You have the BEST stories! Can you tell me a bedtime story?
i will tell you a story friends, and probably you will regret asking me to do so, because its not really a very restful story. i….dont really have any of those.
this is the story of how steve and a horse almost gave me a heart attack.
back when i was a kid, cars were a thing that existed but were mostly really really expensive, so horses were still a common sight on the streets of brooklyn. most of these horses were exceedingly large, calm animals; they hauled around big carts of stuff on crowded streets. back then, milk was delivered to your doorstep by a milkman. the milkman who worked our block was mr. davies, and he was this very nice older black gentleman. i mention that he’s black because racism was Very Much A Thing (oh how times have changed). but mr davies always had peppermint candies in his pockets to give to thunderhead, his horse, and he would always give one to stevie and i if he saw us. so stevie loved mr davies, and if anyone was being disrespectful towards him because he was black, stevie would pretty much blow his top. mr davies loved steve for it, of course. but since mr daives didnt want to get steve in trouble, he’d usually whistle me over (if i wasnt already there) to haul steve off before he did something drastic. mr davies was great like that.
anyway, mr davies was around every morning dropping off milk with thunderhead. thunderhead was this huge dapple grey horse, i think a percheron?? a big draft horse, with hooves about the size of a dinner plate. aside from her size, her name was probably the most intimidating thing about her, because she was the most mild-mannered horse ive ever met. she would let all the little neighborhood kids climb all over her, and mr davies would usually let two or three of us ride on her back down the street. she never really noticed the extra weight. i think that if mr davies ever slept in, thunderhead would go walk his route without him. she loved stevie too–but for very different reasons. steve’s hair apparently looked exactly like hay to her, so she’d wander over and start lipping the top of his head. she never nipped or anything, but steve always got amusingly flaily when she did it, and i always suspected she thought it was funny.
one boiling hot summer morning, steve and i were sitting on the front steps of our building, just wasting time. it was early, but already awfully hot out, so when mr davies rounded the corner, steve decided to go meet him, but i stayed on the steps. it was hot. i didnt wanna move.
anyway, steve went trotting down the block, said hi to old mrs mckinnon, who was on her way to get groceries, and was about a hundred feet away from mr davies and thunderhead when the wind picked up. it was a very nice refreshingly cool breeze, which picked up some of the debris–old newspapers and leaves and such–hanging around and tossed it across the road.
now, if you know horses, you know that sometimes they get terrified by utterly ridiculous things. im told many horses nowadays think plastic bags are the minions of evil, and horses back then were much the same. id never seen thunderhead scared before, but i guess a bit of newspaper whipped in front of her and was the spitting image of Pony Satan himself, because her eyes went white around the edges and she took off running. mr davies was around back of the cart, getting milk out, so there was nobody at the reins to stop her. she went tearing down the block, the cart bouncing along behind, like there was a pack of slavering borzoi chasing after. and of course she was headed right at steve and old mrs mckinnon.
steve, being the brave little idiot he was, didnt run; old mrs mckinnon wouldnt be able to get out of the way in time, so he stood his ground, flung his arms out, and waited to get trampled by a rogue milk cart. all of us there thought we were gonna be scraping tiny blonde guy off the pavement, because thunderhead just kept going.
but about ten feet away from steve, thunderhead must have recognized him, because she went to a screeching stop. four feet down, all her knees locked, skiddin on the cobblestones. normally, she’d probably have been able to stop in that distance, but she was still harnessed to that heavy milk cart, so instead she plowed right into stevie, chest first.
he went flying. he mustve gone about six feet through the air, and he hit the ground and just laid there like a sack of really dead potatoes. i thought he must have broken his little toothpick spine. poor thunderhead looked just as scared as i was, because she got her feet back under her and crept up on him like the cart wasnt jangling right behind her. she dropped her nose down and started whuffing and lipping at his hair, and he popped up like a damn weasel. little moron was fine. he nearly gave me and mr davies and old mrs mckinnon and thunderhead all a heart attack, but he was fine.
and mr davies gave him his whole bag of peppermints, and mrs mckinnon gave him a chocolate, so he didnt even learn to not do stupid shit like that.
Hello gainers of all shapes and sizes. Today’s post is about tricks you can use to maximize your weight gain. From lighting to subliminal messaging to your plate size and color, I’m going to teach you how to trick yourself into getting fat. This post makes references to psychological, chemical, biological and historical studies, all impacting weight gain, and makes it easy to digest. Let’s get right into it!
literally all these prompts are so adorable it's hard to choosE but “I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.”
I made this a college au for some reason? I’m not quite sure why, but it made sense to me! by @neglectedrainbow
Jared watches fondly as Evan putzes around the kitchen, carefully fiddling with the stove burner. The smell of homemade pancakes fills the room, thick and mouth-watering. Soft music plays from the radio, some channel that Evan’s constantly listening to, full of sweet rhythms and strumming guitars, calm music to soothe the mind. He flips the pancakes, humming under his breath.
It feels like Jared is always watching Evan, watching the way he moves, the way sunlight dances across his freckled skin, the way his green eyes glisten in the early morning. Evan scopes up the finished food with his spatula, placing it onto two plates. He grabs two cups of tea as well–chamomile, Jared thinks–before trotting over and setting everything onto Jared’s flimsy dining table.
He’s wearing one of Jared’s old sweaters, something he’s had since high school. It’s a pale blue color, faded from years of wear, and, God, it looks amazing.
Morning light shines through the small central window, casting beautiful shadows across his boyfriend’s face.
They’re so in love it’s ridiculous.
The room is small, a kitchen and a dining room all in one miniscule place, but it’s much better than last year’s dorm room, so Jared doesn’t complain.
Evan sits down beside him, grabbing a fork and knife and slowly cutting up the pancake. He does it smoothly, his shoulders straightened, and Jared is struck by how much he’s grown–how much they’ve both grown. Evan looks over at him, a small smile across his face. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jared replies, still a little awe-struck, before grabbing a fork and knife as well and beginning to eat.
Jared looks up, “Yeah, yeah, of course, it’s just…”
“Just what?” Evan’s leg brushes against his underneath the table.
“I just-” Jared clears his throat. “I just can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.”
Evan blushes, ducking his head down, “I can’t believe a few months ago all I wanted was to say an actual sentence to you and now I’m having breakfast with you in your sweater.”
They’ve moved quickly, Jared thinks, relatively speaking. Evan might as well move in here, considering how often he spends the night.
Jared leans over, pressing a soft kiss into Evan’s lips. The music continues playing softly in the background.
Samuel W. Hall. Corona of an Eclipse, Moon Hiding Lower and Upper Limb of Sun, Eclipse of the Sun, Moon Hiding Upper and Lower Limb of Sun, Comparative Size of the Planets, Size of the Sun, Elliptical Orbit. Sunshine and Moonlight; with; also, a Flash of Comets, Meteors and Shooting Stars, and a Twinkle of Starlight. 1889. Contd from here
It was sometime the next night when Max noticed something was off. After they had finally gotten in and out of sleepy peak general, and were safely back at camp, David was noticeably different. He seemed to be quieter, had less to say. He didn’t correct Max as much on his language, or try to reel Nikki in from almost breaking her arm in a recent tree climbing incident. Max originally believed that Daniel had possibly broken out of prison or wherever the hell they sent him, and taken over. But the unmistakable hum of the camp song coming from David in the early mornings was enough to render that point moot. Not that he cared or anything, but it would be smart to find out if the camp had been over run by a crazy imposter.
