#might draw a second part to this or doodle it or somethin

[horrorknife]

common ground

part 2

[descendantofthesparrow]

2 part Commission Work - Harry Hook x Reader - part 2 - the masked princess

commissioned by @musicarose​

=

You sat sluggishly at your desk, the weekend had been harsh, your sister barging into your room constantly to rant about…well about you, but she didn’t know that.

And now apparently, Harry Hook was on the look for the masked girl who had run off before the reveal. And it hurt to hear your sister spit insults about you.

You thought Audrey had gotten better, but she still had work to do.

You stiffened as harry sat next to you, doing your best to not look at him, in fear of blushing heavily or blurting out the truth.

you wished you could tell him, but you were scared he wouldn’t like the girl under the mask and avoid you like everyone else did.

“good morning class! Today, we are going to start on a team project!” the class, including you groaned. “now, now it’s a simple research paper, im sure you can handle that, now I will be assigning you groups because SOME of you- “ the teacher eyed the students, who shrunk in their seats “like to exclude others so!”

The teacher took out the attendance sheet and went down the list, marking off as she grouped teams of two and three.

You looked to harry in the corner of your eye, he was just doodling on the edge of his paper. and as you looked closer, you saw your mask from the ball, on top of your hidden face.

‘hes drawing…me?’ you thought, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.

“mister hook and miss (whatever last name), you two will be partners” you jumped, yelping out as you hit your knee on the desk.

The class turned to you, laughter in their eyes, you blushed and looked away. You didn’t see harry glare back and knock his fist harshly against his desk, the class flinched and turned back to the front.

You zoned out the rest of the class, your foot tapping on the ground constantly.

Someone poked your shoulder, making you squeak and turn to them. “uh-uh hi?” Harry chuckled and gave you a soft smile and an eyebrow raise.

“hi luve, im harry, Harry Hook, and yeh are?” he held out his hand, you gently grasped it, mind flashing back to when he kissed the back of your hand.

You shook hands, a blush clear on your face “im-im (y/n)” harry nodded, releasing your hand and leaning back in his chair.

“I've seen yeh before, but I don’t know where?” you sighed, shoulders slagging down.

“im-im audreys little sister” harry nodded slowly, then shook his head.

“no I think I've seen yeh somewhere else…” you froze, hands clenched in your lap.  He snapped his fingers and pointed at you “oh, at the engagement party!” you breathed a sigh of relief, then paused.

“wait, I was only there for like- five minutes, and then I left?” Harry shrugged.

“im good at remembering faces” he laughed, it was odd, just like the night of the ball, you had become easily comfortable with him.

“well, I kinda zoned out on the topic?” you gave a vague gesture to him, he snorted and shook his head.

“no specific topic, we just gotta research somethin’” you hummed and tapped your desk.

“how bout…pirates? Since that would be something we're both interested in?” Harry sat up straight and looked at you surprised.

“yer interested in pirates?” you nodded eagerly and tapped your hands on your thighs.

“yeah! When I was a kid I would sneak off to the library and look for stories and books with pirates in them, my dad and grandparents didn’t really like it but my mom always encouraged me to keep learning, no matter what topic it was- sorry im rambling”

You shyly ended, rubbing the back of your neck, harry frowned, reaching out and cupping your cheek "someones told yeh that yeh talk too much, who?”

Oyu paused, looking at his wrist “u-uh-aud-aud-“ Harry let out a low sigh.

“yer sister, she's a nasty one, any tips ta get ‘er ta leave me alone?” you blinked surprised, leaning away from his hand.

“you-you want her to leave you alone?” harry swallowed harshly and rubbed his arm.

“she- shes not really…personally aware? And she makes me uncomfortable and its obvious that she only likes my face n crap”

You locked your jaw and furrowed your brows “and here I thought she learned from ben, ill see what I can do”

Harry softly smiled and nodded “thanks lass” the bell finally rang, the teacher calling the end of the team quite time and dismissing the class.

“the paper is due next month on the second! Have a good rest of your day!”

You stood from your desk, stuffing all your books and notes in your bag.

“So lass, well meet up at lunch alright?” you whipped around to look at Harry, who was smiling at you. “is tha’ okay” he frowned slightly, realizing he might have made you uncomfortable.

“no, no! it's okay, just didn’t expect that….no one usually willingly hangs out with me after…audreys stunt” harry looked offended and wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“well, im changing that today, yer gonna met meh friends uma n gil alright? You’ll love em, after all” he grinned down at you “we’re pirates” he teased.

You blushed and looked away, though you didn’t remove his arm.

“Hey by the way” you looked back at him “do yeh know that masked girl from the masquerade ball? The one that was in that blue ombre dress?” you slowly shook your head.

“no, i-I didn’t go” Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“Alright…”

You did your best to ignore his face and the tone of his voice.

=

Well…uma knew who you were, she had immediately reconsigned your voice and had pulled you into a corner and told you.

She didn’t tell Harry thankfully or force you to tell him, she took one look at you and knew you were scared of what would happen.

So she left that alone and became a friend.

So as the date of the research paper drew closer, you and harry were around each other more often than not. And honestly? Even if you didn’t like him all to hell and back you would have been very happy to have a friend like him.

He had legit swore at a group of kids who were whispering about you and trying to tell him to avoid you.

You were invited to crew nights at Umas dorm, eating breakfast lunch and dinner with Harry, Uma, and Gil.

You were finally breaking out of your little shell, and beginning to not care about what all the other students thought.

You still couldn’t bear the thought of telling harry you were the masked girl, you knew he would be disappointed.

Though one day, when you had to study for the paper in your private dorm room because of the rain outside and the library being closed.

Harry was bored and starting doing….Harry things and poking around your room as he waited for you to return with the books you left in your locker.

As he looked under your bed, his eyes locked with a large blue box. He tilted his head, and pulled it out, sitting back on his heels and slowly opening the box.

His breath stopped as his eyes connected with the elegant mask of the girl from the masquerade ball.

“all this time” he muttered, gently picking it up and brushing his thumb against the nose “it was yeh”

“How did you find that” harry turned, eyes widening as he locked eyes with you.

You looked terrified, clutching the books to your chest “you weren't-I wasn’t- I didn’t!” harry stood, quickly waking over to you and grabbing the books and tossing them on your bed. then grabbing your shoulders, instructing you to breathe with him.

