#this is my first attempt at drawing alice I had a tough time figuring out what she might look like but she's my fav character so far

[enjolrasapproves]

this is what you see seconds before alice tells you a pun

[click for quality]

[subukunojess]

Banjo Blues

A Secret Satan Gift for @lt-lemonade

I am sorry this is so late, but a lot of personal issues were going on at the time along with my studies and I wanted to write a good drabble for you! They requested either a drawing or a fanfiction with several prompts and I picked:

“Wally X Sammy- Sammy singing him a song on his banjo”

I decided to get into practice with my BATIM fanfiction by using my Wally and Sammy from my Ink Gluttony AU. Might redesign or add more detail on them on a later date. It’s a nice ship and I tried to convey it as much as possible while also keeping into their character. Also wanted to try out a few concepts as well. I hope you like it and if you’d like more or if you want me to change anything feel free to ask!

By the way, the song that Sammy sings to Wally, I borrowed the melody from a cut Little Shop of Horrors song because it was the only song I could think of that’ll fit Wally’s bounce. It’s on YouTube and if you’d like a link, I’ll provide it!

Without further ado, here is the drabble under the cut! I hope you enjoy.

For Samuel Lawrence, Joey Drew Studios was chaotic and mundane at the same time. Work was much more simple in the early years. Back then, it was a small studio with only a few employees in charge of their own section. Henry drew the cartoons, Joan would help Henry with drawing and writing up ideas, Norman was in charge of projectors, Sammy himself was in charge of music, Wally would clean up the studio, random people would show up to help out here in there including some repair man named Tom, and then Joey Drew would oversee them all while sticking his nose on everything he could.

But now? Now things were much bigger. More complex. It wasn't until recently that Sammy found out he was more content with the old set-up even though he would have said otherwise in the past. He'd stay in his designated room, writing and playing his music for the studio until a bigger musical opportunity showed up for him. Needless to say, it didn't. When he got his own spacious department along with an entire orchestra at his command, Sammy was thrilled that Drew saw his full potential. What he didn't count on was the increased work load. Or the incompetent workers. Or the excessive amount of questionable ink. Or a little ink demon running around. Or a number of other things that made the man pull his brown hair out.

It was just another night at the studio in New York City. Some of the employees stayed overtime to make ends meet. By some, it meant a few animators, writers, and Sammy especially. Sammy walked out of his office, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief to clean some of the ink away. He sighed. The amount of ink Joey provided seemed to increase every year and it was getting everywhere from toilets to instruments to his very office. He'd complain out loud another time. For now, Lawrence wanted to check on his instruments to inspect the day's damages. Sluggish, he trudged down the hallway before turning to what he dubbed the orchestra room, only to stop and stare as he found someone sitting by a piano.

It was a familiar red-haired man with overalls and a light brown cap on, his chestnut, blank eyes staring at the keys below. His shoulders were leaning against his lap as he slowly pressed against one of the keys with a finger, letting out a soft sigh.

Out of all the fools Sammy had ever met in the studio, none of them took the cake like Wally Franks did. Figuratively and literally. Whether it'd be losing his keys, slipping on ink down the hallways, or attempting to eat Sammy's chocolate cake, the young man was quite the cheerful handful. At least for Sammy. To see the sole janitor in such a somber state unnerved him, however.

"Wally, what are you doing? Are you feeling well?" Sammy asked, his voice croaked with at least some concern. Instead of jumping in reaction like Wally would normally do whenever someone was talking to him, the man turned his head to glance at the music director standing behind him. Sammy could see slight bags under his eyes as if he had aged along with the studio.

"Nothin' much, Sammy. I'm just missin' ol' Bubba, that's all." He shrugged, going back to plunking the piano keys. "Jay and Tom says he's gonna be sick for a while. I know he needs ta get betta, but things are gettin' tough around here. Ya know what I'm saying?"

Sammy sat down on the bench next to Wally with a nod. "Ah, yes. That's what you call Bendy. I haven't seen him as of late. And things are always tough here, both in and out of the studio."

"Yeah, but not like this! No one's smiling anymore. All everyone does is rush off and complain. I know some of it's hard work, but we're makin' cartoons for people for cryin' out loud! We're supposed ta be smilin' and laughin'!" Wally threw his arms up in the air, before dropping them to his side. "I dunno... wheneva' I'm with Bubba, we always cheer each otha up. Maybe I'm startin' ta lose hope..."

As Sammy listened in, he felt something tug at his chest. Guilt? Sympathy? Whatever it was, he knew that he didn't like seeing Wally in this state. Plus, Sammy wasn't much of a people or feeling person. He communicated well with music. And it was then that an idea popped up in his head. Telling the other to wait a moment, Sammy got up and went across the room to retrieve his banjo, his favorite, personal instrument. He dragged a stool as well to sit in front of Wally, placing his banjo in position and tuning it. Once it was tuned, Sammy's fingers pressed against the strings when he froze.