Max watched at breakfast, as David walked in. His smile smaller, yet more forced somehow. He sat alone-Max took note that he didn’t eat anything that morning. He just sat, fiddling with that yellow scarf of his in the same hideous shade of yellow their camp shirts were made of. He could’ve sworn David muttered something under his breath, but wasn’t about to question it.
Gwen walked into the mess hall a few moments later and sat down with some coffee and toast, unaware of how odd David was being.
“Hey, so the canoes are all set up.” She stated, not looking up from the trashy magazine she had brought to read.
David stiffened. “Canoes? Why?”
Gwen looked at him, unamused. “Because we’re teaching these heathens how to canoe today. I thought you read the camp itinerary.”
“I-I do! I guess my head has just been somewhere else…” he trailed off.
“Are you feeling okay Davey?”
David seemed to freeze up entirely at that. As though he was a computer trying to load. The look on his face was indescribable, but Max was sure he never wanted to see it again, and from the way Gwen was staring at him, he had a feeling she felt the same.
“David!” Gwen shook him and he seemed to snap out of his trance.
“What? Gwen? Oh, um sorry-I spaced out I suppose! Yeah yeah, I’m fine. I just haven’t been called Davey in a while and, um…” he trailed off, not wanting to say too much. Just…just give me a second to go and check the safety gear. You can never be too careful.“ He put on a fake smile and left the mess hall.
"What the fuck?” Gwen muttered, watching him leave.
Max got up and headed to the exit.
“Max, where are you going?” Neil asked.
“Gonna go see what the fuck David is doing. If he commits suicide then there’s a good chance Gwen will kill us by virtue of being left alone with us.” Yeah, that was why. He certainly didn’t care about David or anything.
He exited the mess hall and went to find David. He was standing alone nowhere near the water, muttering to himself.
“Keep it together…everything will be fine…keep it together…”
“David, what the fuck are you doing?”
David spun around. “M-max! When did you get here!?”
“Just now. What the hell are doing muttering to yourself in a corner? That’s the shit serial killers do.”
“Oh, nothing! Just repeating an old mantra to get my spirits up! Why don’t you go get ahead of the curb and put on your life vest-the rest of the camp will be out in a minute!” He ruffled Max’s hair and walked over to the canoes. He put on his life vest, but hesitated when he got close to the water. Taking a deep breath, he took a step closer and sat in one of the canoes.
The kids gathered around the canoes and put on their life vests quickly, all partnering up until their was one spot left for Max, and of course it had to be with David. Now typically a ride with David would be awful, but maybe Max could find out what was wrong with David. Not that he cared or anything, but if David was finally snapping he should at least be prepared to make a break for it before he went full axe murderer on the camp.
David did most of the rowing, and looked uncomfortable all the while. His eyes darted around wildly, his hands trembled as he paddled the ores, and he was visibly sweating though weather certainly wasn’t warm enough to warrant that.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Max asked suddenly, possibly too harsh.
“What do you mean?” He asked quickly and rather nervously.
“I mean, what the fuck is you problem? You’ve been acting weird ever since we got back from saving space kid. I don’t know what set you off, but you’re freaking me the fuck out.”
“I-I assure Max, it’s nothing.” David replied, though his body language indicated otherwise.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, camp man!”
“Max, I am not lying to you!”
By now they had the whole camps attention, though both took no notice.
“And anyway, you shouldn’t be concerned with me. I’m an adult, I can handle myself just fine!”
“Oh, you can handle yourself? Just like how you handled taking space kid to the hospital? Just like how you could handle being nice for a day? Just like how you could handle that fucking cultist!? He was going to kill you if I hadn’t messed with your emotions and he hadn’t poisoned himself!”
“You don’t think I didn’t know he was a cultist? You don’t think I didn’t know he was going to kill me? Max I was perfectly aware, but I figured that if anyone could fix it you could! You’re certainly much more capable with this kind of stuff-I would’ve got us all caught if I tried getting the police down to camp!”
“Well why didn’t you just take care of it instead of letting him get minutes away from killing you!? Why didn’t you attempt to fight him instead of standing there singing and doing nothing!?”
“Maybe because I wanted him to!” David suddenly yelled. “Maybe I wanted him to do me in because I deserved it!”
The shouting match had stopped, and David immediately smacked a hand over his own mouth, realizing what he had just shouted to the camp. But the couldn’t take his words back-he had just admitted something he swore to never reveal, and the whole camp had heard. His eyes were wide as dinner plates with pupils the size of pinpricks. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, yet he didn’t notice. He entire body was shaking like a leaf. The camp was caught in a deafening silence.
“Campers, I think that’s enough canoeing for one day…” Gwen broke the uncomfortable and stunned silence, staring at David concernedly.
David paddled them back shore in complete silence. Max didn’t know what to say, and David couldn’t bare to even look him in the eyes. The canoes were pulled ashore.
Gwen hurriedly walked over to David, who had since calmed down and now just looked ashamed. Sad and ashamed.
“David, do you want to-”
“I’m…going on a hike. I need to be alone right now.” His voice sounded weak and broken. He looked over his shoulder to a sea of concerned and bewildered faces. The look on his face was heartbreaking. “I’m very sorry you had to see that campers.” He apologized, before walking off into the woods.
“Holy shit.” Max finally breathed.
“Should we do something?” Space kid asked, worried.
“Ith he going to be okay?” Nerris pondered.
“Kids, why don’t we go back to the mess hall. I’ll send someone to check on David. I’m sure he’s fine-probably just stressed.” Gwen tried to calm them, though her own worries made it difficult to do so.
“Max?” Gwen turned to him. “Why would you-”
“If there’s anyone David is willing to talk to, it would be me. He’ll probably try to make it into some lesson about loving yourself or something. Anyway, he wouldn’t turn me away if I was going to willingly sit with him.” If David went and offed himself it would be blamed on Max for being in the canoe and fighting with, that’s why he was going. It’s not like he cared or anything.
He expected Gwen to object, but she simply nodded, knowing he was probably right. Max was his clear favorite, or at the very least, he spent much more time on Max than anyone else. Max took off, trying to figure out where he would’ve gone off to. He remembered the story David had told the kids in the car a few nights ago, and made an assumption that the Sleep Peak pine would be pretty important to him.
It took some wandering, but Max eventually found the tree-he supposed that hike David had taken him on to find a branch had some use after all-and sure enough, there was David. He was leaned against the tree, staring at his handkerchief with sad eyes. He pressed it close to his chest and hugged it there. As Max got closer, he heard David and finally realized what he had been muttering earlier in the mess hall.
“I’m sorry Jasper…I’m so sorry…” he sniffed.
“You’ve kept your camp shirt wrapped around your neck this whole time?” Okay, maybe not the best thing to open with, but Max didn’t have much else.
“It’s not mine, it was ‘his…’” Max didn’t have to work too hard to figure out who 'he’ was “Well, one of his anyway.” David responded quietly. He turned to Max. 'Why are you out here? I’m not around to force any camp activities on you, and now your hiking on your own?“
"Hey, someone had to make sure you didn’t kill yourself. If you did than I’d get blamed and you know how much the cops just love to find reasons to blame minorities and-” David cut Max off before he could go into a tirade.
“I wasn’t planning on it. I told you, I just needed some time.”
