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reel-fear · 10 months

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Henry And Norman's Canonical [and unexplored] Friendship and why it needs more focus in canon and fanon

An essay by me~

So I've talked a lot either in tags or in other posts about Henry and Norman's implied friendship in the canon of Bendy, however implied isn't really the right word, unexplored is more accurate because despite the fact we've never seen them interact, Henry and Norman having been friends is entirely canon with a lot of proof for it!

Don't believe me? Well let me show you why I am obsessed with this duo~

So first we're starting with the games since they are the ones most barren for this implication. We only really have one line in BATIM to go off of in terms of this, but they are interesting and important ones. Specifically we have one line from alice and an achievement to look at. [EDIT: I forgot a note written by Henry! I have added it now below]

Just from Alice's line we know she was under the impression Henry and Norman were friends, which not only shows they were in fact friends but close enough that others knew they were friends. Combined with the theory that Alice created the projectionist [one that is slightly backed up by BATDR confirming she was the one who mutilated the butcher gang] her teasing tone here could be rubbing in the fact such a horrible fate fell on someone Henry was close to...

It's an idea I think fits really well with Joey having created the cycle specifically to torment Henry too, why not make his friend one of the most mindless and horrible monsters down there just to make him feel worse. So close yet so far from one of the friendliest friends he knew.

The other thing I want to draw attention to is the Norman's Fate achievement, this is the Only time the projectionist is referred to as Norman and it comes from Henry's POV. It's a bit of stretch but I think it could be Henry refusing to dehumanize Norman by calling him the projectionist instead calling him by his name. A detail I think is very cute and could show Henry's sympathy towards his friend's suffering... and fate.

EDIT:

However we have another great indicator on how Henry feels towards the projectionist in particular and that's this note left by him on level 14.

Level 14 is the Projectionist's level, one full of the corpses of his victims and where he hunts Henry relentlessly, but Henry still questions The Projectionist being nothing more than an enemy. Their friendship seems to have meant a lot to him, and it seems to be on his mind, even after seeing what Norman has been twisted into. This could also be because the Projectionist literally fights the ink demon too. Who is far more antagonistic to Henry. Either way, I find it very sad but also a nice way of subtly touching on what Henry and Norman's friendship means for how Henry thinks of the Projectionist.

This is also a bit of a stretch but when Norman/The Projectionist peeks into the miracle station Henry is hiding in, in chapter 4, he doesn't seem super threatening, just curious and it even somewhat emulates Sammy's motions when commenting on Henry's familar face. Was there a moment of clarity for Norman there? Seeing his old friend hiding in there? Maybe, it's a little too vague to really dwelve on here but it is something to think about...

But time for us to get into the meat of their relationship, with the books, the media that elaborates far more on Henry and Norman's characters and has the lines from Norman confirming their friendship.

I absolutely LOVE these passages they show off so much more about Norman's character and expand on the idea he and Henry were friends in such a nice way. Norman talks about Henry in a way so unusually positive for him Dot feels the need to point out how much of a compliment it is for him to say he's a decent fellow with a lot of talent. He also speaks with a lot of sympathy towards Henry's blight and the abuse Joey made him endure, doing this all with his feet on the table holding up a projector, a smile on his face and a mug in his hand. He speaks somewhat vaguely and with mystery not exactly with Sammy's theatrics but with his own ominious air.

He also recognizes Henry leaving wasn't personal and that Joey likely held a grudge over it, plus when Dot comments on how odd it is for Norman to speak of someone like this, he doesn't refute it, just agrees with a laugh.

These passages are one of the reasons I think the books are some of the best media to come out of the series and I hope soon others realize what untapped potentional the books hide.

But...

Sadly despite all these interesting implications there's not a lot of canon or fandom content showing Norman and Henry's relationship and even less that attempts to develop and explore it. But for me it's one of the most interesting relationship's we have in BATIM [a series that is rather lacking in implied friendships or relationships between its characters]

Hell Henry's wiki page even mentions their friendship but Norman's page does not, which is strange since he has the most to speak on their friendship in the books. At least it's strange to me

So why is this relationship so fascinating to me? Just because of the dynamic it presents to us and its potentional for fun interactions!

Norman is portrayed constantly as a strange mysterious and almost intimidating figure, he sees everything, he goes to investigate strange noises under his booth with nothing but a light to find out whats making a horrid noise at night, and when Buddy [a 17 year old delivery boy] shows up at the studio and asks where Joey is Norman tells him he's DEAD. Which Buddy can only pick up on as a joke when someone else comes in to tell him Norman's sense of humor is strange, all while Norman bursts into chuckles. He's also pretty easy going esp in comparision to Sammy's dramatic nature.

Henry however is such an every man, a soft spoken and hard working animator who just wanted to have a better relationship with his work and wife. He's always so calm and just a usual guy. How did he come to form a friendship with such a strange and bizzare guy? Did he enjoy Norman's strange sense of humor? What were their interactions like?

There's so many interesting things to do with such a dynamic and that's not even getting into the tragedy of the Projectionist and Norman's fate. I want to see Henry heartbroken by his close friend's fate and death, I want to see more stuff exploring interactions between the Projectionist and the artist.

Whether it's canon or fanon that does it, I want to see more content on Henry and Norman's relationship. Romantic or not, I just want to see more people talk about it! Because it's one of the most interesting relationships in a series that tends to lack a lot of character relationship drama, pushing for more content of these two might be the bridge towards getting more content from canon that generally shows us how these characters all feel about each other.

Something I don't think is an impossible idea too since Meatly straight up asked us what characters we wanted to see interact, showing interest in these two could be a big W for us I'm just sayin [yes that is me down there]

I know I am very biased as a big Norman and Normry/Moving Pictures/Heman fan but I hope this post could show just a few more people the potential of this duo and we get more content of them in the future. Esp since fans have done a lot more with pairings in this franchise with far less content or implications of friendship.

Fingers crossed for a Norman novel where we can see them interact!!

And more content of these two in general <3

#batim #bendy and the dark revival #bendy and the ink machine #bendy #batdr #norman polk #the projectionist #henry stein #normry #heman #moving pictures #like I said not purely shipping here #but i wouldnt mind if this fuels more shipping of them in the fandom >w>#either way hope people read this and hope people like this #I always love making little essays on my passions and this is a topic I absolutely love #these two live in my brain SO much #and now I hope they live in the brains of others too <3 #ramblez

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zannolin · 5 months

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20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @beautyofsorrow, tagging @lordgrimwing @faebriel and anyone else who wants to do it!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

publicly associated with my account, 45. in total, including a couple i orphaned before i knew you could put them on anon, 84 i believe. 85 if you count the two chapters of that leakira zine i wrote that are up there somewhere. i could be off. but i forgot how to get to where it shows me the total number and i can't be bothered lol.

2. What's your total A03 word count?

438,464 baby. maybe 500k in 2024? who knows.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

ones 90% of you have never heard of, at this point. it fluctuates depending on whatever i'm getting ideas for, but actively at the moment, the mullverse (mostly beyonders), resident evil, and lockwood & co, national treasure (might be done with that tho, i've exhausted my must-writes). i have other stuff knocking around, like life is strange, mona lisa smile, mlp, some more shazam, bendy and the ink machine, a tlou fic...but who knows.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

ugh. 1. in this fearful fallen place (i will be your home) 2. welcome home, theseus 3. sanctuary 4. i'll carry the weight of you, i swear 5. eat you alive. it says a lot that only one of those is still publicly listed on my profile. even then i'm tempted to put it on anon. they're only my top kudos'd by virtue of being from a big fandom. definitely not my best. at all. even within that fandom. free me and my stats page.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

not all of them, but i make an effort when comments are thoughtful or especially brighten my day. it's easier now because writing for smaller very niche fandoms you don't tend to get a lot so i don't feel overwhelmed or anything, but man responding is hard sometimes. i want people to know they made me happy, though, when they do. so i try.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i mean there's that tododeku one where they both die brutally and were supposed to get married next week. there's also the batcat fic that i wrote solely for the purpose of killing bruce wayne (sorry). there's um. also the klance titanic (historical not titanic the movie) au i wrote ages ago. haha. yeah. anyway.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

all of them. hfdsjkhfs no i honestly couldn't tell you. i have a mike flanagan-ass idea of a happy ending these days. maybe three's a crowd? hell if i know.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've had a couple instances of people harassing me over them but never like. "your fic is so bad i hate it die". so maybe?? i'm too obscure to be getting hate at this point lol. who out here is gonna read beyonders fic just to comment mean things.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do not. i did try years ago. that notebook has since been put through the shredder and dumped into the recycling bin for good measure. (yes, it was that bad.)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

technically no but i've thought about it sometimes. they've all promptly fled my head though so just trust me on this one.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

gee i hope not. there's been a lot of suspicious similarities in some old cases but like. that literally does not matter to me anymore idc. it's not straight up theft in any case so not to my knowledge ig?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

again not to my knowledge but i do have blanket permissions for that if anyone ever wanted to. it's cool.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

back in the 2010s my friend and i were writing a warriors fic together. she did one chapter, i did one, etc. i've had collaborative aus as well (cat's cradle and whatnot) but not a collaboratively written fic for any of them. me and tam were writing the coma au together but we're no longer in the fandom for that anymore, rest in peace coma au you were genuinely wonderful. i'm not opposed to the idea of collab fics but they always feel like a lot of work and i'm way way way too anxious to approach anyone about them.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

ah hell. i dunno. do i have to pick one?? like right in this moment i'd say locklyle and they've been here a hot minute (like. ten years almost) but i don't really have A Favorite I'd Choose Over Anyone Else.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

mm. penumbra anastasia au haunts me. i want it out of my wips folder. also wild geese is probably never getting finished ever. i do think i'll get split ends done eventually but that one's taking forever. as for ones not posted, well, rip the gospel tent au. i might try to convert it to a short story but lord. i don't know. and don't get me started on the final girl au or the empty grave possession au. throwing myself out a window. they'll never be done i'll never be free.

16. What are your writing strengths?

uh. i honestly don't know anymore. knowing exceedingly tedious canon details to the point where i can make all sorts of metaphors and allusions relevant to said canon? i really couldn't say. introspection i guess.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

yes. next question

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i have an overbearing anxiety that i will fuck it up somehow since i am a monolingual american loser. if i ever did need to i would definitely see if there's any native speakers willing to help translate or whatever bc i am not relying on google translate for that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

like liv, lord of the rings. i still have my first fanfic btw. it's written on tinkerbell notebook paper.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

it changes. if i were to be completely objective (or as close as i can get), completely removing my emotions on fandom from the equation, prob without anesthetic. because i think i constructed it just right. being a dirty little subjective, right now i think it's three's a crowd or swallowing jupiter or the swing of things. they're all wonderfully unhinged.

#ask games #dash chatter #long post

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albatris · 4 years

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ok ok alriiiight ok so the plot of ATDAO

this post is not, like........... well, it’s not gonna be a blurb or a summary or a nice neat synopsis, this is not Professional Writeblr Business, this is, this is, uhhhh

this is like drunk house party logan rambles

works best if you imagine ur just like “hey man how’s it going” super casual and I grasp you firmly by the shoulders and look you dead in the eye and just ramble all of this without taking a single breath

could I have explained in a nice neat concise "elevator pitch" sort of way? probably. mind ur business. that’s not how we do things here at albatris.org

anyway the purpose of this post is “hey people seem to know a lot about the characters and the worldbuilding and the premise but have no clue what happens in the actual story” so I’m not going to be talking about said characters and worldbuilding and premise in depth

in terms of rambles, that stuff’s been covered! this post assumes you know what Ports are, n what the nature of the ATDAO apocalypse is, vaguely what the MCs are like as people......... though I can fetch this info for you if you like

but yeah if you are coming into this post with zero prior ATDAO knowledge........... deeply deeply from the bottom of my heart: sorry

also if this is your first time experiencing One Of These Rambles

also @safe-in-the-steep-cliffs and @siarven I am tagging you because you said you would like to be tagged and also hi and also I hope y’all knew what you were in for

anyway without further ado

(visual representation of my approach to this rant, not of how complicated my plot actually is)

(my plot is not that complicated)

ALRIGHT

there are two viewpoint characters! and two plotlines which converge near the end of the story, but honestly there’s a very real possibility I will decide these are two separate books meant as companion stories to each other because I love making things difficult for myself yeehaw

ATDAO’s co-protags are Tris and Noa, best buds four years and counting. their friendship is one of the single most important aspects of the story, n the ongoing love and trust they have for each other despite the way unfolding events force their relationship to change is integral to the themes and making the heart of the story what it is. I will now proceed to not mention this friendship for the entire remainder of this post. they’re bros. that’s all u need to know. listen. listen. I have a lot to cover

so yeah, ur first key player is Tris Greer, whose parents are dicks but whose siblings are chill. most notably of said siblings there is Jacob, older brother by thirteen years, whom Tris believes is just about the coolest person on the entire planet. this plotline kicks off when Jacob gets caught in the midst of a freak car accident that kills a dude and wrecks a street corner and also somehow causes Jacob to just kind of................. blip out of existence entirely and without a trace?

n Tris is understandably horrified and distressed by Very Much All Of This, but hey, at least there are responsible adults who can look into this obviously Port-related weird disappearance and figure this mess out, right?