“Hey hey hey! Im not mad, yer fine, yer fine! Its okay, breath with me love breathe~” you grabbed his arms and tried to breathe, feeling tears burn at your eyes.

“you-you're not disappointed?” you whimpered, a look of sadness and….love? came over his face.

“disappointed? Love im happy! Who knew the girl I've been fallin’ for was the same as the girl who stole meh heart at the ball”

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped “you-you- falling for?”

“aye” he lifted his hand from your shoulder, cupping your cheek and gently stroking your cheek with his thumb “im falling for yeh…my princess”

You could feel the intense blush rise to your face, so you lunged forward and buried your face in his chest. You felt his laughter rumble in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

“can I kiss yeh?” he whispered, your head shot up, looking into his bright ocean blue eyes. You nodded slowly, fluttering your eyes closed as Harry leaned in.

And pressed the softest, purest kiss to your lips.

As he pulled away, you couldn’t open your eyes, “yer smiling” you heard him chuckle. You opened your eyes biting your lip.

“That was my first kiss” you whispered, harry hummed in surprise, then gave you his classic flirty grin.

“How bout I give yeh a second one?”

“yes please,” Harry leaned back in, pressing a slightly more passionate kiss to your lips, though he kept it soft as not to scare you.

It was funny when your sister walked in, about to rant once more about harry being obsessed with the masked girl, when she saw harry on top of you on your bed.

Harry just looked at her, gave her his middle finger, and resumed in his quest of giving you the best kiss of your life.

“(Y/N)!!!”

---end~---

taglist

@amorathegamingkitsune​

permtaglist

@queer-cosette​

@sephiralorange​

@lunanight2012​

@random-thoughts-003​

@daughter-of-the-stars11​

[blackbirdmuses]

Storm || Monologue

Heavy, black clouds hung over the skeletal trees at the edge of Halloween Town. Darkness swiftly descended and the first roll of thunder boomed in the distance. Storm sat on the roof of the treehouse, watching the horizon with expectant green eyes. There had always been something about encroaching tempests that had relaxed him. While his mother jolted at every flash of lightning, Storm stared up, wide eyed as the sky filled with jagged light. Perhaps it was because he was born during a colossal, raging storm, or maybe it was his namesake, but he’d always held an affinity with gloomy weather. He would nestle himself among the broken slates, pressing himself to the hollow base of the dead tree, then, he’d wait patiently for the first droplets of rain to fall from the weighted heavens.

However, something more than an anticipated downpour had coaxed Storm to his perch on the roof today. He’d had an argument with his twin brother, Thorn. It seemed as though, in their ten years of living, neither of them had ever had a very serious disagreement; until today. The boys had got into trouble over a piece of graffiti on the back wall of the Town Hall (a drawing that Storm had concocted) and, instead of taking his share of the blame in encouraging Storm, Thorn had placed all the blame on Storm and managed to escape punishment. Now, Storm would have to spend his entire weekend cleaning the wall by himself. The twins had fought, loudly shouting at one another and stomping around until Thorn had retreated to their bedroom and Storm had run for the rooftop. 

With his knees up at his chest and his hood firmly hooked over his head, Storm watched a bright flash illuminate the billowing clouds on the horizon.  “Stupid Thorn,” he muttered. “Wasn’t even my idea. Always getting me into trouble for nothin’.” 

He kicked a slate from the roof, watching it slide down the edge until it smashed on the ground below. With a huff, he heard a gentle scuffing sound behind him. It was probably Thorn, so he ignored it.

“Thought I might find ya out here,” That wasn’t Thorn’s voice. Storm turned around and looked up to face his father. The shadows dropped away from his sides and he leaned one arm against the dead tree. “Mind if I join you?”

Storm licked his lips and shook his head, shuffling aside to allow him to sit next to him. Now he was in for it. His father hadn’t been around when the Mayor had berated the twins for their graffiti, but he had assured the twins that he would tell him all about it when he saw him. Thorn hadn’t taken the threat seriously, but Storm had. Look who was right, he thought.

Oogie lowered himself into a seated position next to Storm, casting a glance towards him. “Ah,” he breathed, pointing at his hood. “Probably a good idea.”  Storm blinked, watching as his father scooped a hand down towards the shadow of the dead tree and swept it over his shoulders like a cape. When the darkness parted, a dark green hood appeared over his brown curls and covered his shoulders.

Against himself, Storm couldn’t help but smile. “Cool,” he muttered. Oogie looked towards their view. “Won’t be long ‘til that storm hits us, huh?” he commented. “Your mother will pro’ly want us to come inside before it starts gettin’ too close, though.”

Storm sighed, scratching at his hands. “I don’t wanna go back inside.” He could feel his father looking at him again. “That ‘cause of your fight with Thorn?” he asked him earnestly. Storm didn’t answer. “I heard ‘bout what happened today. You ain’t in trouble.” Storm blinked, turning back to him. “I’m not?”

Oogie shook his head. “I thought your drawin’ was pretty gruesome, actually,” he admitted. “Although, you pro’ly shoulda picked a different wall-” Storm shifted around. “That’s what I said! But Thorn wouldn’t listen! He said that wall looked too boring and needed kickin’ up a notch!” Oogie chuckled under his breath. “Well, it’s certainly a lot more vibrant now, that’s for sure. I like the colours you chose, neon green an’ red? An’ that skull with the snake comin’ out of it? You got a real gift, Storm.”

Storm smiled. He’d always hidden his artwork in sketchbooks before, just doodling in the margins of writing pages or on the corner of napkins. It had been Thorn that had noticed his talents and suggested the idea of street art, but after the Mayor and some of the townsfolks’ reaction, it had felt as if Thorn had encouraged him just to get him into trouble. Thorn had insisted that wasn’t the case, but Storm couldn’t help but feel betrayed nevertheless. “Does that mean I don’t have to clean it off the wall?” he had to ask.

Oogie heaved a sigh. “Afraid not, fella,” he confessed. “You kinda covered up an important notice board with ‘Boogie’s Boys’ an’ some folks ain’t very happy about that, but...I guess y’know that already.” Storm looked at his feet dejectedly. Off in the distance, the thunder continued to ominously rumble and lightning cracked through the clouds.  “I wish Thorn would listen to me,” he muttered. “I told him it was a bad idea...and now everybody hates me.”

