#batim fic

[charlieslowartsies]

trying to work on Make Believe's current fic but have arts in the meantime ^^

[its-ya-girl-phoeni]

Henry's Monologue (from @vitalpen's fic "What Was It Like?")

I know people who are collecting dust right now. They called it "battle fatigue". It's what happens to you after you get back. The smallest things can set it off. Someone drops something, it makes a loud bang, and suddenly I'm taking heavy fire, trying to stop another guy from bleeding to death while bombshells are going off all around us. I'll see someone walking around on crutches because they're missing a leg, and I'll think of all the times that was almost me. Then there's the nightmares. Those aren't ever going away. Even if they cure me completely while I'm awake, I'll always dream of tanks, gunpowder, and blood. I'll see faces staring at me, nothing in their eyes, mouths slightly agape. Then I'll wake up in a cold sweat and never get back to sleep. I don't have the worst. I only go back every once in a while. Most of the time, I'm alright. But I know a few guys… they're in padded cells, collecting dust while the world forgets about them. The ones that only have a few moments of clarity before they're back in the fight, praying to whoever’s listening that they'll live. They barely come out, because if they lose it when there's people around, they might kill someone. ...And you want to know the rub? Those guys are the lucky ones. They came back.

[star-going-supernova]

there is darkness in these halls

Chapter 5: Pinned Down

Audrey swallowed heavily. Her legs. That was where half the pain was coming from, the sharp, shooting agony where’d they’d been ripped from her body.  So there’d been the fights, and then the rumbling quake, and then—yes, she remembered now—the collapse.  She wasn’t sure if it’d been the ceiling coming down that made the floor give out or if it had all been happening at once. She did recall the swoop in her stomach as she plummeted, someone yelling her name just before she’d blacked out. 

read it on ao3!

• Day 25 || Fandom: Bendy and the Dark Revival

[averagecatlover]

Memories 

Bendy and the ink machine (Sammy Lawrence x Reader)

Warnings: light angst, violence, weapons, blood, injury (please let me know if I’ve missed anything)

Thank you everyone! I hope you all have a fantastic day and a great night!

(Y/n) wanders the upper halls, listening to every small noise. The rustle of papers- freeze, the creaking of wood- stop.

Drips echoed through the halls, from the ink and her open wound. She was looking for supplies and didn’t see the lost one. It had got her good.

Thankfully she wasn’t far from the music department, inside the music department was the medical station. Hopefully, it would have something to at least stop the bleeding.

She holds onto the wall using it to balance herself, fuck a wound on your stomach was annoying. It felt like she couldn’t walk, though she pushed through and walked up the stairs. She was determined not to die.

She enters the music department the lights were on low making it harder to see. She stumbles her way toward the medical station.

She holds onto a desk rummaging through it, trying to search for a bandage. Once she finds a nice big roll she smiles. She grabs it shakily and closes the drawer. She finds a chair and drops into it, she nearly fell over. She pulled up her shirt and examined the cut.

Thankfully it wasn’t that large but it was just deep enough to cause problems. She messily wraps the bandage around her stomach. She made it as tight as she could, which hurt a lot more than she thought it would.

She stays there for a moment relaxing. She takes deep breaths trying to ease the pain. After a while she stood up, the bandage did help.

She leaves the medical station and heads back to the stairs. She had originally planned to leave though, the upper levels were safer. Not to mention there were no doubt more resources and she had lost a lot to the lost one. She turns around and walks back into the music department.

She searches around for tools she could use. She opens a crate. It was a crate full of posters, she picks one up examining it. She opens it and freezes in her spot.

These posters were ones she had created. They were for the music department and the face of the music department himself, Samuel Lawrence. He looked happy on the front cover.

Though she knew him personally and he wasn’t happy often unless he was at home. However he was always nice and happy around her. Memories play through her mind of a better time. Sammy always walked her out to her car. How he always got nervous around her. Him yelling about the pipes and only (Y/n) was able to calm him. She sets the poster down and gave it a small sad smile.

She turns around to be face to face with a lost one. It jumps on her before she could prevent it. She cries out as it pushes on her open wound. It tried to attack her neck but she pushes its head away.

She tried kicking it but nothing worked. Ink drips onto her, she hoped it didn’t leak into her open wound but that was the least of her concern. Right as it drew closer from her arms getting weak, it froze screaming out in pain. Before it drips weakly on her body.

