this shit's really late but oh well whatever

tboltrashbro  asked:

In your toon Henry! AU, maybe in one bad ending Joey just decides to destroy Henry and use his ink to make a "better" Henry. He makes this Henry in the image of young artist Henry before he was drafted and when it's all said and done there is a new young Henry toon, the only problem is he doesn't know anything the original Henry does. He's for intents and purposes a newly created toon who happens to have the image and mannerisms of the late Henry Ross.

(cont.) It could go 2 ways, Joey is livid. This “Henry” is not what he wanted, he’s a scalable first attempt, Joey doesn’t deal well with failures and probably scares the shit out of 2.0 Henry and Hen flees. Or Joey keeps it together and doesn’t flip his shit at 2.0 Henry the moment he realizes Henry doesnt remember Henry 1.0’s memories and starts manipulating New Henry, who probably feels really uncertain about his creator’s plans but is unknowing of the manipulation until he is made aware.

Oh, gosh.  Yeah, whatever happens here, it would NOT end well.

That being said, as I stated before, if Joey created this “new” Henry with his perception of Henry before things went south, then for all intents and purposes, that is who this new Henry would be… albeit, a cartoon version of him.  He would not, of course, know anything about the war, or of leaving the studio.  But the toons would instantly recognize something was different about him – wrong, even.  Even Bendy would take notice.

Joey might be able to convince Bendy that all he did was to talk to Henry and convince him to change his mind, as well as revise his “design” so that Henry would be more youthful, but even this workaround wouldn’t fly when compared to the new Henry’s memory.  And even if Joey DID create this Henry with that in mind, Alice and Boris wouldn’t fall for it, not after everything.  Who knows where it’d go from there, but it wouldn’t be good.

I’ve got a latte for…

*click through to read on ao3

written by: @goldenheadfreckledheart | Lexi

prompt: ‘You give me a different fake name every time you come into the coffee shop and I just want to know your real name bc you’re cute but here I am scrawling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino’ for anonymous

word count: 3751

Bellamy loves his stupid coffee shop. He loves the way it smells, he loves the way it feels—warm, without forcing it—and he loves his obnoxious coworkers, even if Miller is perpetually snarky and Raven is perpetually smarter than him and smug about it.

He does not, as it were, love it when his cute, blonde regular comes in and keeps refraining from using her real name.

Or, rather, he likes that she comes in. Less that he doesn’t know her name.

He knows it’s never her real name, too, because it’s not like she just uses different, generic names each time. Instead he gets told, on a nearly daily basis, to scrawl the name of a different fictional character on a paper cup. She had a Harry Potter streak last week, names ranging from the golden trio to more obscure characters whose names he doesn’t know how to spell. (Ask him how he feels about Xenophilius.)

The first time she came in, it was Aerith which, he supposes, could be her name, except he wagers the chance of finding someone whose parents named their child after a Final Fantasy character is pretty slim this early into the twenty-first century. As it is, he’s just kind of embarrassingly psyched to find someone who’s into his favorite video game franchise.

He scrawls the name on her cup, without comment—because somehow he thinks that makes him seem cool? He can hear Octavia’s disappointed sigh already—and catches her slight look of surprise at his lack of response. She pays with cash, as he’ll come to realize is her norm, and moves down the counter to wait for her drink.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Imagine someone kidnaps you and the ransom is information they want from Mycroft. You laugh at them and say he won't give the information, although you are married, because the government is more important and he'd know that. 2 minutes later they tell you the ransom is paid. They get captured, though and Mycroft gives you a tongue-lashing. The terrorists (or whatever) had cameras and he wants you to know that nothing is more important than you. Plus he tells you he has to "DEAL" with them now.

 "Listen you scum bags, you might as well let me go or kill me because there’s no way in hell you’re getting an information from me,“ you growl at your nearest abductor still wearing his white hood to conceal his face.

It would just be your luck to get kidnapped only a week from your first anniversary.