“Hates you?” scoffed Oogie. “Storm, nobody hates you. All you did was upset a couple ghouls, but forget about ‘em! The Mayor changes moods as quickly as he changes faces an’ the other ghouls will have forgotten all about it in a week.” Storm sniffed. “I thought you’d hate me.” Oogie’s gaze softened. “Me? Why?” Storm buried his face in his knees. “Because...you’re friends with the Mayor and Uncle Jack and they were mad at me and that’d make you mad and then you’d hate me-”

Storm looked up as he felt an arm wrap around him, pulling him closer to his father. “Stormy, kiddo...” he breathed. “...I could never hate ya, okay? Never. You’re my son an’ I love you. One li’l’ badly placed wall doodle ain’t gonna change that.”

Swallowing thickly, Storm wiped his eyes and rested his head on the side of his father’s chest. Storm had almost expected his father to lose his temper and lecture him about how disappointed he was, as he had done on the couple of occasions where he and Thorn had almost fallen into the acidic vat of sewage or played among the - mostly - dismantled sharp instruments in the Lair. It had seemed as serious as that when the Mayor was huffing and puffing at him in town. 

“An’ you know someone else who could never hate you?” asked Oogie. “Thorn.” Storm pursed his lips and sat up straight, looking into his father’s eyes. “But, he deliberally got me in trouble, Dad!” Oogie hummed and shook his head. “I don’t think he did. I figure that Thorn really thought his idea was a good one, an’ when he saw you gettin’ in trouble...he panicked.” Storm frowned. “Thorn? Panic?”

Oogie leaned in, looking left and right before he whispered: “Wanna know a secret? Somethin’ that even Thorn’ll never tell ya?” Storm blinked, nodding enthusiastically. “He’s real scared of bein’ caught red handed when you guys set up pranks.” Storm’s eyes widened. “He is?” “Oh, you bet! An’ I should know, because I’m the-” “Boogieman!” hissed Storm, amazed. It suddenly made sense why Thorn was eager to ensure their pranks were quick, concise and failproof every time they set them up. Storm had always assumed that he was just being efficient, but this made a lot more sense.

“An’ I’ll betcha anythin’ that he was just as scared of gettin’ in trouble as you,” continued Oogie. “An’ I know for a fact that he’s real sorry ‘bout it, too.” Storm made a face, looking off onto the horizon. Rain was beginning to fall in the distance, making dark spots on the ridged grass at the edge of the moors. Against his frustration at his twin, Storm had to admit to himself that he was missing his brother. They were rarely ever apart for longer than a few hours, and it felt like much longer than that today. 

“I guess I could talk to him,” sighed Storm, watching the rain getting closer.  “Atta boy!” breathed Oogie, ruffling his hood and looking into the distance. “We should get inside real soon, huh?” Storm looked up at his father. “Think Mom’ll mind if we stay in the rain for a little bit?” Oogie returned his gaze to the approaching rain. “As long as neither of us catches a cold an’ we dry off when we get inside, I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks Dad.” replied Storm, lifting his face as the rain came thundering down upon the roof, soaking the two of them within seconds.  Storm broke into a peal of laughter and he could hear his father join him. Rain cut through his jacket and onto his t-shirt, weighing him down as the thunder roared above them. “Okay, let’s go!” shouted Oogie, wrapping an arm around him. Darkness covered them both in a blanket, and the next thing he knew, he was flopping into the sofa with his father sitting next to him, the sound of the storm far above them.

“That was fun.”

[royalcordelia]

This Bed of Recall and Recollections (1/1)

Summary: Most of the time, it’s convenient to have your husband as your doctor, except for the times he condemns you bedrest. A very pregnant Anne decides to open her chest of old memories to pass her bedrest time. (A future shirbert drabble). 

Notes: Happy belated holidays @cresmix​! Here’s a little somethin’ somethin’ for you because you and your kind heart deserve it. This was a request that @shirberts-sherbert came up with, so thank you for the idea. (Also y’all follow me because I write well, not because I photoshop well, but I gave it 110%. Even if it does look a lil funky lmao). 

***

Anne knew there were bright sides to her current situation. The bed was impossibly soft underneath her, but stiff enough to support her weight against the headboard. She didn’t have to wear shoes in bed, either - an added plus. Just the thought of jamming her swollen toes into her dainty slippers as she had during the past several months had her cringing. 

You were given your imagination for times like these, she scolded herself. There are plenty of lovely things about being on bedrest. Why, I’ve had time to read all the books on my list, and then some! A bitter voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she’d read all the books on her list already - twice, some of them three times! Gilbert promised to bring home some new reading material soon, but he’d been so busy at his medical practice, that she’d long since stopped asking if he bore her any surprises. 

Now there’s a bright side worth thanking the Lord for, she decided. Not every woman, exhausted with the many weights of pregnancy, got to have her husband as her doctor. Anne argued that Gilbert was better attuned to her symptoms than any of his patients. Perks of sharing a bed with him, she supposed. There was no husband around with more compassion and love for his ever-glowing wife, even with the unpleasant oddities it brought to their relationship. 

But it also meant that when her blood pressure had spiked to dangerous heights, Gilbert had said with very firm stringency that Anne S. C. Blythe - Queen of Conquering Obstacles and Goddess of Fortitude - was condemned to bedrest. At least until the new member of the house arrived. When the decree had been made, Anne was wise enough not to argue. 

“Every time a man speaks like he’s got a sour cranberry on his tongue, it means he means business,” said Susan, their beloved housekeeper, to Mrs. Doctor Dear later that night. “And that you may tie to.” 

Anne knew her husband better than that, though. Gilbert’s word, of course, did mean business, but she knew that a tiny part of him still held onto a poisonous drop of guilt. Susan might have claimed to know the Doctor better than most, but Anne was the one that Gilbert laid his head upon, weeping into her chest that it was his fault their first baby had died. If I had just paid better attention...There must have been something I missed. How could I? My own daughter? Not even Anne’s softest touches through his hair or the honesty of her own unnecessary forgiveness could take away all of his remorse. When she’d informed him of their second chance, he’d been even more attentive than he’d been the first time. 

Thus, Anne was growing into a prisoner in her own bed. Her loving, caring husband, her jailor. 

With a sigh, Anne turned her gaze toward the window. Her soul sighed. It was golden hour, the most beloved time of day, when the PEI sun took a few moments out of its busy day to say hello to her. It always looked so sweet over the garden, the early spring buds glistening as if they had been touched by Midas himself. Against the bedposts, Anne tried to imagine the soft moss underneath her fingers or the richness of the soil of her flowers, but the mental image fell flat. 

