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picafreesita · 2 months

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"I've never seen you around here. Who are you?" Asked the little man

This one was a little smaller than me. He had yellow skin and wearing colorful pants along with a blue cardigan, a white shirt, and a red scarf tied around his neck, but what stood out the most about him was his blue Presley-style pompadour. Something in me told me that I knew him but I didn't know from where with an appearance like that he should be easy to remember.

"Where am I?" was the only thing that came out of my mouth.

"Home" His voice was soft and calm.

"Home?" I asked confused, I looked around and saw him again.

"You don´t answer my question"

"...Jolly, my name is Jolly"

"Nice to meet you, Jolly" He responded with a smile "Tell me, How long have you moved to this town?"

"No, I´m just passing through. I'm a...a visitor"

"A visitor?" He asked confused

We both remained silent as we looked at each other, it had become a tense and uncomfortable atmosphere, I could even be sure that at one point his gaze faded.

"What do you think if I introduce you to the other neighbors?" He asked briskly and before answering he took my hand and led me towards that group. For someone his size he had a certain strength, the closer we got the others stood up and looked toward us remaining like the little man in silence with a smile plastered on his face.

"Hi neighbors"

He waved and the others automatically moved normally.

"Hi, Wally!" said the blonde girl with small orange horns. Wally? That name echoed in my mind.

"Who is your new friend?" asked the blue dog with the hat.

"Her name is Jolly"

"...oh, hi" I introduced myself

"Dear, what happened to you? It seems like you're hurt?" The big bird asked in a motherly and worried tone.

"It's nothing, I just…got dirty while…looking for my friend" I responded with a somewhat awkward smile as I let go of Wally's grip.

"Your friends?" Asked the sun-headed girl "Where are your friends?"

"For now...I don't know but I have to go look for them, it was a pleasure to have met them" I said scratching the back of my head, I hoped that this way would free me from that encounter but suddenly:

GROOOWWWWW

That sound seemed to have silenced everyone else…I didn't know my stomach could be so noisy, in fact, I didn't know I had a stomach.

The dog laughed and said:

"Looks like someone is hungry"

"It's almost time. How about you stay and eat with us and then you can go look for your friends?" the big bird suggested.

"Yes, stay! Poppy's cooking is so tasty" said the girl with the horns.

"You should also try their cookies, they are incredibly delicious!" said the man dressed as a mailman.

Poppy answered:

"Guys, you flatter me, I only cook because of the love I have for you" She laughed shyly.

"So, will you stay?"

I turn to look.

"I guess I can't leave on an empty stomach" I replied

I couldn't trust this place but I didn't have much choice at that time.

"Very good," Poppy said.

Everyone was happy except the gray guy. They began to move from one place to another so they could organize a cookout. I watched as the dog carried a table, and the postman and his partner brought the chairs. The girls along with Wally cutlery.

Poppy walked inside the red house that reminded me of a barn, I just stood still while I watched everyone put everything in its place.

"Dear, can you help me with this?" Poppy asked me from a distance.

When I arrived she handed me a covered green saucepan that smelled pretty good.

"Go and put it on the table" She turned me around and with a light touch of her wings she gave me a push. I walked around and most of the things were already on the table. I noticed the only thing missing were the drinks to accompany our meal but then a rather tall man arrived and shouted with joy:

"I brought the drinks!"

When I saw him, I noticed that in his four arms, he was carrying several bottles while he walked with his four legs, I had never seen someone like that, he seemed to be a kind of worm man unlike Warren, a worm I "met" in the pink house, Everyone sat at the table to eat, Wally sat next to me.

Today's meal was a kind of stew with seeds and its garnishes. Before taking the first bite I thought:

Wait a minute, can I eat? The whole time I've been awake I haven't thought about eating, but why can I do it now? Why did I feel hungry? I had to eat or else they would start questioning me even more, I returned to my plate and just watched, soon I felt as if my stomach wanted to eat itself. I picked up the fork again with a bite, put the piece of stew in my mouth and soon an explosion of flavors came towards me.

I took another bite, and another, and another. Without realizing it, everything had ended for me.

"Wow, it looked like you were going to eat the plate too," the dog said jokingly

"I'm sorry for my bad manners but…it was very delicious"

"I'm very happy that you like my food so much, take a little more" Poppy said as she served me the same plate.