What kind of song should he play?

One of Sammy's talents was analyzing a person for a period of time and figuring out what kind of song would they be. What type of instrument and tempo. At the moment, however, he didn't know what type of song to play. He knew this piece called for something to say, but he didn't know what.

He wasn't much for lyrics like Jack Fain, but it was worth a shot to improvise. Sammy wasn't much for prayers either, but there was a first time for everything.

Please, if there is a Lord up there, help me with the right words to say, Sammy prayed in his mind as he closed his eyes. His fingers rested on top of the strings as he slowed his breathing. Suddenly, he felt a presence in the back of his mind that had seeped in from nowhere. It was warm and familiar. He started strumming on his banjo and opened his eyes, his emerald eye changed into a blazing orange while the blue one remained intact.

"When it's time to sweep up the inkwells, who is Bendy's pal?" Sammy sang as he strummed the strings, taking a pause as he looked to Wally, seeing if he would respond. He was met with a couple of blinks in the eyes.

Sammy continued playing, "When it's time to pick up the damn keys, who is there to raise our morale?"

As the music director's song became much more vibrant, Wally's eyes widened as he listened to the words and music. It was bouncy. It was unpredictable. It was... about him? The janitor must have died because Sammy would never make up a song for anyone, especially him. Eager to listen more, Wally sat up in attention.

"In this place of demons and big smiles, here's who you give thanks." Sammy was getting the hang of it now, a smile growing on his face as he leaned forward to Wally with eyes that seemed to glow with life. "Not Alice Angel and Boris, too. Not Tom or Norman or Joey Drew. You tip your hat to the bumbling wonder of Wally Franks!"

He paused for a good minute, then added, "And then Bendy, Alice, and Boris pop up and sing 'Wally, Wally, Wally Franks'!" Sammy tried to imitate Bendy's voice as best he could, tilting his head from side to side as he ended the song sticking his tongue out.

At that, Wally burst into rolling laughter and fell off of the bench, holding his own sides as his freckled cheeks turned cherry red. Sammy blushed as well, averting his gaze to the side as his orange eye faded back to green. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"Oh gee, that was great! Ya sound almost like Bubba! Nice voice for 'im!" Wally continued to laugh until his sides hurt, then he gradually breathed and sat up. "How did ya come up with them words anyways?"

"I don't know." Sammy shrugged with honesty as he lifted his banjo a bit in thought. "It just came to me like that." The janitor slowly stood up and wiped a tear away from his eye before placing a hand on Sammy's shoulder.

"Well, whateva' it is, I like it! You should smile more, Sammy. It suits ya!" He patted his shoulder, then tipped his own hat. "Thanks for the song. Ya made me feel betta. I gotta go make sure there ain't too much spills around. I'm outta here!" Wally then left with a wave in his hand and a smile on his face.

Sammy Lawrence watched him leave the room with a dumbfounded stare, his cheeks still blushing in awe. Wally really was a wonder. He placed his banjo down, then wiped his face to inspect the ink. To his shock, the stains in the palm of his hand were glowing a dull orange. He felt the familiar presence sitting in his mind as if looking in. The music director blinked and glanced up at the ceiling.

"... Bendy?"

[rkrose]

“i’ve been trying all my life to separate the time, in between the having it all and giving it up, yeah. i wonder what’s in store if i don’t love it anymore. i’m stuck between the having it all and giving it up, yeah”  ━━  august 5th, 2020 . . . phone call with alice park ( big sister )

it’s been eight years. eight years since rose moved from her family’s home nestled in the suburbs of melbourne, away from her parents and her siblings to the big smoke of seoul, south korea. a country that was thousands of miles away. who knew that at age fifteen a girl could be so driven, so determined to pursue a dream? this dream of becoming a musician took rose across a whole ocean to a country she had never been to before. time had been kind, things had gotten easier. the early days were the hardest. rose’s lack of knowledge on basic customs expected of almost any korean to her clumsiness regarding the korean language and the honorifics that went with it. she recounts her first year as being vacant and lonely, and those feelings even followed her into her second year. no one reached out, and rose didn’t reach out either. it was easier to keep any and everyone at arms length. she wanted to do this by herself. she didn’t want to be a burden.

favouring hours alone playing guitar and piano, singing seventies and eighties songs she had heard on the radio back home. and when tucked away in her bed at her home stay’s apartment on the outskirts of the city, rose would call her big sister and tell her about her day. a part of her felt inclined to lie, to say that she was happy. but she wasn’t and alice . . . alice could tell. alice was off at university at this point, a first year, studying law. charlie was studying medicine and rose was . . . in south korea, at a music school. so she could pursue . .  music. rose always had it a little easier in comparison to her older siblings. her father hadn’t been super enthusiastic to find out that she had applied to this music orientated school across the ocean in his place of birth, but her mom had been supportive. she saw that her daughter had a dream, so she wanted her to go and pursue it, even if meant sending her youngest to a foreign country. 

