought about incorporating the toon bird into his own drawing of Sammy, perhaps having it pull a lock of the musician's long hair in an attempt to get his attention, or having it perched on his shoulder while he played the banjo, watching how its human-self played the instrument.

When he turned the paper over, he frowned at what he saw. In stark contrast to the delightful character of the Songbird Sammy, the other side of the sheet had a monster that Henry wouldn't even recognize as Sammy if it wasn't for the clothes that hung loosely on the entity's frame.

The humanoid monster didn't get a series of small yet charming doodles showcasing its personality, it was only a single, very detailed drawing of a grotesquely thin, corpse-like creature that lifelessly yet intensely stared into Henry's soul. But it did tell its own story; the bars of the music sheet that was supposed to hold the music notes instead seemed to put the monster behind a cage, there were strange lines above the monster's wrists, resembling puppet strings, and there was some sort of dark liquids dripping down its face and out of its mouth, but due to the lack of color, Henry couldn't tell if it was blood or ink-

"He had saved me from the first prison my body had become, but perhaps I was too greedy to assume He'd save me from this one..."

"...But maybe we can find a way to save you." Henry mused as he put the finishing touches on his own drawing of Sammy and put it through the vent. "I don't know what it is yet, but we'll find it. I promise."

"Was this... how you remembered me?" The musician's voice wavered, raw with emotion. "It's beautiful.."

"Yes."

"Thank you... I'll treasure it, Henry."

"Anytime, Sammy."

The animator began to hear a familiar song through the vent played with a violin on hand and the tapping of the Prophet's boots, a comforting, calm song he hadn't heard in a long time, a song he remembered hearing the clearest when... when he was in Joey's apartment...

"What is that song?"

"I'll be your angel. ...This version might not be at its best without the piano, but there's only so many instruments a two-armed man can play at once."

"It's still nice, it reminds me of home."

"I'm happy to help make that home, even if it's still broken..."

"Hey, is it possible for you to fit a piano through the vents?"

"I can certainly try, although I cannot guarantee success. Brace yourself for the piano just in case."

He heard shuffling, random piano keys, heavy furniture being moved in the Prophet's cell, and what Henry could assume was the ink man cursing under his breath.

The piano keys sounded like they were being slammed down on repeatedly as Henry saw something blocking the vent's grates, he backed away from it when he saw the screws bulging and the grate groaning...

The piano itself peeked through the vents with the terrible slamming of its keys, squeezing and flowing its way into Henry's cell like a roll of under pressure cookie dough that had been cut into with a knife but not fully released.

Armed with just luck and a pencil, he approached the grate and did his best to unscrew the straining screws. The second he popped the second one off, the imprisoned piano couldn't hold itself in any longer and burst into the cell as if bursting through a broken dam. A final, deafening Br-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ing BLAM! sounded throughout the Pit and marked the end of the piano's short and strenuous journey. The instrument itself stood normally and still, as if a perfectly normal piano that was not flexible enough to be squeezed through an air vent.

"Did... Did it make it...?" Sammy panted in exhaustion.

"Yes." Henry smiled, testing a few of the keys himself, which sounded a lot better than how they did while in its transfer prison. "And it works perfectly."

"Good..." he took a moment to catch his breath. "That was the only piano in here."

"Thanks Sammy, do you still have the energy for a duet?"

"Not today I'm afraid... but sending you the music sheets you need should be fairly easy... any requests?"

"I'll be your angel."

-------

The routine the two prisoners fell into was a comforting one, as comfortable as the Pit would allow.

They would wake up, Sammy would check his body's stability (A routine which Henry discovered was putting on his clothes, doing clapping push-ups, as well as other exercises that varied by the day) and do his morning prayers while Henry would stretch the sleep out of his bones and tidy himself up.

Later, a keeper would check in on them and look at on the progress of what they had made the previous day. It would scold them for their lack of a cartoon reel to play. They would then remind the keeper that they're a two-man team with no professional writers, voice actors, editors, or directors present and "Recommend" that it fixes that before it complains to them about the lack of progress.

The two-man animation studio would create things that were as good as they could make without any given direction on what the Wilson's show was supposed to be like; colorless backgrounds of shipwrecks, grim seaside towns, and haunted islands, character concepts that ranged from charming goofballs to truly menacing monsters, background and character theme songs that mostly reminded Henry of ice cream trucks at three am and run down vacation towns by the boardwalk, scripts that thanks to both Henry's experiences in the studio and Sammy's strong ties to the occult, tended to lend themselves to dark comedies, all arts brewed together in an unanimated pilot that would unlikely see the light of day given that the keepers and or Wilson were never satisfied with their work.

When they felt they made enough for today, they 'clocked out' and focused on other things, most of the time being each other. Sometimes they just talked together, sometimes they drew together, sometimes they played duets of songs they both liked, sometimes they tried games like battleship, and sometimes they did their own thing as spending every single waking moment on each other could get very exhausting very quickly, even if they were constantly separated by their cells.

And when the lights dimmed or their cell's shutters went off, it was the cue that it was the end of the day and time for bed. The animator and the musician didn't need sleep, but that didn't mean that they couldn't feel tired.

--------

"Good morning my dear Sheep, by what seems to both enviable luck and an almost worrying resistance to loud noises, you managed to sleep through the entirety of the Keeper's daily tongue lashing."

"Oh boy..." The animator sighed in frustration "What upset them this time?"

"The villain roster, Dudley being 'maliciously compliantly complex and realistically made', the flesh-eating lighthouse being 'too scary', and you for "Ignoring it's presence and criticisms"."

"Of course. Did they say anything about their... "least favorite background characters"?"

"Not today, I don't think they noticed this time and I think the cameos being within wanted posters and 'blink and you'll miss it' easter eggs helped with that."

Henry dryly chuckled and cracked the sleep out of his knuckles. "Whelp, another day, another non-existent dollar. Let's see if we can get away with redesigning the Dud."

"And we'll also need to make new villains since they threw out ALL the previous ones... How many do you want to make?"

"I'll mostly focus on backgrounds and redesigns today, if you want them, go knock yourself out."

"Very well."

...

"-Take off the shoelaces to save time, we don't have the colored ink, so we can't have the stripes, maybe a half-smile instead of a full one, or a frown because Wilson wants him to be the 'Anti Bendy'..."

"Henry, is it just me or do we end up creating a younger version of Barley every time we try to revise Dudley's design?"

"I guess when you have two black and white sailor characters with 'blond' hair, they're going to look like they're related no matter what else you do." The animator shrugged. "How are the villain designs coming along?"

"So far the new roster is: Generic skeleton Pirates, a sentient lighthouse that hungers for human flesh but in a 'funny' way as opposed to a 'nightmarishly horrifying' way, an obscenely wealthy oil tycoon that's willing to move mountains of money if it means he gets to eat Dudley's crab, The Moon but it has tentacles and teeth, Siren cultists that worship said moon, a shark with "sexy legs", and *non* skeletal yet still very generic pirates."

"That's the third time in a row you put cultists in the villain roster." Henry responded with a half-amused flat tone.

"No matter how many times he rejects it, the truth of the matter that Wilson will be forced to come to terms with is that nothing he creates will ever be worth worshipping."

"...Out of curiosity, what makes someone or something "Worth worshipping"?"