Her window, though...Her window was only a few feet away from the bed. If she could just take a glimpse at the garden, maybe her heart wouldn’t feel so starved. 

The coolness of the floor felt wonderful underneath her heat swollen feet. With a careful hand behind supporting her back, Anne gently rose up for the first time in days. Her vision swirled, but she ignored the momentary vertigo and began to creep forward with astonishing stealth. If Susan heard her up on her feet, there’d be hell to pay, especially when Gilbert got home. Just as Anne was able to take a self-indulgent glance at her garden, a familiar voice broke through the bird-song silence. 

“Sweetheart, what on earth are you doing up?” 

Anne jolted, and she staggered like a drunken fool for balance. Gilbert was at her side before she could see him fly over to her, one hand in hers to keep her steady, the other against her back. She could sense a scolding on the tip of his tongue, but he bit his lips against it as he guided her back to bed. Settling at the edge of the bed together, Gilbert rubbed her knuckles with a tender touch. 

He could’ve begun his love-driven admonishment, but instead, he said, “A parcel came from Green Gables today. I stopped in town to pick it up.” 

Just the mention of home was enough for some of the weight on her shoulders to dissipate. Her gaze drifted from the wrapped box at the end of the bed back up to the hazel warmth of Gilbert’s eyes. He gave her his daily “ I’m home” kiss and helped her shift back into her perch on the bed against the headboard. 

“I know that bedrest isn’t the most stimulating activity in the world, so I asked Marilla to send this,” Gilbert continued, placing the parcel in her lap. 

“What is it?” Anne asked, though she had already started tearing the brown paper away. She gasped when she found the wooden box underneath, fingers grazing over the grained smoothness. “It’s the box I kept when we were in college.” 

“I remembered you had a memory box, but you never told me what was in it. I hoped whatever was inside, it could be enough to convince you to sit in bed.”

Anne lifted the lid away and the contents of box overflowed onto her lap. 

“It’s so full because I kept every single letter you sent me over four years. But there’s some sketches from when I asked Cole to teach me how to draw. Oh, and look, a few pictures too.” 

Gilbert settled at her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“If it’s every letter I sent you in college, that’s more reading than all of the Jane Austen books put together. We better start now if we want to finish by the time our new gentleman arrives.” 

Right on time, Susan rapped against the door with her elbow, a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands. 

“I put the tea on the stove as soon as the doctor came home. These are the last of the biscuits you like, Mrs. Doctor, but I’m baking more tomorrow. And there’s a piece of my cherry pie for you, Dr. Dear.” 

Anne grabbed Susan’s hand before she could walk away, and pressed a firm kiss to it. 

“You’re a blessing untold, Susan, thank you.” 

When they were alone again, Anne grabbed the first thing she could find: a letter. The bluish hue of the envelope and the familiar scrawl told her what she already knew. This letter had been one of the later ones she’d received during their fourth year of college. The blue envelopes had been Gilbert’s way of trying out professional stationary, and each letter was monogrammed at the top with the initials GJB. As for the nearly illegible scrawl of her name and address, that was a bad habit he’d picked up from his medical professors. 

“When did I send that one?” he asked, peeking over from his own reading. 

“The April of 1904. I remember it without even needing to check.” 

It took a moment, but Gilbert suddenly remembered what the letter said. He could picture exactly what his desk and room looked like the day he wrote it with the clarity of a photograph. Long lost in fireplace ash, there were several burned attempts that had come before the finished product that Anne know held in her hands. 

“This is a question I had every intention of asking in person, but I find my patience has evaporated with the months our of separation,” Anne read softly. “Say that there was a velvet pouch in my pocket. Say that it contained a peridot ring that my mother once bore on her own hand. (Breathe, darling, I’m not proposing over correspondence. What I mean to ask is - ) Would you find yourself open to the idea of wearing it in the foreseeable future? If there was a fellow who had a question to ask - a plead, a beg really - would you be ready to answer the next time you saw him?” 

The ring of his tender descriptions now rested on Anne’s hand, a little tight with her swollen fingers, but still glistening and lovely just the same. Gilbert took the hand and pressed a kiss to the stone that his father had chosen for his mother, the same stone that was a perfect green on his redheaded wife.

“Do you remember what I replied?” she asked, nuzzling her cheek against his touch. 

“Not exactly,” Gilbert admitted with a fond smile. “I think as soon as I read your response, my entire brain stopped functioning and I all but floated around Toronto for the next month.” 

Her shoulders shook against him as she chuckled. 

“What’s that you’re looking at?” Gilbert revealed the journal that had been placed in his lap. Its leather was the same color as Anne’s girlhood horse, Belle and was tied around the middle with a strap. “Ah, the proof of my stint with art.” 

“You were genuinely talented!” Gilbert argued. To prove his point, he flipped open the sketchbook to one of the middle pages. “This one is my favorite.” 

Of course it was, she thought with an amused smirk. He had skipped over the pages where she’d sketched pink carnations - briefly wondering if he recognized they were the ones he’d brought her during one of his visits - and focused on the page where Anne had drawn one of the Blythe-Lacroix apples. 

“Anne Blythe, Gilbert S. C. Blythe…” he read with interest. “If I didn’t know better, Mrs. Blythe, I’d say you were in love with me!” 

“Oh, be quiet. If I didn’t doodle my feelings like an infatuated schoolgirl, I’d have dropped out of Queen’s and transferred to Toronto.” 

“You wouldn’t have found arguments from me,” Gilbert said with a shrug. 

Anne nudged him with her elbow, but kept flipping through the box with interest. Mostly, she found letters. To his delight, it seemed that not a single one had been lost over time. Each one was a treasure, and she’d treated them as such. Some of his more romantic ones appeared to have more wear, as if she’d found them in her hours of loneliness and reread the words in his voice. There were tear smudges, small rips in the corners, memories of smiles, and residual pining that never actually went away. Some of Gilbert’s later letters admitted the way he’d desired her, craved her touch and counted the days before he could love her in the ways he was meant to as a man. It made Anne glad that Marilla had always respected her privacy. If Rachel Lynde had read those letters and found Gilbert Blythe longing to kiss the soft skin of Anne’s breast, she likely would’ve shipped the young girl to France or England herself. 