“Could’ve fooled us back there.”
David winced at his words, but sighed and nodded in acceptance. He moved over, giving Max a place to sit, which he took.
“I suppose you’re right.” He half-heartedly laughed, with no smile to be seen.
“That story you told us in the car was a lie, wasn’t it?”
“Not entirely. The basic story remained the same. Just with a lot more swearing, and I still wasn’t exactly in love with Camp Campbell afterwards. I didn’t hate it anymore, but I didn’t love it as much as I do now.”
“Figured. So, Jasper didn’t die in that story, huh?”
“No, surprisingly he really did survive all of that.”
“What happened then?”
David was quiet for a moment, staring at the shirt. Finally, he opened his mouth.
“It was the end of the year. Jasper and I had become closer. I still considered him the best camper, even if he was having doubts. Even when he thought this capm sucked he worked hard to make everyone feel loved and needed. He wanted to make the campers as happy as possible, no matter how hard it was. One night Jasper decided he wanted to see Campbell’s summer home on spooky island-find those bears Cameron had killed. We weren’t allowed to go, but I wouldn’t let Jasper go it alone. We snuck out after hours and stole a canoe. We made it over fine but when we decided to go home…” he struggled to continue. “A storm had started…w-we thought we could get across, it wasn’t that far.” The bit his lip. “The canoe tipped. By that time there were people searching for us, but we weren’t seen in the storm and the dark. We kept trying to swim but the waves were choppy and fast and we couldn’t get up. Jasper h-he, managed to get me on top of the canoe. I tried to save him-I tried so hard to pull him on with me but the waves kept coming pushing us apart! They wouldn’t let up! I kept reaching but he kept getting farther and farther and farther and-!” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“He drowned, didn’t he?” Max asked, finishing his sentence.
David nodded, the tears pouring once again. “By the time someone got us out of there, I had passed out from the water in my lungs and the hypothermia. They pulled Jasper out and they tried to resuscitate us but…I-I was the only who woke up…”
“And now you think it’s your fault he died because he saved you and you couldn’t return the favor. And you’ve been so freaked because after telling us that story all those bad memories flooded back.”
David let out another half, chuckle. “You’re a smart kid, Max. A really smart kid…I want you to be happy here. As happy as I am. But I hope you never have to go through what I went to get there.” He stared off into the distance, thinking. “Jasper did everything he could to make Camp Campbell a safe haven for everyone-to make everyone as happy as possible. I figured that if I couldn’t save him, the least I could do was carry on his goal.
"Do you think Jasper would want you to live with guilt like that? Because that’d be pretty fucked of him.”
“No. But he’s not around anymore is he? I would never kill myself though, that I promise. It wouldn’t be right after what he did to keep me alive.” He pulled out his wallet and pulled a wrinkled old photo from it. “I always keep it with to remind me what I’m living for. What I’m doing all of this for.”
Max looked at it, a picture of David and Jasper. Their arms were linked and both seemed so happy. Max recognized that face and suddenly he had the terrifying thought that Nikki may have been right about ghosts on Spooky Island. Max stared at the photo, pondering whether to tell David he had met a Jasper who looked just like this not too long ago.
“Maybe another time…” Max thought. David would probably just think it was a cruel joke anyway, and even for Max that was too far.
“Don’t tell Mr. Campbell I told you about Jasper. If he found out he’d kill us both.”
Max assumed it to be a joke, but knowing Campbell he might’ve been entirely serious.
“You ready to go back to camp?” Max asked.
“I think I’m gonna sit here a little longer. Take in the view. The sunset is incredible from here.”
“Well, I guess I’m gonna have to stay here and make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” Max responded, feeling himself relax.
David, for the first time in a while, looked at him with a genuine smile. “Thanks Max.”
“Yeah yeah. If you tell anyone about this I swear to god I’ll stab you while you sleep.”
David was right, the sunset was amazing. Max stretched, feeling exhausted from the events of the day and leaned against David. David put an arm around Max and he’d him closer-like a half hug. It was comforting, and sense of warmth filled Max’s chest as his overzealous counselor smiled down at him, making it known how lucky David thought he was to have kid like Max around with a single look. Not the he cared or anything. Well…maybe he cared a little.
The first thought that dredged up the wolf’s mind from the thick, murky mires of sleep was that there was a foreign, uncomfortable feeling in his toes. It wasn’t quite painful, but it was distracting. Which was a shame; quite honestly, as the rest of him felt like it was swaddled in a soft, warm cloud, like lying on a mountain of fleece. He was dreaming of sleeping on the back of a large, comfy sheep. Maybe if he moved his feet right, he could shoo the strange sensation away and get back to sinking completely into the wool.
His toes twitched, and the tingling feeling went up both his legs completely. That hurt.
“YIPE!” Boris yelped, knees hiking in alarm, eyes flying open.
The first thing that greeted him was strange visual tones and hues, blurred from the sleep in his eyes and the tingling in his feet. They were—oh, whadyacallems?—Blues. And Greens. Only lighter, greyer, faintly cast across the ceiling above him, making him squint. It followed the outline of a windowpane.
His foggy mind thought, not for the first time:
How long will it take before them colors look normal?
Motion at his side had him shaking his noggin, revealing the familiar heads of to his pals, moppy and disheveled from sleep. Alice muttered something under her breath—when had her halo hung itself up on that lamp?— and Bendy snuggled closer into the pillows, a bit of drool staining the soft cushion.
Recognition stumbled into his brain as his eyes adjusted to the dim early morning light.
He wasn’t sleeping on a bed of fleece. He was sharing a bed with Alice and Bendy, feeling mighty cozy in spite of being too long to rightly fit on the mattress length-wise, which explained why his feet weren’t under the covers. The tingling must’ve been because they’d been leaning over the end board all night.
Asleep, his feet were asleep. That’s what this feeling felt like. Except… it was much stronger than how it’d felt before, back in the world drenched in ink.
Dang, the real world felt strange.
Trying his best not to disturb the other two sleeping Toons, Boris slowly pulled his bare feet under the blankets, wincing as he flexed the tingling feeling out of them. They were cold to the touch, as were the ends of his ears and snout, a stark difference compared to the comfy warm bubble formed underneath the covers from his proximity to his friends. If he stayed still enough, curled up a ball, maybe he could go back his sweet, soft, monochromatic dreams…
The door creaked, and Boris was awake.
In the semi darkness, the wolf made out the shape of a figure entering the room, familiar in spite of his loss of Toonification. It was Henry.
Err. At least. Boris was pretty sure it was Henry.
The man had Henry’s almost square-ish head, large ears, surly set face and all, but in place of the man’s wrinkled light green shirt and brown slacks was a plaid patterned collared shirt, all blues and grays, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and the bottom half of a dark grey jumpsuit, faded at the knees and the top half wrapped messily around his waist. His black work boots were word around the souls. It all smelled faintly of engine oil.
A change of clothes shouldn’t have been completely out of left field for the Toon (as he recalled, Bendy changed his wardrobe a number of times over a wide variety of episodes), but the old animator’s plainer duds had almost seemed glued to him. Seeing Henry in less plain-looking clothes felt like seeing a camel in a bunny onesie. Strange.
He silently watched Henry tread to the bedside table on Bendy’s side of the bed and leave a note next to the lamp. The man looked haggard, but clean. His hair was even combed.