favouring hours alone playing guitar or piano, singing old songs that she remembers hearing on the radio from back home. and when tucked away in the bedroom of her home stay’s apartment, located on the outskirts of the city, rose would call her big sister and try to tell her about her day, about her adventures. rose felt inclined to lie, to say that she was happy. but she wasn’t and alice could tell. she was off at university at this point, first year, studying law while their older brother studied medicine. meanwhile rose was in south korea at a music school so that she could maybe attempt to pursue music. her intentions hadn’t been to stay in south korea permanently. initially, it was her three years of high school and then maybe if things went well, a year of university. but a year after graduating and having flopped completely academic wise, and no real drive or pull to go back home to australia, rose had found herself in one of south korea’s biggest entertainment companies come winter of 2016. this was where she paved her dream, even if it wasn’t the way she had visualised it. everyone had to start somewhere, or so she figures.

rose had always had it a little easier in comparison to alice and charlie. being the youngest was probably the reason, she was used to being babied and being the favourite. her father, a branch manager of a bank chain in melbourne, had been rather disheartened to discover she had gone and applied to sopa, behind his back more or less. rose’s mother, a psychiatrist, had been much more supportive. she had saw from a young age what her daughter’s true passion was, in efforts to help rose pursue a dream she had found early on. she sent rose on her way, with no certainty of what this meant for her. and even eight years later and rose not returning as she had planned, her mother still feels the same way. uncertain but immensely proud. and even now, her dad’s a little proud too, even if he doesn’t get the whole singing dancing idol thing.

eight years on, late night phone calls still occur between rose and alice. only they’re not as often and rose lives in an apartment with her two bestfriends. rose finds herself stumbling into bed on most nights after training; life is physically, mentally and emotionally exhausting these days and the thought of talking to anyone, even alice, sounded unbearable at times. but rose always does her best to make time for the important people in her life. tonight, rose is tucked away in her bed with her long blonde hair in braids. she wears an oversized sweatshirt which rose actually thinks might belong to her boyfriend. rose stares up at the ceiling overhead with eight years of lies and it’s weight resting on her chest. the line is quiet. “something up, rosie? you don’t sound too good.” alice asks down the phone, and although chipper, she sounds concerned. “ah, it’s nothing. don’t worry, ali.” rose says, waving off her concern with a laugh. “well . . . nothing is something. what’s going on? you’re alright, aren’t you?” rose purses her lips, a clutched hand rests on her chest. would it be so awful to verbalise her feelings, what she’s felt for the past four or so years?

“i’m thinking . . . about . . . i’m thinking about moving back to australia.” rose says slowly, softly, in hopes she doesn’t draw attention. lisa and jisoo are home, and although one of two knows, she doesn’t wanna talk to them about that now. “y-you’re what? no. what? what happened?" alice’s reaction was as rose had thought: genuine surprise, shock and perhaps a little bit of disbelief. very alice. “you didn’t break up with chris, did you? i thought you were still at royal.” the mention of chris was enough to remind rose of her first real argument with her boyfriend ( of almost two years now ). “no, no. we’re still together and i’m still . . . at royal. my contract ends in december, though. i meant . . . instead of signing it again, i could just . . . come home, and be with you and charlie, and mel and charlotte, and mom . . . dad too, i guess.” 

the line goes quiet again. alice must be trying to wrap her head around the suddenness of the topic. “ali, y-you there?” rose asks, pushing herself up onto her elbows. she furrows her brows. had she said something wrong? “what brought this on all of a sudden, rosie? last time we spoke you seemed so . . . so happy and certain of everything. are you okay? is there . . . something else going on?” last time they spoke. the last time rose and alice spoke was months ago. rose was still coming to terms with what this all meant, what feeling this way meant. “no,” rose mutters quietly, shaking her head. “i . . . i just . . . “ and so she starts from the beginning, all the way back when rose first landed on the tarmac in seoul, south korea as a bright eyed fifteen year old.