INCORRECT

the relevant interdimensional authorities are brought in to suss out the situation and these authorities are kind of like “hmmmm idk about this” but are all set to take Tris at least somewhat seriously until they learn the following:

that Jacob had already been reported missing to police in his home state three days earlier

that Jacob was in the midst of several ongoing personal crises and at least one nervous breakdown

that Jacob was allegedly tangled up in some real weird shit that would more than account for a disappearance under suspicious circumstances

that Tris is schizophrenic, prone to hallucinations, confusion, memory issues and quote unquote “letting his imagination and anxiety get the better of him”, and precisely zero people can actually corroborate his story that Jacob was even there are the time of the accident to begin with

and after some back-and-forth and Looking Into The Evidence pretty much everyone in any position of authority comes to the conclusion that this is just Ordinary Regular People Crimes and whatever happened to Jacob had nothing to do with weird apocalyptic energies, and that Tris is (at best) stressed out and delusional or (at worst) lying through his teeth because he knows more than he’s letting on

so Tris is forced to hop pretty quick from “I’m sure someone will handle this” to “no one believes me but I’m sure if I can find some concrete proof they’ll listen and someone will handle it” to Well Fuck I Guess That Someone Is Me

cue bizarre reality-hopping fantasy quest, which is ten times easier said than done when most of the time Tris is terrified enough just, like, going to the supermarket

he enlists the help of his new classmate Shara, amateur paranormal investigator and professional weird-bullshit enthusiast, who agrees to help him puzzle out what the fuck happened to Jacob in exchange for his assistance in mapping out Adelaide’s interdimensional “fault lines” as part of her ongoing quest to track down the source of the apocalypse

she’s got big fuckin dreams, ok, go hard or go home

slso worth noting at this point that there HAS been an uptick in Ports and their related reality-bending strangeness in Adelaide recently which is why this is of particular interest to her currently. gotta find out What Makes The Weirdness Tick, gotta find out Why The Sudden Extra Weirdness

..........and also Kai is there

Kai has no nice neat reason to get involved with the plot, Kai just likes drama and being all up in people’s personal business. Tris brings them on board for one single afternoon like “hey I will pay you some money to come to my house and fix my fucked up phone so I can listen to an interdimensional voicemail” but forgot the apparently key addendum “and then leave”

their first three chapters of knowing each other is basically Tris being like “stop inviting yourself into my house we are not friends” and Kai being like “that’s a rude thing to say to your friend. also your sister gave me the netflix password and I used your kitchen to bake pastries feel free to help yourself”

but yeah so Tris’s story mostly focuses on his quest to figure out where Jacob got yeeted to and how to get him safely home (y’all probably know a bit about The Unreality already maybe?), whilst also dealing with rising family tensions, whatever shifty stuff Jacob was involved with prior to his disappearance, and his own creeping doubts about his perceptions of reality

n I’m also saying flat out it’s not a plot that’s going the “oh the whole thing was just a delusion all along” route because ew

his psychosis is a fairly involved part of his character but the explorations around it are more to do with, like......... the difficulties he has in trusting himself and whether he has the luxury of letting himself get swept into some Big Weird Implausible Adventure when this has extremely different implications for him than it would someone else. n eventually to how his success and survival is not ~in spite of~ but specifically because of the different way he understands and interprets the world and the skills he’s developed

THAT TANGENT WAS A PERSONAL RANT IT WAS NOT RELEVANT I just have words to say on the subject of how psychosis is treated in fiction and didn’t want people jumping to the “none of it is real” conclusion anyway ok moving on

ur SECOND key player is Noa Yun, who has rather a lot on her plate right now. she’s broke as fuck and her mum is sick and her car is making Noises and she’s not getting enough hours at her job at Not-IKEA and everyone is on her back about her failing studies as if that’s a thing she has the energy to care about. feeling rather backed into a corner by life’s bullshit and her financial situation, she blatantly lies her way into a field job at the Department of Interdimensional Instabilities, because A) surely it can’t be THAT bad, and B) what does she have to lose?

so more or less what she’s doing is the equivalent of emergency services for Port-related weirdness, it’s going out and dealing with highly unstable otherworldly energies head on, navigating Weird Phenomena and bendy patches in reality......... it is, among other things, a job that’s relatively easy to get into because no one wants to touch it with a ten foot pole unless they absolutely have to

n the DII is a whole other post, this shit has lots of different functions and levels and branches and corruption and secrets and a tendency to view workers who have to go out and deal with the brunt of the apocalypse head-on as vaguely expendable and I’ve talked about it a bit before and in more Serious Words

things kinda kick off for her when in true Noa fashion she hurls herself into a dangerous situation to help out a coworker, n enters a pretty standard issue “overlap” where the barriers between universes are a little fucky, but hey, she seems to come out of it with nary a scratch, so it’s reasonable to assume everything is fine, right?

INCORRECT AGAIN

she basically gets some whacked-out otherworldly energies latched onto her that are now following her through her everyday life, and it turns out she’s starting to bend the reality around her the way certain types of Ports do, which is! obviously not ideal! she’s not exactly a Port herself, because she’s pretty sure that’s impossible, but it’s clear capital s Something happened to her in that overlap, and she doubts it’s good news. and to make matters even more disconcerting, she’s now being dogged at every step by strange visions of a child who speaks in an unfamiliar language and who seems Real Fuckin Pissed at her

so her thing is basically “I acquired fucked up reality-bending powers against my will and they might be lowkey killing me ‘cause Ports are notoriously unstable like that and also I’m haunted for some godforsaken reason” which all somehow ended up being, like, the least interesting part of her plotline for me lmao

oh and Noa also enlists the help of Shara, Because Ghosts

anyway yeah so her search to find out what’s happening to her re: Weird Children, being a Port-adjacent something-or-other, and whether there’s a way to stop her own unravelling leads her to (rogue computer programmer? mad scientist? general shifty bastard?) Laurence Marrick Thiele, who claims to have suffered a similar affliction in the past and now does some real interesting research on the subject. n this guy. well. he’s got some fuckin stuff going on

he definitely knows more about the nature of Ports than he should. also is he actually researching what he says he’s researching? also what’s with all the weird tech? also did he just straight up murder that guy Avery? all will be revealed later, maybe, if I feel like it

but yeah at about the same time as Noa goes “actually fuck this you’re shady as hell I’m out” she stumbles into, like, The Actual Reality of what Marrick is up to re: manipulating Ports and interdimensional doorways for his own gain, and the various ways this spells bad news not only for her but potentially for the entire city and anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire, and she shifts gear to “actually you know what I’m gonna kick your ass”

there are various reasons for this, but first and foremosterly you have to understand that Noa’s got a fuckload of pent-up rage and she will bring it in full force the moment you say some stupid shit like “some people are expendable” or “it’s inevitable for the greater good”

(there’s also a fun ongoing subplot with her work at the DII where she and her team are investigating a string of strange illnesses with bizarre symptoms that appear to be spreading via obscure radio stations so that’s. happening. I guess?)

but yeah the main story here mostly follows Noa’s attempts to undermine Marrick, bastard supreme, and find a way to fuck him up before he goes, like, Full Cartoon Supervillain, n also like........... her attempts to keep up her work at the DII despite her rising paranoia that the teammates she’s growing to care about will notice her increasingly unstable state and the fact that she’s all tangled up with the very forces they’re meant to be thwarting. n along the way discovering the reality of what happened to her in The Aforementioned Overlap Incident and about her visions and such

so that’s all that. did that make sense

n she’s got a whole arc going on about trust and learning to lean on others, like, she comes into this story as a very standoffish person with lots of paranoia, she’s spent much of her life feeling like she can only rely on herself, n she’s. well. yeah, like I said, she’s got a lot of anger at the world and at the various systems that have failed her and her loved ones, n the story puts her in a position to become even more isolated

and her plotline isn’t so much “you have no reason to be angry or afraid” or her learning to Not Be, It’s more, like........... yeah you have every fucking right to be furious and of course you’re afraid! but there are people around you who love you and who will jump at the chance to defend you and who will help you carry the weight of your anger and grief and none of this needs to be yours to bear alone which is extremely cheesy

which applies to both her Weird Supernatural Goings-On as well as her regular ordinary life goings-on

I feel like Alice and Jet deserve a mention for Noa’s plotline but also this went on and on too long already so. well. Alice and Jet exist! yep. they work with Noa at the DII. I have things to say about them. I will not be saying them today

and uhhhhhh

in general, for Tris, his plotline, you wanna think, like, fantasy/adventure vibes which veer pretty sharply into horror, and for Noa you wanna think...... kinda, sci-fi mystery conspiracy vibes with a dash of some superhero bullshit maybe except not really

and that

pretty much is it I think

also the fact that Kai just invites themself into the plot for funsies and then is dragged kicking and screaming into caring about themself and making positive changes in their life means there was no convenient place in this post to be like

"oh there's also a whole major subplot about a time loop"

but there's also a whole major subplot about a time loop

goodnight! thanks for coming to....................... whatever this was! have a nice saturday everyone

#alcohol mention #just in the first little intro bit #being concise is not my strong suit! this should be apparent perhaps #tl;dr #tris's brother jacob gets lost down the back of an interdimensional sofa and tris has gotta go get him back even though #he's terrified enough just leaving the house let alone leaving this entire reality on a stupid convoluted mystery quest #and noa has a run in with some interdimensional bullshit and acquires Powers and A Ghost neither of which she wants #and then accidentally uncovers the schemes of literal cartoon supervillain marrick and is like #''oh sick i was looking for a reason to go absolutely fuckin ballistic and fuck someone's shit up''#And Both Of Them Make Nice Friends And Learn To Love Themselves :)#atdao #i constantly walk the very fine line between not wanting to be Too Vague about noa's plotline vs not wanting to be Too Spoilery about it #like............... the stuff about the kid and about marrick's endgame i'm never quite sure how much to delve into hahahaha #but yeah anyway #imo i only went on ONE mildly unrelated tangent which should have been cut but i decided to indulge it instead #which is the couple paragraphs about noa's character arc #character arcs not important for this post!!!!!! but also. dfkhgkdfjshg. try and stop me #(i mean i did pretty ok staying on track for the most part i think)#(still a rambly post though)

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doriwrites · 3 years

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okayo so continuation of the excerpt i posted wayyy back about bendis and nasar, IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YOU WILL UNDERSTAND NOTHING NADA RIEN DU TOUT (find it under the where stories go to die tag) (+completely IGNORE the shitty worldbuilding you’re just here for the feels) (++ this is still somewhat relevant since even though the story has drastically changed, the characters are still the same so i guess i could almost call that a AU) (+++ it gets violent at the beginning)

One day, when she’s practicing touch, she notices the scars. There’s one on her stomach and one on her chest. There’s one on her cheek and one on her ankle. She’s happy— no, at peace with them. Because they’re a reminder. Of what she lost and what she gained. They’re a reminder that she survived. A reminder that she lived and that she will keep living. They’re a goal. They’re a promise.

One day, when she’s practicing sound, she hears something she doesn't like. At all. Nasar left this morning and she’s alone in the forest where everything but the trees and the birds is quiet. He told her to stay put but. She hears it and she can’t unhear it.

“...from the institute… bad shape but good batch.”

“Boss will be pleased… the Bel kid and his…”

“...magic users? Damn, kids these days.”