Lost in her amusement, Anne almost didn’t hear Gilbert sigh beside her. He held an old photograph in his hands, one that she groaned at the sight of. She’d sat for several portraits during her lifetime, but never before did she feel as unattractive as she did in the one he held.

“I ought to have just thrown that in the fire,” she commented. He gaped at her in surprise. 

“What do you mean? Why have I never seen this one?!” he exclaimed. His eyes roved over the picture, and suddenly he felt like the eighteen-year-old boy losing his breath at the sight of her. In the portrait, Anne wore a demure, neutral smile on her lips and wine red blossoms behind her ear. And her hair ...Gilbert suspected that if Aphrodite or Hera were really out there, they envied the ocean waves of her auburn hair. “Anne, this is breathtaking.” 

Anne paused before finally answering in a rush. “I originally planned to send it to you because you’d been asking for one, and I know how much you like my red hair so I asked the man to hand color for me.” 

“I think he did a fine job!” Gilbert added, still confused. 

“He did a fine job commenting on my hair, too,” Anne stated bitterly. “He said he never saw such salmon hair in all his years. Salmon, Gilbert. There was no way I could send the picture after that.”

Gilbert laughed heartily at this, shaking his head at the stubborn rage of his beautiful, impeccable wife. 

“Well, darling, what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours…” He snatched the picture from her hands and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket. “Is mine! I’ll be holding onto this in my own memory box.” 

Anne might’ve argued, but he rose from the bed with a kiss to her forehead. In any other circumstances, she would have followed him until she could reclaim what was hers, but that would’ve involved rising like Christ from her bed. If she owed her husband anything after all the years he’d stayed loyal through her stubbornness and her flares of anger, it was to heed his word and remain in bed. 

Still, with him gone, she missed his warmth and wondered if she might convince him to sit beside her just a little longer.

“You need to eat, my love,” he concluded. “I’m going to go help Susan with dinner. Drink some tea, alright? You need to be sure you’re drinking enough fluids.” 

“I’m hydrating for two, I know.” 

Right before he disappeared out of the room, he let his eyes linger on her - the loveliness of her white bed gown, the sunlight on her hair, the loving glint in her warm blue gaze. He could taste the words on the tip of his tongue, hundreds of I love yous that he could mutter with all the breath in his lungs. Instead, he exhaled a shaky breath and said, “Let me know if you find anything else of interest.” 

Anne nodded with a smile, finally looking the most comfortable she’d been in days. She reached back down to the very bottom of the box and pulled out the oldest letter she it contained. 

“My Anne, I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter…”

[the-gunslock]

HIVER 8 - BALLET TONNERRE

Hiver and Amanda cuddle in the bed in a cloudy morning, the former staring blankly at the ceiling thinking about her next course of action, and the latter inspecting her lover’s face and ethereal eyes for any trace of emotion. They have been talking for around an hour now, no rush to put their clothes on since their first time together.

“...Think ya should look for the Techeuns on that.” Amanda says, rubbing her fingertip up and down on Hiver’s sternum. “Heard that Awoken dreams usually have a deeper meaning, might help you find somethin’ ‘bout yourself, darlin’.”

“Sure, that’s a good idea. Huh…” Hiver props herself on her elbows, thinking and turning to Amanda. “Honey, can you do a drawing for me?”

“What of?”

“An outfit. I’m going to the Dreaming City.”

“Ally-oop!” The shipwright says, bouncing on the bed and straddling the Warlock, holding her wrists in place and moving her face close to hers, causing her to struggle playfully. “Who said you could?”

“NOOOOOO!” Hiver half-shouts, barely containing her laughter.

She plants a deep kiss on her girlfriend’s mouth, moving her hands from her wrists and intertwining her fingers with hers. As Hiver relaxes her body and closes her eyes, Amanda moves close to her ear.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She whispers.

“What is it?”

Amanda sits back up on Hiver’s lap, pulling her into a forehead kiss.

“You’ll always be the one I love, no matter who you were before. What matters is who you are now. ‘Kay?”

Hiver moves in to touch her forehead with her own. “Okay.” The blonde woman smiles.

“Can we never leave this bed?”

In response, Hiver holds her and lifts her by her bottom, causing her to entangle her arms and human leg around her body, like a sloth holding on to its favorite branch. “Guess that’s a no. How’re you so strong for someone so tiny?” She asks as Hiver kisses her neck and opens her bathroom door.

“It’s just a ten centimeter difference,” the Warlock answers, putting her girlfriend on top of a vacant section of the sink. “I’m not that shorter than you. I’ll run the bath for us.”

“You’re the perfect height.” They chit chat as the bath goes full, with Hiver asking Trinity to send her details of how the outfit needs to look, down to color and texture. Soon they are fully geared, riding Hiver’s Bronco to the Tower, Amanda saving a page on her industrial-model-and-doodle-filled sketchbook.

Hiver went to orbit to trace a course for the Dreaming City. While on her workstation, Amanda quickly makes a croquis of a person (With Hiver’s hair for guidance) and starts trying to delve into the mental image of her lover’s visions.

As she went, it was evident that is was some sort of modified, dark purple ball gown that an asymmetrical cascading skirt, sprinkled with a sparkly, golden star-like gradient fading from the hip. The top part has a wide neckline that is semi-disconnected from the dress’s ¾ sleeves, both of their hems lined with black fur. The back of the dress - as she had also sketched - was deeply cut out, exposing the user’s entire back.

As a final touch, it has a silk, glittering sash over the waistband, secured with a little brimstone brooch shaped like an eight pointed star. After signing her name and scribbling some notes about the fabric and the texture, Amanda cracks her fingers, hoping it would be enough for Hiver to begin a search.

“Wait a minute…” Amanda narrows her eyes at her drawing while stretching her wrist. She is missing something that feels very obvious, and she bites her lip as she tries to figure out what it is.

Nevertheless, she sends the image of her sketch to Trinity, going back to seeing about ships and waiting for Hiver to respond. Soon, her tablet notifies her about an incoming audio message.

“Yes, yes! It’s perfect. I hope Petra or the Techeuns have something to say about this. Thanks, babe, I love you infinity ♥”

“Anytime, darling. Love you infinity times infinity ♥” Amanda replies with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Whatcha smiling at?” A voice calls from above. She doesn’t even need to turn around to know who it is, just rolling her eyes at the sound.

