Now That I Have A Cold Right Now..I'm Definitely Losing My Mind.

He stared at the typewriter.

"I can't write." Said the ghost.

"I can't laugh." Said the ghost.

"I can't fight." Said the ghost.

"I can't win." Said the ghost.

"I can only cry." Said the ghost.

Roleplayers! Feel free to rp here! Just note that this takes place when the studio goes to shit.

Drew them interacting in my au

Tom accidentally racked up the electricity bill . Grant ain't happy, folks.

I still can’t get over the fact that Grant thinks the gent boys are creepy while Tom called him “mangy” so I had to draw them interacting😭

Someone please draw them interacting more cause my motivation went all the way down😔

Anyways justice for grant everyone keeps being so obnoxious to him

Hudson if he actually went to The royal Canadian Air Force during WW2.

This would be the Poppy Field AU where Hudson actually survives the studio. No telling if he survives the war though...

GUYS!! I GOT AN AUDITION FOR A PLAY THIS WEEKEND.

WISH ME LUCK!!!

Hudson's design if he belonged in the aftermath au! This au was created by @thelocalmoth so credit goes to them!

Obviously, Hudson's face would be scarred as well as his throat and chest (where he was stabbed).

Sammy in the end (before the whole magical fix) gave Hudson back his eye (the other one he fed to the ink demon). Hudson remained his sight and his proper voice, however, he can only really talk quietly and cannot yell (it hurts way too much).

I have ✨more art✨

And something I made like two years ago that I like just found :3

✨yippee✨

Looks awesome!! I like the detail on the last one and the first one! Sammy and Bendy look good too (damn poor Sammy) !!

I can't tell who is who in the first one though :(

Let me know!

The world can seem like upside down bullshit, it's confusing, it's messy and can be overwhelming. I try not to listen to the radio or the news now due to all the overwhelming stuff that's going.

With everything that's going on right now, I just want to say, I hope you're doing okay. If you aren't and feel like nobody cares, I care.

With everything that's going on in this world, from climate change, shootings, COVID, war, (the list goes on), I admit I'm scared and I know other people are too! I don't know why I'm writing tbh. I just want to try and reach out in my weird way and tell you, I'm scared and if you are too.. we can be scared together. No one should feel scared alone. I know what that's like and it's horrible.

Reblog if you can relate to this or feel comforted by this? I just want to know if this post made someone feel comforted or less lonely.

Angus Newman in my AU! Y'know...the lazy toy maker..? The one Shawn despises (Batdr)

Age: 51

Nationality: American/ Scottish

Height: 5'9

Gender: Trans male

Sexuality: Homosexual

Condition: None

SO YOU GUYS CHOSE "Sammy committing arson and Jack watching in horror" SO. LET ME JUST FINISH UP THE DRAWING!!

VOTE PEOPLE AND PLEASE REBLOG THIS.

Still taking BATIM or BATDR drawing requests or asks.

SO. THE POLL HAS SPOKEN. MOST OF YOU WANTED A SHORT STORY ABOUT SAMMY LAWRENCE, SO HERE IT IS. PLEASE LIKE IT. I spent a lot of time on it.

How Could You?

“Mister Lawrence?”

I turned around, only to be met with my apprentice. He shuffled awkwardly, half of him hiding beneath the door. I then stared hard at my desk, letting out a sigh. Without meaning to, I dropped my book, music sheets spilling onto the floor. The yellowing papers swept up dust on the floorboards, I only narrowed my eyes at this. “What do you want, Johnny?” I muttered, kicking off my chair to retrieve the papers. I heard him slowly cracking my office door wide open and taking a few steps in.  Bending down, my hands furiously grabbed the scattered papers. I didn’t look at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but the band is waiting for you.” He said meekly. His British accent caught me off guard. I stood up, carelessly plopping the bundle of papers on my desk. I turned to him, an eyebrow raised. Today, he was dressed in a pale blue vest, buttoned up white collar shirt and brown slacks. I groaned, “Can’t they just warm up right now?” He hesitated, before he spoke, “They’ve been doing that, but..they’re getting impatient.” He nervously blew his light chestnut hair out of his face. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to yell. “Then tell them to wait.” I growled. Johnny frowned, avoiding eye contact with me. In a small voice he responded, “You said that…two hours ago.” Silence. 

I stormed through the vacant hallways, not even waiting for Johnny. Posters were plastered every four feet it seemed. With their cartoonish style, they all stared at me and smiled. This only fed my annoyance. The lights above me flickered and buzzed, making my shadow grow long behind me.