Boris considered keeping his head down, pretending to be asleep. But then, just as it looked like he was about to leave, Henry stopped and turned around, looking back at the bed of Toons. Contemplating, eyes unfocused and glassy—from lack of sleep, perhaps?— grey circles under them. The wolf’s felt his heart clench, and he lifted his head.
“Henry?” he whispered.
Henry jumped and caught himself on the wall.
“JEEZ—” Henry breathed, forced his voice down. “Boris— scared the daylights outta me.”
“Sorry—!” Boris’s ears fell back. “Sorry.”
Henry put a hand to his chest and sighed. His eyes looked less glassy, more awake.
“Agh, I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Did Henry look guilty? Nah, it must’ve been Boris’s imagination.
“Nah,” said Boris, truthfully. “Feet fell asleep. Woke me up instead.”
The corners of Henry’s mouth twitched. If Boris didn’t know any better, he could almost mistake the man’s grimace as a smile. It almost met his eyes.
“Headin’ off somewhere?” said Boris, nodding towards the note.
“Just about,” whispered Henry.
He motioned for Boris to follow him out of the room, finger to his lips. Boris nodded, trying to be mindful of jostling the bed, so as not to rouse Alice or Bendy. The wolf was thankful for his thick coat of fur (ink?) once he was free from the blankets, as the room was fairly brisk without the protection. Boris swallowed a whine and followed after the grizzled animator.
On their way to the den, Henry grabbed a large, dark green jacket from one of the hampers in the hallway. He gave it a tentative sniff to check if it was clean, shrugged, and offered it to Boris. Boris sniffed as well. It smelled of Henry and mothballs. It would do. The sleeves came up an inch short of his wrists though.
“Gotta go plead to the powers that be that I don’t end up unemployed before the day’s end,” said Henry once they were a safe whisper-free distance from the bedroom, sighing and scratching his neck. “I, uh, took a few more vacation days than I’d originally planned.”
Boris’s stomach dropped, guiltily. The studio.
“Oh, golly… wha… that was our fault—”
“S’nobody’s fault,” said Henry, patting Boris’s shoulder. They passed the couch. It didn’t show any signs of Henry sleeping on it. “I might have to work a few extra shifts to make up for it though. My boss, Callum? Not exactly known for being forgiving, but he can be fair when he needs to be.”
Boris nodded, faint memories of his own past experiences with “unforgiving bosses” arising. His tail tucked between his legs, the wound from the harsh look on Joey’s face all those days ago in that office now fresh in his mind’s eye. When the air was thick with acetone and Henry’s open cartoon wounds. His nose twitched, feeling a little sick at the memory.
“M-Maybe I should come with ya,” said Boris, the weightlessness of Henry leaning on him ghosting along his shoulder. He gripped it. “Help explain a few things—”
“Boris,” said Henry. There was no harshness in his voice, but it was still firm. “I… I appreciate it, Pup. I really do. But… you need to stay here. All three of you. Lay low for a while.”
Boris tried his best not to look discouraged. Henry patted his shoulder again and gave it a squeeze. It felt odd, not having to look down on Henry as much as he had when the animator was still a Toon. Henry squared his shoulders, and Boris felt assured.
“It’s… too much, out there,” Henry nodded to the window. A car honked, followed by another, and across the way, some neighbors were opening windows to do laundry. A lady waved out a large red blanket, and Boris had to flinch at the brightness of the color, visible even in the dim early morning. “Too much to get used to all at once. Besides, I know Callum. I’ll be alright.”
Boris felt like crawling into an inkwell. He knew Henry was right, but it wrung his nerves like wet laundry. He felt so… useless. He was supposed to be the helper, the best buddy. He sighed.
A kettle whistled.
“Oh, shoot—” Henry rushed to the stove and turned the knob, using one of the dangling jumpsuit sleeves to take the metal pot from the heat when he couldn’t find his oven mitt, setting it on his oven mitt so the counter wouldn’t burn— ahh. Found the mitt. Hmm. “Sheesh… I, err, tried making something quick for breakfast for you all before I left, but, well. The mess. Heh. Wasn’t able to get as much done as I was hoping…”
Boris turned to the counter while Henry prepared a quick coffee for himself, and noticed, to his surprise, that the tower of bills and mail had been cleared off, leaving room for three sets of plates, bowls, forks and spoons of varying style and size. Each plate had a couple eggs, sunny-side up, glasses of water, and steaming hot bowls of oatmeal—with walnuts and molasses, from the looks of them. Bois sniffed the air above the biggest bowl (he hoped it was his) and licked his chops. It smelled pretty dang good.
Breakfast wasn’t the only change to the den. The mess from last night seemed to have all been pushed to the side, the floor for the most part cleared of debris, if still in need of a vacuuming. Trash bags sat stacked next to the door, ready for dumping, full of the empty bottles and boxes.
…How long had Henry been up, working on all of this?
“Ya didn’t have to…” said Boris, ears flopping back. “Dunno if we really need to eat.”
“A good breakfast might liven up the mood around here,” said Henry, smirking. At least this time it reached his eyes. He quickly downed the contents of the mug, grimacing. “Aghh, love the feeling of burnt tongue in the morning.”
“Ya do?” Boris laughed.
“Nope,” Henry laughed in turn. He set his mug in the sink, which was filled with other much dirtier mugs as well as pots and pans, and put a small tin reading Express-o, Coffee on the Go away. A cast iron skillet was all that was left on the stove, which looked surprisingly well cared for, considering the state of Henry’s other kitchen items. Guess that explained the eggs. He pointed to Boris. “Tea boxes are on the counter too, should be enough hot water between all of you. Don’t let Bendy drink my coffee. I’ll call you all when I’m on my way back. Don’t answer the phone for anyone else.”
“Wha?? Buh—how-how?” said Boris, getting whiplash.
Henry pointed to the other end of the den. A black, faintly dusty dial-up phone sat on the floor, next to the far wall, with a note taped to the wall over it. It read a variety of instructions in Henry’s chicken scrawl shorthand, and a blessedly legible phone number at the bottom. It looked as if it’d been dug up from one of Henry’s old boxes.
“I’ll call three times in a row. Only answer if you get three calls within a few seconds of each other,” said Henry, grabbing a toolbox next to the couch and as many of the trash bags as he could carry. “Other than that, just let it ring.”
“Whuh- wait, Henry!” said Boris, heart leaping in his throat. “I-I’m not so sure we…”
Boris turned to the window, grabbing the sleeve of the jacket. The sun was raising more and more, the world outside of them starting to wake up. Yellows mixed with grays, turning them brown and sandy. He was sorely missing his dreams, drenched in black and white.
“Hey, hey,” said Henry. His hand was back on Boris’s shoulder.
Boris turned to him, every inch of his face dropping, expecting to get one of Henry’s signature rigid, authoritative glares, waiting to be given the hard facts of their situation. Instead, he got a tired, yet… understanding smile. It was lopsided and rough around the edges, and looked wildly unsure.
“It’s ok,” said Henry, in a voice that, despite what his face betrayed, sounded pretty dang convincing.
The wolf felt something inside him—something that he’d kept bunched together throughout the drive, the climb to Henry’s apartment, the scary few minutes this morning where he first experienced his feet falling asleep in the realworld and how real the real worldfelt and how he wasn’t really a wolf he wasn’t real was he?— unclench and, without thinking, he leaned his head on Henry’s shoulder, sagging weightily. Henry teetered, not used to the wolf having a third dimension’s worth of weight to him, but evened out, and wrapped an arm around Boris’s back, toolbox counterbalancing him.