"Save room for dessert," said the sun-headed girl.

They laughed happily. The rest of the hour passed very pleasantly with conversations about the cheese pies and which one was the best, and I also knew the name of each one of them: the mailman and his partner were Eddie and Frank; the girl with the orange horns, Julie; the caterpillar man was Howdy; the sun-headed girl was Sally; the blue dog with a hat, Barnaby; the big colorful bird, poppy; and lastly, wally.

After clearing the table and leaving everything clean and in its place. I was grateful for the food and left to return the way I had come in the first place.

It calmed me a little to feel that they were not dangerous, one of the few encounters with beings that did not want to kill me.

I hadn't noticed it but the forest was full of trees that had leaves of all colors. I walked around the place leaving marks with the scissors to make a kind of guide so I wouldn't get lost if that were the case.

After a couple of minutes I realized something…

Nothing, there was nothing that gave me a hint of a route back to the pink house. I walked waiting for a change in the atmosphere, suddenly, my foot collided with something, when I looked down I could see that it was an orange cable, one of those that are long electrical extensions, I couldn't confuse it with anything else from that magical forest. When I touched it I felt its plasticized texture.

"This place is like the pink house," I said to myself with a grimace.

CRACK!

A branch had cracked behind me, and someone had followed me.

I firmly grabbed the scissors hidden under the cloak and said in a serious tone:

"come out of your hiding place"

I turned around looking around for any sign of my stalker and they didn't take me by surprise.

This must have been something from Lesley, it was clear that she was not going to let go of me easily. The hatred that woman had for me went beyond normal, she watched attentively, ready to fight against whatever wanted to kill me.

At that point I saw how some yellow spikes were sticking out of the bush: it was Sally accompanied by Julie and Wally.

When I saw them I sighed with exhaustion.

"What are you doing here?" I asked them a little more calmly but my irritation was evident.

They had told me that they were worried that I might have gotten lost in the lush forest.

"Besides, it's already starting to get dark and it can be quite dangerous," Sally said worriedly.

It was true, I looked up and saw that the sky had been painted in orange and violet tones.

"Thank you for worrying but I think I will be fine…I am strong... and I can look for a cave... or an empty log to sleep and continue my search in the morning"

For a second I noticed how Julie was frowning as if…

she was nervous

"That doesn't sound comfortable at all," she gave a small nervous laugh.

"How about you stay at my house? I have amazing soft pajamas…Oh! What if we have a sleepover?" She moved her hands with excitement.

"I don't know… I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable" I kindly excused myself.

"On the contrary! I'm very happy to make a new friend" She was still in doubt if she should accept the offer.

"Don't worry, Julie doesn't bite…sometimes" Wally said with his soft smile.

I looked at everyone's faces and in the case of the girls they seemed to beg her to accept the offer, a fear like that couldn't be acted upon.

"…okay, I'll stay at your house tonight" I responded.

The girls got excited, Julie came over and took my hands. It seemed like stars were coming out of her eyes.

"We're going to have a lot of fun," she said with a smile that marked relief.

The four of us started walking back to the neighborhood, I was the last one watching as the rest led me. When we arrived the floras began to light up as the sky darkened.

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i-eat-worlds · 13 days

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Hey! So. I don't actually know your OCs, as I'm new here. So tell me about them? And what whump they'll fit in particular, pls?

this is the ask of all time, thank you!

I have a vast, vast collection of many OCs, but we’ll do the Alex & Friends crew cause they’re my mains! I’ve a new series starting soon, so you might seen them floating around here soon.

For context, A&F is set in a modern superhero universe. Rest of ramble under cut! Because I am a little verbose lol

We’ll start with Alex, since she’s like. In the title.

Image ID: A traditional pencil sketch bust of a white woman. Her hair is in a ponytail, and her bangs are long and cover her eyes. Her expression is neutral. Written beside her his “Alex” and below that is “@fishbaitinc. /End ID]

I tend to describe her as a “wet cat with sharp claws.” She suffers from a case of the world’s worst boss (he got her tortured for a few years, among other things). She’s a sleep deprived mess who spends the entire series bleeding, sopping wet, or often both. She’ll bite your arm if you startle her. I love her and she needs so much therapy. People love and care about you sweetheart I promise they aren’t all awful. Whump wise, she’s good for self sacrifice, hidden injury, and defiant whumpee, and recovery whump. Also crying.