 God, my head hurts. Even though my feet were slamming down on the creaky wooden boards, I could hear Johnny jogging after me. “Mister Lawrence, wait up! I’m sure we could make a compromise with the band, maybe even-” “ENOUGH.” I barked at him. Irritation makes a nest inside my brain. Though, deep down, I do feel a little guilty. Trying to simmer down, I cleared my throat. “Johnny, is your brother already in his booth?” I asked, making a sharp left turn.  He hurried after, finally keeping up with my pace. “Last time I checked, yeah. Though, he was pretty mad that you didn’t show up.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Honestly, it felt like without me, the whole god damn music department would explode. “Tch-well, he better be there.” I huffed. 

Before Johnny could answer, I halted only to be met with a chattering river of musicians flooding out of the music department. Baffled, I yelled at one of the passing tuba players, Rick. “Mister Hoffleman! Where the hell are you-” With dark glaring green eyes, the middle aged man snapped at me, “Shut yer yap, Lawrence! It’s been two months of the same shit ya make us go through. Well, we’re tired of it.” He growled at me, his southern accent lacing his words. I recoiled back, almost stumbling into Johnny! If Johnny apologized, I couldn’t hear it. Not when my blood was roaring in my ears. I watched Rick stomp away, his brown suit jacket hanging from his shoulder.  I didn’t even notice that my jaw was hanging wide open, until Johnny quietly mentioned it to me.  I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t command them to stay. I just stood there, and while I did, lots of folks hissed complaints and glares at me when they passed by. Is this what it feels like? To be powerless? I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I’ve felt this before. When he left.

Turns out, Norman was still in his booth, packing up his projector. Even though the booth was mostly consumed by lingering shadows, we could hear him shuffling around.  I stared up at him, only for him to swing around and glare from above.  “Oh great, the all mighty composer finally arrived.” He said flatly, his dark grey eyes narrowing. With a grunt, he placed the metal projector on a rusted steel cart. “Polk, what happened?” I yelled, still looking up at the booth.  The shadows answered with another grunt, “Whaddya mean what happened, Lawrence? They’re fed up.” A pause. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Look, I dunno what you’ve been doin these past months, but Jesus, can’t ya just compose the band ON TIME??  Some days, the doors are locked and no one can get in. Why? ‘Cause ya keep forgettin to unlock ‘em. Meaning WE can’t do what we need to do.” I felt my stomach tightened while my fists were clenched. “Can’t you just get Franks to unlock the damn door?” I retorted hotly. “Kid keeps forgettin his keys.” He replied with a monotone voice. I let out an exasperated sigh, feeling my nerves being shot left and right. Norman said nothing else and with that I turned around. I  watched Johnny struggling to gather all the music stands. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to him and helped him put them away in the storage room.  I didn’t say anything. Despite how clumsy or frantic this kid is, I didn’t hate him. He’s a good apprentice.

 Well, decent anyway. 

After stacking up the chairs and cautiously putting instruments in their cases, we were done. During that whole time, I didn’t mutter a word. I was too absorbed in my thoughts.  Was working with Mister Drew on his project really making me digress  from what needs to be done? Surely, I could balance them both. Right? No. I couldn’t and today proved that. Bitter disappointment felt like a knife in my gut, wedging itself further and further in.  I felt something sting my eyes, rubbing them. Jesus, was I so powerless that I was having a stupid CRYING FIT?! I muttered something to myself, when suddenly, I felt a gentle hand clamped on my shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, Mister Lawrence! It’s..it’s been a tough day, but..there’s always tomorrow!” Johnny exclaimed, his eyes brightening.  I stared at him for a moment, actually looking at him. His face looked similar to Normans, same nose, and structure.  Light chestnut hair with streaks of dark brown while his eyes..well. One was dark grey, like Norman, but his other eye was a dark auburn.  Wasn’t that called.. Heterochromia? I think that's what it's called.

Anyhow, he just smiled at me sympathetically.  Without thinking, I smiled back at him.  “I..suppose you’re right.” I said, nodding curtly. He slipped his hand off my shoulder and walked over to the piano. “So, about that music sheet you sent me home with yesterday, I practiced it and I think I got it?” He smiled, sitting down on the chair and straightening his composure.  I was stunned. He practiced it? Hell, I didn’t even tell him to do that. Though, of course, I was skeptical.  I pulled up a stool and gestured for him to start. He cracked his fingers, staring down at the keys and gave it his all. There were a few slip ups, but I was impressed at how beautiful the melody was. And how Johnny was so focused on the piece. When he was done, he paused, before hesitantly turning his head to look at me.  I stood up from my wooden stool and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Good work.” I praised, smiling at him slightly. 

I swear his eyes lit like bright stars. I was proud of him. Even though I failed the band, I didn’t fail him.  Until…I did. 

It’s been a few months since that moment. 

I looked at my shaking right hand, a smoking pistol was tightly in my grasp. 

Oh Johnny. I’m so sorry.

I’m 

      So

               Sorry