“Right? Look at all the good it does them.”

There’s something like a struggle, a harsh sound and a whimper. And she knows. She just— she knows. But Nasar is not here and she can barely walk ten minutes without falling face first on the ground. And this is a forest with trees and roots and— and there’s nothing she can do and it’s been a while since she last felt so helpless she almost forgot the hows and the whys.

The footsteps and the voices get clearer and— and she does something stupidstupidstupid but she can’t. She can’t help it. She hopes Nasar will get there before they get close enough but he doesn’t. She thumbs at the little blade he gave her (“To protect yourself.”) and wonders how he’ll feel when he finds her dead body. When they pass by the trees she’s hiding behind, she lunges. Her war cry is cut short when a foot hits her in the chest and she hits a trunk. It hurts but she gets up and focuses on the sounds. There’s a harsh laugh, nothing like Nasar’s and she doesn’t have time to separate and analyse and compartmentalize because there’s a hand in her hair and it yanks. She’s dangling from the ground and trashing and snarling and— and maybe she’s crying, too, because her scalp is burning and it hurts.

“There’s a wild one. Look at that. Very… feral,” someone says in her face and she doesn’t think and just— She doesn’t know how because she’s a kid and they’re a grown adult but. She didn’t let go of the blade and they don’t seem to care and. She plunges it in flesh. Again and again and again and for as long as it takes for them to let her go. “Fucking… hell. What— What the fuck,” the voice says, and then, seething, “What the fuck.”

The threads— she thinks there might be four people. She’s not sure. She doesn't now because there’s a fist in her gut and she falls to her knees. Someone is laughing and it’s mean. She wants Nasar. She wants. She wants. But there’s a fist in her face. Again and again and again. And she can’t hear anything but the blood in her ears and her bones breaking and. And she thinks about Nasar and how he will find her dead body.

But then. Then. The voice without a voice, the presence. Greedy, with its grudges. The magic. Hers.

did you forget that you were born in blood

did you forget that you were born in war

did you forget that you must live

Her threads. They feel alive and she forgot about them like one forget about one’s body. It’s here, always, but. One only remembers when it hurts.

And so, they lunge, too. Wrap themselves around the toxic ones and yank, too. They slither around a hand and two. They slither up, up, up an arm and two. And they crush. They crush and she thinks she can hear the bones breaking. They crush and she thinks she can hear the screams. They crush hard, unforgiving and she feels the how dare you. There’s a bundle of them crawling up a leg, a torso and then a neck. The snake-like threads yank and the crack echoes through her bones. She wants to throw up and she wants to black out but there’s another one.

did you forget that you were born for blood

did you forget that you were born for war

did you forget that you must live

They weave their way to a foot, they yank at an ankle, at a knee, they yank at a whole damn pelvis and for good measure, they wrap themselves around a neck and crushcrushcrush until there’s nothing left to crush but blood and bones.

She throws up. She throws up and she’s shaking and crying and she can’t hear anything but the headache pounding in her ears. Her body hurts. Everything smells like blood. Her threads smell— feel like blood as they wrap around her with nothing of the vicious killing intent from before. From a moment ago. They wrap around her limbs gently, like a caress. They wrap around her body and she throws up again. They wrap, wrap, wrap until they’re a mockery of the cocoon she likes to make with Nasar’s.

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that. She doesn’t know. But something touches her and she lashes out like an animal with no escape route. She trashes and trashes and trashes until she notices everything still hurts. She trashes because she can’t hear and she can’t see and she doesn’t— Hands take a hold of her own and bring them to a face.

There’s a long nose and lots of eyebrows. There’s a beard and some wrinkles. She realizes there’s threads, too. Sharp but somehow soft. She sobs and goes limp in Nasar’s arms. Her own threads are still wrapped around her and she knows they’re healing her. She wishes they wouldn’t. Because she doesn’t like them. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She— She shudders as she remembers what they did (what she did?).

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that. Wrapped in her threads and his arms. She’s being spoon fed and drinks greedily from a flask. She sleeps a lot but does not dream. She moves only if she’s moved and can’t think much. When she wakes, however briefly, she hears voices like they’re behind a wall or in a bottle. There’s two. One familiar and one unknown. Sometimes she thinks she can feel something wet but warm nuzzling at her cheek. She wants to reach out. She wants. She wants. She— she sleeps.

When she wakes up for good and her threads go back to hide in her body, there’s voices. Nasar’s and someone else’s. Her head is pillowed on something warm and. And there’s fur in her mouth and in her nose. She sneezes. And the nuzzling is back. She wants to reach out, so she does. It’s a snout. A tongue licks at her wrist. There’s pointy ears and she’s sure there’s a tail around her middle. It feels like a dog but she can’t be sure.

There's a hand in her hair and she flinches. She flinches so hard and ugly that the creature yelps. "Hey, hey," it's Ringo Nasar, her friend—protector—bounty-huntermurderer— her friend and his voice is soft when he says it's me. It shakes a little when he says you're fine. She grabs his arm and clings so hard and ugly that the man yelps. He yelps and she laughs. It's a small sound full of tears and relief and something like love. It sounds like a thank you and she hopes he hears it. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, soft, gentle, kind— kinder than most things, kinder than she deserves maybe.

At once, she remembers what she did, what her threads— what they did. She shudders. Hard and uglyuglyugly— Two lives. She took two lives and she's not sure she can ever forget the sound of breaking bones and the feel of someone else's blood on her threads. She took two lives and Nasar will not have to find her dead body. She took two lives and she lives.

She feels like throwing up but has almost nothing in her belly and knows it would be a really bad idea to puke on Nasar's cloak. She prepares for a word vomit instead but— "You don't have to talk about it now," he says and she remembers the dog-creature-familiar and the unknown voice. She reaches for sharp silver threads and it soothes raw wounds. "The dog is Remus," he says, "the kid is Valko."

There's some angry sputtering and a he's a wolf and she remembers the two lives she took and the three lives she saved. It’s not very much but it’s hers and the boy’s and his familiar— his familiar. It hurts to even think about and she buries deeper in her friend—protec— her friend’s chest. Her threads are somewhere she can’t see, chastise in a blind spot as she clutches harder at the silver ones. She can see the wolf’s and almost reaches out when she remembers the warm and fuzzy feelings his nuzzling brought but. She’s good where she is and the warm and fuzzy feelings are there, too.

Later, when she lets go of her friend but never of his threads, and everyone is settled around a fire, she notices the boy’s. They look like brimming, boiling water made of anger, desperation and sadness. She’s sure they taste like it, too. But they also look drooping and mopping and something like a pout. It’s both funny and miserable to look at them and she wonders if the boy knows they’re green. Instead, she asks, “What is the Institute?”

The threads quiver. “It’s a school for people like us,” he says and she knows he’s not looking at her, “there’s two in the land alone. A dozen in the country.”

“Do they— do you—”

“Thank you,” he says quickly, quietly, like it burns him, like it frees him, “thank you. I— we wouldn’t… There’s things far worse than death out there and— and we would be it if you didn’t— if you hadn’t…” The threads flutter, quaver. The threads say everything he cannot. Then, he huffs a little laugh and his threads say just how fake it is. “Soft magic is a real pain. Not very useful against— against anything.”

She waits for a bit or two because these are words she ever only heard in passing. “Soft magic?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, “have you never— I mean. Ah,” he sighs when Nasar’s threads sharpen in her hands, “they categorize magic. At the Institute. More like, umbrella terms or— whatever. Soft and hard magic at both ends of the spectrum. Intermediate’s in the middle.”

She doesn’t ask him to demonstrate. She wants to but she doesn’t because it feels like he’s embarrassed or ashamed or both and she doesn’t like it. His threads seem flighty at best and she doesn’t want to scare them— him— away. “What did… what happened? What did it look like?” she asks because there’s no way she can ever know but she wants to so desperately it hurts her brain.

He explains. He explains how he saw everything, half-dazed, half-unconscious. He explains the threads (“They were orange.”) and the deaths (“They crushed until— until they didn’t.”). He explains how they came from right in the middle of your chest and how they wrapped themselves around her after. He explains the magic in the air (“I think I still got some stuck in my lungs.”) and how it was so potent it froze him in place. How it was so potent he could do nothing but watch you (kill-destroy-annihi—). Nasar says it was so potent he knew from a mile away how much trouble she was in.

When they go to sleep that night, all she can think about are her orange threads and the silver ones and the greens and the familiar’s. Before she falls asleep, she wonders if Paprika’s threads would have felt as kind as her and as brave, too. She wonders if Miss Cyn’s are warm and soft and like a smile. She wonders where the dead threads go.

Nasar takes it upon himself to see the boy and his familiar home safely. He surprises her every day and she likes him more each time. They travel far, far away from the forest and the stinky towns and the boy grabs her arm when she trips over roots. He grabs her arm when there’s a tree ahead and he grabs her arm when she stumbles over thin air. His familiar hovers behind and nudges her in the right direction when she wanders off the path. Nasar doesn’t say anything but he guffaws when it ends in flailing limbs and a three bodies pile on the ground.

When they stop to rest and Nasar helps her work on her braille, the green threads are curious and they watch over her shoulder as her fingers work the letters. When they stop to rest and Nasar lands her Little Death, the green threads are interested and they watch as she tries and fails to juggle the heavy weapon around. When they stop to rest and Nasar tells her about the smell of ships and seas and ropes, the green threads are thoughtful and they watch as she asks questions she didn’t know she had. The green threads are curious and interested and thoughtful but the boy is distant and aloof and stiff.

So she asks him if he knows braille and when he answers with a I don’t need to she hands him her book and gives him directions. She asks him if he knows anything about swords and when he answers with a some she demands he teaches her. She asks him if he ever saw the sea and when he answers with a no she tells him what she thinks it looks like. The green threads are content and the boy slumps a little.

They become friends and he tells her about his familiar. He tells how he awakened early and how the wolf didn’t find him for a long while after that. He tells her about the day he did and how it was the best of them all (“Like all the wrongs were righted. Like it made sense.”) and how they never parted from each other since. He tells her how much he loves him (“He’s like a limb. Or— a soul, yeah. Like my soul.”) and how he thinks he would die without him ("If anything were to happen to him…I don't want to think about it.").

She listens carefully and wants to tell him how he would live instead. She wants to tell him how he would feel cut in half and how his thoughts would feel lonely sometimes. Instead, she tells him about Ringo. She tells him how much of a good teacher he was to Nasar ("Because he protects.") and how he gave him Little Death even though it was his. She tells him how she thinks he's dead and how much she's sad about it ("Why?", "I would like to thank him.", "...Why?", "Because he gave me Nasar."). She tells him I miss someone I never met and how she will have a sword named after him someday.

The familiar— Remus— is always near. His threads are fluffy and she wants to pet them but doesn't ask because threads are special and a familiar even more so. It doesn’t keep her from the cuddle fest and she's grateful. He lets her talk to him and even though he never answers, she knows he is listening. He lets her lay close at night and it keeps the frowns and the nightmares at bay. He lets her pet him and be clingy and laughs in his ears and she feels warm.

One day, Valko decides that you can't keep walking into trees every other minute and that he's going to do something about it. He decides she needs a stick or a cane or something and she tells him yes, I do but ends up with a branch instead. He asks why she doesn't have one yet and she says she never really thought about it until now (silver threads tremble with something like shame and she reaches out). She tells him how she doesn’t like crowds much and how towns are difficult to deal with (green threads shake with something like intrigue and she recoils a bit). He tells her oh, so that's why we're in the middle of fucking nowhere and she says mind your language.

The day before they reach the Institute, he tells her about his magic. He tells her it's soft and meek and his voice is small and dejected. He tells her about shifters and a dad who wasn't one. He tells her about a boy who was supposed to be a wolf. He tells her about genetics and she's a little confused. At the end of it, he tells her just how funny he thinks it is that his familiar is a wolf but he can never be. He shrugs against her shoulder and tells her he got the sense of smell and hearing and— everything, I have everything but the wolf.

"You have the wolf," she says.

His thread feels fond when she grabs one, but there's longing there, where she thumbs at its middle. It's a little bit rough but all kind of soft. "I know."

