he was sleeping
then he was awake.
he had been buried in flesh
and now he had his own flesh.
it felt like tearing felt like burning felt like sorrow
(how did he know what any of those were?)
one minute he barely was
and now he was here.
—
Unnoticed by the mourners inside, a grand and terrible shape appeared on the edge of the treeline, shook its head once, and then entered the forest
It begins, as most tales do, with a whisper:
Someone, please help.
Anyone. Please.This time, someone answers.
This time, there’s no one left to come.****
Otherwise known as a giant collection of Woodsman headcannons that has been festering in my Google drive for over 6 months.
Henry regrets every single part of it. Mabel only regrets that Dipper left her with the clean up because that jerk weaseled his way out of it.
captaingrayface said: “when she said ‘haunted’ i’m pretty sure she meant setting up pranks, not inviting poltergiests phantoms and banshees.”
“be more specific then. Besides these are more fun.”
henry does not deserve this shit 2k18
thanks to @marypsue for that one convo on text like two months ago that helped me with this idea and now i’m actually writing it out, 12/10 friending
——-
He looked at the clock. 2:44.
Though this was his third sleepless night in a row, Henry could appreciate Mabel snoring away next to him. Nothing got between Mabel and a good six to eight hours of sleep: not a demon brother, or Stan’s poker nights, or three babies suffering from colic all at once-
Or one of their children being kidnapped.
Or what Henry did to get her back.
A split second memory, of the feeling of bones breaking and healing and breaking and healing over and over in rapid succession as his body got the orders to grow, of the anger that fueled that growth…
He had been so angry.
No.
Henry turned over and away from Mabel, as if doing so would let him ignore the flush and heat of his skin that still hadn’t gone away, the twitchiness of his muscles that let him know it could happen all over again-
He still was.
That wasn’t the problem.
There was a small part of him (and indeed, in his head that part of him looked just like he did in kindergarten, black t-shirt from K-mart and unruly hair and missing baby teeth that didn’t all fall out on their own) that was always angry. That had started being angry when he was three and already had learned not to talk back, and had only grown in strength since then.
He was used to that.
He was used to ignoring that. Hell, Henry prided himself on never acting on that anger. And even when he did lose his temper, he never raised his voice, much less his hands. He swore to himself, long ago, he would never do either.
Henry couldn’t say that about himself, not any more.
It didn’t matter that it was “for the best possible reason” (as Mabel had put it this evening.) Maybe this time it was- but what about the next time? And the next time after?
Because, Henry had a sick feeling there would be a next time. And a next time after that. And after that as well.
Because 45 years of fighting had fallen away, all too easily, in one second. And he had done everything he did without a second thought, without any hesitation at all.
He looked at the clock. 2:46.
They absolutely can move, though at least when Henry is alive they mostly behave themselves, and stay calm.
However, once the Woodsman is his own dude, and they’re visible all the time, they become a LOT more active.
So I actually think Henry and Hank’s kindnesses are two very
different kindnesses.Henry, at least until he got to kindergarten, was shown
almost no kindness at his house, wasn’t taught it. He had to learn kindness on
his own, seek out kindnesses from strangers and from school and from basically anywhere
but the one place you are supposed to be guaranteed it.(it’s no wonder Henry loves books, becomes a librarian.
Because books contain infinite glimpses of more beautiful, gentler, kinder
worlds.)Henry is kind because he wants to be.
Henry is kind because he chooses to be.
Henry is kind and deep, deep underneath, fueling this
kindness yet hidden away from the light of day, is anger that goes to his blood
and bones.Hank’s kindness is effortless, a part of him like breathing
and the beat of his heart. Hank is kind to others because you’re supposed to treat
other people the way you want to be treated! Hank is kind because he was raised
to help others, to seek love and delight in other’s company, to do for those
who cannot.Hank is kind, and Hank has the ability to correct unkindness
in the world.Hank knows evil, knows a lack of empathy when he
sees it. And Hank has every right- no, the duty to fix that wrong. And Hank is
never mistaken in his instincts.It’s only the nice thing to do.
“So-”
Oh god it was Mr. Pines (there was no way Henry could call him Mark, not this early at least), this was Mabel’s father–
“-where did you meet our Mabel at?”
Henry looked down at his plate. “Um, at a social gathering-”
“I was doing a keg stand and then I got down and burped the alphabet and then I saw Henry!” Mabel chimed in.
“Oh. That’s… nice sweetie,” Mrs. Pines replied.
Henry decided now would be a good time to pile more mashed potatoes on his plate.
The spirit was willing with birds, but Henry never did, mainly because he was more concerned about hurting them on accident.
(his hands are so big, so clumsy, so good for nothing-)
He did name all the turtles in the pond in the woods however, and may have gone out with a tiny q-tip and a small bit of paint in the night and gently put a tiny symbol on each shell so he could differentiate them.
Mod S would like to think of these cactantlers as Prickly Pear Cacti!
I’ve fallen too deep into this au, oh god. Here’s my best attempt at drawing The Woodsman 🙂
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