(Y/n) scrambles away from the body, she looks up at the cause of the lost one’s death. It was another lost one, though he held an axe with ink dripping from it. It also wore a bendy mask that was beaten up and covered in ink and dirt. It holds its hand out. She hesitated taking it. It had just saved her, surely it could be trusted. Once she did it helped her off the ground.

“Are you okay?” It asked, the voice sounded so familiar. Yet she couldn’t place it. She nods a little, and the lost one brushes his hand over her wound. She hisses in pain, he pulls his hand away immediately.

“Follow me I can take you somewhere safe.” The lost one helped lead her to a small office. It did look safe but it was also a mess, clearly living here wasn’t the best. Though it was better than nothing.

It sits her down on a makeshift cot. It grabs bandages from its own small storage as (Y/n) looks around the office still. It gently unravels the messily done bandages and slowly begins to replace them.

“Why are you helping me?” She asked quietly. It had been so quiet it felt as if she had to be quiet. The lost one looked up, the mask was a little unsettling but it saved her it is safe so she pushed it aside.

“Don’t you remember me?” It asked. She only tilted her head.

“I suppose I don’t look quite like my old self, it’s me, Samuel.”

(Y/n) felt her world freeze, she covered her mouth.

“Sammy?… Oh my god is it really you?” She asked tears coming to her eyes. Sammy chuckled and nods but before he could respond she pulls him into a tight hug.

She ignores the pain in her abdomen, shoving her face into his inky shoulder not caring.

“I missed you.” She said her voice wavering. Sammy hugs her rubbing her back.

“I missed you too (Y/n).”

[lil-artist-blog-fandoms-ocs]

"No matter what they made you think, you are worth saving. You are worth loving." with darknsweet and his aus Norman (forgot his nickname)

"Worthy"

Norman/Sammy, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: mild swearing, mildly dark thoughts, two men kissing

Wordcount: 10147

Happy birthday Sammy, lmao

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

It was such a nice day. The birds were singing. The trees rustled in the wind. The sun was slowly moving toward the horizon. Even the Lost Ones, the most cautious and tense creatures of the studio, were especially relaxed now. For the first time in decades, they looked… so happy. The only one who stood out was Sammy. While everyone was getting ready for the evening and night, he was just sitting some distance away, looking at the sun and the fluffy clouds around him.

Norman was concerned. Sammy had been there for at least a couple hours now. At first the projectionist hadn't wanted to bother him, thinking the prophet was making plans for their life outside the studio. But now Sammy's behavior seemed odd.

Along with taking a couple steps toward Sammy, Norman turned around and met eyes with Sarah. She was helping to organize the fire, carrying a bundle of twigs, and froze when Norman looked at her. After a couple of seconds of silent staring, she nodded her head gently toward the musician, signaling that it was the projectionist who should talk to him. The Lost One realized that Sammy would only open up to someone he absolutely trusted. If she or anyone else tried to talk to him, he would push them away. It had taken many years, but now Sarah understood that. With a final nod to Norman as well, Sarah withdrew to the others. The one-eyed man headed toward Sammy, who was sitting on the grass.

The musician didn't even notice he was being approached until Norman started talking.

"Sammy, are you okay?" - the projectionist asked. The musician flinched involuntarily and turned around, coming face to face with a worried Norman.

Sammy gave him a little smile.

"Yeah, it's okay," his voice sounded as soft and confident as ever. But clearly unused to having a face now, the musician couldn't hide his tired eyes and strained smile.

"Uh, no, you don't look okay," Norman replied. Sammy's smile became even more strained and awkward. Norman could see through him, and Sammy didn't like it.

"You're just imagining things," the musician squeezed out. He thought his nonexistent heart clenched when the projectionist sighed.

Norman glanced around cursorily. Behind him was the camp of the Lost Ones. Too many eyes and ears. No matter how hard you tried, Sammy wouldn't say anything. The one-eyed man shrugged.

"Whatever you say. But you know what? I found a remote spot with a nice view. You want to watch the sunset from there?"

The former prophet hesitated, looking away from Norman for a few seconds. But he nodded and stood up, shaking the dust off his pants.

"All right, let's go."

Norman led him away from the camp, to a small hill a few hundred meters away. Even though Norman's main purpose was to get Sammy away to talk, he didn't lie about the beautiful view the two inky men had in front of them.