“This is a lot to take in,” said Henry, gruff voice a welcome sound for the poor, overwhelmed wolf. “Don’t rush yourselves through it. Thing’s’ll get easier. I just…” His grip tightened, strong, grounding. “We just gotta make some things work first.”
The wolf whined.
“I just wanna help,” said Boris, voice feeling thicker than glue. “I ain’t much of a good helper though. I couldn’t even help you or Bendy or Alice when everything came crumblin’…”
“Now now, none of that,” Henry almost laughed.
Boris almost had enough nerve to get annoyed, if not for what Henry said next.
“That’s no way to talk about the guy who saved my life. And Bendy’s and Alice’s. And then mine again.” Henry stopped, smirking when he felt Boris quietly snort. “And Bendy’s, again, about, what? Five more times?”
“Mmmh, you’re just saying that…” Boris didn’t sound completely convinced, but the knot loosened a fraction. He pushed from Henry, trying to stand his full height. His cheeks had their old stylized blush back; his ears almost perking sincerely. Almost. He let them droop, eyes downcast. Henry sighed.
“For now… none of us know what we’re doing,” said Henry. “Not even me. And I’m from here. But we’ll figure it out.”
“…one breakfast at a time?” said Boris, trying to smile. It was shaky. Oh, he felt so shaky.
“One breakfast at a time,” said Henry. He reached up and scratched Boris between the ears, and Boris relaxed. He felt his tail wag, if only just a bit.
“But seriously,” Henry added. He was grinning, almost… devilishly. “Keep. Bendy. Away from my coffee. If I come back and find him bouncing off the walls, I’m hiring an exorcist.”
Boris was so taken aback, he couldn’t help himself. The thought alone was so ridiculous, but seeing Henry actually try to crack a joke? Utterly too much to comprehend. The wolf howled a laugh right out loud.
And it felt scarily, wonderfully real.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IT’S A HAPPY HOPEFUL ENDING TO THIS FIC. THIS IS MY WEAKNESS.
this is my life and soul i did so much research and drank so much coffee
the losers club + disney
just an fyi this does take place in the 60’s, the losers are in their senior year of high school
-since the beginning of the losers senior year, they wanted to go somewhere fun for their senior trip at the end of the year. they tossed around ideas of going to the beach, but everyone was going to go to the beach. ben remembered the way beverly talked about rollercoasters and remembered the (horrible) mickey mouse voice richie would do whenever disney was mentioned, then piped up with the idea of going to Disneyland for their senior trip. everyone was immediately on board.
-the losers picked up extra hours and covered other people’s shifts at work to save for the trip. per usual, ben kept track of the money and divided it up between gas, hotel rooms, tickets to the park, and food. driving two days to california wasn’t going to be cheap.
-richie worked on all of his disney park character voices all year
-the losers started walking everywhere in order to save money for gas
-finally, senior trip season came and the losers were so excited for their trip
-the plan was to drive two cars, because not everyone and their luggage would fit into just one car. eddie, mike, and richie loaded their things in eddie’s ford consul classic, and bill, stan, beverly, and ben loaded up stan’s toyota publica.
-the night before setting out they all stayed over at stan’s house because if they didn’t, everyone knew richie would wake up late and hold everyone up an extra hour.
-they woke up early so they could drive as long as they could, so around 4:30am (the original plan was to leave at 4, but they quite literally had to drag richie out of bed), the loser’s finally set out on the road.
-in eddie’s car, richie was asleep in the passenger seat and mike was laid out across the back seat, and eddie was humming to himself to stay awake. whenever richie would start snoring (LOUDLY), eddie would push his head to the other side
-in stan’s car, ben and bev shared the backseat. bill offered to drive first because he could tell that stan was still exhausted. stan slept in the passenger seat with his head resting on top of the middle compartment. bill would occasionally comb the hair out of stan’s eyes with his hand.
-around 6am, richie finally woke up because eddie pushed his head a little too hard and it hit the window. richie complained for three hours, which woke mike up. the complaining didn’t stop with richie’s head: “Eds, I will eat my hand if we don’t eat soon.” “Eddie why is this road so bumpy?” “Your poor driving skills are hurting my head.” “Just honk at Bill until he pulls over so we can talk about breakfast!!”
-in response to this, eddie swerved the car back and forth to get him to stop. finally, bill started to slow down and turned onto a side street, so eddie followed them to a small diner off the interstate.
-they all sat on the bar area then ordered massive amounts of food. it was hard for the cooks and waitresses to keep up. richie had no less than six plate-sized waffles, a dozen eggs, and too much sausage and bacon. the others eventually stopped counting and wondered how he stayed so skinny. stan and eddie topped off an entire pot of coffee. between beverly and bill, they polished off five tall glasses of chocolate milk. stan and bill demolished three dozen eggs. eddie and stan tore through a massive batch of french toast. mike downed one bowl of grits and one bowl of oatmeal. bev and ben lost count of how many hashbrowns they consumed. then finally, stan and mike split a blueberry parfait.
-full bellies, they hit the road again, only this time mike drove eddie’s car and beverly joined him, eddie, and richie. stan drove his car with bill riding shotgun and ben in the backseat.
-after countless hours of driving and numerous bathroom stops, ben, now driving stan’s car, pulled over and so did mike. they all got out of the car and decided to drive through the rest of the night in hour and a half shifts while the other people in the car would sleep
-they stuck with this all night, and when the sun came up, they repeated the whole process again. breakfast, drive, gas, lunch, drive, gas, drive, diner, gas, midnight snack, gas, drive and sleep in shifts.
-after nearly two days on the road, everyone was ready to kill each other. between richie’s often complaining and loud music, beverly and eddie having to pee constantly, bill not being able to sit still, mike and ben’s never ending hunger, and stan’s lack of sleep and energy, everyone was ready to murder.
-at three am, stan finally saw the lights of the massive Disneyland Hotel and nearly started crying, he was so happy to get out of his car. he laid on the horn to alert mike driving behind him, and mike honked back, just as relieved as stan.
-they parked side by side in the parking lot and awoke anyone else who was sleeping. bill literally had to pull richie and eddie out of the backseat of the car. they checked in and went up the stairs to their rooms. richie, eddie, and bev stayed in a two bed room, and bill, stan, mike, and ben stayed in another. their rooms were across from one another and they had keys to each other’s rooms.
-the second the losers saw their beds, they kicked off their shoes and went straight to sleep. no one even bothered to change clothes.
-they slept until noon. bev was the first person awake and she did her best on waking up richie and eddie. it wasn’t easy at all. richie would not let go of his pillow, and eddie kept rolling around and avoiding her. she went across the hall to get the others up, because she knew if anyone would get richie and eddie out of bed, it would be bill or mike.
-bill got eddie and richie out of bed, finally, then everyone got dressed and ready to get something to eat and maybe hit one of the parks today. they walked downstairs to the small, overpriced in-hotel restaurant and got a table for seven.
-after a very late brunch, they decided to go into the parks. they drove a short drive to the massive lot, then made the trek up to the front of the park. they purchased their first day passes and excitedly waited for one another at the opening of main street.
-richie was the last one out and got so excited he did a cartwheel, nearly knocking over a hot dog seller.