"There's nothing mortals can do to be worth it. But for the gods, they need to be real, they need to make their presence known and strongly felt and most importantly, they need to be capable of immense and almost incomprehensible power."

"Like the Ink Demon?"

"Exactly. However, He is not the only one... But I must stay loyal to my lord! Even in His absence, not all hope is lost. Although there is another divine being in these depths, I can sense Her calling out to me..."

"Her? Who? Alice?"

"No, my Sheep." The Prophet let out a heavy sigh. "The Fallen Angel is just that: a fallen angel. Her beauty is self-made, that alone is commendable. But her power is akin to Wilson's power, it is stolen from the weak and scavenged from the corpses of the strong. Often with mechanical beings to do their dirty work... Besides, even if she managed to claim divinity, she would surely despise the idea of me worshipping her just as much as she despises the man I used to be and the Prophet I am now."

"I see... Then who..?"

"I... I don't fully know myself... I see visions of Her, hear whispers of a voice I have never heard in my entire life, Her face is so clear in my mind, yet She is a complete stranger... I don't even know what She's supposed to be! She looks human, yet akin to the angels... I'm scared, Henry... I can feel strong changes are afoot and I don't know if either of us are ready for hell again..."

"Well, if they are... At least we'll always have each other, right?" Henry stuck his arm into the vent, holding out his hand. "And who knows, maybe this will be what we need, a way for both of us to finally be free for good."

"Yes, my sheep." Sammy stuck his own arm into the vent and stretched it out, holding on to Henry's...

For what was the first time in what felt like centuries, Henry felt the touch of another living person when Sammy held his hand. The hand itself felt like a rubber glove filled with icy water, holding it was slightly awkward for both of them as Sammy's fingers were a lot larger than his own and he had four instead of five, so when they interlocked, they felt a little uneven.

Henry was overwhelmed, the musician's touch felt so... alive! He could feel the ink moving underneath the Prophet's somewhat-malleable skin, ink that flowed like blood and beat like a pulse... Enduring countless loops where the only touches he felt from other beings were attacks almost made him forget what it was like to be held like a person, that he wasn't alone and that the other ink creatures were actually alive. Yes, Allison talked to him while she held him in captivity, yes, Sammy talked to him too during their shared time in their perspective cells, but there were differences between just listening to others' voices and actually feeling somebody that was there and present. The most important difference being how much more real the latter felt.

He just wanted to be in this moment, holding Sammy's hand forever, he didn't care how pathetic it sounded, he just wanted to be happy with Sammy. He... he loves this crazed cultist...

-------

"WILSON, SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-EIGHT HAS BREA-A-A-A-A-A-ACHED CONTAINMENT AND APPEARS TO BE CONSPI-I-I-I-I-I-I-IARING WITH SUBJECT FOUR-ONE-FOUR, WHAT PUNISHMENTS DO YOU RECCOMMEND FOR BOTH OF THEM?"

"Separate them, take away all instruments except the Banjo, throw those into the incinerator, and break Four One Eight into submission."

#bendy and the dark revival #henry stein #sammy lawrence #keepers batdr #sammy x henry #fanfic #some headcanons #just sprinkled in there

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inkabelledesigns · 7 months

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Bendy and the Donut Run

Oh Nemo, you have given me too much fuel. XD Okay so how would I write this as a fic? Well my first instinct is that this is a pre-ink fic where one of our human employees is out on a donut run, maybe sees some questionable ink horrors on the way to and from getting donuts, along with a bunch of shenanigans of a cartoony nature.

But then it occurred to me, Audrey likes donuts. How fun would it be to have a post BATDR fic where Audrey has escaped the cycle and the ink creatures are in the real world with this premise? Audrey is working so hard, trying to get her job done as an animator while also uncovering the secrets as to how she looks so human so that the others can blend into society and live their lives again, and she is utterly exhausted. And so in a very "main character does so much for us, we should do something nice for them" move, we could have some characters try to do something sweet and get her donuts, because she loves donuts with her coffee and doesn't have time for them.

There are multiple combinations you could go with for a story like this. My first thought is Bendy and Sammy, since that would be comedic and fun, and depending on characterization, it could be either of them babysitting the other and trying to stay out of trouble as they don't want to be caught as ink creatures. (Admittedly I have my friend Victor's (@reanimationstation ) Sammy and Bendy in mind with this take, I think their dynamic would lend itself well to this.) I also really like the possibility of Betty trying to make donuts in the kitchen, only to have Malice and Allison try to help, and it's a mess of arguing over the best technique, but eventually they learn to work together. I can also see Porter trying to leave the house for donuts, stealing them because he doesn't understand the cost of a donut, and needing to be rescued because no Porter, humans don't flow, you're gonna get in trouble.

My personal favorite would be Memory Joey trying to do this and Cyclebreaker Henry exhaustedly going after him to keep him out of trouble. On their way back with the donuts, they get into trouble, maybe get stuck in a sewer or a construction site, and they have a heart to heart where Joey admits to struggling with being a better person. Joey is trying so hard, he knows the real Joey Drew hurt a lot of people, not necessarily the why and how of it all, but he feels like that's his sin to atone for. He loves Audrey so much, even if he's not really her father, and he wants to do right by her, but he doesn't know how. Henry, believing that he too is a clone of a real person, feels this, admitting that Joey put so much blame on him for not setting him straight and leaving the studio, that he also feels like he has a lot to atone for, but the truth is, they aren't the same people. They're them. He ran after Joey because he too feels the need to do better than the real deal, because he cares about Joey and doesn't want him to end up in another bad situation by being impulsive. And for the first time, in the midst of danger and tragedy, albeit a smaller scale than the studio, they finally start to work through some of their conflicts. And I think, they come out of it better friends and trying to move forward, saying that they don't need to be like the people they came from. They can be something new, something them. They get home with the donuts, Audrey is either worried sick or just asking where they've been, and they merely smile and hand her the box of donuts. They're a little battered and smushed from their adventure, but they're still delicious, and there's at least one that managed to stay all pretty and together. Audrey is very grateful for the donuts, they gather around for some coffee, and Henry and Joey split a donut and clink their mugs together. This is the start of a beautiful friendship, again.

See I told you you gave me too much power.

#askbox #fanfic title prompt #batdr #bendy fanfic #joey drew #henry stein #audrey #bendy #batim #donuts #bendy and the donut run

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clonedchaos · 1 day

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Eclipse Chapter #1

Rating: T for Teens due to canon-typical violence

Summary: The new cycle had changed everything. It had even changed the realm’s ruler himself. The twisted demon now resembled everything that everyone told him he should be. Only that mind was not his. On the other hand, Bendy didn’t know what to think about the resentful demon lurking at the back of his mind- or himself really. Much less about the strange woman that walked into his life. The Ink Demon saw her as a threat. Bendy saw her as a friend. It seemed there would be no compromise on the current situation. However, there seemed to be a lot more to the demons than one once thought…

Tumblr Version: ~Enjoy!~

Wilson sat huddled in the laboratory in the basement of his manor. Blueprints were strewn across his work desk, several with x’s across them. A canister of ink lie to his right. Its iridescent light illuminated the drab, sepia-toned lab. To this world, the substance was clearly otherworldly.

Wilson picked it up and examined it. “Hmm… A peculiar substance. Something so simple, and yet so fascinating… Soon I will reveal your secrets,” He croaked out, lost in his own thoughts.