Now that they were alone, the projectionist hoped that the one-actor show would stop playing out in front of him. He moved a little closer so that their shoulders were lightly touching.

"Sammy, be honest, is something wrong?"

The musician looked back at him for a second, quickly averting his gaze and looking up at the pinking sky. He frowned slightly, thinking. Then exhaled, admitting defeat.

"Nothing much has happened. It's just…I'm tired."

Now it was Norman's turn to frown.

"Hey, didn't we agree that you'd go to take a nap when you were tired? I thought you learned how to turn that "radio" thing off when you wanted to."

"Yeah, I've kinda learned to do that," Sammy sighed, pulling up his knees and resting his head on them. "But for some reason, I keep hearing voices sometimes."

"Their voices?" - Norman raised an eyebrow. The musician shook his head.

"They sound different. Or he, I'm not sure," noticing Norman's tilted head, Sammy clarified. "It's like one voice is trying to sound different. Whispering, changing the tone and manner of speech," the musician spread his hands.

"And what does he or they tell you?" The projectionist tilted his head slightly toward him.

Sammy looked away. It was unexpected to see guilt and... fear on his face?

"It doesn't matter".

"Ohoho, nah, you're not walking away from it now. What are they telling you in there?"

"U-um... It's…nothing special," Sammy squeezed his head into his shoulders a little. He flinched slightly when his hand was touched.

"Sammy, don't try to make excuses. I'm serious," Norman's tone made Sammy relax a little, looking down at his feet with a guilty puppy dog look.

"He says a lot of things."

"What kind of things?"

The musician sighed again.

"Like…that I don't deserve to be here." While his boyfriend froze in shock, Sammy continued. Surprisingly, the musician sounded calm. "That I didn't deserve anything good. I didn't deserve this body. I didn't deserve to be free from the studio."

"That's bullshit," Norman's voice cut through. But before he could continue, Sammy, as if in a trance, spoke again.

"I think that's the only thing that's fair. I've been lying for a very long time. I've used everyone around me. I've caught and killed innocent people… I guess it's their restless souls that haunt me. It's my fault. I shouldn't have become a leader. I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve your love. I didn't deserve to be saved."

Sammy was stopped by Norman's fingers touching the musician's lips.

"That's enough. No one dares speak like that about the one I love," Norman spoke low and quiet, looking at him with an incredibly serious expression on his face. "Not you, not some fucking voice in your head."

Sammy tried to concentrate on looking at the grass and his boots. A typical reaction for him. Norman gently took him by the chin, turning him to face him. The musician stiffened, seeing how the movie mechanic's gaze was filled with worry and…tenderness.

"Sammy, listen carefully to what I'm about to say. No matter what these voices tell you. No matter what they made you think, you are worth saving. You are worth loving. Everything you've done, you've done for our good. No matter how horrible you think your actions are, they don't change the fact that you more than anyone else deserve a good ending."

Silence.

They looked at each other and it was as if time had stopped for them. The rays of the slowly setting sun painted everything around them in warm colors. The birds were quiet. The wind stopped blowing.

Everything stood still.

Norman moved his hand slightly and placed it on Sammy's cheek. The one-eyed man moved toward him, already thinking of realizing his long-held dream.

But he stopped.

And instead just kissed his forehead.

"Understood?"

He gave the musician a quick smile, letting him go and sitting up straight, finally turning his attention to the view.

"What a view he-" Norman didn't have time to finish, frozen like a statue by the feel of something at the corner of his mouth. Sammy, who was much closer than before, pulled back with a barely noticeable smile.

"Thank you. Maybe one day I'll be able to believe what you say."

No, it was just a crime to tease him like that.

Or was that consent?

The mechanic couldn't think about it. His only desire forbade him to be distracted by anything. Putting one hand on the musician's shoulder and taking his chin again with the other, he turned him toward him and kissed him.

For real this time.

Norman's head stopped working. The mechanisms in his chest hummed. There was a sudden sweetness on his tongue. He would have been glad to spend eternity like that. But he was stopped by Sammy's hands resting on his shoulders.

Now, looking at his face, Norman realized that … fucked up. Sammy just stared at him in shock.

Golden eyes wide open. Mouth slightly open. A flushed face.

A flushed face?

The scarlet rays of the nearly set sun lay calmly on the white inky skin. The musician seemed to be flushed, which actually suited his dazed expression very well. It was incredibly cute.