-they walked through some of the Main Street shops and looked at souvenirs for what felt like hours.
-richie dared mike to squeeze into a snow white dress for five bucks and mike sure as hell did it. bev pulled out her mom’s polaroid camera she was allowed to borrow and snapped a photo of mike
-ben spent a solid twenty five minutes looking at the collection of character pins, picking out the perfect one for beverly. he ended up going with the classic minnie mouse, wearing a red polka dot skirt. he purchased it and tucked into the pocket of his newer, smaller pair of blue jeans.
-richie ended up buying himself and eddie each a pair of mickey ears to wear around the parks.
-stan bought bill those ridiculous oversized slippers that were shaped like donald duck feet
-mike bought a tinkerbell charm bracelet for his girl back in derry
-after they spent too much money on souvenirs, they walked more of main street and looked for any characters that were out. bev especially wanted to see pinocchio and “honest” john.
-richie declared that he was hungry and dragged eddie to go find something to eat with him while the other losers continued looking for characters and sights to see
-richie bought one of those huge turkey legs and ate everything except a few bites that eddie stole. they walked around a bit, richie holding the turkey leg and taking huge bites out of it, all the while holding eddie’s hand with his free one. families passing watched in awe as the tall, skinny, lanky boy utterly demolished the giant sized turkey leg.
-they met back up with the other losers in front of the castle and saw that the sky was beginning to turn orange and pink as the sut set. they agreed on eating at the Casa de Fritos for dinner. despite already eating a turkey leg the size of jupiter, richie ate like a king. eddie lost count of how many tacos richie put down, but he already knew it was going to be fart city in their room tonight.
-when they got out of the restaurant it was dark and a lot less crowded. bev and ben suggested that they hit the rides that were still open, so the losers rolled into Tomorrowland and got in line for the Matterhorn first.
-since the bobsled cars were two person cars, one person had to stay behind and watch everyone else’s stuff. bill called nose goes and richie was the last one, so he took everyone’s stuff and sat on a bench. eddie said that he would ride it again with him and some of the others did too. bill and eddie in one car, mike and stan in another, and bev and ben in another.
-when they came off the ride with wet hair and damp clothes, bev opped to sit out and try to dry her white bell sleeved top. ben pulled off his teal zip up jacket and gave it to bev, who looked rather cold and uncomfortable
-in total they rode Matterhorn, Rocket to the Moon, and Astrojet before the parks began to close.
-a tired richie dragged alongside eddie, a worn out bill walked beside stan, stan’s arm around bill’s shoulders, and a near-sleep bev holding onto ben and mike. The losers trudged toward their cars and drove back to the hotel.
-eddie basically had to drag and toss richie into bed, which was not an easy task. richie kept pulling eddie’s hair and telling him to just let him sleep. “Yeah, great idea Rich. I’m sure the hotel staff would love a bunch of little kids’ Disneyland dreams ruined because there was a freakishly tall man who reeks of turkey legs lying on the floor.”
-mike and ben dropped bev off at her, eddie, and richie’s room then went back to their shared room with stan and bill, only to find bill asleep and stan trying to pull bill’s shoes off.
-midnight rolled around. bev couldn’t take it anymore. richie was farting up a mighty storm. she gathered her things, wrote a note for eddie and richie, ran downstairs for the front desk, and asked for another room. luckily, she got one on the same floor as the other losers, but a few rooms down.
-the next day, the plan was to hit as many parks as possible. Fantasyland was first on the list and even though none of them would admit it, they were all giddy
-they walked down main street and through Sleeping Beauty’s Castle and into Fantasyland. the second richie saw the Mad Tea Party cups, he screamed “FUCK YES” and nearly got them kicked out of the park.
-On Dumbo’s Flying Elephants, bill and richie would reach out as far as they could to try and touch the top of surrounding tents, continuously getting yelled at
-in Frontierland, they rode the Mine Train twice, then got lunch in the New Orleans Square. the waitress was very annoyed because richie kept talking to her in his overdrawn southern accent, and as he said “topped of with a louisiana dialect, it’s the bees knees”
-richie, mike, and ben ate six plates of beignets
-ben threw up on the way to Safari Jungle Cruise
-on the Jungle Cruise, richie got sprayed by one of the fake elephants and bev snapped a polaroid just before it happened, titling it “A Moment Before Disaster”
-stan dipped his hand in the water and a duck quacked at him
-they went back to Fantasyland in hopes of finding and taking pictures with some of the characters
-bev spotted pinocchio and “honest” john by Monstro the Whale as they walked into Fanstasyland and screamed at the top of her lungs. she dragged ben by the arm and the others followed. she posed and snapped numerous photos with them. she had the biggest smile.
-eddie spotted peter pan, who had been richie’s favorite for years, and they took pictures with him. richie’s favorite was the one of himself and Peter standing in the famous Peter Pan stance with their fists on their hips and their chests puffed out
-they all snapped polaroids with their favorite characters until bev only had two photo films left
-they shopped around a bit more, buying keychains and magnets for siblings and family members
-the sun began to set again, and families with younger kids began leaving the parks. the losers all got mickey mouse shaped warm pretzels and sat in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. bev asked a bystander to take a photo of them, all sitting together on the pink and blue sidewalk. the photo came out of the camera and the losers watched it develop. bill was sitting farthest to the left, taking a bite of his pretzel and winking. stan sat next to him, looking and grinning at bill and holding the mickey ears of his pretzel behind bill’s head. ben and bev sat next to each other, their arms crossing each others and taking a bite of each other’s pretzel. richie sat between mike and eddie his arms slung around both of their shoulders. richie and eddie were wearing their matching mickey mouse ears. mike was taking a bite of the pretzel in richie’s hand, and eddie had his head on richie’s shoulder, his tongue out and eyes crossed. bev grinned and titled the sweet, quintessential losers club photo : “SENIOR TRIP / THE LOSERS TAKE DISNEYLAND.”
-later that night, there was a firework show above the castle. the losers sat and watched the glowing bursts of lights in the sky. it was a sweet moment for them.
-bev held up her camera and told the boys to scoot in. with her last photo film, she snapped the photo of her and her best friends on the best night of their lives.
Request: Listen. I’m legit bawling. I’m crying. My heart has been broken and scarred. You did that! I need a part 4 please or I might just die, M. Your writing is gonna kill me someday, you queen of angst, you. AND other sweet comments! THIS IS A PART OF THE To Newt, With Love series
Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in
Newt stares at the brick house in front of him, taking a deep breath before dipping his head and walking toward it. The leather case in his hand bounces against his right leg with every quick step he takes. He times his steps, falling into the same familiar rhythm as the creak of the neighbor’s porch swing.
Climbing up the three hole-ridden steps, Newt curses under his breath. He pauses at the top and sighs. It’s now or never.
The door slams open halfway through his third knock. He nearly smacks his mother in the face as he stumbles forward, but she just ducks under his hand and wraps her arms around his stomach.
“Erm, hi mum.”
“You finally remembered I’m alive!”
Newt rolls his eyes over his mother’s head. “I never forgot it. That would be hard with all the owls you kept sending.”
She steps away from him, leading him into the house. “How could I not send them? You never replied. I didn’t know if you were getting any of them.”
Newt pulls the door shut behind him as he steps inside. “I’ve been busy.”
“I know, I know,” Mrs. Scamander waves her hands, walking down the hall to the kitchen, “Your animals mean more than your own dear mother.”