This is my man, Joseph:

[Image ID: A traditional pencil sketch bust of a white man. He has hair with a long top and short sides. His eyes are wider, but his expression is still pretty neutral. Written beside her his “Joseph” and below that is “@fishbaitinc.” /End ID]

This is Joseph he’s a paramedic* (it’s complicated). I love him. I also should probably be nicer to him but eh. He is, in fact, just as screwed up as Alex, but he’s got some distance between a good portion of his Big Traumas, and a good support network. He’s also in a 10 year long mutual pinning situation with his old roommate and sometimes coworker Aaron. It’s not pertinent to the plot really, but it’s important that he’s trans. To me. Personally. He’s also a vehicle for my passion for medical hyper accuracy, and he’s grand fun to play with.

He’s good for all sorts of whump: forced to watch, medical whump, overworking, and stern but gentle caretaking

Next, a personal fave, Avia

[Image ID: A picrew by @/cherrycarat that shows a person with tan skin, dark eyes, and short black hair. They’re wearing a pink shirt and a blue jacket, and have a gold earring in their right ear. /End ID] This is Avia. I love her. I should do more with her. She kicks more ass than most of her teammates, and she’ll probably beat you at Mario kart too. Blood isn’t really her thing. She’s a responsible third who might just win the Turquoise Team mental health award.

Whump: Self surgery, good patient, anything severe that gets her bloody and miserable. I need to hurt her more.

Now for our tragic baby, Pat

[Image ID: A picrew by @/maetheellen the shows a white person with green eyes and red hair in two high buns. She has a scar over her left eye. She is wearing two unmatched earrings, and has a nose piercing. /End ID]

Oh Pat. My sweet child. She deserved so much better than what she got (and it’s my own damn fault). I love her to death. She’s survived so much, and she was able to recover and grow and find joy and people who cared about her. And it wasn’t enough.

She hurts me deeply. If you want to share this agony with me look here

One more, and then I’ll shut up lol. Teri!

[Image ID: A picrew by cherrycarat that shows a person with dark skin, long brown hair, and dark eyes. She’s wearing a purple scarf, headphones, and a geometrically pattered yellow button up. /End ID]

This is Teri. She got a doctorate, and she can magically throw objects at you with her mind. She’s the only person on this team whose food I would eat. She’s the team’s resident tech person, and she knows secrets that INSUPA would rather her not. One day she’s gonna cause a lot of trouble and I love her.

#worlds babbles #ask stuff #I have some Star Wars clone medic ocs that have a little bit of writing and some refs done #you a can DM if you wanna meet them I’d love to talk more #<3

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marahuyos · 1 year

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Part 1 Act 1: Shakedown

Waking up to see your kidnappers shake you down over stolen tech wasn't on your itinerary. Not even being paid in money was enough to make you enjoy this.

You heard something, a rhythmic bump-bump-bump before you opened your eyes.

The first thing you saw were a set of brown eyes staring back at you. You couldn't even let out a scream when he pulled himself back, him doing the screaming for you. As you took a closer look, you noted the messy mop of brown hair, red scarf, yellow jacket, and tacky shirt. When all of these registered, you realized he was the same person who bumped into you after your shift and the one who ruined your concert. With a glare, you tried to lunge at him, only to find out that you were tied securely on a chair. With rope. Real rope.

'Is this a shakedown or something?' You thought to yourself.

"Well, glad to see you're awake." An unfamiliar voice rang out, light blue covering the darkness. The more you've awoken your senses, you realize that you were in a completely pitch black room. The only source of light was a spotlight shining directly on you. From the darkness, a hot pink cybernetic leg stepped out. It belonged to a young woman with dark skin, platinum blonde hair with an undercut and the tips dyed blue, the same blue for her jacket and shorts, all the while carrying a menacing looking gun.

'Yep, this is definitely a shakedown.' You thought grimly.

The woman's green eyes narrowed at your state, probably misunderstanding your defeated expression as a sign of smugness. "You've got this coming, you know? Pretty bold of you to strut out in the open with stolen tech."

You raised a brow, sitting yourself up properly.