“Hey, Luna.” She greets, putting her tablet away and turning back to the ship engine that needs repairing. “Did a drawing from Hiver’s dream, now she’s seeing if she can find anything ‘bout it. Dunno if it’s any lead, but one can dream.”

“Can we see it?” Luna’s Ghost, Frost, asks, ever curious.

“Notebook’s on my desk.”

Luna picks up the notebook, looking over the messy, albeit practical strokes of Amanda’s drawing of the gown. She had a talent for this, and Luna made a mental note to remind her not to waste it.

“Interesting. You draw very well!” The Hunter says, closing the notebook. “Where did she go?”

“Thanks. Dreaming City. Talk to Petra.”

The Hunter makes a flustered expression remembering her Queen’s Wrath crush, and for a second she considers going there just to see her for some time.

“Not saying that goin’ there is a bad idea, but I’m totally sayin’ goin’ there’s a bad idea. Hiver’s dead set on this and she might kill you if you try to interrupt.” Amanda says, not turning her head from the engine.

Luna and her Ghost trade shocked looks. “What can be so important that she might kill me of all people over?”

“Herself. Leave her do her thing, Petra ain’t dying anytime soon.” Amanda reassures, leaving the “I think” part of the sentence in her thoughts.

“...Sure. Good luck, you two.” The Nightstalker says before walking away.

“Likewise.”

Hiver’s ship flies through the skies and crisp marble-like towers of Rheasilvia, spotting the Queenswrath on radar and transmatting near her position, as she aims her scout rifle at the Taken below.

“Petra!” She calls out with a plastic case and tumbler in hand, making the woman turn around. “I need your help, and come bearing a peace offering.”

“What for, cousin? We aren’t enemies.”

“All the more reason why you should enjoy it.” She hands Petra the case, containing many still hot triangle sandwiches filled with ham and various vegetables. Her eye glistens and her stomach growls when she smells the Warlock’s gift of a fresh meal.

“Surely, you have my attention.”

“So…” Petra says, sipping from the tea that Hiver brought to her. “you see yourself dance in this garment, and you believe that it may be connected to your past life?”

“Exactly.”

“I think it would be useful to see this dance you refer to, Guardian. With your measurements, in a couple days, we can get this dress done.”

Trinity starts scanning Hiver’s body to conveniently get her measurements and send them to Petra. “What do we owe you all?”

“How about a favor? You help me clean this section’s buildings, ridding it of the Taken, and in exchange you use it to show us your… mysterious dance. I don’t know why, they just -- keep coming back. Argh. Filthy demons.”

Hiver pulls out her Ace of Spades and twirls it in her hand. “Then we just gotta keep killing them.”

With her cannon and her cheery attitude, Petra remembers Cayde for a moment before coming back to reality.

“We got incoming.” Trinity states to the women, who go alert as a Blight materializes in front of them.

“Petra, have this.” Hiver passes her Le Monarque bow and its arrows to Petra, certain that she would be on her best element if she used it, her grin being a good enough confirmation. Together, they jump off the perch and run on towards the Rheasilvia temples, firing at the many Taken units and Blights that block their path.

After a while of dynamic and surprisingly fluid combat (Given they had barely worked together before) they manage to secure the temples and rooms needed for the Dreaming City’s Corsairs and Techeuns to resume work. One of them has a very large, circular space in the middle, almost like some sort of theater. Seems like it would be the spot.

“I’ll stay in this area for a while, so the Corsairs can set up a base of operations. Once your dress is done, I’ll call you ASAP.”

Hiver extends a hand to the Queenswrath, who shakes it vigorously while looking at each other’s eyes.

“Cousin, I’m sorry. What was your name again?” Petra asks for reminder, making sure she knew who to call once the dress was ready.

“It’s Hiver.”

“Of course. What does it mean?”

“An Earth language word. Means “Winter.” Until next time, Petra. I’m just a message away.”

Petra eyes the intricate black and red weapon in her hand, almost forgetting she held it. “Hiver, your bow!”

“Oh. It’s called Le Monarque, after a type of butterfly.” Hiver says, pulling out Trinity in order to be transmatted into her ship, ready to join her Fireteam. “You can have it for now, Petra. Take good care of it.”

With that, the Guardian vanishes, leaving Petra puzzled. She narrows her eye in thought.

“...What is a butterfly?”

Regardless, the Queenswrath is interested in the capabilities of this new heirloom. She decides to do some field-testing with it, grabbing another glowing arrow off its quiver and stepping outdoors once more, pulling back the string.

“What’d ya get?”

“Not much yet. Petra is working to get the dress done. In the meanwhile, I’ll just… go about my days.” The Warlock says, lying in boredom atop her girlfriend’s workstation. “Hey, you need any help?”

“Sorry babe, I’m good.”

Hiver groans. Nothing piqued her interest yet since she was so invested in finding out what she was seeing. Amanda would love to help, but as always, she was shackled to her work schedule and couldn’t do much else except talk and give her the occasional kiss or nuzzle.

“Darlin’?” Amanda says, sitting straight in her desk, looking at a circuit board she was tinkering with.

“Yes?”

“Can ya run some Arc through this? Wanna see if it works.”

Hiver jumps down to the workshop, quickly locating the electrical parts of the circuit, and powering it just enough for it to display an image on a screen Amanda had it connected to.

“Whew, fixed. Thank you, Hiver.”

Hiver gives a happy smile for being useful, ready to go back to the roof.

“So… How ‘bout we put a smile on that face?” Amanda says, putting her work gloves back on and turning to her. “Did I tell ya I managed to sell my place?”

The Awoken’s blue eyes widen.

“You’re moving in with me?” Hiver yelps excitedly, drawing more attention than she would like from the Hangar workers. She didn’t care. Her eyes were shining, (More than usual) with anticipation and glee.

“Ahaha, YEAH!” The shipwright adorably bounces in place. She has been waiting for this, and it felt very comforting to finally break it to her girlfriend. They hug intensely while giggling.

“I’ll need to negotiate a day off to move my stuff to your apartment. That’s gonna be fun.”

“I can contact my clan, see if they can help us do it. Everyone needs to put their backs into something.”

Soon after they returned to their spots, Hiver starting to message her friends to get assistance on remaking her girlfriend’s new home.

Two days after, Hiver returns to the Dreaming City due to receiving a call from Petra, containing a picture of the dress she had asked for, perfectly replicated down to the last detail. The Awoken were nothing if not meticulous in their craft, no matter what it was. Hence, the Guardian was eager to try it out and dance, even having warmed up and practiced it that morning. It felt weaved into her soul, even more than the Light.