“That’s not true.” He follows her, eyes trailing over the pictures of him and Theseus at various ages, hanging in rotting frames on the cream walls.
“Well, you aren’t very good at showing that, are you? Come in here, I just finished baking some biscuits.”
Chuckling at a picture of him and Theseus grinning ear to ear in front of the ocean, stacks of shells balanced on their sopping curls, Newt heads into the kitchen. It hasn’t changed much since he was young. The same dog and cat salt and pepper shakers sit above the stove. The same row of flower vases with the same nine vases are lined up on the far counter, like soldiers ready to march at any moment. The same wooden frames hold up the same moving pictures.
Well, almost all the same pictures. Newt tries not to see the different faces in three of the frames, changed courtesy of Theseus.
“How have you been, honey?” Mrs. Scamander sets a cup of tea and a plate of two bite-sized biscuits down in front of Newt.
“I’ve almost died five times since I last saw you.” He fights a smile at his mother’s frown as he bites into a biscuit.
She falls into the chair across from him. “Do you want to kill your mother? Merlin’s beard, Newt, didn’t I raise you better?”
Summary: The creators sent up a new greenie instead of supplies…they weren’t expecting a girl. And to put the icing on the cake, she’s pregnant with a note rested upon her bulging belly. Once the note is read, and the girl wakes up…all hell will break loose. Who is she? Why is she there? Who is the father of her baby?
It was just an ordinary evening in the glade, nothing different, nothing suspicious. For once it was actually peaceful and quiet. The runners were going to return soon, the gardeners doing their thing, the builders finishing up some finally touches on their new shed for extra tools, just the same endless routine as always. Or was it?
The glade was suppose to be retrieving shipment of new supplies, food and clothes, but it was taking longer than expected. Usually they are during the afternoon, sometimes if they’re lucky, in the morning. But, now the sun was about to set behind the maze walls, and everyone was about ready to settle down after a long and hard day. Alby looked out into the distance, watching everyone settle and do some last minute checking. Inhaling a long breath he looked at where the box was located. Why hasn’t it sounded off yet?
“Bloody thing still hasn’t come up yet?” Newt limped toward the leader, his face coated in sweat and a few dirt specks.
“Afraid not. Maybe we’re not getting anything this month.” He shrugged, turning his attention to the runners entering the glade again. Not even a few seconds later the walls started to close, signaling that the day was ending, confirming his theory.
Nodding to his second in command, Alby walked away to his hut. Newt took one more look at the box, a strange feeling building up in his stomach. The creators wouldn’t just…neglect them of supplies for no reason. Shrugging it off, he also made his way to his own hut.
“Hey! Newtmas!” Gally exclaimed, jogging over to him. Rolling his eyes at the nickname, he stopped in his tracks and waited for Gally to approach him.
“We were promised a new supply of tools and,” He raised both his eyebrows and arms, his face stretched in surprise. “I’m not seeing any tools! We spent all shucking day building that shed, and now we don’t get to use it?”
“Look, not really certain you were promised anything, but I have no say in what the creators do. We’re all disappointed and confused as to why the box won’t come up, but-”
“Hey, shuckface!” Minho raced over to the two boys, a look of confusion on his face as well, not to mention Thomas was right on his trail with the same expression. “What gives? We were supposed to get new runner’s shorts. Thomas here is gonna need them soon, or I’m leaving him in the maze so the grievers can deal with the stank.”
“Hey, I don’t smell that bad, I wash these everyday!” He defended, Gally rolling his eyes.
“More like every other decade. But, seriously, when are we going to get-”
“Hey, Newt! I thought we were supposed to be getting new knives! Slicing with dull knives aren’t really going to do the job!” Winston joined in the conversation, followed by a few more of the keepers and workers who were also concerned.
“Yeah, Jeff and I are getting low on cleaning supplies, needles, medicine-”
“Hey, I was here first, complain to someone who actually cares!” Gally snapped.
“Oh, like having tools for your precious shed is more important than our health?” Thomas spat right back, only making the builder angrier.
Newt watched as everyone talked at once, complaining and throwing out scenarios, thinking the worst as to why the box wouldn’t come up. The crowded commotion seemed to alarm Alby as he rushed over to an exhausted Newt.
“What is going on here?” He shouted over the mixture of arguments, silencing them all. Newt sighed heavily, answering his question.
“Everyone is completely shucking nuts over the fact that the creators haven’t sent the box back up. Builders need tools, the slicers need new knives, the med-jacks need medicine and supplies, and the runners need new running shorts because apparently Tommy can’t clean his own klunk. So basically, everything is going on.” Newt rubbed his head, sleep starting to catch up with him fast.
“Alright, listen up! I understand that this is all a bit..different than any other month, I get it. But, we’ll just have to make dew with what we have.”
“With what we have? How long until the creators stop sending stuff altogether?! Until we have nothing and we all die! We can’t build, we can’t eat, we can’t get medicine! This is probably some test!”
“Calm down, would you? You’re jumping to conclusions, we don’t know WHAT this means, but it doesn’t have to mean the end of the world.” Minho rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in the process.
“Well what does it mean?” Chuck pushed himself through the crowd of boys, coming back from cleaning the bathrooms, wanting to join the commotion.
“It means,” Alby turned and pointed at the box. “This box doesn’t change a thing. We’ve gone longer without any new supplies, and today isn’t and won’t be any different. Am I clear?”
Everyone sighed in unison, nodding and murmuring in agreement. But, not even a few seconds later, the familiar alarm sounded off. Scaring the whole glade into an even deeper silence, they all basically sprinted toward it. Well, all except for Alby and Newt, who just stood in a pit of shock. Newt turned to Alby for only a moment, then looked back in the direction of the box.
“What exactly does this mean?”
Without an answer to give him, Alby just trudged over to where everyone else was, Newt following behind him. Once everyone was in close range of the box, they watched as the doors slid open, the faint sun being the only light to shine inside of the dark area.
Anyone who could see inside all gasped dramatically, as what was inside was definitely not supplies, tools, or any kind of object. It was a person. And not just any person…
Newt dropped down to get a closer look, his eyes widening to the size of plates as his breath caught in his throat.
“What is it?” Alby asked the question that everyone wanted to ask, but were too busy in a state of shock. Newt looked up at everyone, his mouth hanging open slightly, as he held a note that he picked up.
“It’s a girl. And she’s…pregnant.”
The muttering of the gladers surrounded the box, as everyone leaned in closer, getting a clear view of the girl that laid unconscious. Alby jumped down, along with Gally, Minho and Thomas. He walked over to Newt, reaching for the note in his hand. Once Newt gave it to him, Alby saw that the color was drained from his face. Reading the note himself, he could see why.
“Well,” Thomas poked the girl’s stomach, getting smacked in the head by Minho. “What? I was seeing if it’s real…”
“What does the note say?” Gally points to it, Alby looking up at him for a second and then back at the note, an unreadable look on his face.
“You’re uh…going to want to sit down or something.”
“Just read the damn thing!” Newt yelled, a stressed out expression colored his face as he rested his head back into his hands.
One of you is responsible for this. Until you figure out who…
Okay so, this is my first attempt at writing and I’m not even sure myself what is going on here but anyway here it is. A massive shoutout to @elsaclack and @peraltiagoisland for being incredibly supporting and encouraging and for helping me and letting me yell about this.