She tells him about his threads. She tells him they're green and how she thinks they're more like moss than leaf but can't be sure because she forgot the little things. She tells him she hopes he looks just like they feel, half-tree, half-child. He tells her I am fourteen, thank you very much and what the hell. She laughs and tells him about birds and nests and he says duh. She tells him how trees can be homes. She tells him how they can be red and gold but she likes them green best. She tells him trees can look old when they're young. She tells him they can be damaged or marked or cracked but can never be moved. He says holy shit, I am a tree and she smiles warm and soft.

When the Institute is in front of her, she's surprised. They went around cities on their way but she thought the school for people like her (child—murderer—magic-user) would be in one. She's wrong. She's terribly wrong and they find themselves in the middle of fucking nowhere ("Shut it!") and green threads are restless. There's a pair of them in front of what she thinks are gates. They look muted somehow. Blurry. A not-even-a-color white.

She realizes she never asked how Valko found himself in the hands of slavers and why he was so far from home. She realizes he never told her. She realizes she never asked if he was alone before her and why he fakes laugh so often. She realizes she doesn't know him very much and she's sad.

They leave him with the muted threads and snot on his jacket. The wolf gets a hug and a lot of thank yous and apologies and petting. They wait until he's let in. They wait until she sees his threads for the last time.

That night, when she's settled in Nasar's cocoon and thinking about a boy and a wolf, she says, "The Institute. Didn't it— didn't it feel odd to you?"

The silver threads tighten around her, "Wait, do you mean the part where they send children to war or was it more about the titanic fortress?"

"...but. We're not at war."

He sighs like it pains him, "There's always a war somewhere, kid."

"Is it— is it like a military? Because those were downtown all the time and Miss Cynn always said they were like leeches but I never understood what that means because I don't know what a leech looks like or what it is—"

"They’re like vampires, they suck blood and happiness out of you."

"—and they were not really nice to the children and women but they were always nice to the drunk men pissing on Madam K’s shoes. I think that one is fair because Madam K was kind of mean sometimes and if they hadn’t pissed on her shoes, I might have—"

"That’s very bold of you."

"—but. Valko was not like that. I mean… I don’t think he was."

"He was not like that. And yes, like a military," he sighs like it burns him, "Young magic-users are given the one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn how to harness, how to control, how to— how to optimize themselves, yeah," he chuckles lowly, "with the best teachers in the world."

"Do you— do you mean for them?"

"Bendis. This world will take every chance it gets— every last one of them— to walk all over you. And these kids… these kids are running out of luck."

"Do you mean luck or—"

"I mean luck. Those people... Bravery means death. Recklessness means death. And not in a Greater Good way but in a look-how-wrong-they-were way. The only way out is… deserting. Which is— it’s a terrible idea."

"Why?"

"Deserters are hunted down. Once you get in, you can’t get out. If you were to leave... ", he sighs like it haunts him, "I— he never asked."

"...We didn’t, either."

His threads buzz with confusion and regrets and protector-friend-protector-prote— They hum with a sort of disquiet she never felt from him before. "I know."

"...You know a lot about them."

"Mh. People seldom differ, kid. Give them power and they will abuse it. It's really that simple."

"What does seldom means and how—"

They stop in a quiet inn, and Nasar leaves in the morning. She decides she has things To Do Today. She takes the branch with her and only runs into thirty two people (to whom she asks directions every time) before she finds the library. The librarian is harder to find still but when she asks her if they have any books in braille, brown threads brighten considerably and she hears a smack and a woman's voice says it's your lucky day! before it leads her to an empty section of the room. There's three books and one of them she already has. She's almost certain another one is about pirates but the last one. The last one says universal spellbook and she reads until she can't. She doesn’t understand everything and when she does it's about rankings and soft-hard-intermediate and category and— she steals the book.

When Nasar comes back and his threads are clean but he smells like blood, he tells her good job and helps her decipher the book. He tells her what he knows about magic ("Everyone has it. There's a hereditary thing going on and awakenings rituals everywhere.") and she levels him with an unimpressed look. He tells her what he thinks he knows ("There's something like neutral magic— the one out there, you know? Not inside us. The magic of the trees and the seas. The one we don't incubate until it implodes, yeah?”) and she goes for his neck. He tells her the spellbook is what we can do with it and she gasps so loud because I didn't know that. Why didn't I kno— "The only way to learn this stuff is through institutes. Or whatever-council approved tutor. This is just a book of spells. Nowhere does it tell you how to— how to cast them. It tells you plenty about their nature but not the way you need to— to work the magic. Universal means for everyone. But everyone is too big a number."

"But people must have tried—"

"They do try. All the time. Sometimes they die trying and they're lucky. Sometimes they get caught and— It's ugly."

She reads the book still. She reads it until she knows the twenty six spells ranked between the letter F and the letter D. She reads it until she knows the difference between soft and intermediate and hard ones. She reads until she knows their categories and common uses and her brain itches. She reads. She reads. She reads. Until the day she doesn’t.

It's late and she's waiting for Nasar in another smelly inn room. When he comes, she has a pillowcase tied around her head and cotton in her ears. He takes her hands from the book and presents them with a cane. It's long and sturdy and nothing like the branch that broke after fifteen minutes a few days ago. She cries a lot. But mostly, she smiles until she can’t.

Walking becomes easier but she makes sure to be as good without the cane as she is with it. It's difficult and it takes time but she wants a sword named Ringo. It's difficult and it takes time until she remembers her threads (orange-murderer-magic) and decides they might be useful. It's difficult and it takes time because she remembers the bones and blood and death on them and how it stuck for days. It's difficult and it takes time but they're like eyes who can see everything she can't.

At night, she dreams about a boy who was supposed to be a wolf and the wolf who is like a limb. She dreams about a tree overrun by moss and a sword without a name. She dreams about a woman with a soft smile and calloused hands who is so kind she tells an orphan girl to run, run away before— and she never remembers how it ends. She dreams about silver threads and spellbooks and institutes and child-soldiers. She dreams about green .

They leave this town and the next, and she's got a book under an arm and a cane in her hand. She asks Ringo Nasar for more books about magic and his threads are not very happy but he asks when's your birthday? and she gets a book about bloodlines. She asks Ringo Nasar when's your birthday? and when he says I'm not sure she decides to give him one like Miss Cyn had for her. She realizes she doesn't know what to get him because Ringo Nasar does not like many things but Little Death and Bendis. But he gets a knife she found under a mattress and a stolen book about pirates. He gets hugs and kisses on the face and his laugh is so loud it echoes in her heart.

They lull themselves to sleep with whispered stories of a girl and her sword. She tells him how the sword saves the girl every single time and he tells her how the girl saves herself. He tells her how the girl becomes sword in the end and she tells him how the sword becomes him.

The fire crackles at the night and her threads reach out. Tentative. Hesitant. They reach out. And there's no violence in the way orange wraps around silver. And there's no wrath where it weaves its way up, up, up. But Nasar stiffens and she thinks she might have done something wrong even if she didn't mean— But then his threads answer. They answer. They— she doesn’t know how he's doing it, if he's doing it, but his threads intertwine with hers and she thinks. She thinks she might be feeling his soul.

It feels like his threads and his sword and his leg. It feels like rainy days in shitty inn rooms and cold nights in the woods. It feels like it's known too many ends and not nearly enough beginnings. It feels like both the wielder and the weapon and how sometimes they're the same. But it feels like cocoons and laughter and comfort. It feels like all the pieces that make Ringo Nasar and more.

“You feel like the sea,” he says quietly. And she thinks she understands.

She wakes with the sun and notices a new thread. It’s a little odd looking but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind because it starts in her chest and ends in his. And it feels like chosen birthdays and hushed voices.

#dori writes #oc: bendis #oc: nasar #oc: valko #where stories go to die

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glitchyfrills · 4 years

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Please, Take It ~Part 4🖌~

(Dawn of The Rose by CuttyRen, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3🌹)

(((Glitch Note ~Closed~: There are hidden references in most of the other parts but there are A LOT in this one. Can you find them all? 😉 Lets make this a game! The first person to find all of the references (or the most) can name the gofer that interacts with Shawn in the next part! Good Luck! 🍀)))

Without opening his eyes he sat up in his bed. The sheets were still somewhat made since when he arrived home he made no effort to untuck them and actually get into bed. Instead he flopped onto his bed, still dressed in his work clothes, and let the overwhelming feelings of the day finally wash over him. Letting them take him under into a deep restless sleep.

Running his fingers through his very sweaty hair he realized that he also didn’t open the window. Unable to take the stuffiness of the room much more he forcibly got up from his bed and over to his bedroom window. It was a little resistant but he managed to get it open.

Greeted by a cool morning breeze he sat down on the floor and leaned against the windowsill to enjoy it. Getting lost in the sounds of the city below was a thing he enjoyed doing. The sounds of people greeting each other as they made their way to wherever they were going. The sound of ringing bells on the doors of shops opening and closing. A newspaper boy calling out the morning headlines as loud as his lungs could to grab the attention of the businessmen rushing to work.

He wished that he could stay in his small loft all day. Drawing and painting whatever he wanted. Letting creativity lead him in any direction instead of working for a crazy, two bit, mediocre cartoonist. He’d even settle for teaching art. The thought of having students come up to him to say they forgot their homework or that they messed up on their painting had a smile creeping onto his face. But it soon faded.

He took a deep reluctant sigh. Sadly that wasn’t something he could do right now. Right now he was a toy maker. It helped pay the bills.

‘Toy maker’. The words in his head sounded the way Dark had said it when he questioned why the music director was looking for him. Lifting his head off the windowsill he grumbled, “So what if I'm a toy maker. People smile when they see my work. I bring a little spark of joy to them when they see a grinning Bendy doll.” Rolling his eyes he added, “Sure they don’t know it’s my work but I know it and that’s enough.”

He was about to add more to his list of validations when he heard light tapping on the fire escape outside his window. Lifting himself up a little to see what it was he was greeted by a familiar sight.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya, Sam!” He reached out with his palm up and placed it on the fire escape, helping the creature up to the windowsill.

“Sorry I didn’t open the window last night,” he apologized as he gently placed him on the windowsill next to him. “Rough day.”

As if it understood, the small gray rat with one eye squeaked at him. The rat had shown up a few days after he moved into the loft. It had frighted Shawn at first but after a few failed attempts at trapping him he decided to call a truce. He grew fond of the little guy. Shawn would sometimes leave little bits of cheese, bread, and vegetables on the inside of the windowsill for Sam to nibble on at night. For a city rat they were pretty small and tamed and Shawn wasn’t about to get rid of the only decent company he could find outside the studio.

“How was ya night? Better than mine I hope.” He used two fingers to gently pat the rat. It looked up at him as if to continue the conversation. “I had a rough one at work yesterday.” Shawn paused to give Sam time to respond. “Remember that mysterious paintin’ I told ya about?” Another pause, “Yeah, the one with the strange guy that came out of it.”

If anyone else had seen him talking to the rat he knew he’d end up in a psych ward but it was therapeutic. Talking with Sam the rat was a way for him to vent calmly without judgement. Plus it was cheaper than an actual shrink.

“Well,” he continued, “The guy that came out of it was super obnoxious. He not only insulted me but he split my whiskey out onto the floor. Can you believe that?”

Leaning away from the window he looked over to Sam, “What do you mean ‘Is he cute’? What’s that got to do with anythin’?”

Shawn could feel his cheeks warming up. “I- uh, sure. Yeah, he’s not bad lookin’,” he staggered. He relaxed against the windowsill again, looking down at the street and kept rambling. “He’s got these dark mysterious eyes, ya know. He stares at me a lot but yeah, nice eyes. He’s also got this jawline that Adonis himself would envy.” He paused, mentally conjuring up an image of Dark to fully explain to Sam. At least that’s what he convinced himself why he was doing it. “Lips that…,” he gently touched his own lips remembering how Dark’s lips had felt on his. The warmth that rushed through him, making him desire more and more of what Dark had to offer. He was starting to feel hot again.

The sound of little feet pattering away on the fire escape broke Shawn from his wandering mind.

“Hey wait!” He called after Sam but the rat was already crawling their way down. “Guess I should be gettin’ ready for work anyways,” he sighed as he lifted himself off the floor using the windowsill to help him. He left the window open as he got ready, allowing his room to air out a bit before he closed it up again.