She continued. "Your cello has tech that Vandelay keeps a secret. Only way you could have gotten it is if you were under Vandelay's Armstrong Project."

"And from our records, your name isn't registered." A different voice rang out, a fiery orange coming from your right. You turned your head, seeing another woman pop out from the darkness. Her striking red hair and blue eyes made you uneasy. If you thought that the first woman was menacing, this one would fold you should you say something undesired.

Her hand clutched your shoulder and you winced when she grabbed it in a vice. "Now, how do you explain a barista having classified Vandelay tech?"

As if he realized he was there, the man spoke up, giving a glare that was a smidgen of threatening compared to the two women. A bright yellow showed itself when he spoke. "And how do you explain talking to me through your cello?"

Only for the glare to melt away as a fanboy-ish smile covered his face. "Cuz that was the coolest thing ever!"

You looked between the three of them, bewildered beyond belief. You couldn't even formulate any kind of response and it wasn't because you were gagged (you weren't).

When you thought you couldn't be surprised anymore, a robotic voice rang out from the darkness. "I believe our perpetrator in question cannot speak."

Like a record scratch, all of the lights turned back on. Your eyes squinted at the sudden brightness but it seemed your three captors were more focused on the last two words. The woman in blue whipped her head back towards a desk filled with high tech stuff as a droid stood with… a marker in their hands?

"What do you mean CNMN?" She asked them.

The droid pointed his finger upwards. "According to their files, due to an incident, their vocal chords have been completely destroyed. Therefore, they are unable to speak."

A pin drop can be heard from somewhere. Like a flip has switched, the woman in red untied your hands but not long, she had her vice grip on your shoulders again. "I'm only untying your hands so you can sign to us. Don't do anything funny."

With a gulp, you heeded her words, hands shakily raising up before you signed, I honestly have no idea what you guys are talking about. I never stole anything from Vandelay.

The blue woman scoffed, gun now pointing at you as you raised your hands in surrender. "And we're supposed to believe that? Your cello has an unmistakable frame that could've only been made under the Armstrong Project. A project you never applied to."

You squirmed under your half-restraints, signing once more. Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about! I got that cello as a gift after my incident!

She raised a brow but her gun didn't budge. "And who gave you the cello?"

You glared. Like I'm telling you.

She shrugged and before you knew it, she pulled the trigger. You couldn't even let out a scream when the bullet shot past your side, only grazing the ropes that were binding you.

"Better think of another good answer before I won't miss my next shot." She threatened, gun now clearly pointed at your head.

You couldn't even properly sign when your hands were shaking from the missed shot. Before you could sign your prayers, an unlikely savior came and pushed aside the gun.

You never realized you loved the color yellow up until the brunette came to your rescue. "Whoa whoa whoa! Take it easy, Peppermint! I can't even understand half of the conversation but that doesn't mean you can shoot them already!"

For a moment, you felt the grip on your shoulders lax. "Can't understand-didn't you learn sign language back in grade school like the rest of us?"

He waved off her question with a nervous smile. "Ehh, that's not important. What's more important is how this guy was able to talk through their cello!"

The woman in blue rolled her eyes, propping her gun on her shoulder. "Chai, we talked about this. What you could've heard was probably just some text-to-speech they modded onto the cello."

He shook his head. "No, you don't get it! When I first heard them play for the first time ever it's like… like…"

He trailed off, turning his head to look at you and there was a certain beat in the air that your own heart suddenly synced with.

"Like they were made to be on stage."

He turned back towards her, cybernetic arm in front of you as if a garbage disposal arm can help you from a gun. "And I can't let a fellow performer get shot by my best friend. And that's that!"

Her expression looked as though the man had lost his mind. You wondered if his heart-warming speech was all for nothing until the woman let out a sharp sigh and pocketed her gun. She placed her fists on her hips, looking at you then back at the man. "I trust you on this one, Chai."

You didn't realize how much weight was hiding in your chest until you let out a shaky exhale. Not only that, the weight on your shoulders disappeared as the ropes tying your lower half loosened. You looked behind the woman in red, her face impassive but she ushered you up from your seat.

"You may have gotten Chai's trust but that doesn't mean you're off the hook." She warned. You nodded frightfully, taking a few extra steps away from her and finding yourself closer to your yellow-colored savior. Now that you’ve taken a closer look at him, you realized that a cat was on his shoulder. No, not a cat, a robotic cat. Its blue optics looked at you curiously, tail swishing lazily behind it.