"i wish you had of just been honest with me, rose. about everything.” alice admits quietly. rose wishes she could of been honest from the beginning too, but thinking about the consequences of her honesty frightened her. the lies hadn’t been any better, though. “i was scared you’d tell mom and that she would force me to come home.” having to give up her dream though honesty, to be defeated because of her own feelings had been a fear of rose’s at that age. it still rings true now to some extent. trainees shouldn’t show their weaknesses, they become easy targets in the eyes of their company. “mom always wanted what’s best for you, as she does now. and charlie does, and dad . . . in his own, weird way. and i want what’s best for you.” rose bites at her lip, trying to hold the tears that well at her eye at bay. “and if you think that coming back home to australia is what that is, then so be it. but i don’t think that’s what you really want.” 

i am so passionate about singing and performing. nothing makes me feel more whole than when i sing, i truly feel alive . . . as cliche as it sounds. and i was shy, so i hid behind my guitar and my company forced me to step forward and become this . . . this person. after all this time i came to love dancing, i’m actually somewhat good at it although coaches disagree. but . . . i realise that even though my dream was to debut in a band, in reality, an idol group was what i was destined for. and these past three years i’ve worked so hard, tirelessly, so i can one day debut with my friends. i’ve cried so much these past few months. i’m so tired, ali. i feel so up and down about my future. am i selfish for thinking about myself? is it selfish to stay in the company when a much better person could be in my place? i’ve never wanted something more in my life than this. i can’t believe i’m admitting that. i, roseanne park, want to be an idol. i want to debut so badly but the stagnancy makes me nauseous. is four years going to turn to six years, and will six turn to eight? i see these young idols train for a year and then debut the following year. am i not good enough? am i doing something wrong? and the fact that you all are so far away makes me wonder if all of this is worth it. i just . . . i want to go home. i mean, i think i do. 

"you’re growing restless, rosie.” alice concludes rather firmly. here was the tough love rose had avoided hearing but needed, so badly. “but don’t give up on your dream because you’re restless or because you’re tired.” and by this point, the tears are running down rose’s cheeks, they’re red and warm. she wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of the sweatshirt. alice pauses and rose swears that she hears a sniffle on the other end of the line. “i know you’ve been lying to me all of these years, telling me how happy you were and how you loved korea. i know that things must of been so tough for you, rosie . . . and yet you stuck it out because you didn’t wanna disappoint mom . . or me, or charlie. that’s so . . . so you.” alice chuckles and rose mirrors, sniffling. she was right, after all. rose was too afraid of admitting that she had maybe made a mistake in going to korea so young, but she was still too prideful to give up. “you’re so stubborn, roseanne. you’ll try and make anything work.”

“and it’s because you’re so stubborn . . . that you should make this work. make this crazy, once in a life time opportunity work out, just follow it through.” rose picks at a stray thread on her pyjama pants, still listening intently to alice, hanging onto every word. “because i think . . . that if you do end up coming home, and not signing that contract again, that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” there’s another pause. “and people like you rosie, people like you need to be where they can shine. and if you can’t do this for you, then do it for me. do it for mom, and charlie and dad. do it because we believe in you and love you more than anything.” there’s more sniffles between both sisters. rose hasn’t shared a moment like this with her sister in . . . forever, perhaps ever. she’s been reminded of how she’d put on a brave face whenever duty called. “i don’t want you to give up on this dream, rosie. just keep holding on. everything will make sense soon. i know it will.”

   to be continued . . .

[cynicalkairos]

Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

CHAPTER FOUR

Word Count: 3178 (i’m sorry in advance)

Warnings: Language, Yelling, Angst, Mentions of Painkillers

Summary: Emma helps Henry deal with his emotional, mental, and physical devastation and work through it.

A/N: Wow, okay. And I said the last one was long. Anyway, I apologize in advance if Ted or Henry seem ooc, but, again, this is how I perceive them dealing with emotions and sadness.

Previous || Next

“Fucking piece of shit!” The sound of glass breaking resounded into the hallway. “How the fuck can someone make a pair of fucking tongs flammable?”

When Emma heard these loud exclamations of profanity, she sprinted to the lab, fearing that something horrible could have happened. She found Henry standing in the middle of glass shards and spilled liquid, cradling his hand in pain. She stepped carefully around the glass and examined the mess, asking, “Professor? Are you okay?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?” Henry asked through gritted teeth. His jaw was clenched together tightly and the wince in his eyes disclosed the extent of his pain.

“Just calm down. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! The shitty mechanics in my hand cause a fucking firework show every time it moves.”

Emma held out her hand and placed a hand on his wrist gently, trying to appease him. “Can I take a look?”

Henry looked up at her and sighed after a moment, averting his eyes back to the ground. “Yes, fine, whatever. As long as you don’t make it hurt a shit ton more.”

Emma nodded absently and brought it closer to her. After looking through the many survival books that Henry had, they found a book about medical care with limited resources. They managed to figure out that the bone in Henry’s hand and pinky was, in fact, broken and required a cast. One cast and a splint later, the only thing left to do was hope for the best for proper healing without medical professionals treating the injuries. The cast was made of paper mache and made rather crudely, while the splint was just a couple leftover popsicle sticks and some tape.

The cast, despite all the gloom and despair that permeated from the professor, was signed by the various occupants of the house, wishing the best of luck for recovery or taking up spaces by doodles. Charlotte wrote down the routine for taking the pain medication for Henry to serve as a reminder for the professor. Emma wrote a note, reassuring him that everything would be fine and whatnot. Bill wrote down some inspirational quotes from musicals that he knew Henry would appreciate. Alice drew a pretty drawing with flowers and butterflies. Paul just wrote his name with a small smiley face.