What Norman couldn't know was that he had the same panicked and flushed face. The newly formed couple turned away from each other, dying a little inside.

"W-what was that?"

"A kiss?"

"That doesn't feel like anything you've done before!" The musician put his palm to his lips, hundreds of thoughts swarming in his head. "You never came in my mouth before."

"…Was it disgusting?" The projectionist spoke more softly, as if the air had been cut off. A mistake like that would be hard to undo. With worry, he took a quick glance at the musician.

He was surprised and relieved to find his eyes shining brightly.

"…M-my first impulse was to bite your tongue off," he muttered, still not daring to look at Norman. "But…I can't say that…it was disgusting. It was just…very unexpected," Norman was bumped on his shoulder. "Don't do something like that without asking beforehand!"

That got a couple of weak chuckles out of the one-eyed man, and he was able to relax.

"…Too bad our first kiss was such a mess…maybe we should try again?"

The intonation with which Norman said it made Sammy wince a little. The red rays perfectly matched his slightly panicked expression. But Sammy tried to respond, making his voice sound just as cheeky as the projectionist's. The face the musician tried to make to match the tone still looked very awkward.

"…You're a sly one, Mr. Polk," he wanted to say something else, but forgot all the words as he turned and almost bumped his nose into Norman's. There were now several centimeters between their faces. The one-eyed man continued to stare at him mockingly and insolently.

Though the musician tried to hide his embarrassment and even some panic, the projectionist had long ago made it clear that he saw right through Sammy.

"I'm also very brazen," Norman said in a much lower voice. Thanks to his ability to keep a brick face and the lack of blood, otherwise they'd both be red-faced like little schoolboys on a first date. "... May I?"

The projectionist's gaze shifted for a second to the former prophet's lips and then immediately returned to his eyes. The second of silence that hung between them seemed like an eternity.

Until Sammy almost moved in, copying Norman's tone.

"You may."

[simpalert]

hey ya'll remember these two

i wanna wrtie a fic about these two doing cute couple stuff any ideas?

[inkdemonsfailedprophet]

Just a Dinner. pt.1

Although since this is going online, here's your tw:

Implied (not illegal-ish?) relationship with 6 year age gap,

Domestic/work/Initial abuse, Joey Drew, unclear consent in actions,  Toxic relationship,  swearing, internalized homophobia, and any nonfriendly interactions will be time skipped weirdos. 

This is a safe space-- unless you ship this with ill intent of it being healthy. Then why are you here?

Sammy pushed the hair tie back up his blonde hair slightly as he walked into the studio. It had been two months since he had been hired. (Although that was to be ignored.)  He glanced around the lobby for his instrument case. When it was nowhere to be found he sighed with disappointment, it didn’t take that long for a stupid banjo to get a few strings pulled. That made him wonder- Had it been delivered somewhere else, then?

-

After mindlessly checking the music room, his office, Jack's office, the Art Department, and the halls surrounding, he reluctantly climbed the stairs to Joey’s office. He hadn’t seen his boss in weeks! Which was strange- He ran the studio! Shouldn’t he be present? Nonetheless, his secretary told him he could walk right in--Meaning Joey was there. The blonde made his way to the office door, knocking lightly. “Who is it?” A happy go lucky man called. “Lawrence.” He replied. “Come in!” Joey grinned, leaning back in the chair. 

Sammy stepped inside, gently shutting the door behind him. “Sammy, how can I help you?” J0ey pressed his hands together, observing the boy in front of him. “My instrument hasn’t shown up, sir-” He explained in a short tone. Rather annoyed than anything. Joey pursed his lips, “I’m terribly sorry about that!” He frowned, shaking his head. “But- You’re very talented, I’m sure you can work with what we have!” Joey smiled, standing up. 

Sammy held his breath, cracking a small smile. Joey had always flattered him, no matter how fucking annoying he got, he was always kind to Sammy! Sometimes a little.. Too nice. Sometimes he had to take a step back, and distance himself. He watched Joey step in front of the desk. “You’ve checked everywhere?” He questioned. Sammy nodded. “Yeah, everywhere.” 

Joey seemed to ponder this for a moment. Thinking of how to play his cards next. “Then I guess it truly isn’t here.” He pushed himself off the desk, taking a step towards Lawrence, who fought the small urge to back away. To Joey, Sammy was a small meerkat. A wild animal that had to be approached slowly before becoming prey. Funny analogy, huh? 