The Keeper standing guard at the door behind him merely watched its master’s work in silence, the only sound from them coming from its strangled breathing.

Right. He had already built the Keepers with the properties of this new ink. They had proved time and time again to be an effective shield against the dangers of this untamed realm.

Well, from all but one…

Wilson cast one more look at the blueprints before turning towards the door. “Perhaps we should pay another visit to the Gent Workshop,” He grinned.

The Keeper only nodded in agreement and opened the door. Wilson slowly crept up the stairs to the manor’s main level, his bones creaking in protest. He let out a strangled cough as soon as he opened the door, gaining the attention of the manor’s only other human-like being.

”Oh my, are you all right? May I go grab you some tea from the kitchen?” A masked woman inquired anxiously, starting towards him. She halted in place as she noticed the Keeper come up the stairs behind him.

”I'm quite alright, Betty. No need to fuss,” He waved off before his body was racked with another bout of coughing.

Betty watched, her expression unreadable behind her mask. She shuffled her weight from foot to foot. “Well… Just let me know if you need anything, sir. I’ll be cleaning the foyer.”

”Actually, there is one thing,” Wilson replied after recovering. Betty waited in silence for him to continue.

”Be a dear and watch over the manor while I attend to matters at the Gent Workshop, will you?” He inquired and started past her, not waiting for a response.

”Of course, sir,” Betty replied immediately, retreating as the Keeper floated past.

The walk to the subway felt like ages, but they were able to catch the train to the city. While sitting on the cushioned seats, he was able to gather his thoughts. The audio logs and files he had come across in the archives had revealed numerous secrets of this world. The world he intended to conquer.

If the Ink Demon was created soulless, could there be a reasonable way to defeat him? Could something with a soul be powerful enough? It cannot be impossible. Hmm. A mystery indeed… Wilson thought to himself as the train continued down numerous tunnels.

He had already started drawing up blueprints for potential ideas. Some schematics left behind by Gent also came in handy. They, of course, had their own demon problems back in the day.

What fools they were. I will tame this realm. Do something nobody has accomplished. Imagine the looks on their faces. On my father’s face, He schemed to himself.

His latest victory was still fresh in his mind. They had finally captured the Ink Demon and put him in a secure location. The task had taken far longer than he’d hoped, but after equipping the Keepers with sedatives, it had become a bit more manageable. He had lost a few Keepers in the process, but sometimes that was the price to pay. Besides, he could always build new ones.

Now his only problem was figuring out how to get rid of the Ink Demon for good. He wouldn’t doubt that he’d find a way to escape his holding cell eventually. He’d already rampaged around Wilson’s mansion once before in a failed capture mission, tearing apart the mansion's library. Betty had been downcast for days after that, weeping about "all the knowledge they'd lost".

Hmm… Perhaps a soul would work well. But where would he get one? Certainly it couldn’t be his.

The train lurched to a stop and Wilson clutched the seat to avoid getting flung off. The Keeper merely stood silently beside him, attentive as always.

”Come on. We have work to accomplish,” Wilson ordered and rose to his feet.

The walk to the old Gent Workshop was slow. Wilson noticed movement out of the corner of his eye as they entered Lost City. Peeking out of a store’s front door was the face of a Lost One. Its golden orbs for eyes watched cautiously as they passed. Or, more specifically, watched the Keeper by his side. But they did not approach. Nor did anyone else potentially lurking around the city for that matter.

Upon coming to the workshop entrance, Wilson grabbed the access card from his pocket and slid it into a machine. He picked up the pace as he strode down the halls toward his destination, pausing every now and then as a cough racked his body. Cursed illness. That’s the next thing I need to work on fixing, He grumbled to himself, when finally, they made it to the appropriate room. The Keeper accompanying him moved to stand guard at the entrance.

Faint growling drifted into the hall as Wilson entered a small room with a few desks, separated from the rest of the room by a large glass wall.

A Keeper was working at one of the desks and looked up at his approach, the light from its face nearly blinding him. On Wilson’s way over, there was a loud shriek and a sound or crackling glass.

Wilson glimpsed over and stared into the face of the Ink Demon himself. A spider web of cracks had formed around the spot where his gloved hand had impacted the glass. Tendrils of ink climbed the walls around him, some even spilling into the safe confines of the observation room. The Ink Demon only growled at him with that same eerie smile. Desperate to get to him yet frustrated at the seemingly impossible task.

”Hurts to be powerless, does it not?” Wilson taunted wickedly at the Ink Demon before he turned towards the Keeper and straightened his posture. His sneer disappeared as he ordered, “Report.”

“Termination of the Ink Demon is impossible,” The Keeper hissed out slowly in its strangled voice.

Wilson scowled and held out a hand for the results. The Keeper handed over some papers. He skimmed through the files and listened to taped audio recordings of previous trial attempts. The Keeper wasn’t lying.

So, his fears had been realized. He turned away from the Keeper. The Ink Demon prowled along the length of the glass likes a caged animal. Wilson let his mind wander for alternative ideas. By the amount of scored claw marks on the walls and cracks in the glass, they didn’t have much time left before the demon broke out again.

An idea popped into his mind. Perhaps there was something he had not yet tried…

”Continue with your work here. I need to have a little talk with our Cyclebreakers,” Wilson ordered to the Keeper and headed towards the exit. The Ink Demon gave him one last growl of contempt as he closed the door behind him.

He made it through the various checkpoints that allowed him entry into the Cyclebreaker’s prison and glanced at the rooms; some on the first floor and some on the second.

He decided on heading over to Subject 418’s room and try him first... Against his better judgement. He pulled on a lever and the metal shutters opened to reveal an ink-covered man with suspenders sitting on a chair with his back to him, plucking listlessly at the banjo in his arms.

”Evening, Prophet. I have some questions I would like to ask you,” Wilson cordially announced.

”If it’s questions surrounding my Lord, I will partake in none of it,” The man replied, his tone turning sour. He sat his banjo beside the chair leg and turned to face him, his body slightly shaking as he glowered at him in hatred. “You may have captured me. But my Lord will never stay locked in the confines of your prison! He will break free! He is all powerful!”

Wilson frowned, trying to refrain from rolling his one good eye. He was starting to remember why he initially abandoned this idea in the first place. Well, abandoned talking to this one.

”Certainly you would know something about him to aid me. You are his Prophet, Mr. Lawrence.”

”Which is why I refuse to betray my Lord,” Sammy replied, his fists clenching. “I know of your plans. I do not know the information you are requesting. But I do know that it’s an impossible feat. One that you should cease if you value your life. Or face the Ink Demon’s wrath.” And with that, he turned, picked up his banjo, and began to strum the cords. He began muttering things to himself in irritation.

Wilson groaned and closed the shutters. Of course he would get nowhere with Lawrence. The man was insane, but he wasn’t that stupid. His loyalty to the Ink Demon appeared unbreakable. Well, it was worth a try.

Though, perhaps someone who hated the demon just as much as him would be able to assist.

He carefully climbed the ladder upstairs before he proceeded to open another shutter. A light flickered on and off in the room, briefly illuminating the words “Are you worthy to walk with Angels?” painted in ink across the floorboards.

