#this technically counts

on the 14th of september (yes w delay i just got thru all my footage) Bugs and Achoo got married!! here are some photos from the celebration

my children

Hi.

I’m back.

So since the Ink Demon content here’s a lil slow, I decided to do what I do best…

& ramble on about my favorite freaky boy with daddy issues again!! Yaaaaaayyy!!

But this isn’t just ANY ramble, no, cause my twisted & frankly evil imagination gifted me something interesting today (as it usually does).

So there I was, dozing off to some music, when my brain crafted a scene…

of the Ink Demon’s very beginning…

which is kind of headcanony, I’m honestly just doing this for fun.

He was the first, the first success when it came to creating life with the ink, even if it was hard to tell how “alive” he was at first.

The quaking & shivering of the ink-soaked being was the only immediately clear indication, his frantic breathing gradually slowing as he took in the world around him.

All the fancy thingamajigs he couldn’t possibly understand were fascinating to look at, sure, but what REALLY caught his attention were the many faces staring back at him, some with horror, some with excitement, & some who were too dumbfounded to pick an emotion to stick with. They were all looking at him. Who were they? Did they… make him?

He tried to stand, his boney legs struggling to support himself as he kept falling to his knees. He kept at it, making quiet whimpering noises out of frustration. He wanted to stand like the rest of them, but couldn’t. He tried grasping onto the nearest elevated object near him to raise himself, legs shaking even further.

To his observers, it was such a sad sight. Even if the creature was unnerving to most of them, seeing it struggle was depressing to watch. One of them got an idea.

Thomas Connor, the man who engineered the machine that created the being in the first place, was the first one to step up & aid the newborn entity in getting a better grasp on its surroundings, even if using a nearby wheelchair to do so felt a little… odd, but it was the best solution he could think of in that instance, so he wasn’t complaining. He planned to help the thing learn how to properly walk in a more convenient environment, but for now, Tom thought it was appropriate to show the creature what would be known as its new home.

The ink creature gazed down at his dangling legs, finding mild amusement in how he was moving while sitting down. He eventually got into the brief habit of twiddling his thumbs when he wasn’t looking around at his environment.

He was curious about himself, about his rather large white hand & the crooked white thing on his chest. They stood out to him, especially in comparison to the rest of his skinny stature. That’s when he saw one of the Bendy cutouts.

Thomas told it that this was Bendy the Dancing Demon, the mascot of this studio & well… it, for the most part.

It was Bendy.

HE was Bendy.

Which… immediately was off-putting.

The character in front of him was so… small with such a plump stomach & a big head. “Bendy” put a hand to his own chest while looking at the cutout, feeling each line of his ribcage.

Tom could tell the poor thing was already judging itself in comparison to its cartoony counterpart. He tried to ease it by telling it they’d work on THAT later as they finally arrived at his office.

There was enough stuff around the decently sized room for the thing to hold itself up with, so this seemed like a good place to teach it how to properly walk.

Tom disliked getting ink on himself like this, but these first few steps would require some direct assistance for him, so he did what he could. He held the creature by the hands as he guided it around the office, keeping a slow pace so it could properly find its footing.

While he walked, “Bendy” took in all the things around him that he could, still trying to wrap his head around this strange place. Over & over, he kept thinking about his name. “Bendy”, “Bennnnndyyy”… What about THIS person’s name? Who was the man that was helping him? What was HIS name? Did he even have a name? This was all very confusing to him. He didn’t even know who created him yet. He began getting curious, perhaps a little too curious.

Once Tom was satisfied with the progress the ink creature had made, he ordered it to stay put in his office until he had returned to report the news to “Joey”, who he explained was the man who presumably “created” the character of Bendy.

To “Bendy”, this confirmed at least ONE of his questions: his creator was this “Joey” person. He wanted to meet him. He tried following the kind man who helped him, but the man was having none of it, raising his voice at “Bendy” to stay put no matter what.

Tom, wanting to report to Joey as quickly as possible, rushed off, leaving the ink creature briefly poking it’s head out of the door & watching him leave.