Even though the people around him tried to alleviate the sadness within him after his fight with Ted, the hole of blank space left a void where he knew Ted’s name would be. Henry tried focusing on the positives like the rest of the drawings on his cast or what Ted would write on his cast, but every time he thought about it resulted in him thinking about the fight and what he said.

Emma saw nothing unusual with the professor’s injuries and carefully let go of his hand. “Did you take any painkillers?”

“I took some on Tuesday.”

“Professor, it’s Thursday.”

“Ah, that must be why it’s being a little bitch.”

“I’ll go get you some,” Emma assured him and left without staying long enough for him to deny her help. When she returned, she handed him the pills and a glass of water. “Take these. It should help.”

Henry didn’t bother to look up and nodded through clenched teeth, downing the pills and the water effortlessly. His eyes darted back and forth as if he was scrutinizing each shard of glass. He then checked his splint and cast again, dissatisfied with the results. “The painkillers will dissolve soon enough. I need to clean this mess up in the meantime.”

“No, I got it,” she said, stopping him from moving past her by placing her hands on his shoulders. Emma saw how Henry gripped the counter beside him tightly with his good hand and leaned on it to support himself. After seeing this happen before, she recognized one of the professor’s spells of dizziness from exhaustion and steadied him. “You— sit down before you collapse.”

“No, I’ve got to—”

“Professor, please, just take a break.”

Henry looked up at Emma and nodded weakly, walking over to the nearest chair to sit down. On the way, he was mumbling incoherent phrases probably cursing the millennial generation or something of the sort.

As much as it hurt her, the Henry Hidgens sitting there now was different from the man that she thought of as one of her closest friends. This version of him was easily irritable and cursed frequently, traits that never appeared in Henry before or, perhaps, around her. Even though he tended to forget to sleep or eat, Emma noticed that this characteristic was only amplified after the fight. When she would wake up during the night because of various reasons, she often ventured to his lab to check on him. Previously, Henry’s sleep habits rooted in his continuous working, but now, he barely worked. He simply sat in the corner of the room either crying or nursing his hand. Whenever she tried to bring it up to him, Henry would brush it off with a dismissive comment or answer vaguely. Either way, he was in pain, both physically and emotionally.

Emma hated seeing him in this state. The combination of pain, sleep deprivation, and regret took a toll on him in the form of disregard for himself and taking his frustration out on others. Previously, Henry was subtle when expressing or dealing with his frustration, but the only difference now was that he did not hide his annoyance from anyone. He snapped at anyone when he left the confines of his lab, but the other people in the house knew that he never meant any words that he said. If he started to get too out of control, Emma would help him calm down, but even then he would apologize and then retreat to his lab for another long period of time.

They sat in silence as Emma pondered the last week and cleaned up the floor. When she was done, she studied him. Henry sat with his head in his healthy hand, dozing off from the sudden stillness, but every time he was almost fast asleep, he woke up with a jump. This sequence of events happened over and over again until Emma sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at her slowly, his age truly settling in his face. He just looked uncharacteristically… old. The man that she witnessed do graceful leaps into the air with perfect execution looked as if he would fall apart at any second with the softest touch. Henry then took his free hand and placed it on hers, before reassuring her by saying, “I’m fine, my dear. It just hurts.”

“The painkillers haven’t kicked in yet?”

“Yes, but it’s not that,” he said grimly, a bitter smile spreading across his face. “I feel like shit for saying those things to Ted. It was selfish of me to accuse him of not doing anything. In fact, I realized that he performs the most important task out of us all… and willingly as well.”

Emma furrowed her brow, thinking of what that was for a moment. “Really? What’s that?”

The bitterness in his smile morphed into fondness, shifting his glance from her to the wall. “He keeps me sane, Emma.”

“What the hell does that mean?” She asked incredulously. “I practically stopped you from kicking Paul’s ass a couple of days ago when he drank the last of the coffee.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he replied, shaking his head. “Yes, you do a lot for me and you mean a lot to me, my dear. I thank you for that, but… Ted’s effect on me is like a painkiller that works far better than all the fucking morphine in the world combined. All he could do is smile and I forget all of my worries about the potentialities of the apocalypse. In all sincerity, Ted’s one of the reasons I fight to stop the shit that happens out there.”

Emma watched as Henry’s eyes lit up when he talked about him in a way that she hadn’t seen since he talked about him before they were together. He seemed to zone out into the fondness of his memories, but he snapped out of that mindset with a few blinks, before looking at Emma once more.

“And despite how much of a bastard I was toward him, Ted— fuck, I’m so fucking love with him and I hate myself for being such a goddamn fool for not telling him before. I lost him and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Emma pursed her lips and took in a deep breath. “Well, I know what you’d do.”