Standing near the small kitchenette he listened to the kettle boil the water for his morning coffee. He looked up at the clock and saw that if he didn’t leave soon he was going to be really late for work.

‘Would that be such a bad thing,’ he asked himself. ‘Ya know who is going to be waitin’ for ya when ya get there.’

A debate began inside his head. Should he go? Should he stay home? Back and forth, his mind arguing with itself.

“Ahh!” He shouted out loud in frustration.

How had he allowed this person, that he hardly knew, to cause him such grief. Work was annoying at times but he still enjoyed going. At least he did before a certain someone showed up.

Slamming his fist against the counter he made a decision. He wasn’t going to allow Dark to make him feel this way. Shawn knew that Dark had the ability to spell him, to force him to do what he wanted him to do. But somehow Shawn managed to break it. He knew that was one of the reasons that Dark kept looking at him like he was some strange exhibit. He had also called him unique. Shawn was going to show him how unique he could be. He didn’t know much about what being Dark’s companion entailed but he wasn’t going to just sit around and let Dark bark out orders. He was a toy maker not a toy.

Pouring himself a mug full of coffee, he drank it leisurely. Running the conversation he planned on having with Dark in his head. He was pretty confident that he could sway things in his favor. Finishing the last of his coffee he walked over to his dresser and picked up his name tag and pinned it on his crisp white dress shirt.

“Ya got this, laddie.” Encouraging himself out loud and giving his reflection a strong head nod.

Walking over to his window he took a deep breath of fresh air before closing and locking his window. He then headed towards the door grabbing his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and headed out the door to Joey Drew Studios.

(((Glitch Note: THANKS FOR READING! Did you find them all? Here’s a helpful hint: if you go to either the inspiration for this story’s Instagram or Tiktok that will help you out. Happy searching!)))

#writing #creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic #bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the ink machine au #batim #au #alternate universe #alter egos #egos #shawn flynn #shawn flynn and darkiplier #darkiplier #dawn #sammy lawrence #wally franks #please take it

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geek-gem · 4 years

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You know I will admit I do agree with Bob-Dude that I don’t treat Zack Snyder as if he’s like this God of cinema. Yet for some reason and I felt that converstation I had with him inspired something.

I forgot if even maybe before. But there’s this Twitter account called, “Zack Snyder In Random Photos” and because of my talk with Bob...I’m sorry yeah I agree with him. But if Zack doesn’t mind it. I seem to love viewing Zack as some sort of meme. That’s not a bad thing please understand. I mean a meme for good reasons. Especially as a fan of Zack himself.

So last night before going to bed and I stood up late. I made these and I could share these on Twitter sometime but not right now.

Please be aware these are meant to be humorous. Including if you're a DCEU fan or Zack Snyder fan...I hope you like these. So here’s Zack Snyder in some of my favorite video game franchises. With a bonus image.

Zack Snyder as the Doom Slayer.

Zack Snyder working at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza and not giving a damn about Chica.

Zack Snyder about to attack Ink Bendy.

Zack Snyder going down Ice Cap with Sonic and not giving a fuck about the avalanche behind him.

Now here’s a bonus image of Zack Snyder saying “Hey Spinel!” to Spinel during the SU Movie. It’s one of his cameos in the movie.

I have thought about making more. Such as Zack Snyder in my favorite cartoons or so. Including Zack having cameos in the SU movie but no one talked about them. But I wanted to test this out and hope people find this funny. I’ll delete it if it bothers people.

Again all in good fun. Also since I just got the tag down. Here’s what I titled them which they are in order from here. It being 1 to 5. I snipped it just now.

#zack snyder

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lareinenoir · 5 years

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Ocean Eyes Loki × Black! Reader Pt 1/4

Inspiration: Ocean Eyes by Billie Elish

Renamed 'My Heaven' to Ocean Eyes

Summary: Your name is Hedda the sister of Heimdal. You trained on Alfheim with the elves leaving your best friend, Loki alone. Then you came back and figured out he was disguised as Odin. You both loved each other, when you were kids. Loki more than you because you had your eyes on Thor. But growing up means leaving childish things behind. Does that include your love for one another?

"It hurts to be in love!" You shout angrily. "It hurts to be in love,Loki Especially with you."

"And you think it's easy for me? I've been in love with you since day one, Hedda! And all you could see was Thor."

Warning: angst, swearing

Word count: 3k

Taglist: @thatweirdwalangpake @schizonephilim

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You had been getting annoyed lately with all of Loki's crap. He had the people build a statue of him after he delivered some speech about how Loki (himself) saved Asgard and how "We should commemorate him."

"Something is missing." Says Odin (Loki) as he stands before the statue with his arms crossed. "Its missing something wouldn't you say so Hedda?" He asks turning to you

Loki had made you his advisor. At first, you didn't want it but it slowly consumed you because you had seen how happy you were becoming.

"Is this really necessary?" You ask with your axe over your shoulder. "The statue is a bit much-"

"Nonsense." He cut you off. "I think it's perfect. A statue for my favorite son." He sighs dramatically putting his hand on your shoulder.

"Whatever." You mumble rolling your eyes, shrugging off his hand. "And you can quit acting like Odin." You say to him "No one is around."

"Gee." He huffed straightening his posture. "You take the gun out of being king of Asgard. Is it because you are jealous, Hedda?" Loki teases

"Jealous?" You question slamming your axe down "What could I possibly be jealous of?"

"Well..." He pretends to think with his signature smirk playing on his pale face. "The fact that I'm king and you aren't."

"I'd be careful what comes out of your mouth next." You say now nose to nose with him. "Becuase I could expose you just like that." You snap your fingers and see his face get hard.

Backing away you straighten your uniform and lick your dry lips as Loki shakes his head. A little chuckle left his throat as he gave you a grin."I forgot how intense you get. All that training on Alfheim and you still are the same old Hedda. They couldn't teach you to smile and laugh on purpose?" He asks as you both stand in the court yard. "To tough for her own good."

"They did teach me something. They taught me how to grow some balls and man up." You spat picking up your axe. "And if you don't like it then-"

"I didn't say I didn't like it." He hushed you making your cheeks hear up because Odin's eyes were now his eyes. Loki's eyes giving you a lavish look.

"I'll be expecting you tonight." You shrug it off and take in a breath. "Under our tree and I'll bring the ale. Don't be late." You scold then walk off.

Loki watched you and you knew it. His eyes burning a hole in the back of your head. He was enjoying what was left of your smell that still lingered in the air.

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The tree was yours and Loki's favorite spot. As children you'd climb it and whenever you and Loki had a fight you'd sit under it and wait for him to apologize.

Some of the time he had no reason to but he always ended up going to the tree with a smile and a flower in his hand. He didn't even have to say the words but the gift of your favorite flower, a daisy, was quite enough.

Nightfall arrived and you ended up being late. You decided to shower and get out of the uniform you wore constantly and put on a dress you wore in Alfheim.

"I thought you were dead." He joked with his head against the tree, reading still in his Odin form.

Rolling your eyes you shrug and sit next to him. "Do you want to burn my eyes? I want to see the real Loki, please and thank you."

You heard him sigh and his outward appearance melted away. Loki turns his head towards you and you see his signature smirk. "Better?" He asks as you pull the cork off the ale.

"Still stupid looking" You mutter raising the jug to your lips.

Loki scoffs and it makes you laugh as he snatches the jug from your lips and takes a sip. Wiping your mouth you take the book he was reading. "Romeo and Juliet?"

Coughing he swallows what was left in his mouth and nods. "A book from Midgard." He tells you. "Romance actually."

"Ah..." You wiggle your brow. "Never took you for a guy who would read something like that."

"Neither did I." He chuckles then gives you a quick over veiw. "You look different. The last time I saw you in a dress was the night before you left. My mother insisted upon a going away party for you. That was the first time you danced with Thor."

"I remember it well." You reminisce brushing back some of your hair as a short breeze flew past you both. "A couple centuries ago. We were children back then."

"You abandon me-us a for a long time." He tells you. It sounded a bit bitter and 'abandon me?' This wasn't what you wanted to talk about.

"Skurge." You start handing him the book back after clearing your throat. "I'm this close to ripping his tounge out of his mouth and shoving it up his ass." You say sucking in your cheeks.

A laugh comes from Loki's throat and you fold your arms. You didn't see what was so funny. "I'm imagining." He tells you

"He's bee running his mouth off about my brother, Heimdall. He says that he betrayed Asgard and Odin. He ran away to escape his sentence." You reply giving him a glance. "My brother is nothing like that. He loves Asgard just as much as the next Asgardian." You lean closer to Loki as your eyes stare at each others. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about these allegations? Would you?"

"Hedda..." He begins averting his eyes. "If the shoe fits-"

Picking up the jug you take a large gulp and stand. "I knew it!" You spat shutting your eyes with your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. "How could I be so foolish!"

"Hedda," Loki begins as you pace back and forth. "Heimdall he's a-"

"You lied to me, Loki!" You shout "You told me Heimdall was-"

"I said he disappeared, that part was true. I don't know where he is. All I know is that at one moment he was there and when I came back a week later to see of he was still frozen, he was gone. Who was going to guard the bifrost? Not I." He explains making you even more angry

"Oh because pretending to be Odin is so hard. You walk around in your bathrobe all day stuffing your face with food. How could you?" You ask shoving him. "And freeze my brother? All he's ever done is help you, Loki. He's been a friend to both you and Thor. You made Heimdall sound as if he has abandon his home!" Your fists clench tight as your eyes begin to glisten. "All so you can play dress up!"

"Don't you dare throw that in my face!" Loki shouts pointing his finger at you. "I've been keeping Asgard safe! They'd be lost without me! The nine realms would be lost without me!"

"No!" You shake your head scoffing. "They'd be lost without Odin. They follow Odin, remember that Loki. That's why you dress as him because you know if you showed them who you really are, they'd never follow you!" You yell angrily as heat rises to your face. "Remember Loki, I've been Frigga and Odin's ward way before you were even brought to Asgard! I've known you your entire life! You may have everyone else fooled but not me! I see right through you just like Thor and my brother! You're still the very last person on Asgard who'd anyone trust!"

"And you're still the same brat who had to be sent away to another realm becuase it wasn't just your mother who didn't want you but your own brother" Loki yelled back

Both trying to catch your breaths you both sit under the tree. Your hands on either side of your face as Loki covers his with his large hand. You weren't upset and neither was Loki. It was just strange to be arguing. Like the friendship you both had long ago, didn't go anywhere. You argued then just like now.

You both sat in silence passing the jug back and forth between you each taking a swig. The silence spoke for Loki. He didn't know what to say and neither did you. Soaking it all in just to drain it out with alcohol.

As you went to hand him the jug, you handed you a daisy. A little smile spread across your cheeks and you licked you lips. No daisy was going to solve anything, you weren't kids anymore and Loki knew this. Maybe it could represent something else.

"Truce?" You asks

"Yes." Loki nods

Taking the daisy in between your fingers you place it against your nose and inhale the smell of it. To bad you weren't kids anymore, this daisy had a different meaning back then. For you, it meant you and Loki were still best friends. For him, it wasn't just an apology but his way of showing how much he cared for you.

"Horns." You said opening your eyes seeing him give you a confused look. "Earlier you asked what was missing. Your big bendy horns."

"Sounds perfect." Loki chuckled as you smile, his hand resting on top of yours.

To be continued...

Wanna be tagged? Ask!

Byeeeeeee!

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smallblueboyscout · 5 years

Text

REPOST DONT REBLOG

FULL NAME. Jon Samuel Kent NICKNAME. Jon GENDER. Gender neutral, but uses he/him pronouns HEIGHT. 4 foot 6 AGE. 10. He’s never gonna age. Fuck Bendis. SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English (fluent), Kryptonian (learning), Sign Language (learning, not great, very slow), Japanese (originally only knew bits he picked up from anime, but he took to learning the language properly)

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR. Black EYE COLOR. The most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen SKIN TONE. Sun tanned, cause he gotta be gettin those rays. BODY TYPE. He’s a twig. VOICE. Soft and high. Honestly for some reason I sometimes Imagine he sounds like Simba from the lion king movie??? IDK man someone help me figure out how he sounds DOMINANT HAND. Right hand inclined, but cause of the super brain thing, he learned how to use both POSTURE. Tall and proper most of the time. SCARS. Due to his invulnerability, none . BIRTHMARKS. None MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). That adorable cowlick/curl thing he has going on in Jorge’s art. See below pic for a better look at it

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. A different planet than the one he ended up living on HOMETOWN. Hamilton SIBLINGS. Canonly? The Kents have had several other children including Jon Lane Kent (an evil Jon), Kon (a superman clone), Chris (from what I recall he was some other Kyrptonian’s kid but Clark ended up adopting him?), and a bunch of others. But to Jon’s knowledge, he’s an only kid because DC SUCKS AND DEPRIVES US OF THE GOOD SUPERFAM CONTENT PARENTS. Clark Kent (Superman. Father), Lois Lane (mother)

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 ! (but not really in jon’s case!!)