(Title from “what baking can do” from Waitress)
Amy’s reading is interrupted by a loud clashing sound coming from the kitchen. She looks up from her book and listens, wondering what Jake could possibly be doing. They rarely cook anything, most of their meals consist of takeout or whatever Charles brings them, and when one of them does cook, or at least tries to, it usually ends in complete disaster. It is quiet for a bit so she decides to pay no mind to it and continue with the book as it is finally getting interesting.
No more than five lines later she hears the noise again, this time followed by what sounds very much like Jake cursing. She sighs and puts the book down. It is better to check what he is doing before he can make a mess, or break something, or hurt himself.
She is too late, though. Almost every single pot they own is on the counter, along with some bowls and plates of different sizes. The mixer is there too, all ready to be used, and is that the flour container by the coffee maker? He’s too focused looking for something in the fridge to notice Amy standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
It is only after he found whatever he was looking for, took it out, and placed it on the counter (how he found free space to put it, she has no idea) that he finally turns to her.
“It’s Boyle’s birthday tomorrow,” he says, matter-of-factly.
Rogues are of an important caste of adventurer. Born in danger. only to live amongst it for the remainder of their lives. Often knee-deep in strenuous terror, the Rogue’s skill-set is one befitting of a fellow willing and able to do anything to succeed: the very essence of professional, with no-matter how debased and violent that profession is. There are no retired thieves; only patient ones.
And if you ever find yourself brought into one’s close acquaintance, value the opportunity like a miser would a shining coin in the dirt. But remember, a gift from a thief is a favour you will owe ‘til called upon. Some timid folk even claim that the most dastardly of Rogues take ownership of the recipients of their presents, claiming their souls until the debt is balanced.
Here are a selection of knick-knacks and doo-hickeys that’ll perplex any fumble-thumbed brute to disinterested in the art to recognise a Tri-Iambic Pentameter from a Two-Tick, sheathe hold, Witherman-Oak lock.
A single, polished-leather glove with a small, silver buckle strapped tight on the wrist is the implement of death that was supposedly dealt to several members of the established aristocracy at the regal feast in the capital. According to a witnessing guard upon the balcony, over seeing the busying commotion within the gardens nearing sundown, a lone figure, neither male nor female, parted the crowds in a hurry. Like a red-cloaked salmon striding up-stream, they passed dozens on the way to the orchard. For each one they passed, they caught their attention of with a gentle hand onto the shoulder, or a tap on the back, perhaps a tug on the arm. And for each one he touched with that glove, a few seconds later, we had a corpse. Some have several cracked ribs with no sign of external injury. A couple have crooked necks or spines, twisted like tinder. All is known for certain, is that the suspect darted across the hedge line into the obscuring treeline as soon as the first crunch of bone and collapsing body broke the ambiance, tossing the implement behind them with a dainty bow.
Retorting Headband of Limitless Wit
This elegant band of glimmering platinum is decorated with gleaming studs of colourful, aquatic gems across the front. It sits atop the wearer’s ears and snugly wraps around their scalp, regardless of whether there is hair or not to grip. Whomever dons such an item finds that, when diplomacy turns from negotiation to interrogation, they know exactly what their opposition’s reaction to their own words will be. With this knowledge, they can quickly jump through several options, weighing in the information, to eventually dismantle their defences and leave them astounded and utterly defeated.
Countess’ Ebony Shoulder Cloak
Misery followed the fabled Countess in the south like a bad joke. Every man, woman, and child ‘tween the callous hills and the gravel coastline had heard of’t. She rode from village to village; her knightly entourage bullied taxation out of everyone who was caught in their passage. Doors broken open, windows smashed, barns burned. Eventually, the oppressed victims of these pillaging aristocrats gathered enough coin to convince a seasoned highwayman to put a knife into her neck. True enough, the professional picked off her clumsy protectorate whilst they braved a barren forest road. His perch amongst the pines offered the perfect advantage against the helpless soldiers. Her carriage was trapped stuck in place as a trip wire let a tree topple onto the horses leading it, crushing them and her escape in an almighty thump. Satisfied, he danced down from his branch on-high and unsheathed his skinning knife - a gift from his uncle and teacher -and wrenched the side door off its hinges with an almighty roll of his shoulder. Inside, the Countess sat silently on her silken seat. Her gilded shoulder cloak shined like Crow feather in the sunset knifing through the treeline and into the carriage, her smile broke through her lips like gold within an opened purse. She met the assassin’s glare with a bow of the head: an appreciation of true talent. He leveled his knife at her neck. She responded by pulling her shoulder cloak across her torso, and in a flurry of blood and bites, became a storm of bats, black as ink, sharp as glass. The highwayman didn’t even have time to recoil away before he had his clothing torn at from every angle as the swarm overcame him, lifting his writhing, screaming form into the air. And with a snap, the flailing ceased, and the bloodied tatters of flesh, with the coin that bought him, hit the road. The Countess reformed at the side of a horse baring a slumped knight, reaching down to collect the taxes from the thief’s corpse, wiping a drip of deep red from her chin.
Sold in pairs, entirely inseparable through misfortune or conscious effort, these simple wooden rings of polished maple always find eachother, somehow. When both are fitted on both hands of a humanoid creature, that being becomes subconsciously aware that their arms, from the shoulder down to the nail, are false. These magical recreations function just as effectively as the previous, organic pair, and can be shedded like a lizard losing its tail to escape a predator. Once the falsities are detached, the true pair of hands appear, seemingly out of nowhere in particular. Often used by condemned prisoners to escape binds, or by greedy spelunkers who become trapped by their hands in traps or mechanisms.
This brass whistle is slender, and narrow. It is attached to a loop of red string and is engraved with minute etchings of tools, instruments, and implements of delicate craft. Once blown, it emits a piercing whine which makes the ears of young children and small animals itch with unease. After a short while, no more time than it takes for the pain of the sound to disappear, a cantankerous machine of gears and steam jumps into view through a dinner plate sized portal which closes behind it as he exits. It stands 1 and a half feet tall at the shoulder, and resembles a crudely engineered impish creature in thick goggles and a leather apron. Once the summoner is ready, she can direct the machine at a troublesome lock, an impenetrable security system, or a dangerous trap mechanism. From here, the machine will split his hands into several dozen spider-like limbs, each holding a unique and bizarre widget or gadget for bizarre and unique jobs, starting their work on the machine. Once complete, it hops back into the port fro whence it came with a leap.
(A/N) How goes it? Are all of you deceased from NCT’s comeback??? I know I sure as hell am!! Before I delve into all the smutty requests coming up, I thought I’d rewind for a moment and give you all some fluffy Ten, which a lovely anon requested! This is a Prince AU, with a HUGE twist. I got really involved with the story RIP
The sun was blazing, far too bright for its own good, as it shone down brilliantly on the capital city. The market place was crowded with people on the lookout for deals, trying to make their meager amounts of money last. You felt the familiar weight of coins press against your thigh in your apron pocket, your hand cupping the cool metal protectively as you squeezed between stalls. In your family, money had recently become sparse, so every coin was precious and worth thousands more than it truly was. You had to be smart and calculate the best possible deals, using your sharp mind to its full potential. Market day had been your responsibility since your mother had passed away, your father following her fate not even a few hours later, unable to live a day without his beloved wife. That had been years ago though, and you were stronger know, had a stronger mind, and a tongue that would make a knight quiver in his armor. You were not one to be messed with.