I knew I should have just ordered the stuff online instead of visiting the shops in person you thought while accessing the bindings biting into your skin.

“It is not you who we want information from ______, but mainly your husband Mycroft,” says a voice from the far left shadows causing you to painfully crane your neck to see.

The man’s shorter than the others and sporting a horrid beard/massive side burns combo that just makes him look like such a tosser. All of them are wearing white hoods except for their so-called ‘leader’ who wears a beret like its a crown of some sort.

Not that it will matter anyway…

“Jokes on you then mate because Mycroft isn’t going to give you shit,” you say glaring at the remaining gang.

“We shall see…” the leader who you’ve internally dubbed ‘Whiskers’ retorts, “We give him five minutes to give us the information or we start sending you to Mr. Holmes in pieces.”

These idiots just didn’t get it like you did because you knew Mycroft simply wasn’t going to budge.

The pair of you had extensive conversations about scenarios like this where it had been agreed for the sake of crown and country neither would divulge government secrets for the sake of each other’s lives. 

“The lives and security of many greatly out-weigh the lives of a few,” Mycroft had said in a bastardized version of 'Mr. Spock’s’ line in Star Trek, “its our solemn duty as government officials to keep our form of government and its people by association safe from terrorists or harm if not for their children but for our own.”

And it looks there we never be a child of our own then… 

Already your mind is working against you as the dread sets in that you will be either tortured in the next twenty-four hours or killed in the next forty-eight.

It’s not a pretty thing, coming to terms with imitate death but you knew it had to come sometime even if you had hoped it to be at Mycroft’s side in a little country cottage during your senior years.

Two minutes…they said they’d give Myc five but you knew his answer wouldn’t come and oh those knives on the terror cell are starting to come increasingly clearer on their belts as the seconds ticked by. Oh god this is going to hurt. Jesus Christ this was so unfair-

Boss,” crackles a voice on the walkie on Whisker’s hip.

“Yeah?” Whiskers answers not taking his eyes off of you.

“They gave us the data, they say let the girl go now,” the voice responds.

Whiskers does an incredibly forced laugh, “HA! See? I told you my plan would work if we captured his whore-”

In mere seconds the room was assaulted with an audible 'hiss’ streaming through the ceiling’s vents  and the men started dropping like flies.

Mister Macho Whiskers doesn’t even make it past the table before landing face first into one of his hooded comrades’ crotch before the door’s kicked open and one of M16 ’s best comes rushing in to carry you out.

The rest is kind of a blur. Being carried through the compound, the shots and screaming but what is vivid was waking up in your shared bed to find Mycroft sitting behind his desk waiting for you to awaken.

Originally posted by backgroundgeek

“Oh good you’ve waken up dear,” Mycroft says without making an effort to move, “The doctor was just in telling me you might rejoin the living today.”

“You…you said you wouldn’t,” you really wanted to articulate properly but whatever they put in that sleeping gas was some strong shit to make you this loopy, “we…we promised.”

“I’m well aware what we promised ______,” he acknowledges placing the papers down on the desk, “However I find that living in a world without is simply one that I cannot survive in as of late.”

And oh, this stuff must be good if its making Mycroft sound so romantic without plying him with sugary negligées or several spiked brandies. Really you must get that recipe for later.

“Mycroft…” you call to him softly, your body isn’t fully aware that it can function but you manage to make your hand twitch all the same in his general direction.

With a very forced upon sigh Mycroft leaves the desk to join you on the bed carefully minding your limbs and snuggling closer for a cuddle.

Once situated at a comfortable angle Mycroft leans his head closer to yours to press kisses to it, “Consider this _______, saving you can be my  anniversary present of sorts.”

Giggling at the prospect (or the drugs) you smile at your ridiculous husband, “Well that’s no fair-how am I supposed to compete with a gift like that?”

“Simple my dear, you get to deal with their interrogations once you’re better."