OCCUPATION. Hero in training CURRENT RESIDENCE. Peter’s House in Golden Ward

CLOSE FRIENDS. Damian Wayne, Lin, Harley. If I forgot someone I’m sorry.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single FINANCIAL STATUS. His parents are reporters. He is a child with a giant appetite. His hero costume consists of a jacket he got from a hand me down store, his cape belonged to his dog, and his pants are just worn out jeans. Plus he’s ten. You do the math. DRIVER’S LICENSE. He’s ten. He can drive a tractor tho. CRIMINAL RECORD. I mean TECHNICALLY he’s been to a space jail before. Got solitary confinement of sorts just because of his powers being solar based. He’s also broken into Lex Luthor’s office building and disobeyed his dad before too (not to mention the fact that I think Jon may or may not have fried Manchester Black’s brain, but it was self defense), so he’s not nearly as perfect as he’d have people believe, but he has never been COMMITTED for any crime on Earth. VICES. What even counts as a vice?

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Nope PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch LIBIDO. N/A TURN ON’S. N/A TURN OFF’S. N/A LOVE LANGUAGE. No idea RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. N/A

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Playing games, reading comics, daydreaming, hanging out with Damian, watching anime LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Right. I had to relisten to Bo Burnham’s Left Brain Right Brain to double check PHOBIAS. Fear of the dark, fear of losing control, fear of hurting people, SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. It’s not as high as he wants people to believe. He doesn’t view himself as a hero, he thinks of himself as unimportant, that his dad values being Superman more than himself. He has bully problems at school when he was there, often times he wishes he could be a normal kid. He’s reckless with his life, honestly. Even when he loses his powers he’ll still throw himself between someone else and danger, for the sake of protecting them. VULNERABILITIES. Magic, Kryptonite, his fears, his temper

tagged by : stole from @sephirahisms

tagging : We endorse stealing in this house

#~~ about the muse ~~#long post //

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queenofcats17 · 5 years

Note

If you are taking prompts atm, please could you do some Reunion Angst or Fluff involving Ruby or Sammy's brother?

Sorry this took so long. I wanted to do this right and I couldn’t write it all out in one go. There are way too many characters to tag, but I’m really proud of this.

For those who aren’t familiar with it, the Reunion AU is here.

They all had nightmares.

Father Lawrence woke up in a sweat sometimes, desperately patting his body to make sure it was actually there, that he wasn’t back in the posters. Those hallways still haunted his nightmares. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, he found himself back in that damned studio. He could still hear the screams of the others trapped with him.

“Gerald? What’s wrong?” His wife stirred beside him, sitting up.

“Nothing.” He tried to calm himself, tried to still his shaking hands. Rebecca sighed softly. He couldn’t fool her, not when it came to things like this. She took his hands in hers.

“You’re here.” She said, squeezing his hand. This was for his comfort and hers. There were many nights when she woke, expecting to find the bed beside her empty. She dreamed of those years without him, when she didn’t know whether he was living or dead. The not knowing had been the worst part. The uncertainty of whether her husband and son were gone had been almost unbearable. But she’d managed. She’d had to. Nancy and Jacob needed her.

“I’m…here.” He repeated slowly. He focused on the warmth of his wife’s hands, the feeling of her thumb rubbing across his skin.

“You’re here.” Rebecca leaned over to kiss him gently before resting her forehead against his. Gerald closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He wasn’t the only member of the search party who dreamed of the studio. Danny dreamed of the studio as well, of being trapped. He dreamed of his dead brother, covered in ink and near mad with fear. He’d heard Joshua’s account of David’s last hours. He dreamed of his uncle, trapped in the body of a cartoon wolf, forced to watch as Wally died over and over again. The others in the walls screamed, but they were the only ones who heard.

Wilma dreamed of the awful day when David had escaped the studio, only to die in the hospital. One son dead, one missing, and her brother nowhere to be found. She’d put on as brave a face as she could, but she regarded that part of her life as one of the darkest she’d gone through. The pain of David’s death had lessened as the years had gone on. She’d come to terms with it. But before Danny and Wally had returned, she’d dreamed about their possible fates. She’d dreamed of them dead, maimed, suffering. She still dreamed of that, sometimes. She had to go and see Danny sleeping in his room to remind herself that her son was still alright.

Nancy dreamed of the loss of her brother and father, of the betrayal perpetrated by Susie Campbell, of her best friends going to war. Her nightmares weren’t as frequent as some of the others, but they still cropped up every so often. She loved her friends and family more than anything. There had been so many times when she’d almost lost them, and she never forgot those. She still thought about Susie’s betrayal, especially now that Susie was back. She’d looked up to Susie, and when the Lawrence family had needed her most, Susie had turned her back on them. She’d spread malicious rumors about Sammy that still persisted. Nancy wasn’t going to forgive her for that. She would put it in the past, but it was not forgiven.

Allison and Susie dreamed of the horrors they’d committed as Malice. The Butcher Gang clones and Borises laid out on their table, screaming for mercy. Their victims always screamed, but it never did them any good. They remembered the feeling of the organs under their hands, the ink between their fingers. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. They needed to be perfect. She needed to be perfect. They were alone, but together. Sometimes they fought for control of the body. She didn’t want to be doing this. But she did. She had to. She had to be perfect. The demon wouldn’t touch them again. They remembered what that had felt like. The searing pain as their ink melted under the demon’s hand.

They both woke up crying. Dave didn’t ask what was wrong, drawing Allison to his chest and stroking her hair. He didn’t need to. He knew why she was crying. In the past, Susie had been alone when she’d awoken, knowing she’d driven everyone away from her. Right now, Sammy was at her side. He didn’t sleep much, especially now. His dreams were filled with dark hallways and dripping ink. He searched and searched, but there was no one else. There was no escape. The screams wouldn’t stop, always echoing in his mind. He couldn’t remember who he was. Which memories were his? When he woke, he countered his fingers over and over. Five. There had to be five.

“Nightmare?” He asked, looking over at her. He’d been counting his fingers. She could see the sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his shoulders shook.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, clumsily wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face to his stomach.

“I forgive you.” He began running his fingers through her hair. Five fingers. Always five.

Wally dreamed of being stuck in a body that wasn’t his. He knew this was wrong. He knew. But he couldn’t place how it was wrong. He didn’t think his voice sounded right. But he was Boris the Wolf, wasn’t he? This was how he was supposed to sound. Who was he if he wasn’t Boris? Sometimes he wanted to scream, to throw and break things and curse the name of Joey Drew. But that wouldn’t be very Boris-like, would it? Alice killed him over and over again and he screamed in a voice that was not his own. The Ink Machine always spat him out as Boris.

Murray dreamed of the people he’d hurt, of Joey’s silky voice as Murray held a knife to his own throat. They’d be better off without him. All of them. He was a waste of space. He’d hurt everyone, condemned them to a neverending Hell. In his dreams, they circled and mocked him. It was his fault. It was all his fault. When he sliced into his arms with the razor, he bled black ink. Everything was ink. It was always ink. Ink all around him. Ink above him, ink under his feet. The ink dragged him down, filling his lungs and mouth. When he saw his reflection, it was Bendy.

“You’re better off as me.” The little demon smiled unnaturally wide. “Everyone loves me! I’m the Little Devil Darling! You’re just a mistake.” Murray covered his face and cried, his hands coming away wet with ink.

Thomas, Shawn, and Grant dreamed of the torture, their twisting bodies. They screamed, but no sound ever came out. They didn’t know who they were. There was only pain. Only the screams of beings that were not them. Why wouldn’t it stop? Why were they here? They couldn’t think. Thomas tinkered with his machines to keep his mind off the dreams. Machines were always the same. They didn’t change. He liked that. He liked figuring out how they worked. There was comfort in taking them apart and putting them back together. Shawn worked on his toys. The repetition of the thread weaving in and out of the cloth calmed his racing heartbeat. And when he pricked himself with the needle, he saw red, not black. Grant fell back on mathematical calculations, the sight of his office walls covered in scribbles flashing across his mind. He shook his head, returning to the calculations. Math never changed. It was always the same. They were human. They were fine.

Joshua, Chris, and the Campbell boys dreamed of war. They dreamed of the jungle and fire and death. They didn’t even need to be asleep to be transported back to that hellscape. Many had gone through therapy to readjust to normal life, which had helped, but some were still worse off than others. Matt woke up clutching at the stump where his arm had been. He held his arm to his chest and cried quietly, his breath coming in quick gasps. He’d always wanted to play baseball. It had been his dream since he’d been a little boy. That wasn’t a possibility anymore. Ruby sometimes heard her father crying in the next room when he thought she was sleeping.

“Why does Daddy cry at night?” She asked her Hye one day. “He only does it when he thinks I’m sleeping.“

“Your father’s been through a lot,” Hye replied, gathering Ruby in her lap. “He needs to let it out sometimes. You just make sure you let him know he’s loved.” Ruby nodded with an adorably solemn expression. She always made sure to give him a hug the next day. This never failed to make Chris smile. He loved his little girl so much.

Joshua and Cordelia helped each other through their nightmares. It hadn’t taken long for Cordelia to realize that the wars Joshua had been in still haunted him. When they woke up screaming or crying, they held each other, coaching each other through their breathing. Cordelia’s nightmares tended to vary. Sometimes she dreamed of the horrors of the studio, sometimes she dreamed of Joshua on the battlefield. She’d been so scared when he’d been off at war. She’d been too young to remember what her father had been like before he’d gone off to war. But she knew the shadow of a person he’d become because of the war. She’d been terrified of who Joshua would be when he returned. or that he wouldn’t return at all. But he had come back. Joshua didn’t talk about the war and Cordelia didn’t ask.

Esther had had nightmares about her brother ever since he’d run away from home at 18. They’d evolved now that she knew exactly what he’d been doing in that studio. Before, she’d dreamed of the terrible fate her brother might have encountered after running away. Dead, kidnapped, injured. He’d watched her with dead eyes, saying that she could have saved him. She’d been so scared of what might have happened to him. Now that she knew what he’d been doing in that studio, she dreamed of those who Joey had hurt. She dreamed of him trapped in the ink, alone and scared. Their blood was on her hands. She could have stopped this. If she’d just pushed a little harder. If she’d just stayed by her brother’s side. If she hadn’t abandoned him, she could have kept him on the right path. She could have stopped him from becoming a monster. It was her fault.

Isaac and Rachel dreamed of the horrors of the studio. They hadn’t forgotten what they’d seen. The ink, the creatures. Rachel dreamed of her mistakes, of the people she’d hurt with her relentless pursuit of the truth. She dreamed of ending up just like her uncle and having everyone hate her. Isaac, a naturally anxious boy, had a lot of different nightmares about a lot of different things. His were more of the standard 12-year-old variety. But sometimes he dreamed of his sister following the same path that their uncle did. He didn’t want to lose her like their mother had lost Joey.

Bertram didn’t have all that many nightmares. Sometimes he dreamed of being trapped in his ride at the studio. Of being alone in the darkness. No one had come near him for fear that he would lash out at them. He’d always preferred being alone, but being alone for that long had been torture. More often than not, though, he dreamed of the falling out he and his sister had had with their parents. He dreamed of the yelling, the shaming. Charlotte had been so distraught by their parents’ reactions to her beau. For her, he’d turned his back on their family.

Roy’s most prevalent nightmares were about his accident, but when Chris had gone off to war his anxiety about the artist’s fate had entered his dreams as well. He’d just been coming to terms with his feelings toward Chris at the time and having Chris go off to war had certainly forced him to face them head-on. He’d woken up more than once from nightmares where Chris came home in a box. Now that Chris was home and safe, the nightmares about the accident had returned. They were strange and distorted, irons and stage lights and searing pain. He was used to them by this point.