”Well, well, well,” A silky smooth voice echoed from the shadows. A woman in a black dress stepped into view. The flickering light threw shadows across her half-melted face. “Look who finally decided to visit an Angel!” Her voice pitched up joyfully, as if someone else was speaking entirely. A sneer crossed her lips.

”Well, I could use an Angel’s help right about now,” Wilson replied. “What do you say about helping an old man out?”

Alice crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, leaning against the wall. “Hmm. Let’s see. You imprisoned me. Treat me like I'm some kind of monster. And don't give me the proper respect an Angel deserves." She listed, counting off on her fingers. "Why would I want to help you?”

”Because if you do, it’ll get rid of someone you despise,” Wilson answered.

Alice’s expression shifted. “Who?”

”An old friend of yours, I’m sure. The Ink Demon.”

Alice’s mouth curved downwards in disgust as her eyes narrowed. “...What do you ask?”

”Do you know anything about how to defeat him? Anything at all? I’ve heard you had a widespread influence over the last cycle. Perhaps you’d know something,” Wilson asked.

Alice frowned and replied, “Unfortunately not.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“That freak ruined me! I was perfect! If I had the opportunity to be rid of him, don’t you think I would’ve done it already??” Alice snapped.

Wilson groaned but offered a smile. “Thank you anyways, my dear. Your cooperation was appreciated.” The shutters closed.

One last try. Only one more person to speak with... Henry Stein.

The shutters opened, revealing the worn old man drawing in a sketch pad Wilson had provided him. He didn't so much as glance in his direction.

”Mr. Stein. I have something important I would like to discuss with—,” Wilson started.

”Whatever it is, I’m not interested,” Henry replied firmly.

”Oh, but you should be. This benefits you.”

”Benefits me by giving me my freedom back?” Henry challenged sarcastically, his pencil stopping abruptly. But he still didn’t look Wilson in the eye.

Wilson gave him a cross glower. This was just like what his father would do. He would never take notice of any of his ideas. No matter what Wilson did, he would never amount to compete to his father’s accomplishments. And here Henry was, not even bothering to take him seriously.

Wilson swallowed down his annoyance and paused for a moment to contemplate his next words. “In a sense… I need your help. You defeated the Ink Demon, did you not?”

Henry finally lifted his gaze, showing a perplexed expression as he turned around. “That isn’t quite what happened. There is no defeating him,” He corrected hesitantly.

”Ah, but the End Reel-“

”The End Reel is a tool used to set things back to how they were before,” Henry interrupted as he stood up and came to stand face to face with Wilson. “It is merely meant to rewind the Cycle, not defeat the Ink Demon himself.”

Wilson nodded. “Yes, I understand that much. Your knowledge these past hundred cycles was very useful to my Keepers and I.” He wickedly grinned and Henry fixed him with an exhausted glare. “You are the only one known who has come close to bringing this world to justice. That is what I’m here for. To help this suffering world.”

”Some help you’ve been…” Henry muttered lowly to himself. Before Wilson could give a snappish remark, he continued in his normal, uninterested tone. “Look, whatever plan you’re scheming, I want no part in it. I’ve dealt with the Ink Demon for countless cycles. And he’ll be here for countless more. You cannot get rid of this realm’s ruler, no matter how hard you try. This world is his. And as much as we don’t like it, he’s here to stay. He’s trapped… just as much as we are.”

Trapped… Wilson blinked, the gears turning in his mind. An eerie grin crossed his lips as he stared at the old animator. “… Then perhaps I’ll just have to get creative…”

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charlieslowartsies · 1 year

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part two is up 83

#batim #make believe series #bendy and the ink machine #fanfic #henry stein #sammy lawrence #allison angel #the projectionist #norman polk #bendy #ink demon

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deadal3x · 1 year

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[BENDY AND THE FINAL CYCLE] Chapter One: The Moving Cycle

A bright white light.

Henry was comforted by it, he realized, as he waited to return to the old apartment. To restart the cycle anew, without Wilson’s influence, or Audrey’s fear looming around him and the others.

when the light faded, Henry’s guard was up; his hands grabbing for an axe that wasn’t there.

He was in the apartment, that the old animator could tell. but it was wrong.

The air hung heavily around him, the familiar stench of ink and death floated around him, almost choking him.

he walked further into the apartment, the dripping of the ink and the overall wrongness of it pushing him into a further state of caution that was almost dizzying.

Vines and other foliage had made their way into the house, overgrown and twisting around the broken furniture. sunlight spilled into the main room; warming Henry’s face in a way he hasn’t felt in so long

Henry sighed, his eyes closing as he took in the warmth. For a split moment, everything melted around him, and he swore he could smell the summer air; the fire crackling as someone roasted marshmallows over it.

His throat tightened as he thought he heard a familiar giggle.

he opened his eyes, and saw the dilapidated apartment around him- the smell hitting his nose all over again.

walking into the kitchen, Henry’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat when he looked to where Joey typically stood.

a rotted, unrecognizable corpse was in his spot, half fallen to the ground. Henry couldn’t look away, his sense of worry making his blood run ice cold.

Pulling himself away from the corpse, Henry tried opening the door into the cycle, desperate for the smell of his once good friend’s rotting flesh to leave his nose.

but the door didn’t open.

it was locked.

Henry’s mouth ran dry, and it felt like he was choking on sawdust. He saw the corpse out of the corner of his eye and the hairs on the back of his neck stood.

it had moved.

it was leaning against the counter, it’s head at a 90 degree angle to the left. Henry’s stomach flipped as he watched the skeletal arm lift, pointing to the door. a stone of realization settled deep within his gut; the door opening easily as it did.

the Cycle’s script still needed someone to tell Henry to visit the studio. It hadn’t accommodated for Joey’s death. Henry heard the door click shut behind him, and he allowed himself a moment to relax, feeling his stomach churning as he stumbled down the hall.

Collapsing into a chair, it creaked under the sudden weight. Henry sighed, running his hand down his face. Taking a breath, he steeled himself, and stood.

The studio hadn’t been affected by whatever… that was in Joey’s apartment, Henry realized. A few out of place things had been scattered about, but the so-to-speak First Act of his hell was relatively untouched.

Henry found himself going through the motions of it subconsciously. He collected the items, each weighed strangely heavy in the bag he made for himself back over a hundred cycles ago.

The Book, The Doll, The Wrench, The Gear, The Inkwell, and The Record

Each placed on their respectful podiums, Henry sighed, and wandered towards the screening room, turning the valve for the ink pressure. The studio rumbled, and the pipe in the room burst, the flooding ink drowning out the-

wait.

Henry turned, and realized the whistling bendy reel wasn’t making sound. it was playing, he had heard the projector click on, but the whistling tune that played alongside was gone. Huh, he thought, wading through the ink. strange. He decided not to think too much of it, and found himself flipping the lever that turned the machine on.

The studio groaned to life, the subtle rumbling of the Ink Machine made Henry sigh. His relief to escape the Cycle-Breaker’s prison was short-lived by the realization of returning to a false sense of normal.

Returning to watch as the people he trusted, cared for, or even allied with briefly forgot him with each new cycle.

Shaking his head, he found himself face to face with the boarded up room that held the ink machine. he scowled and stepped closer—bracing himself for the scare.

it never came, the first appearance of the Ink Demon, screaming in his face with its wide, shaky grin. Henry could see it in his mind; the clawed hand reaching for him as he fell back. The studio still reacted as if the Demon was there, rumbling and flooding with no sign of stopping. Henry ran, towards the exit, where the floor gave way underneath him- plunging him further into the studio.