She doesn’t know why.

As her ship soars over the spot she helped secure days before, Petra waved at her, with the dress being levitated by her side. Touching down, Hiver runs up excitedly to give her fellow Awoken a warm hug, and observe the dress.

It dazzled in the sunlight, the colors being brought out by the flawlessly crisp fabric, the perfectly combed black fur and the jeweled brooch holding up a sash that appeared to be made out of pure nebula. It looked just like she dreamed, and as such she wasted no time putting it on herself. Fit like a glove, and matched her gold pointe shoes perfectly.

Once everyone was watching, she was ready to begin. Trinity put on an ancient serene, orchestral music so Hiver could get started. The Warlock closed her eyes, and, when she opened them, the building, Petra, the three Techeuns, the City, all was gone.

What she saw was a black, starry sky, blending in with a vast, calm ocean on the horizon, a moonlight-like glow coating her skin. She danced fluidly, with passion and grace, treading a path on the water, as if the ocean’s surface tension would break if she made a single misstep. Every touch of her toes was mere ripple, a reflection of delicacy and image. Sometimes she spun, sometimes she fell, in the end everything was part of a choreography she knew like the back of her hand, but didn’t comprehend.

As the song comes to an end, she sat on the ground on her knees, a hand raised, and closed her eyes once more. When they opened, she was back at her previous scenery, and the Awoken women stared, interested but intrigued. From their faces, Hiver could tell something struck a chord, but she could not tell if it was a good or bad one. No one said a word save for whispering among themselves, and after a while she had her answer.

“Cousin,” Petra called her attention, “we are going to run an archive query. Your performance is not unfamiliar, but neither of us was able to recall it immediately.”

Hiver could only nod and hope that she wasn’t wasting everyone’s time. She had already put in so much effort into finding the results, it had to be here somewhere.

Right?

Commander Zavala’s Ghost notifies him of an incoming video message, sent with utmost urgency to the Vanguard channel. Calmly, he turns around on his viewpoint on the Tower and nods at Ghost to put it through.

“Commander Zavala.” The woman with the eyepatch addressed in the recording.

“This is Acting Regent-Commander Petra Venj of the Reef. Recently one of your Awoken Guardians, a Warlock by the name of ‘Hiver’, has had a inadverted run-in with Awoken history, and the Techeuns request that she and her wife, Chief Shipwright Amanda Holliday, get permission to leave their post and come to the Dreaming City as soon as they can. Thank you for your attention, Commander Zavala. Petra out.”

Zavala furrows his brows. It was curious, for rarely did the Awoken need to contact Earth’s citizens for anything since their Queen was gone — much less a non-Guardian.

He relays the message to Holliday, asking that she reach out to her ‘wife’, and warning that she has permission to leave for the day as long as necessary. He trusts this has nothing to do with City affairs, but he is still on alert. After about fifteen minutes, he spots Amanda’s Cerulean Flash jumpship leaving the Hangar, towards the Reef’s ghost city.

KA-CLINK. Thud.

KA-CLINK. Thud.

Every bullet of the flamboyant Hunter’s black and gold Tatara Gaze sniper rifle was one more Scorn aberration down on the ground. The patrol she has been doing for the Corsairs had been rewarding, and in time she would be ready for whatever bigger threat the Dreaming City brought upon her.

“Luna, heads up.” Her little drone says.

“What is it, Frost?” She asks, standing up in the moundtop of Divallian Mists.

“I detected two of your most contacted frequencies approaching the Dreaming City.” Frost states, spinning.

“The Gunslock and?” Luna says sarcastically.

“Heh. Her girlfriend.”

“Amanda? What is she doing out here?! If something gets her, it’s over!”

“Pretty sure Hiver will look out for her. Still, want to go see what they’re doing? I reckon they’ll speak to Petra.”

Summoning her Harbinger’s Echo Sparrow, she launches it on the ground and speeds towards Rheasilvia.

“Hey girl.” Amanda greets the Regent-Commander after getting out of transmat.

“Hello, Petra. Got any news for me?” Hiver says with a smile, hiding her concern for being called so urgently.

Petra silently motions for them to sit on the ground, where laid a picnic towel-like object with circular patterns, holding a book and a Reefmade data pad in her hand. She had some food with her, a retribution for Hiver’s “peace offering” days before.

“I do have news.”

Sitting with the Earth women, Petra pulls up a page on her book. Hiver and Amanda look at each other nervously, wondering what the big deal was.

“Cousin.”

“Yes?” She answers, startled.

“Do you remember when you first arrived here?”

“We activated the Oracle Engine. Found out Mara is alive. Now the Guardians freed Sedia, Shuro Chi and Kalli, and we’re trying to contain the curse.”

“Your Ghost.” Petra motions to Trinity. “She spoke to me, and asked about the Dreaming City. I told her about how the Awoken have built hidden cities, scattered throughout the Reef, not unlike this one.”

“I remember that.” Trinity mentions.

Petra hands the ragged book to the women as they eat. It apparently speaks of these Cities — some lost to time, some unseen, most unheard of to Guardians. It’s written partly in English, and part in other languages they don’t seem to understand.

“In some, we live and raise kids, in others you make weapons. Here, you meditate and learn…” Trinity continues. Luna, having just arrived, perches herself in a nearby rock, where she can hear the women talking.

“And in some specific ones, we develop our art. Artistry is a must for any civilization that develops critical thought and self-expression. You, Hiver…” She motions to the Warlock. “And you, Amanda…” She motions to the human. “Have seen it in our tapestry. Our tailoring. Our blacksmithing...”

“Your sculpture, architecture…” Hiver continues. Amanda widens her eyes in disbelief.

“Your dance.” Amanda spouts. Hiver is left mute, and Petra nods.

“Our dances… art made to celebrate our bodies. Our Queen. Our energy, and the fact that we breathe. And, may I add…” Petra says, ominously leaning closer.

“Like everything else you haven’t been allowed to see, they are very well-guarded secrets. Family and teacher heirlooms, in a way.”

Hiver and Amanda nervously trade looks.

“Hiver, listen to me, and listen well to what I am about to tell you.”

Hiver is breathing heavily through her teeth, trying to contain her ever-growing anxiety. Petra puts both hands on her shoulders, staring at her face seriously.