Joey’s dreams were filled with guilt. He had killed people. He had manipulated people. He had tortured them and trapped them in a Hell of his own making because he was unable to admit his own failures. It was his fault. Many times before, he’d tried to explain away his actions by blaming others. It was always someone else’s fault, not his own.

Essie shouldn’t have abandoned me.

Ma and Pa should have supported me.

Henry should have pushed me harder to do the right thing.

It’s not my fault. The world failed me.

But now…There was no deflecting now. He had done this to himself. There was no one to blame but himself. He knew this. He dreamed of the pain he’d caused. Norman with his throat cut, bleeding out onto Joey’s hands. Susie distraught and sobbing in his arms as he whispered poison in her ears. Sammy, body and mind destroyed, begging for mercy that wouldn’t come from a “God” that didn’t care. The faces of the search party as he tore them apart and sealed them in the walls. Wally begging for his life while strapped to a table. Grant in his office, scribbling on the walls, eyes wide and wild, mind shattered. Murray holding a knife to his wrists, Joey’s hands on top of his. He could repent all he liked, it wouldn’t change what happened. It wouldn’t change that one of Wilma’s sons was dead. It wouldn’t give them back all the time they’d lost. He couldn’t undo the damage he’d wrought on everyone. But he could try and make things better.

Henry dreamed of all of the above. He dreamed of war, the studio, loss. But he’d moved on. He managed. This wasn’t a story about him. Not really.

They all had nightmares. And they always would. But, hopefully, they would fade. Nightmares always did.

#bendy and the ink machine #reunion au #fanfiction #tw: body horror #tw: ptsd #tw: war #tw: violence

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moonwhing · 5 years

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I got tagged by @real-life-senshi RULES: Answer 21 questions and tag 21 blogs you’d like to get to know better.

Nickname: Online I’m usually known as Moon.

Star Sign: Gemini

Height: 5'4″

Last film I saw: Spiderverse! Oh my god it was so good

Favorite musician: I never have anything for this. I like a bunch of stuff but it changes with my mood that day. I listen to a lot of people on youtube, I have a lot of music from games and shows I enjoy, there’s a few big name singers I liked when I was younger... It’s all over the place.

Song Stuck In My Head: All of the Kingdom Hearts opening/endings right now

Other Blogs: @sheepishcreativity is the only one I use these days and it’s just a sideblog to this one. I used to have enough that tumblr wouldn’t let me make any new accounts though.

Do I Get Asks: Sometimes? Usually if I reblog one of those art prompt posts I’ll get a couple

Blogs following: 1612. Almost as many as my own followers.

What I’m Wearing: White mage t-shirt that’s mostly red, green plaid pajama pants, and my Sans hoodie.

Dream job: I don’t know... hopefully my crochet work and maybe my art will continue to grow?

Dream Trip: I’d love to see a bunch of places but I also don’t want to bother with all the trouble of going to them haha

Play any instruments: Used to play around with my ocarinas a bit. Knew how to play the tiniest bit of Once Upon a December on a piano. Never stuck with them enough to really say I knew how to really play them though.

Languages: Just English. You kinda pick up some random words from things here and there but never enough to use it. Been thinking about looking into some

Favorite foods: There’s this zucchini pasta sauce I found online years ago. I love it with all my heart and don’t get to eat it nearly enough as I’d like.

Random facts:

I’m sure I did some of this before but I can’t find any posts for it and my mind is blanking. uh...

I wear these little plastic ring splints on my thumbs to keep them happy. I notice right away if I try to do something and forgot to put them on.

I collect dice and this really worked out as a great time to get into it. They make such pretty things now!

Minako became a huge piece of my blog and I don’t know how but I’m also not complaining. She’s fun to draw and talk about!

My super power is untangling yarn and I wish there was a way I could find a use for that skill outside of my own crafts. I can even do it mostly by feel and watching something while I just move things around until suddenly the knot is gone

I’m very emotional. It doesn’t take much for just about anything I’m watching/reading/listening to to make me cry.

Favorite songs:

Man... how do you pick? I’ll just link some I’ve had open lately

All Eyes On Me - Bendy and the Ink Machine Fan Song

Face My Fears (Short) • English and Japanese cover by Tara St. Michel

Night of Darkness (Original Song by Tara St. Michel)

The Power of the Heart (Original Song by Tara St. Michel)

I Believe in You (Original Song by Tara St. Michel)

Onomatopoeia Megane -Acoustic Ver- (English Cover)【JubyPhonic】

Sora's Theme (The Guiding Key) Original Lyrics by Lizz Robinett

And no tags because I’m boring and always skip that rule. Do it if you want and pretend I tagged you!

OH WAIT I finally found an older one! My memory does work sometimes

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angelicdevil · 5 years

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Tagged by: @gaymy-rose 💕

1. Nicknames: Ash, Ashy

2. Zodiac: Sagittarius

3. Height: 4’ 8-11’. I’m babey

4. Last movie I saw: Avengers: Infinity War

5. Last thing I googled: throwing knives

6. Favorite musicians: JT Machinima, DA Games, Caravan Palace

7. Song stuck in my head: No Dice by Krazee

8. Other blogs: Too many. If you really wanna know just ask.

9. Do I get asks: Occasionally. I’d like more, of course. I have a lot to talk about and no excuse to put it into words.

10. Following: 2,254

11. Followers: 440

12. Amount of sleep: Um...

13. Lucky numbers: 27 I guess

14. What I’m currently wearing: Hoodie, scarf, bag, skinny pants, and lil boots

15. Dream job: Animator/story writer

16. Dream trip: To Australia!

17. Favorite food: Pizza or tacos

18. Instruments: Flute but I’m learning guitar

19. Languages: English, I forgot a lot of Spanish and I want to learn ASL

20. Favorite song: Betty Boop by Charlie Puth (the one with the better drop)

21. Random facts: I have a few stories based on dreams of mine and I carry around a Bendy plushie for comfort.

22. Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Flower crowns and skulls

Tagging: @the-enrichment @sharptootheddancer @noodleboy-draws @ollietheoneandonly @sylphofsoftsweaters

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shurplepurpofsex · 6 years

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Tag Game!

Thank you for the tag @mm-jay (you’re fabulous)

Rules: answer these questions then tag 20 blogs you’d like to know better!

Nickname: Mol

Zodiac: Aquarius (apparently this says a lot about me idk)

Height: about 5’1

Time: 21:32

Favourite band/artist: (right now) The Griswolds

Song stuck in my head: The Village by Wrabel

Last movie I saw: It’s kind of a Funny Story

Last thing I googled: Hippo Campus tickets London

Other blogs: Nope!

Do I get asks: Hardly ever ;(

Why did I choose this username: I once tried to say “Purple shirt of sex” and I said “shurple purp of sex”

Following: 2524!

Average amount of sleep: ehhh about 8 hours ?

Lucky number: I don’t have one, but I like the number 12

What am I wearing: shorts and a t-shirt

Dream job: something where I can sit alone all day

Dream trip: No clue!

Fave food: Cake.

Play any instruments: Piano...kinda

Eye colour: Green

Hair colour: It’s kinda blonde with bits of green left and some brown roots coming through. Shush.

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Rumpled bedsheets and flannel

Languages you speak: English

Most iconic song: Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

Random fact: I forgot I had a driving lesson today and was still asleep when my instrucor arrived.

Tag Time!!!:

@bananashirtsandbadpuns @venora-the-rogue @doctorwafflez @the-reading-lemon @riyaangel @jonwatson @ssherookk @bendy-cumberbatch @one-thousand-splendid-stars @tjlcblr @221b-brett @astudyintea @goahead-getyourjollies @dontshaveforsherlock @johnlockedatbakerst @eternaljohnlock @221b-ean @bakerstreetcrow

(that’s only 18 but I’m tired)

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spooky-bear15 · 6 years

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A motherly Surprise

Bendy just got finished stitching on the purple button to his old stuffed bunny, he sat it on the foot of the bed when suddenly he noticed the rocking chair he was sitting was now gone. He was just sitting in it a few seconds ago. Bendy peeked his head out of the bedroom to see where it went in such a odd quick disappearance. He saw Purple’s back for a second before the door closed across their bedroom.

“Wonder what he’s been doing all day?” Bendy asked, cracking their bedroom door closed, standing behind it with one hand on the door knob and the other on the top of his belly. Bendy walked over to the closest to try and find a more comfy outfit to wear. He was now seven month pregnant and in the third trimester after all. Now none of Bendy’s clothes fitted him, giving a sigh and picking out the biggest tutu he had and a baggy t-shirt. Putting that on, but still his swollen stomach stuck out. Bendy sighed but smiled sweetly as he placed his hand under to support the weight until he had tights on to keep his stomach up.

“(Sighs) Can’t mommy at least wear one outfit that covers you all up stinker? (smirks)” Bendy giggled.

Purple came in, excited to tell Bendy good news.

“Hey hon, I got one of you’re wishes crossed off the list. (smirks) I think you’ll love it.” Purple smiled as he waited for Bendy to see the surprise.

“Oh really hu? Well I would love to see what you’ve been doing lately. (giggles) Kidding, I would love to see it!” Bendy smiled widely. Purple walked behind him and soon stopped Bendy from going into the acrossed room.

“Oh, wait, wait. Wait. I forgot to add one more thing. Can ya close your eyes just for a few seconds. I’ll tell you when to look.” Purple quickly rushed back into the room and grabbed a small name tag that hung on a small hook outside the door.

Purple came back out moving so Bendy could see what he was hiding for the past several months. Getting behind Bendy and covering the devil’s eyes, making him laugh.

“Sorry, just didn’t think they were closed, here, I want you see what I did outside first.” Purple uncovered Bendy’s eyes to see the first little suprise. Bendy had the most happiest reaction to such a small little detail added to the door.

“That’s so cute! (smirks)” Bendy smiled with joy, Purple hugged him tightly and had the same smile.

“Figured, since once he comes home from the hospital I wanted to have his cutsie name up on the door. Little Benjamin, he’ll be in our arms in a few more months. Exciting!”

Bendy’s smiled grew, soon he felt butterflies in his stomach from the excitement building up. Purple’s was to, “Alright, ready for the actual surprise though? Now I really gotta cover your eyes for this one hah!”

“Alrighty, whatever you say (smirks)”

Purple covered Bendy’s eyes before walking in the new room behind him. Slowly going into the new room with Bendy's eyes still closed, Purple stepped back slowly.

“Okay. You can look, what ya think?”

Bendy’s face changed from happy to suprised, he had the biggest smile on his face, looking around at what used to be an extra room Bendy worked in, was now a brand new filled baby room.

The walls were painted a simple galaxy theme. The room was filled with everything for a new infant to get settled into.

There was a dark wooden crib in the slight left corner, and the closest that used to be full of left over film canisters was now empty and half full of small baby clothes. Besides the crib and a place to keep the baby’s clothes was another small bed not to far from where the baby slept, still having space to move between, Bendy asked what was the bed for.

“Say, what’s with the extra bed in here?” Bendy asked, Purple tilted his head, confused why his husband didn’t know why the bed was a concern.

“Well, I figured we might like to have a small extra bed in here for when the baby gets sick or just won’t stop crying, something like that. So basically I just added it for an of us to sleep on when needed, or even when the baby just wants us in here.”

Bendy looked back and was completely dumbfounded, he should of known that what it was for. Bendy just smirked with a slight giggle, looked up at the ceiling sarcastically and shook his head.

“(Giggles) Well, I know now hahaha!” Bendy looked around the room evenmore, his smile got bigger as seeing everything he saw in his head come to life in front of him with evenmore added. Bendy gave a happy and sweet loving look at Purple and thanked him with a hug, Purple returned it with giving a kiss on Bendy’s horns, making Bendy blush slightly. Purple had one hand on Bendy’s belly as Bendy had his under. Both of them smiling, just waiting for the last few months to fly through.

“I wanted to save the ceiling for last hah! Why not you take a look.” Purple pointed upwards, the lights dimmed in the baby’s room and a small mini galaxy appeared on the ceiling. Bendy’s eyes widened, seeing all the blues and pinks with purples, all blending together with small white swirling stars to brighten it up. just all of it amazed him.