“You do?” Henry looked up at her in surprise. “And what would that be?”

“All of this. Exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re sitting here alone when the person you love is out there probably blaming himself for the exact same reasons you are.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Emma said with confidence. ‘For the past week, I’ve watched him empty every bottle of liquor that he can. Now, I know you had a lot of alcohol in this place, so I think you can do that math about his alcohol intake.”

Henry sighed and nodded slowly, running his uninjured hand over his face as an attempt to wipe away the tears. Before he could reason with her, Emma continued, saying, “Don’t you give me any bullshit, Professor, but tell me one thing: why were you fighting in the first place?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I think it’d be good to get out.”

“Well, if you must know,” Henry started, breathing in as he felt the painkillers begin to work.

———

Henry woke up that morning with a jump, startled by a nightmare that disturbed his sleep. He felt the sweat on his forehead and his body and his lungs gasping for air. By this point, he couldn't recall exactly what the nightmare was about, but he knew that it was bad. Most of the time, he could tough through nightmares, but after looking beside him, he knew the rest why.

Ted was not there.

Once the initial shock disappeared, the confusion settled in. Ted never woke up before Henry and even then, left the bed. His lover was the type of person not to leave the confines of the bed unless either Henry was getting up or the world was ending. Finding his bed without Ted caused him to leap out of bed the best he could and rush to get somewhat decent, before heading downstairs.

Henry knew Ted was down there by the smell of the coffee brewing. He followed the scent and found Ted, not only drinking coffee but even making breakfast. This action only piled onto the preexisting confusion. Along with not waking up early, Ted never made breakfast simply because he’s a horrible cook and other people woke before him to do it.

Henry walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee, then walking over to Ted. He pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and leaned against the counter next to the stove.

Ted looked over to him and smiled, reaching over and taking his hand. He gave it a squeeze while saying, “Morning, babe.”

“How’d you sleep?” Henry asked after taking another sip.

Ted shrugged and resumed his cooking. Henry glanced over at the pan and the eggs did not look burned. It looked…almost edible, perhaps good, surprisingly. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. Henry then put his mug down and picked up the spatula next to him, pointing it at Ted. “Who are you? What have you done with my Teddy bear?”

“What the—” Ted said, glancing up at Henry. He then pointed his own spoon at his partner. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

“It’s only a question, love. Answer and everything will be fine.”

Ted slowly turned off the eggs so they didn’t burn and approached Henry, spoon still directed at him. “Make me.”

———

“Woah, Professor,” Emma interrupted him, looking at him with wide eyes. “If you two fucked, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Henry looked like he was experiencing a mixture of horror and amusement and caused Emma to burst out laughing. She watched as the professor turned from pale to a deep red and attempted to formulate a reply.

“Geez,” Emma tried to placate him. “I was just joking.”

Henry rolled his eyes, annoyed but relaxing again. He sighed, before saying, “To address your concern, we didn’t. Get your mind out of the fucking gutter.”

Emma tried her best to stifle back the laughter, but a small chuckle escaped her lips. She couldn’t help it. Anyway, go on.”

Henry nodded and looked back down at his injured hand, playing with the frayed edges once more. He took a deep breath, continuing, “Yes, well, we just had a little fun—”

“That sounds like you fucked, Professor.”

“Okay, we messed around—”

“Still seems like you fucked.”

“Good god, Emma! Stop talking!” Henry snapped, gripping his cast with such strength that he pulled a small chunk of the paper mache out. They both were silent momentarily before he calmed himself down. He mumbled curses at himself for acting in such a way to Emma, while standing up and tossing the piece into the nearest garbage can.

Emma watched him sadly. She wasn’t mad at him or blamed him for yelling at her, but she was certainly shocked that it happened. Then again, Henry, especially now, could be very unpredictable. Emma wasn’t trying to rationalize his uncontrolled anger. She knew that he was trying to do better and he’s in a lot of pain, blaming himself for everything around him. Thinking back, Henry was always like that. Even when he was just her teacher and she was just his student. Before they were friends. Before everything that happened.

Henry returned and sat down, clutching his hand in pain. It hurt and Emma knew that it did, despite the pain medicine taking effect. “I apologize for yelling, Emma. I raised my voice and it was completely uncalled for. I—”

“I know, Professor. It’s fine,” Emma said, placing a hand on his shoulder and feeling him place his on top of hers gingerly. “I know, but you need to talk to him. The guilt, regret, whatever it is— it’s destroying you.”

Henry looked up with wide eyes and paused. He gulped and began toying with the ends again, saying, “I know, but I can’t talk to him.”

“Why?”

“I have reason to believe that he wouldn’t want to see me again after all I said.”