“Yeah- That’s what I said before.” Sammy nodded a little. He wasn’t nervous. Joey just made him feel intimidated, as bosses do. “Yes, I’m sorry.” Joey hummed, stepping the rest of the way and brushing invisible dust off Sammy’s shoulder, causing him to stiffen. He didn’t like being touched by anyone. Unless of course it was his friend Jack Fain, who enjoyed physical affection. Causing Sammy to get used to it. But only from him. 

“How about I just buy you a new one?” Joey offered. Sammy met his eyes. “No sir, It’s- I can wait.” He shrugged. Joey's hand bounced and fell from Samuel's harsh shrug. “No, I insist! Here- Meet me after work, for a dinner, hm?” 

Well, you’d be insane to pass up a free instrument! So, Sammy agreed. “Yeah- Sounds good, sir.” He nodded slowly. 

“Please, just Joey.”

This should’ve been the first sign for the young boy. But he brushed it off. Joey was being so kind- He figured them friends!

-

[its-all-just-ink-man]

A little fic thingy I wrote from a script I'm going to turn into a comic at some point. I did change it up a little from the original script but that's okay lol. Just a little story about Henry and the Projectionist.

TW: Death, unhappy ending

.

.

.

.

.

Henry ran as fast as his tired, aching legs could carry him, feet sticking in the ankle deep ink, spurred on by the bloodcurdling shrieks of the raging creature hot on his heels and guided by the light that shook as the Projectionist chased after him. Rounding a corner, he spotted a Little Miracle Station, one of the many boxes scattered throughout the studio put there so one could hide from the monstrosities that inhabited it. Thinking fast, he got in the box, shutting the door just as the Projectionist came around the corner. The man(? Did he even still count as a man? Henry wondered) seemed confused, not knowing where Henry had gone, and began to walk away. It seemed that he, like the Ink Demon and all the other inky creatures in the studio, didn't have much of a sense of object permanence, or maybe he was only able to see moving things. Henry watched him go, his heart aching at what had apparently become of his good friend Norman.

Norman.

Henry wondered if the Projectionist would respond if he heard his name. Perhaps there was still a shred of humanity left within him? There was a slim chance from what Boris had told him through notes, those times when the boy he used to be- Buddy- was in control of the wolf's body and mind. Sammy Lawrence had murdered Norman as a sacrifice to the Ink Demon, Buddy had told him, and the Ink itself had claimed his corpse. The Projectionist was more or less a zombie, a dead man reanimated.

Still, there was a chance, tiny though it was, and Henry got a crazy idea. It was risky, he knew, but he needed to find out if the Projectionist still had a trace of Norman left in him, like Boris had a trace of Buddy and Alice had a trace of Susie. That, and he couldn't bear to let Norman go on like this. If he was completely gone, putting him down would be a mercy, Henry thought, like putting down a rabid animal. Even though he was only armed with a Gent pipe, it might be enough to do the job if he had to.

He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and exited the Little Miracle Station. The Projectionist was some distance away now, so Henry ran after him.

"Norman!" he called out.

The Projectionist let out a screech and turned to him before starting to charge him, but Henry stood his ground.

"Norman, stop!" Henry ordered, praying to any god that might be listening that this would work.

The Projectionist stopped and seemed to stare at him, the light from his projector glaring into Henry's face.

Henry took this as a good sign and went on.

"Are you still in there, Norman?" he asked. "Can you hear me?"

The Projectionist- no, Norman, Henry told himself- began to slowly walk toward him.

"It's okay, Norman," he said softly. "I know you didn't want to turn into this. It's not your fault."

When the Projectionist reached out to Henry with his thin arms, Henry's heart lifted. Surely this was a sign Norman was still inside this creature? Henry reached out to him in turn.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Norman." He walked forward to meet the Projectionist.

Upon reaching the creature he thought could be his friend, Henry looked up at him, squinting in the glaring light.

"You don't have to hurt anyone anymore, okay?" he tried to reassure him, and tried not to flinch as the Projectionist took his face in his hands, surely leaving inky handprints on his cheeks, but Henry didn't care. He was getting through to him, he was sure of it. But something wasn't right.

"Norman?" he asked. "What are you-"

CRACK.

Silence.

Henry lay on the floor, his head turned at a wrong angle, and the Projectionist stared down at him before kneeling down to tear into his once-friend's corpse.