Although he was well aware he was disobeying the kind man’s orders, “Bendy” was just too curious about what else was out there, all the places the man neglected to show him, all the other funny fleshy faces the creature wanted to see…

He carefully made his way out of the room, deciding to roam the halls to see who or what he could find on his own.

So far, the halls were rather vacant of life, but they at least had a variety of different quirky posters sprawled about. He found himself curious about the posters featuring other cartoon characters, such as the one with the big snout & the one with the halo. Who were they? He was not exactly the best at reading at this point, so it was difficult to find that out for himself. Did this mean there were others like him? Or was he the only one?

He continued forward, slowly making his way down the halls until he came face to face with another person. They didn’t notice him at first, but the second they did, they practically fell over in terror, scooting away from the creature before eventually running off. “Bendy” reached out with his gloved hand to try & reassure them, but it was too late for that.

What was wrong? Wasn’t he the mascot of this place? Shouldn’t that person be excited to see him alive & moving?

“Bendy” explored the area further & quickly found a nearby wall of glass where he could just barely see his reflection in it. He walked closer to it.

Oh.

Oh.

The simplistic & adorable eyes of his counterpart were nowhere to be seen. Just ink. He tried swiping the ink away, but there was nothing underneath. His toothy smile matched the cutouts and posters, but his mouth could not emote any further than that, no matter how much he pulled & tugged at the ends of it.

This… this couldn’t have been HIM, right?

He was supposed to be Bendy, the cute little dancing demon!

But he was neither cute nor little, & he doubted he could dance with such a limited grasp on walking as it is.

This didn’t feel right, HE didn’t feel right, he felt like…

He heard footsteps echoing through the halls.

He panicked, wobbling his way back to the office he escaped from, fearing the man from before would be upset with him if he found him wandering about.

He closed the door behind him, wandering the office as if he never left, waiting for the nice man’s arrival.

Except it wasn’t the nice man that opened the door to greet him.

It was another man.

A man who, for a SPLIT second, looked upon “Bendy” with the brightest smile on his face…

Before it immediately vanished, replaced with nothing but horror & disgust.

So much had happened.

So much agitated yelling, so much horrified screaming…

It was all a blur to “Bendy”.

All he could remember was struggling to break free from someone’s grasp as he was thrown into this small room, hearing a click from the other side.

The door wouldn’t open, no matter how much he pushed or pulled or twisted the knob.

He was trapped.

The room was so dark. He could barely see anything around him. He kept knocking things over & making a mess anytime he tried to stand up & move.

This often left him on his knees, inches apart from the door.

Some days, he wouldn’t bother with it, just curling towards the nearest large object & letting himself rest, maybe even toying with some of the various smaller objects to occupy himself.

But on other days, he banged at the door for hours, begging for someone, ANYONE, to find him & let him out.

He put all of his energy into every slam, trying to make as much noise as possible.

He didn’t know why this was happening to him.

Sure, he didn’t look like the mascot he was supposed to be, but the nice man said they were gonna fix him.

So why did they do this?

Was this a part of the process?

Did the man lie?

Did he… deserve this?

Days on end, he felt the ink from his face leak to the ground as he whimpered & cried, the permanent smile never wavering.

He just wanted to get out. He wanted to see the bright rooms again. He wanted to see the posters again. He wanted to see the cutouts again.

He wanted to see his face again, his PERFECT face…

His perfect face…

Curse his perfect face.

He wouldn’t even be here if he had just come out right.

But then again… what if he somehow got WORSE treatment if he was “perfect”?

What if they made him do things he didn’t want to do?

What if he got hurt & wasn’t perfect anymore?

What if…

What if there was no way to not be hurt?

He wondered as he continued to bang on the door, each slam turning more & more aggressive & frantic…

…

…

…

Mhm, so uh

You ever just accidentally write a lil writing snippet without thinking?

For like 2-3 hours straight?

Damn bro, WHDIWNCOWOD

Anyway, uh, yeah.

Thanks, YT! For providing the music that inspired this!

Uh