Silence rose again and Emma felt Henry squeeze her hand gently, before putting it on his lap. For the first time in a while, Emma noticed how truly tired he was. The darkness under his eyes appeared darker and emphasized the shadow of his eyes. His cheekbones and jawline were more prominent, but not in a healthy way. The lines on his face seemed deeper than usual, especially the one around the grimace forming on his lips. Based on his appearance, she knew that one thing was for certain, despite how sad or depressing it was: Henry Hidgens had given up.

She didn’t know what exactly, but the drive and the passion that he once had disappeared. Emma remembered the times when she all but dragged him out of the lab to eat or sleep and the times when she would go to check on him and not find him in there but with Ted watching a movie on the couch. Regardless of where that drive was or what it was aimed at, the idea remained simply that, at this particular moment, Henry had no reason to do anything without Ted.

“Professor, what makes you say that?”

“I might have…run into Ted once.”

Emma, who was currently focused on a piece of glass that she neglected to pick up on the floor, sprang up and looked at him with wide eyes. “Hold the fuck up. What?”

“You heard me,” he replied dejectedly, averting his gaze to anywhere but where she was.

“Are you serious? Did you talk to him?” Emma asked, only for Henry to respond by opening his mouth to speak, shutting it, and then finally shaking his head. “Well, what happened?”

Henry hesitated for a moment, before saying, “It was the day after the fight happened. I was going to get some more medication from the kitchen when I saw him in the living room, retrieving alcohol. To put it simply, I froze. I wanted to go talk to him, apologize to him, make everything right again, but I couldn’t. Something was holding me back. Looking back on it, it was the dread that Ted would break up with me and never talk to me ever again, which quite frankly is impossible due to the status of the world right now.

“Anyway, I figured that if I was fast enough, I could get the medication and tried to move as quickly as I could. On my way to the kitchen, I accidentally slammed my bad hand into the cabinet door, making a loud noise and a lot of pain on my part. Ted turned around and looked at me. It felt like forever that we were just standing there, looking at each other. Then he picked up the alcohol and ran back upstairs.”

Henry looked at Emma and put his hands in his lap, sighing. “Before you get on my ass about not talking to him, I couldn’t face the fact that he could reject me. If I marched up to him at that moment, I don’t know what I would’ve said. I could have made the situation worse for all I know. I’ve never had a good reputation with…emotions and relationships, so processing our fight was something that deprived me of sleep, stalled my experiments, and halted my life at the same time. All I wanted to do at that moment was kiss him until both of us forgot everything, tell him how much I love him, and ask for his forgiveness. But, by the way, he looked at me, I think he was in the right state of mind for any of that either.”

The tears began to stream down his face again and he quickly apologized, before standing up and leaving the room hurriedly. Emma wanted to follow him, but she just watched him leave, knowing that he needed some time to think.

Once he left the room, their conversation solidified to Emma that Henry was spiraling downward at a rapid rate and it wasn’t going to be long before he made a rash decision and her fears would come true. At this point, the only person that could prevent him from doing anything irrational was Ted and, even then, Emma dreaded the possibility that Henry was too far gone.

———

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed reading this. I probably edited this chapter maybe three to five times. I just like making Henry suffer a bit.

Also, I know I had to cut the backstory about the initiation of the fight short in the story, but I’ll just tell you the rest for fun.

So basically, they stop play fighting making out and they have breakfast. Then when Henry went down to the lab, he saw that his specimen that he went out and retrieved earlier was gone. He found it in the trash can in an unsalvagable state and knew it was Ted’s doing. Henry then confronted Ted about it and things escalated from there.

[ccorinnef]

Corinne's Cuppa: August

Welcome to a new monthly blog piece called ‘Corinne’s Cuppa’ where I will share some of my favourite things from throughout the month! These will be absolutely anything from books, plants and food to music, ideas and art. I don’t know about you but I love hearing what other people are passionate about - and getting recommendations for things to try. I hope you enjoy reading these!

Adventure

At the start of this month I travelled to Denmark to visit my friend. It was only a short trip - 4 days - but I had an amazing time exploring the area around Næstved and Copenhagen. Denmark is such a beautiful country best defined by golden fields and red bricks. The seaside at Karrebæksminde was wonderfully summery - I really enjoyed it since I hadn’t had a chance to go to the seaside in a while. We explored Faxe Quarry where all the rocks are made of fossilised coral - on our tour someone found a crocodile tooth! The castle of Gavnø housed the largest private art collection in Scandinavia. There was a series of portrait paintings of some of the most influencial thinkers, writers and politicians of the 1500s and 1600s. In Copenhagen my top three absolute favourites were Nyhavn, The National Gallery of Denmark (SMK) and Plant Food Power restaurant.