“You are Reefborn.”

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Henry's Unfortunate Ink-antation Part 8

[submitted by: @the-elusive-blue-skittle]

Day 3

Henry gets shaken awake by the little devil himself. Wow, is it morning already?!

“Henry! Henry, c’mon! It’s mornin’ already!” “Hhuh…? Really?” “YES, really!” “I feel like I got five minutes…”

“Henry, it’s eleven o'clock!” “That’s not that late, pal…”

“YES IT IS! Get up!”

“Alright, alright… Sheesh…”

Henry sits up in the chair, stretching. Bendy drags him out of ‘bed’ and onto his feet, causing the animator to shiver. “Gee, it’s cold in here…”

“Are you nuts?! It’s nice an’ toasty!” “Sure doesn’t feel like it,” Henry replies, grabbing one of his blankets and wrapping it around himself. “Ahh, much better…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, nutjob. Let’s go start the day, already!”

Henry smiles and nods, following Bendy out the door, though he’s starting to feel a little hazy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Right in the middle of the dynamic duo setting up another infamous prank, someone pulls Henry off to the side.

… Oh. It’s Wally.

The janitor takes his hat off and holds it in front of his chest with a somber expression. “Look, Henry, I… I’m sorry I tortured ya the other day. Really, I am. It was a nasty thing ta do to someone who was just havin’ a li’l fun.”

“Huh?? Oh, no, no, Wally, it’s fine! I’m not mad, see?”

Wally raises a brow in suspicion. Henry would normally hold a huge grudge on something to that degree…

“Well, if ya say so. No hard feelings?” “Nnnnope!” Henry replies with a smile. Wally smiles back, though the expression seems uncertain.

“Aaaaaalright, uh, take care, pal.”

“See ya, Wally!”

The janitor smiles before turning and walking away, the expression on his face immediately dropping to one of extreme concern when his back is turned. ‘What’s happening to ‘im?’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“JOEEEYYYY?”

The old man turns around to meet the source of the voice. “What is it, Franks?”

“I’unno, but somethin’ weird’s happenin’ around here… Somethin’ CRAZY weird!”

Joey sighs, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “What KIND of weird?”

“It’s Henry.”

Joey’s expression falters for a split second. Henry’s being WEIRD? That ALREADY can’t be good at all. “Well, speak up, kid! What’s he been doing?”

“He isn’t holding any grudges! He’s all weird and gleeful and just plain not himself! I swear, if that toon garbage is contagious, I’m OUTTA here!”

“… I’ll keep an eye on him. Go back to work.” “Alright, alright,” Wally mutters, slinging his mop over his shoulder and sauntering back to the hall he was mopping.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henry’s been getting weirder and weirder as the day’s been going on. Even Bendy notices a difference in his general demeanor. The little devil hasn’t said anything yet, though it’s slowly nagging at him that something might be going terribly, horribly wrong.

The toonified animator is currently distracted with watching Norman set up projectors. Bendy taps him on the shoulder.

“Heyyyy, pally! I heard Joey’s got some new drawin’ paper that I think you’d like! Whaddaya say we go try some out?”

“Oh, ummm… Maybe later, pal. I don’t feel like it.” “WHAT?! You’re HENRY! You ALWAYS feel like drawin’! Come on, Henry! Ya gotta draw somethin’!”

Henry rubs his temples. “Uhhh… Okay, okay, I’ll draw something. Is it just me that feels dizzy right now?”

“ ‘Fraid it’s just you, Henry,” Bendy replies, shoving a pen and a sketchbook in Henry’s hands. The animator drops to the floor, lying on his tummy with the book in front of him, open to a clean page. He begins to doodle, though it looks slightly off from his usual talent.

“Hm… I’m losing my touch.”

“Aw, c’mon, Henry, ya do it just like this!”

Bendy proceeds to draw a portrait of himself in which, much to his dismay, is significantly better than Henry’s drawing.

“You’re my animator, for pete’s sake!”

Henry raises a brow, though he’s quick to shake his head and smile. “Well, having three fingers and a thumb isn’t helping much. That’s gotta be it. No need to worry, pal!”

Bendy reciprocates the smile. “Yer right. I ain’t gotta worry ‘bout somethin’ like that.”

He’s lying through his teeth. The little devil is starting to worry about his self-proclaimed big brother. “W-Well, uh, let’s keep drawin’! It’s fun ta just lie around an’ do nothin’ for a bit, right?” “Welllll, yeah. You’re right,” Henry replies, resting his head in his left hand as he draws with his right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And then he SMILED at me,” Wally yells to the group he’s gathered in the break room. “Henry NEVER smiles at ME! I KNOW somethin’s up with ‘im, but I just don’t know what…”

“Wait wait wait, Wally… You’re saying that Henry ACCEPTED your apology?”

“Yeah!”

“… Wuh-oh. Have you told Joey?” “Yeah. He said he’d look int’a it, but he’s a real busy man.”

The other person, revealed to be Susie, crosses her arms in suspicion. “Well, maybe someone should go and talk to him once in awhile and see if it’s not just you.”

Sammy silently nods. Even HE’S starting to get worried about Henry. This is getting to be a real problem if Sammy, of all people, is concerned about ANYONE besides Susie.

Susie glances at the door. “I’ll go check on him and see if he’s okay…” “Be careful.” “Oh, Sammy, as if that sweet little guy would do anything to hurt someone…”

Susie walks briskly, in a hurry to see what Wally was talking about. She peeks into the main room of the studio to see Henry and Bendy surrounded by papers, all with individual drawings and doodles on them.

Susie clears her throat, alerting the toons to her presence. Henry sees her and stands up with his hands behind his back, a small smile plastered on his face. “Well, if it isn’t Susie! Did you need somethin’?”

Susie glances back at the break room hallway. She returns her gaze to the toons in front of her and smiles nervously.

“I just wanted to check on you, sugar. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s swell,” Henry exclaims with a grin.

Susie seems uncomfortable. “That’s… Good…”

“Is something wrong, Susie?”

“No, no, just feeling a little under the weather. That’s all.”

“Gosh, you’re sick? Maybe you should tell Joey!”

Tell Joey… That’s a splendid idea! Tell Joey about what’s happening, and maybe he can fix this mess!

Susie walks off from Henry wordlessly, leaving the little toon in confusion.

“What’s up with her?”

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five| part six | part seven