Henry sighed, standing in the pool of ink. He wasted no time draining each pipe, making his way towards the so-called second act. Henry had the timing of things down pretty well before Wilson had frozen everything in place. He couldn’t even remember if Boris had been taken by Alice or not when the ex-janitor arrived. Shaking his head, Henry grabbed the axe, the weight and familiarity of the weapon giving him a sense of much-needed security. He sighed, walking towards the room full of coffins, remembering the names that was scrawled across the covers of each of them. he sighed, standing in the room, realizing another strange change.

I usually pass out here, he thought, staring at the strange pentagram like circle beneath him. What is happening? Henry moved towards the door, his axe raised defensively as he reached for the doorknob.

Before he could grab it, the knob shook, and turned. Henry held his breath, slowly backing away as the door swung opened.

His breath caught in his throat, taking in the sight of the stranger on the other side.

A rather built man, with blonde hair stood staring at him; his ice blue eyes glaring daggers into him. The man’s facial expression was soured, as he watched Henry move closer. Henry saw the somewhat permanent damage the ink had done to him, stains on his hands and around his lips made the animator shiver as he realized who it was.

“Sammy..?” Henry questioned, his voice soft. “Is that really you?” The man standing across from him scoffed, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms across his chest, his once beloved bendy mask in hand.

“Of course, have you gone insane?” Sammy said, his ever-present attitude dripping from his words. “Honestly, Little Sheep, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me.” he shook his head, and Henry cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” Henry said, lowering his axe. “I didn’t think there would be changes so soon.” he explained, watching as Sammy’s expression twisted into one of confusion.

“Changes?” He mused, looking at the mask. “I don’t think I’ve encountered any changes; aside from the much needed silence in my mind,” Sammy explained, looking back up at Henry. the old animator smiled, a strange feeling; as he held up the gleaming axe blade to the music director, the reflective surface revealing the man has his face back. Sammy dropped the mask, his hands shakily touching his head.

“Oh,” he whispered. “that’s my face..” He looked at Henry, his ice blue eyes full of confusion and fear. “I suppose I have encountered these changes, Little Sheep.”

“If you don’t have the ink demon whispering in your head,” Henry said, lowering the axe once again. “why do you still call me that?” He questioned, moving past Sammy- further into the music department.

“I…” The music director wet his lips, his expression unreadable. Henry watched as it twisted into his typical sour expression, his ice blue eyes holding upset and anger.

“My name’s Henry, In case you’ve forgotten.” Henry prompted, stopping just outside the recording room. “you wanna open your sanctuary so we can drain that ink?” The old animator prompted, moving towards the projector booth.

“I don’t see how that’s necessary,” Sammy said. “I usually knock you out and bring you somewhere once you do that,” he explained, causing Henry to reach for the back of his head. “But now that things have changed, I can just bring you there.” He stated, walking towards a door.

“Oh, right. That makes sense.” Henry said, watching as Sammy opened a once locked door, leading him into the familiar room.

A room he was once almost sacrificed in, 414 times. Henry sighed, and glanced over to Sammy wearily; a little on edge as the music director walked towards the large door on the other side of the room.

“I’m guessing you escape through here,” he said, slightly upset. “I don’t actually see you escape, seeing as…” He scowled, and shook his head. “Never mind that, let me grab my banjo and we can press on!” He shouted, causing Henry to flinch.

“shh!” Henry said, putting a finger to his lips. “We don’t know what’s out there still, it’s best to stay quiet.” He looked nervous as he watched Sammy wave his hand dismissively, grabbing his beloved instrument.

“I know the Demon’s gone,” He said, walking back towards Henry. “I don’t know about…the angel.” he spat the last word, his face twisted into an expression of anger. “we’ll find out the hard way, I suppose.”

Henry sighed, realizing Sammy had no idea about Boris. No idea what’s bound to happen to him if Alice wasn’t changed like he was.

the two pressed forward, and eventually, made their way past the familiar door, the wooden barricade falling into place as it closed behind Sammy. the can of bacon soup rolled out across from them and Henry relaxed.

“Hello?” He said. “Who’s there, show yourself.” Boris walked out, his cartoonish mouth twisted into something akin to a wolfish grin. “Boris..” Henry sighed, glancing at Sammy. the music director stared at the toon with wide eyes.

“Hiya Henry!” Boris said. Henry’s eyes widened, and he felt tears forming. “I have my voice back now, isn’t that cool?” Henry nodded, pulling the toon into a hug.

“you can speak! that’s amazing, buddy!” Henry allowed himself to celebrate for a moment, turning to Sammy. “he used to not be able to talk, this is a new change.”

“That’s…wonderful.” Sammy said, still staring at Boris. “the angel-”

“is where we will go after spending sometime in Buddy’s safe-house. I usually play some cards with him and get some sleep before heading to heavenly toys.” Sammy didn’t seem to catch onto Henry’s interruption, and continued talking about Alice.

“-will want him for her experiments” Sammy finished, pointing to Boris. “She’s evil like that.”

“I know.” Henry said, his expression hardening. his tone was suddenly serious despite the tears that shined in his eyes. “Let’s get somewhere safe so she doesn’t spot him.” Henry’s voice was stern. The old animator watched as Sammy nodded, finally catching on. the three walked the short distance to Boris’s safe-house, the door sliding shut behind them.

“Alright, I don’t want to stay here too long, I need to get my bearings and know exactly how much Audrey has changed for us.” Henry explained, watching as Boris took his spot at the small table. Sammy waved him off once again, and took a spot in a corner, banjo in hand. Henry sighed, sitting across from Boris; resting his axe against the foot of his chair.

“we don’t have to stay too long here,” Boris said, handing the deck of cards to the animator. “I know what’s ahead, and it’s different than before…”

“Different?” Henry questioned, setting up the poker game. Boris nodded, checking his cards.

“there’s less screamin’ than I remember. it’s..” Boris looked nervous. “It’s not as scary. There’s also more people out there.” He explained, as he won the first game of the night. He made an excited sort of growling sound, grabbing the soup can off the table.

“Did you get a good look at any of them? Like.. Are they lost ones or..?” Henry pushed, dealing out a new game. Boris shrugged, his expression relaxing.

“There’s another me, another Alice. they looked confused but they had the mean Alice, and she..” Boris glanced at Sammy, who was plucking away at his banjo. “She sounded worried.”

“worried?” Henry dropped his cards, forgetting about the game. he did notice he had won, but shook his smug smile off his face. “what does that mean?”

“She was askin’ about you, and Mr. Lawrence. the other Alice called her-”

”Susie?” Sammy was listening now, his banjo forgotten in his lap. “was it Susie?” Boris nodded, turning to him.

“yea! how’d you know?” Boris looked a bit confused, as he waited for Henry to deal another game. “anyways, she was also asking why heavenly toys was changed into a Gent corp. factory-” The old animator stood, grabbing the axe.

“We have to go check this out, something’s wrong.” He said, watching as Sammy stood without question. “Come on buddy, I’ll keep us safe.” Boris stood, and let them out of the safe-house. Henry sighed, leading the group towards heavenly toys, his mind racing.

