#ink illness

[inkvirus-lovers]

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY (a little late)

[brindzzz]

BLUEINK!!!

I've never drawn this ship before (also, lovely ship btw), and as a Bendystraw shipper it feels like I'm drawing infidelity LOL

[theinkvirus]

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[xxheaftfulxx]

Oh Bendy. What’s happened to you?.

Ahh I’m pretty proud of this!! 😛 Hope y’all like it and if you wanna see more I do have an instagram account @xxheart_drawsxx so please do go follow if you do enjoy my art!!! I’ll try to start posting more if I see people do actually enjoy my art 😅🫶

Much love as always!!!

-Heart<3

[bowie-bow]

Tis' finished

It's a drawing of a hypothetical blot attack of Bendys then a little rant about his illness and it's depictions lol-

CW: DISTRESS, NUDITY, DISTURBING IMAGERY, BLOOD

I've always seen Bendy's attacks drawn closer to QFTIMs portrayal of the blot, as in dripping over the face and slight distortions in the face and body, I don't say this to dis those depictions, but along with those, I also wanted to see the grosser and quieter moments of illness.

I recall either Fly or Nort saying that Bendy has a tendency to try to tough it alone, but still ending up calling for Boris, I wanted to depict one of those moments. I completely get him, I've had (although very occasional) moments where I was in so much pain I just laid on my floor or the bathroom floor, whether it be bad asthma days or periods, I never wanted someone to see me in those states. The vulnerability, the shallow breaths, the shame. I feel every attack he has carries those emotions and weight.

During them, we've already seen how fuzzy his mind gets, at least during a really bad one. I think during an everyday one, I think his mind would have simple words expressing his pain until the words are meaningless static only interrupted by variations of those words, intrusive thoughts, questions of why he specifically had to have his illness, or of course, thoughts and wishes of his brother's comfort.

I may want to draw a comic of it later but the other horrible thing even after the attack is over, is either cleaning up after yourself. The quiet after a weekly traumatic experience, such horrible pain, but you still have to get up and clean the evidence. What I think Bendy would find more sickening is seeing Boris clean after him, the guilt and shame when someone takes care of him after dealing with what he sees as his burden to carry alone, it probably leaves him nauseous, with those combined emotions and the aftermath of his pain.

I don't personally have any illness close to the Blot but I sometimes feel like the Blot is more akin to murder, by no one in particular, just so brutal it feels like it had to be inflicted. To imagine the body attacking itself in such a brutal manner, it feels like someone HAD to have a hand in it. I feel like Bendy would feel that way as well, at least before he accepted what would happen to him, I think he'd blame the celestials. Hence the lyric change from "him" to "God".

I think I might redo this digitally, I do think the drawing could be clearer, with the pose and emotion, also wanna fix where the blood is placed.

Anyway, I love Bendy, I hate him at the same time. He makes me think and reflect about myself and others in my life (most of the myth cast does tbh), silly little guy.

The reference panels:

And the song I used for inspo too:

[ruru195]

When the Ink Falls

The Questers had been through storms before, but this one came from inside, not outside.

They were resting with the Circus Crew for the night, camping in the same quiet city. Most of them had gone out gathering information—Felix, Oswald, Cuphead, and Mugman exploring the streets while Mickey kept watch at the tents.

Only Boris and Bendy stayed behind.

The evening was calm… until it wasn’t.

Mickey was strolling between the tents, humming softly, when a sound cut the air— a scream.

Not fear. Not anger. Pain.

He sprinted toward it.

There, in the dirt, Bendy was on his knees, his small body folding as if something inside him were tearing apart. Ink poured from his nose and mouth, thick and black, dripping down his chin and staining the ground. His arms shook uncontrollably, fingers digging into the soil as he gasped.

The familiar nightmare of The Inkness.

And Boris—poor Boris—was desperately holding him, sobbing so hard his breath broke into hiccups. “Mickey—MICKEY—I-I don’t know what to do—he won’t stop—he’s hurting—Mickey, it’s getting worse—!!”

Bendy screamed again, a sound so raw it cracked the night open.

Mickey dropped to his knees immediately.

“Boris—Boris, breathe,” he said gently, guiding the panicked wolf back. “I need you calm so he can breathe, okay? Look at me.”

But Boris couldn’t. The tears kept pouring, and he shook with terror.

Bendy’s hands clawed at his own face as ink smeared across his eyes, blinding him. Mickey grabbed Bendy’s wrists gently.

“Easy, buddy. I got you,” he whispered as he wiped the ink away so Bendy could gasp for air. “You’re alright. You’re not alone.”

The inky demon trembled violently, choking through sobs. “It—h-hurts—M-Mickey—make it stop—please—”

And then he vomited more ink—thick, black, endless—collapsing forward.

Mickey held him, steady and firm, until Bendy could lean on something that wasn’t the pain.

Hours passed.

Hours of crying, shaking, soothing, wiping ink, comforting Boris as the wolf fell apart, whispering steady reassurance into Bendy’s ear each time another wave tore through him.

By the time the storm finally quieted… they were all exhausted.

Boris had cried himself to sleep, face buried against Mickey’s thigh. The wolf’s breathing jittered every few seconds, a leftover tremor from hours of panic. Mickey gently brushed the fur between his ears, calming the little spasms in his sleep.

Next to him, Bendy lay on his side, curled inward like a child. Every so often his body jerked from leftover pain. His tears were still black, streak drying slowly on his cheeks.

He tried to apologize—Bendy always did—but the words fell apart into fragmented sobs.

Mickey didn’t let him finish. He wrapped an arm around Bendy’s trembling shoulders, pulling him gently against his side.

“You’re safe,” Mickey whispered. “You did good. Just rest now.”

Bendy nuzzled closer instinctively, seeking warmth, seeking comfort, seeking anything but the echo of agony still lingering in his chest. His breathing hitched when Mickey softly traced a finger from his forehead down to the tip of his nose—a motion gentle, steady, familiar.

It was the same touch Mickey’s mother used to calm him when he was small and scared.

Bendy’s eyelids fluttered. The trembling eased—not gone, but softer—as he exhaled shakily.

“That’s it… just like that,” Mickey murmured. “Sleep’ll come soon.”

He shifted just enough to rock both Bendy and Boris gently, back and forth, slow and rhythmic.

A soft hum rose from Mickey’s chest— A lullaby from long ago.

Bendy’s breaths finally quieted, becoming slow, warm, uneven but peaceful as he drifted off pressed against Mickey’s side.

And Mickey stayed right there, holding them both as the night settled and the Inkness finally loosened its grip.

[theinkvirus-espanol]

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@ruru195

[emolly242]

Some emo ass drawings of bendy

@theinkymystery @inkymysteryanimatedpilot