Books

I’ve read quite a few books this August but I think my favourite read was Homo Deus by Yuval Noah Harari. This incredible sequel to Homo Sapiens, explores the possibilities of the future of humanity with all of our technological advances, recent and future. Homo Deus investigates how the human ability to believe and create myths will interact with the possibilities of intelligent design, of which some are already in effect. It raises questions such as: How will life change when algorithms know us better than we do? How will religious beliefs evolve with new everyday realities? How will we keep ourselves occupied when computers take over the job market? For anyone who enjoys philosophy, anthropology or futurism this book is a must read!

Movement

This month Colin and I have been experimenting with our daily routine. We both crave routine to calm and manage our mental health. In order to grow as individuals, though, it is important that we play around and try different tasks and orders so that we can figure out what works best for us. The thing that I have loved to include in my morning routine for a few years now is some form of movement. I tend wake up around 6am (usually before my alarm even goes off, I guess its just my natural body clock) and the first thing I like to tick off my list is my movement - it’s not just for physical health, its for my mental wellbeing too. I used to run when I was in school and uni; most of this year I’ve practiced yoga. August has seen me attempt to start running again, put far too much pressure on myself, get overwhelmed, injure my knee and not do anything. So for the past couple of weeks, Colin and I have both gotten up and walked Buddy together before he needs to get ready for work. I have been loving it. I think for my overall health - mental and physical - I just need to do some form of gentle movement in the morning. And walking has the added benefits of Buddy being content for the day and myself getting some fresh air.

Home

I don’t know about you but the summer heatwave was harsh for my family. Colin and I are far too Scottish for intense heat - which we define as anything over 20°C! Buddy was also struggling with the temperature due to his incredibly thick, mostly black, fur. By the end of July, I had had enough of being constantly warm so I ordered a tower fan from Homebase. OH MY GOD it was beautiful! The ability to cool down was a blessing and Buddy quickly learned to lie in front of it for best cooling results. It was nothing fancy or expensive but it saved our summer (and our sleep)!

Netflix

After my trip to Denmark, I discovered Queen of the South on Netflix. It’s an American crime drama series starring Alice Braga in the lead role. Her character, Teresa Mendoza, must rely on her intelligence and sheer determination to survive after her drug cartel boyfriend is murdered and she is forced to flee Mexico to America. This series, based on a book of the same name, highlights the struggle between making ethically tough decisions to survive and retaining enough moral integrity to accept yourself. An incredible series, it is often brutal and graphic, but very addictive.

Art

I have recently discovered that estate agents take fantastic pictures of houses to use as reference images for drawing. I have been enjoying drawing houses and buildings in my sketchbook of a morning. I like to keep the drawings very simple with a focus on lines to create texture. I start by using pencil to build up the shapes of squares and rectangles that make up most buildings. I don’t have completely straight freehand lines but I kind of like the almost story-book effect it gives the drawings.

Music

A project which I discovered this month and absolutely love is ‘Sounds like Van Spirit.’ It is a collection of the best of Europe’s street musicians as recorded by German sound engineer Marten Berger. He started by converting a van into a mobile recording studio and then over the course of two years he travelled Europe to record the musicians he found along the way. The project has an album, a book and a movie as the finished pieces but there is a playlist on YouTube of some of the musicians which is incredible to listen to. Europe is such a comparatively small continent but the immense amount of diversity and unique talent which can be found is astounding.

Podcast

‘Don’t Salt My Game’ is one of my absolute favourite podcasts to listen to. The podcast is hosted by Dr Laura Thomas (PhD), a registered nutritionist who specialises in Intuitive Eating, Health at Every Size & Non-Diet Nutrition. Her podcast features interviews with a range of guests from authors to scientists to mental health advocates where they discuss honest realities and personal experiences. I’ve listened to her podcast almost everyday on my morning walks with Buddy for a few months and I’m still nowhere near caught up!

Nature

I have taken immense pleasure this month in watching the bees go about their business. While on walks I like to ‘spot the bee’ and can quite easily become distracted by following bees as they explore from flower to flower. In my garden, I have a little shelter which I think is actually meant to be a birdhouse but it has been taken over by some bees who like to rest in there during the day. Bees are so important for the health of our planet and being able to see them living and flourishing in all the wildflowers both in and out of my garden fills me with hope. They’re such hard workers and I hope they know that they are appreciated!

App

An app for my phone which I have discovered this August is called ‘Boosted’. It is essentially a kind of timesheet app which I find incredibly useful in keeping track of my work hours. There’s two things that I love about the design of this app. The first is that you can add different projects and different tasks within each project and then track the hours you spend just on that task. The second is that the app then takes all of the data from your recorded hours working on different projects and creates graphs and charts to help you visualise where your time is going. Maybe I’m just a nerd for things like this but it’s just really satisfying to see the proportions of work you’re doing in a pie chart or a graph of my week. It helps me to feel like I’m accomplishing something with my time and business - especially since a lot of my ‘work’ doesn’t actually feel like work because I enjoy doing it so much!