Audrey wouldn’t have put Gent in such a strange spot, he thought, grabbing the flashlight. She wouldn’t have put gent anywhere, he realized, as they made it to their destination.

“Henry!” Allison smiled, standing at the bottom of the steps. “there you are.” She walked over to him, Tom following quickly behind. Henry went to go speak, but was cut off.

“Where’s Susie?” Sammy’s voice came from behind Henry, sounding almost desperate. “Susie?” he called for her, his banjo clutched tightly in his hand.

“Sammy!” at the top of the stairs stood a rather tall Alice angel. her halo floated just above her head, Henry saw. He stared, seeing how her malformed face was somewhat fixed. she had scarring, as if it was an injury. She ran down the steps, into Sammy’s arms.

“Oh Susie..” Sammy whispered, pulling away from her; looking at her with wide eyes. “you look wonderful.” The angel giggled, twirling in her spot.

“Thank you.” She sighed. the two talked softly, Sammy’s soft nature shining through the more they conversed.

Henry sighed, counting the group. five people. too many. He looked away from Susie and Sammy, focusing on Allison and Tom.

“I heard from Buddy, I had to come check it out..” He looked up, and felt his heart drop. instead of the rather large ‘Heavenly Toys’ sign, in it’s spot was a rather industrial and ugly sign.

‘property of Gent Corps.’ Henry scoffed, his grip on the axe tightening. “Can’t ever catch a single break, can we Allison..?” He muttered. she shook her head, holding out a familiar tool.

The Seeing Tool, he had called it. he had forgotten about it when it was taken as contraband by the Keepers. He held it tightly, seeing the golden ink glowing through it. he sighed, and strapped it to his belt, his darkened expression scanning the room.

“We’re sitting ducks out in the open…” Henry muttered, his mind racing. “We don’t know what’s wrong-”

“But something’s definitely wrong.” Tom spoke, his voice a low growl. “We were scouting when we found Ms. Campbell staring at the sign. she was crying.” Henry nodded, grateful that Tom also received his voice back.

“I don’t think Gent’s sudden appearance is Audrey’s doing,” Allison said, watching as Sammy and Susie reunited. “She fixed the Prophet and The Angel and even gave Tom and Buddy voices again but…” Allison sighed, hand gripping the handle of her sword.

“The only big difference is the Ink Demon is gone, and Gent’s sudden influence.”

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sammyixx · 6 months

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DEAR LORD

I- I THINK I FINALLY HAVE MOTIVE TO WRITE A SENRY FIC

#send help #batim #blows up #batdr #sammy lawrence #henry stein #senry #sammy x henry #sammy x henry batim #fic writing #fanfic

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karmavongrim · 5 months

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Inky Wings of Hope fanfic idea

Fanfic idea of Henry finally breaking the cycle and freeing them to their new world.

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Finally, it was going to be over. At least that was an elderly man known as Henry Stein, the former head animator of Joey Drew Studios or what was left of it, hoped for.

In his ink stained hand he held an old film reel labeled as ‘The End’. He took another look at it before looking at the monstrous form of his beloved cartoon character he created decades ago, Bendy. The hulking demon made of living ink stood in front of him in seeming anxiousness of what was about to happen. Henry didn’t blame him, trapped in the studio for who knows how long now with no way getting out had made all the denizens of the studio lose all of their hope, not to mention most of their sanity. He was close to that fate too couple of times if not for the unexpected but welcomed company of his not-so-little devil darling that blossomed into a proper friendship over the past hundred cycles.

“The moment of truth bud. Hope this works.” He said as confidently as he could muster. Their crazy plan was almost complete, after much trying and failing.

Henry had started to think and theorize just how Joey Drew, his former friend and coworker, managed to do all of this. From his knowledge the bastard was a regular human just like him, yet he was still able to bring cartoons to life and trap an entire studio along with it’s workers within a time loop. There were hints of course, but it took him more than a dozen retries to connect the dots.

All the pentagrams, sacrifices, Joey’s memoir along with some other things, big and small, told him of three possible theories. Joey either made a deal with an actual devil, he actually was a devil himself, or he used dark magic of his own.

In the past he would have laughed at such notions but after everything that has happened it no longer seemed too out of realm of possibility. Since Henry didn’t want to explore his first and second theory, not yet at least, he went with the last one and started to research and experiment as much as possible without attracting Joey’s attention. If his hypothesis was proven correct, then he would be able to level the playing field a bit.

If Joey was able to learned to use magic they why couldn’t he? He would make that bastard taste his own medicine.

Through trial and error he managed to make progress constantly, he hated to give Joey any credit but just like he had said in one of his recordings, “You just have to believe”.

The power of imagination is truly terrifying down here, just a single strong thought is enough turn ink into metaphorical gold. But like with anything else in life, nothing is free. The magic and soul infused ink around the studio he used for his experiments had started to seep into his very being with the constant interaction, it became part of him and he part of it. He learned to manipulate it, and when ever he did the ink would start to glow golden light. Only thing remotely similar to it he has seen was whenever he died and had to crawl his way out of the inky abyss towards the exits of golden light. He learned to created simple objects using the tainted ink as long it was nothing extravagant, and they didn’t last more than fifteen minutes, and it would leave him too tired to try and created anything else for a half an hour at least.

It took lots of planning, detective work, and hundreds of retries to make his plan come to fruition.

What he had learned is that Joey had managed to create a pocket in time and space, isolating the studio within itself. And that also needed anchors to determine where the loop began and where it ended, as well as some others to create extra stability. Easiest way to describe it would be to imagine a rolled out paper that has paper weights on top of it to preventing it from rolling back in on itself.

It took time to identify and locate all the anchors and at some of them he felt like strangling Joey or kicking himself. First was that cursed letter Henry always sees which he was certain marked the cycle’s beginning and second is the reel at the end that would bring you back to the beginning. Others were the Ink Machine to nobody’s surprise, the door that led from Joey’s apartment to the studio and a creepy looking Bendy cutout holding a sign saying “Wandering is a terrible sin.”, which almost scared the life out of him when he was testing his magic by traveling between spaces.

These were all key components to his plan to set everyone free and he needed to destroy them all. A theory he had come up with is that if the anchors were destroyed then this makeshift world should pop like a bubble when it was no longer being held together and return everything to it’s original place.

Or it could wipe them all out of existent entirely.

Or it would fail miserably and the cycle would continue like nothing had happened. But in all honesty they had nothing to lose at this point, plus the chance of getting out of here or being erased completely were far more appealing options than being stuck in this hell hole for the rest of eternity.

With a new wound energy the ex-animator had strode through the halls and rooms with practiced ease after using his new powers to destroy these objects in his wake. With destruction of each anchor he felt the space around him shake just like a house would if you demolished it’s support beams. This gave him confidence that he was on the right track and to keep going, but he needed to be quick so that Joey wouldn’t realize what was going on until it was too late for him. And as if knowing that this was their only possible chance to finally be free, everybody who he came in contact with quietly let him pass without an issue. Some of them had even helped him with some tasks so that he could reach the end faster.

And now here Henry was, reel in hand, standing on a podium that housed a makeshift throne in the middle of a circular room, it’s walls decorated with movie screens. Bendy is standing still, looking at him intently. Closing his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of the final anchor and its hold on the world around him, he started to unravel the inky spider web acting as glue. One thread after another dissolved under his golden touch, and each time the world around them shook as the remaining supports were destroyed. And when the last thread broke, so did the reel into golden particles.