“It’s beautiful. How’d you do this? I-It’s just incredible!” Bendy cuddled up to Purple still rubbing his belly to relaxes the baby. Both of them looked at eachother with smiles of joy. Bendy was amazed and Purple was proud to see his husbands vision come true.

“Glad you like it. Now you know what I’ve been up to besides lab work! Haha!” Purple laughed, making Bendy giggled when it soon turned to laughter to.

“Hahaha! No wonder. Hah! Ohhh, I just love everything you did to make not only my dream come true but, for our baby to have a place to fully stay besides our room ha!”

Bendy looked up and rested his head on Purple’s waist giving a soft calm sigh. Purple knelt down halfway and gave Bendy and big ol kiss on the lips, holding it for as long as they both could then releasing. Looking at each other deeply, Purple picked Bendy right into his arms and gave him another kiss.

“Quite surprised you still can lift me with the baby on board (smirks).”

“Ohhh, like I couldn't pick you up while you were only in a white tux on our wedding day. (giggles)” Purple joked. Bendy just smiled it off as he cuddled on Purples shoulder while holding his belly. Both of them looking up at the galaxy above them, filling them both with astonishment.

Bendy looked deep into Purples eyes and kissed him. When the kissed released Purple started to laugh, not knowing that Bendy didn’t notice the chair that was in their room was now in the baby’s. “Hahahaha! I’m still surprised you haven't noticed the rocking chair. It’s now in here. Haha! Figured it would be good to have to help with rocking the baby to sleep or at least with feeding.”

Bendy looked and saw the chair, rolling his eyes and giggling.

“So that’s where you put it. Hm. Works with me.” Bendy grinned, giving another light kiss, resting his horns on Purples antennas. “(Smirks) Thank you. We’re both going to need this. And since you ALL this work and I’m sure the crib to millions of hour, I’ll pop up the one on our bedroom, well. Try and attempt to get it up.”

Purple just grinned and gave a tight hug, then giving a kiss on Bendy’s stomach to the baby.

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tiny-smallest · 7 years

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an inch at a time

Rating: G Characters: Sammy, Alice, mention of various characters Warnings: none really besides the usual fucked-up shenanigans of a BATIM fic? Ask to tag. Description: Healing is slow, steady work, especially after so much unrelenting trauma. Sammy Lawrence has yet to really grasp that. But there's one person who might be able to reach him...

Also on AO3!

So I uh. Got really inspired by the Sammy twitter takeover thing and wrote Over the Rainbow fluff that I only remembered was super impossible halfway through, because Sammy was not saved in human form.

(I only just barely remembered in time that Alice was left mute in this au, which ended up working out in my favor, honestly.)

I hope you enjoy it anyway, @upperstories. Without further ado...

Sammy Lawrence was not a man given to wearing his heart on his sleeve. A stone cold cynic, the man learned early in life to keep one’s cards close to his chest. Feelings were not for talking about, especially when they were tangled and confused 24/7 and he would frankly rather forget the large majority of what those feelings were tied to. But every once in a while, as with most tragedies, the effects were inescapable, and physical reminders forced unpleasant self-reflection.

He was, at least, a little handsome– the horrors that plagued his life and stole so many years from him, so much of himself, had not been much kinder to his memories, but he remembered that bit, at least. He vaguely remembered feeling at ease with his appearance, and that he worked diligently to be presentable. He remembered he had long-ish hair, at least considering the times, and that he kept it in a little ponytail. He could not remember the color. Was it blonde or brown? It wasn’t a question worth considering when Henry led him and the toons into the light again, because all that mattered in that moment was the light– the air, the breeze, the colors and trees and sky.

But all highs come and go, and the high that came with freedom, of course, did too. Swiftly and without mercy.

Seeing himself in a mirror again thirty years and unspeakable evils later was likely going to go down as one of the most surreal moments of his life. A stranger stared back out at him, one with so many forehead lines, and crow’s feet, and pale, sickly skin. What could barely be qualified as hair was scraggly and gray, the ink having ravaged it to near obliteration. He looked like a late term cancer patient, except the truly disturbing part was barely being able to even recognize the reflection as himself.

Was that even himself?

Who was he, anymore?

Staring at the man in the mirror as if he might move independently, Sammy backed out of the room.

Getting him to use the bathroom after that was a hassle.

Worse still was the decision that what was left of his hair had to go. It took nearly a week and many arguments before Mary could finally get the man to sit in the kitchen, clipping away at his hair while Sammy stared with a dull emptiness at the wall. The notion of going to a barber looking like this was too humiliating and so this was the compromise.

Even after all this time, he still had such little say over what happened to his own being, didn’t he?

He wished that the thought would at least inspire some sort of slow burn inside him. Being angry was much better than this numbness, even if it wasn’t loud or explosive. But things seldom went as Sammy wanted, and this time was of no exception.

An hour later found Sammy in the bathroom, the longest time he’d lingered in there since first catching sight of his reflection, staring at his bald head. Henry and Mary both promised that this was for the better, that this would encourage new hair to grow in, that this was a first step towards recovery. But all he could feel was his insides twisting, crying out that yet again, something had been taken from him.

How was he supposed to feel about this?

A hand tugged on his pants.

“Hello, my dear.” The automatic response fell from his mouth, his subconscious miles ahead of coherent thought and easily recognizing the gesture as something the mute Alice would do to get someone’s attention. Tearing his gaze from the mirror, he glanced over his shoulder and downwards at the little angel, feeling his tense body soften as if a switch had been flipped. “Can I help you?”

Her pretty little face twisted into a look of massive concentration, her hands raising and slowly moving about with the clumsiness of someone unsure if they’re doing something correctly or not. Sammy raised an eyebrow and she repeated the motion, and it was then that he realized she was attempting to use the thing called sign language that she was learning to make up for her lack of a voice.

Dear little thing. Her very soul had been robbed from her when her voice was taken, and yet she was still concerned more about others than herself. His heart swelled a little with love and at the same time, withered with shame. He would never be that selfless, most likely. “No, I’m afraid not.”

<Are you sure? What are you so sad about?> She paused for a moment, frowning in frustration as she attempted to sign the next bit out but halted. Sammy watched, waiting for her to figure it out. <Mary says sometimes talking about the problem makes> Another stop. With a sigh, she produced a pad and paper. Mary says that sometimes talking about the problem makes a solution clear.

He wanted to be angry, but again, found no strength, even in his ocean of salt, to be so. “It’s a cute idea, but it doesn’t work so well in practice.”

Humor me. She tapped the pen against the sentence, a stern little frown puckering up her face.

Sammy blinked in surprise. Well then. It seemed like Alice had some of her bite back.

“It’s private.”

I know. But letting people past walls feels better.

“No, it doesn’t.” The reaction was instinct, like taking a hand away from an accidentally touched hot object.

Yes it does. She was tapping her foot now.

“How would you know?” he snapped, finally finding that ire he’d been trying to tap into and immediately regretting it as she leveled him with a glare that put his to shame.

Because it’s not like I didn’t suffer too, you know, and I see what bottling it up does to people. Bendy doesn’t like to talk any more than you do.

He winced. “… I’m sorry.” Just a few minutes ago he’d admired her selflessness and then he tried to step all over it. Why must he be a jerk at every available opportunity when he wasn’t being a sad, wet blanket?

It wasn’t like he wanted to not enjoy life. It just didn’t feel very possible at times. A lot of the time. The longer the days dragged on, the further away that feeling of light and joy from the first few moments of freedom felt. It was like he’d learned to fly for all of a day and now had cinderblocks on his feet.

I know you’re hurting. I won’t tell anyone anything you tell me. Tell. Hah. She couldn’t speak. There was an ironic joke in there somewhere-

Was… was that a bitter little smile touching the corners of her mouth? She saw it too, and…

His heart twisted. Alice didn’t deserve to feel that kind of poison in her. Bitterness was his weapon for so much of his life, that much he remembered, and he also remembered it leaving him pretty incapable of actually talking to people, shutting them out at most opportunities.

Such was the nature of walls.

That sudden thought gave him pause. Yeah. Such was the nature of walls. Did… he really want to spend the rest of his life, however long that might be, using that defense mechanism as his weapon? Keeping everyone out? He lost thirty years because Joey had a goddamn god complex. How much more time could he afford to lose?

… Did he want to look back, another thirty years from now on his deathbed, all alone, with only himself to blame for it?

“… You promise, don’t you?” It felt like such a childish thing to say, but there was no way he wanted any of this to get back to… anyone else, if he were being honest.

She nodded, her face relaxing into hope so strong it made him ache. Well, there was no backing out now.

“I hate this.” Very specific, Sammy. “I hate how… empty everything feels. I remember that day we finally left the studio and it was so- magical- it was like- like walking on air! And now…”

He gestured furiously to his reflection, scowling at it. “Now this! Look at this! I’m no more in control of anything inside or outside of me now than I was then! The things he did are still there! I remember anytime I look at myself! I hate looking at myself! I’m- old! Empty! I’m-”

Broken. Sad. Afraid.

A sudden weight at his waist nearly knocked the wind out of him and he looked down, raising his arms to find Alice clinging to his midsection. He forgot how much strength the toons could have in those noodle arms depending on their emotions- wait was she crying!?

… Had he said that aloud?

Shit.

Sammy hugged her, feeling panic build rapidly in his chest. Shit shit shit. She’s crying what does he do!?

“I’m sorry I- did I say that out loud? I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to upset you Alice dear, please don’t- please don’t cry?”

Yeah, this right here was why he was pretty sure he’d never planned on kids.

She nodded into him. Okay, so that answered his earlier question with painful clarity. Shit. Again.

Why couldn’t he be half as eloquent with words as he was with music?

“I’m sorry, little angel. I shouldn’t-” He broke off as she let go of him, scribbling on her writing pad.

No, I’m glad you told me. You needed to get that out.

“What good did it do anyone?” All it did was make Alice upset and make Sammy feel gross for dumping his stupid, upsetting thoughts on a girl already facing her own problems.

Well now that I know what hurts, I have words.

“… All right.” God knew he didn’t have a right to stop her now that they’d both just opened this festering wound. He may as well allow her to continue.

You feel helpless and scared, and you’re frustrated that things don’t feel as good as they did at first when we all got out. You’re afraid it won’t ever feel that good again, and you hate being reminded of all the bad things that happened. Everything hurts all the time and you don’t know when it’ll stop.

Yeah, that was an accurate summary. He swallowed. She tugged on him and he leaned down, stiffening in surprise when she touched his bald head.

After giving it a pat, she went on. But it will. It’ll stop. Things will get better. It’ll be slow, like something growing, but it’ll come.

“Something growing…?”

Think of it like flowers. They don’t bloom in a day. They grow slowly. Progress is measured in inches. Each day is another inch.

The tiniest smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “… Like hair?”

She smiled. Like hair.

He straightened and looked at himself in the mirror before turning back to her.

“Thank you.”

You’re welcome.

“Let’s go; the bathroom is starting to feel cramped with us just… loitering in it. I can… show you the music I was working on? Maybe you could help, if you want? I’m a little stuck. Could use a second opinion.” She beamed, flouncing out of the bathroom with a happy little hop. Sammy glanced back at the mirror.

Maybe it really would get better. Eventually. With people who cared about him, even when he dragged his heels and said stupid things.

Days would pass. He’d been through worse. The knots would loosen. The sun would put some color back into his skin. Working at Mary’s bakery might maybe improve his social skills. He’d make music. Relearn the needed muscle memory to play instruments. He’d put on weight and get used to eating and sleeping on a normal basis again. The walls might lower. His relapses would get fewer and further inbetween. His hair would grow.

He turned and left the bathroom.

I figured he probably forgets to eat and sleep since the ink and its magic basically rendered him capable of living without either.

Next on “I forgot a key element of the au” if I can figure out how to stitch the scenes together: Sammy is the only adult human at home, faced with three distressed toons at two in the morning, and isn’t good with words, what do.

#upperstories #over the rainbow au #bendy and the ink machine #batim alice angel #batim sammy #batim sammy lawrence #man i hope this writing high lasts #why the hell does my best inspiration come when I HAVE NO COMPUTER #i vaguely remember that sammy was supposed to have a soft spot for alice in this au so #sammy and alice bonding time #my writing

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