Then nothing. The tremors stopped.

Henry opened his eyes in disbelieve. Did he really fail? All the energy left his body along with any hope of getting any of them out. Crashing to his knees he couldn’t stop tears from falling, not that he cared. It should have worked, they should all be free now.

While Henry’s mind was reeling from the horrid possibility of being truly stuck because of him destroying both the beginning and the end, making them unable to even restart the cycle, he didn’t notice when Bendy began moving towards him.

The man’s mind was somewhere far away when Bendy clumsily laid next to him. Slowly the elderly man lifted a shaky hand to pat the toon next to him, and with as shaky voice contemplated.

“I-I don’t u-understand? I-It should have w-worked. Everything pointed t-towards this working, s-so why…?” He turned to look at the passive demon next to him.

“I’m s-so sorry.” Bendy moved a bit closer to the man whom he knew was his true creator, who in turn leaned in so that their foreheads touched.

“I just w-wanted to help everyone. To set us all free from t-this hell. Was it really too m-much to a-ask?”

He cursed his inability to fix this, but more then that he cursed the one who did this to them all.

“Curse you Joey Drew!” He shouted at the ceiling of their personal prison before slumping on top of Bendy, having lost most of his will to even move. Before closing his eyes he muttered.

“I just wanted all of us to finally have peace, to finally be free.”

He closed his eyes only to snap them open when he felt like his entire body along with his mind and soul being carved open.

He screamed.

Bendy was startled and rose to his full height, looking at the man who was now writhing in absolute agony on the floor. The ink demon whined in distress and circled around, not knowing what to do or what was happening.

Golden cracks started to run across the animator’s body and bleed into his surroundings. Tremors from before were back and stronger than ever. Walls and the ceiling cracking from the force, letting golden light dazzle the once dismal halls with never before seen warmth.

Bendy did the only thing he could think of and dove to cover his creator. Henry, despite still feeling like he was experiencing his most painful death yet, noticed this action and with great difficulty reached to touch the toon on top of him.

“B-Bendy-” Was all he managed to say before closing his now glowing golden eyes when a next jolt of pain shook his body, seemingly in tune with the tremors that are destroying the place. This caused Bendy to curl even more around them both and he would swore that he heard his creator say.

“L-Love you b-bud. Always.” Before they were engulfed by blinding light.

#batim #batim au #henry stein #bendy and the ink machine #batim bendy #bendy the ink demon #beast bendy #magic #inky wings of hope fanfic #joey drew #powerful henry stein #fanfiction #fanfic #batim fanfic

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spry-the-artist · 2 years

Text

Ink Demonth Day 29th: Home

Summary: Henry made a deal to go home in a month. But after he becomes part of the ink, will that deal stay true?

—

Around a week ago, Henry had been invited over to the old, decrepit halls of his former work place, Joey Drew Studios. Joey had said he wanted him to see something. It didn’t take long for Henry to figure out what it was.

But one event led to another, and now he was dropping possibly hundreds of feet due because a corrupted version of Alice Angel (Susie Campbell?) wanted to be perfect. Which apparently required her to get his new friend, a not so corrupted version of Boris.

Henry knew she’d kill him. And he would say over his dead body, but that was the angel’s plan.

He knew that as soon as the elevator would hit the ground, he’d be dead. All he could think of at the moment was going home.

Home, it was the only thing that could make him happy at the moment. He thought of Linda, her image crystal clear in his head. He missed her so badly, even if it had only been a week. If he died right here and now, at least his last thoughts would be about his beloved wife.

As tears welled up in his brown eyes, he started hearing a voice. It wasn’t clear at first, but that quickly changed.

“So, I’m guessing ya ain’t too keen about dying, huh, old pal?”

The voice sounded like Joey. Whether it was the man or not didn’t matter, Henry hated it instantly.

“Of course! If I had just ripped up that letter, I would have still lived at least till I was 66!”

“You do know that your just gonna join the rest of this lot when ya die, right? You’ll never see Linda, even when she herself is dead. If your lucky, you’ll become a Boris!”

That scared Henry. Of course, it confirmed his suspicion that these monsters were his old coworkers. But the voice made him realize that if dies, he’ll become one of them, “Why are you here? To make sure I’m not panicking when I wake in in the ‘screaming well of voices’ instead of Heaven?”

The voice cackled, “Of course not! That would be quite entertainin. I’m here to strike a deal.”

“Hm?”

“I can’t change the fact that you’ll die, nor the fact that’ll you’ll join the ink. But I can control how turn up!”

Henry raised an eyebrow at that, “Sure, just don’t change anything. I like being human, thank you very much.”

The voice laughed again, “Hah! Ya wanna be human? Fine, you’ll be a human! But now, for my end…”

Of course someone with Joey’s voice wouldn’t give anything for free.

“In exchange for you staying human, you have to stay here for another month! Then, you’ll go home!”

Home, he didn’t even except the voice to offer him to ever go home! There was no reason not to accept this deal! “Deal!”

The voice giggled for one last time, “Have a good landing Henry!”

The moment it said that, he landed.

Everything went black

—

“My head…”

Henry slowly got up. Everything was black and white. Was this what the others saw? Maybe it was an inevitable part of being an ink monster. Though the reason why was still unclear, the studio was already monochrome enough!

He felt… less tall. The room he was in seemed to be the sacrifice room. And from what he remembered, he used to reach the top of the… coffins (that was still disturbing). But now, the only reached 3/4s of it.

Did the voice not know his height? What else did it not know?

Henry put a hand on the coffin and realized that it didn’t know a lot. Either that, or this voice had tricked him into becoming a f*$&ing cartoon! Wait, did his brain just censor a swear?

Like that matters, he needed to find a mirror! Or an ink puddle.

The man ran out of the room, not even thinking to see if there was another axe in the room, and sprinted towards the nearest ink puddle.

Thankfully, there were no searchers to be seen. But what he did see wasn’t much better.

It looked to be a cartoon version of himself. In slightly more fancy wear then what he showed up in. The outfit looked to be a music conductor’s suit, seemed more fitting on the voice or Joey since they were clearly the ones in control. It looked like his hands had been swapped out with Bendy’s due to many factors. One, they were (white) gloved. Two, they had two black ovals on each hand. Three, they were oversized. And four, the fingers were basically sausages.

He also looked younger, with dark hair and no wrinkles in sight. He also didn’t feel pain in his back so that could be the case. His eyes were like the ones in the Bendy cartoons. Well, it’s better than the uncanny ones on the posters and cutouts.

Last, but not least, he was entirely black and white. Not grey like the world around him, but perfectly black and white.

The voice lied to him! He was farther from being human than the searchers and Sammy are. Sure he was a human toon, but-

Well, the voice definitely did trick him. But at least it wasn’t straight up lying to him.

Henry tried reaching behind his back, among other cartoon tricks, to see if this was of any use. But the only change in survival he’d have now was having a harder time carrying things due to his new hands. That, and at least an easier time seeing searchers due to the new height. Though the height would cause other problems.

Did the voice want him to not make the month? Because the problems seemed to be stacking up.

Or maybe it just wanted him to be so worried about this that he forgets to take care of himself.

That settles it! Henry was going to finish this month just to spite the voice.

And to come home too, of course.

—

Alice had not expected to find an ink puddle in the place of her errand boy when she came to the elevator. It distracted Boris so in the moment she didn’t think about it.

But now that she had gotten what she wanted, she couldn’t help but feel sad.

She had wanted Henry to die, yes, but she didn’t want him to join the inky depths forever.

Or maybe she was mad… that was it! She was mad that he’d never leave. Hopefully she’d find a way to get him back as an errand boy, or else he’d just be another useless slug.

The angel imagined what he could’ve turned into, hopefully one of the Lost Ones. The butcher gang members were like wild animals, the searchers couldn’t move around much, and if he was a Boris she’d have to kill him!

She checked the cameras and microphones. One of the gent machines were programmed to make security equipment and intercoms so she had made hundreds. They went all the way up to the Music Department, any higher was inaccessible. She had also found the system that connected them all a long time ago as well.

The angel decided to look at her new favourite spot in the entire studio. The ‘Sammy Puddle’. That traitor deserved to be stuck in the dark abyss for all of eternity. Every time she was in a bad mood, she’d look there and laugh.

But what she found did the opposite of that. In the sacrificial room stood a cartoon man. Not like any she had seen while working in the studio. Was he a background character? No, she’d have known by now that the machine made those as well. Plus, from what she remembered Joey had put a reference sheet of Alice in the machine when he sacrificed her old self.

Background characters didn’t have those.

Looking closer, she saw some similarities to her errand boy. The hair, the general structure, the way it moved around. Some thing were off, like his height, clothes, and colours. Speaking of colours, he was completely black and white. That just wasn’t a thing in the studio.

It had to be her errand boy. She would’ve noticed a toon so perfect and gutted it years ago.

She wasn’t interested in doing that to him though. Alice wasn’t even interested in making him her errand boy anymore!

No, she had to get him on her side. She had to know how he was so perfect!

—

Henry was travelling to the lower levels. It may be a stupid idea, but right now he was tired of just wandering the music department. It had been days. And the soup always appeared once again, it wasn’t good enough to drink out of boredom.

He also wanted to go give Alice a piece of his mind. If he thought about it for a single second, he’d realize she’d gut him, but right now he couldn’t go home without the she-demon paying.

He had finally gotten to her level, thank the lord and saviour Ink Demon that there were stairs alongside the elevator. Yes, he was calling the demon his lord and saviour, no he hadn’t turned into Sammy. But that demon was the only thing ruling over the studio.

The room she inhabited wasn’t far from the stairs. He entered inside, pretending not to notice the new Boris corpse in the corner.

Suddenly, a voice could be heard, one that definitely had a body unlike the last one, “Hello my little errand boy. I see you’ve changed since your last visit.”

Henry growled, “You’ve got a real nerve still calling me your errand boy. I’ll never work for you again, not after you killed Boris.”

“Oh hush, that coward would’ve died soon enough anyways! It was entertaining seeing him cry over the sad, pathetic, inky puddle you became.”

The man growled again.

“Anyways, you’re right. You’re not my errand boy anymore. In fact, I want to meet eye to eye!”

“I’ll do that when I choke out to death!”

“Hah! Like you can even actually meet me eye to eye with that new height of yours! But, trust me Henry, I mean good! If you pair up with me, I won’t ever have to kill another creature again.”

Henry pondered over this, “I’m only here for another month. A bit less actually. What will you do when I’m gone?”

“Don’t worry. If all goes to plan, I’ll never have to kill. Now, go meet me, I even set up a table and chair for you!”

The toon did as he was told, walking the crooked boards that lead to the other side before going to the left of the room. I’m the room that extended from it, was exactly as the she-demon said. She had a table and chair of her own.

He sat down on his.

“So, what do you want?”

The angel laughed, “I want to know how you got so perfect!”

“How I got so perfect? I don’t know, I’m not the one who chose to become this.”, technically that was true. It’s not like eh chose to become a toon.

“Hmm, surely you can remember. That reminds me, how much do you remember of your past life?”

“Huh? I remember tons!”

“I’m sure you do, I remember a lot too. In fact, I think the key to become perfect is to have all my memories!”

“So… why’d you ask me how to become perfect?”

“It’s just a theory I made up on the spot. Hmm… could you do your angel a favour and think of home? Most of the ink creatures down here remember a tad bit about that.”

Henry begun thinking about his wife Linda. No matter where he was, whether the streets or the biggest mansion, as long as she’d be with him then he’d call it home.

But something was… wrong with his memories. They looked like they were coloured with pencils, the details fading as his beloved’s face became unrecognizable. But suddenly, everything was back to normal again. Then he started forgetting once again. It was like his memories pulsed.

It had only been a week since he didn’t think about her! How the hell did that make her image so foggy.

‘What would Linda say if she saw me now? She’d probably reject me for being a freak.’, Henry thought to himself.

“Well, are you going to answer to your angel?”, her sickly sweet voice rung. Ever since they ‘partnered up’, she had used it.

“Hm? Yeah, I remember home well. It’s a bit wavy but everything’s fine otherwise.”

“Splendid! If my plan works out, I’ll be beautiful again and have all of my old self’s memories!”

“…And if you don’t?”

Alice’s face contorted into one of rage, her voice reverted back to the one she had used during the errands, “Then you’ll get the honour of being the first creature I use to become beautiful again!”

Henry gulped and slowly inched away from the room.

She seemed even crazier then before.

—

Turns out, Alice’s little plan hadn’t worked out. She had made it quite apparent when she s reached into every single intercom that she wanted Henry’s head immediately.

So, like a coward, he started boarding up the hall where the bacon soup shelf was. It always regenerated, so that meant he never had to leave again.

His only thoughts were about survival. Whether it was reminding himself to eat, or to put more boards up after a searcher destroyed one of them. Those &$*holes had also started popping up in the shelter itself so he needed to find a weapon very soon.

It had been three weeks since the deal first started.

It had been two weeks since he hadn’t thought of his home.

It had been one week since he hadn’t thought about his identity.

—

It had been three weeks since the angel decided to attack the toon. He was scared for his life.

When a strange voice started speaking to him, he was afraid. But it didn’t sound like the angel, so why worry?

“Hello, dear pal! How’ve you been enjoying the past month? Love your new form?”

The toon cocked his head, “New form?”

“Right, right! I mean new form of life! Surely your life hasn’t always consisted of being in a small hallway.”

He rummaged his head for any memories, but didn’t find anything. All he remembered was surviving. That, and faint memories that pulsed between being faint and there being nothing at all.

“No, not really.”

The strange voice laughed, “Well then, are you ready to go home?”

“But I am home? I’m sure you’ve gotten me confused with someone else.”

“That’s right! I’m sorry, I was looking for a fellow name Henry! He was planning on going home at the end of the month. But I think he’ll be just fine.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll one day call this place home as well!”

The voice laughed a final time, “Hah, Hah! I’m sure he will.”

It had been one month since the deal started.

It had been one minute since he was doomed to stay in the studio forever.

#batim #ink demonth #the ink demonth #alice angel #susie campbell #batim henry #henry batim #henry stein #joey drew #(the voice is Joey not and not an imitation)#art #writing #fanfic #was originally gonna be a shitty Drabble and turned into a decent one shot #toon Henry

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