Regardless, you mouthed to him. Thank you.

He gave a thumbs up, showing a goofy smile. "Don't mention it! Gotta look out for our fellow performers!"

"In any case," the woman in blue interjected, "since you're already too deep with us, might as well get acquainted."

She raised her hand for an amicable handshake. "I'm Peppermint. The woman who handled you is Korsica.”

You slowly took her hand, greeting both her and Korsica. The latter gave a small salute before walking elsewhere.

"And this loser is Chai." She raised her elbow to rest on Chai's shoulder. "He's the guy that beat you up and, well, I guess saved you from me."

He buckled slightly from the added weight but he still gave a lighthearted smile. One wouldn't have guessed that he was the one who was able to go toe-to-toe with your musical creations but here he was, smiling as if he didn't get beat up by a cello.

You signed. I remember you. We bumped into each other when I went out to the club.

Before he could ask, Peppermint translated for him. "They said you bumped into each other before."

He let out an exaggerated ‘ohh!’ before raising his finger. “Right! That was when you wanted me to tail them because of their tech—”

Before he could finish that sentence, Peppermint squished his cheeks with her hand. “We don’t have to divulge too much information to our new companion here, do we, Chai?”

And it was quite a sight to see the shorter woman drag this lanky man back towards the computer table, the cat trying its hardest to hold on. The droid whom you now recall as CNMN made space for Peppermint to sit down as she typed quickly on the keyboard. "Oversharing might be a deterrent when forming relationships."

"Lovely input, CNMN." Peppermint said as she maximized a window to cover the entire screen. "I went ahead and scanned your cello top to bottom. It might just be an ordinary electric cello but here's where we started to suspect you."

The window was your electric cello, only it was a schematic diagram of it, complete with the material it was made out of, the mods that you've added yourself and basically any other information that was found all the way from the scroll to the endpin. You couldn't tell to either be flattered or weirded out that someone finally paid attention to the design of your cello, no matter how rapt that attention was.

Peppermint pointed towards the behind of the cello where the active control system is. She then released an array of different modules. "See these things? Some of these aren't modules that any normal person can get."

She isolated the mods and zoomed in. You blanched at the sight of the Vandelay logo on the mods. How did these stay out of your sight?

"A lot of these mods aren't available to the public." She continued to explain. "They all have varying degrees of effects but the most prominent one is this one here."

She pointed to one that was in the middle. "This module has nearly the exact same components as Chai's power core. Well, besides the MP3 player but you get the gist of it."

She gestured to Chai, him lifting his shirt to reveal a metal cavity on his chest. The aforementioned MP3 player was inside it, bumping rhythmically almost as if it were powering Chai and his robotic arm. Without thinking, you leaned in closer, tapping the metal frame with your finger. He let you ogle it, almost as if he was glowing from the praise.

"I know. One of a kind, am I right?" He said smugly. You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his chest so he loses his balance.

While he stabilizes himself, Peppermint continues. "This type of mod was only available when the Armstrong Project was underway. You only got your replacements by a rival company and a pretty well-respected hospital."

Your hand flitted over to your neck as you shifted your cybernetic legs. What she said was true. Just how far did she dig into your past?

"And so, we're back to the million-dollar question of where did you get these components." She finished, turning around her chair to look at you. "We're past the vehement threats of violence but I'm pretty sure blackmail isn't off the table."

You rubbed your arms for comfort. If you tried to deny any question further, there was no doubt Peppermint would have gained access to your private info without any delay. Yet speaking the truth would only worsen your relationship with him. Whether he abandoned you or not, you still owe it to him for complying with your selfish request and pulling so many strings for your sake. Would he be able to take you back despite going behind his back? Would you still step on a stage like you did before?

You looked behind her, saw the stolen mod, and sighed. My manager.

Peppermint sat up straight. "What?"

My manager manages my performances. You continued to sign. Not only that, he was the one that gifted me my cello.

"Well, looks like we have our guy." She said in satisfaction, turning back around to find more information about him. "He got a name?"

You presented your phone to her, showing your manager's (or probably ex-manager at this point) business profile. She honed in on his picture and his name, typing swiftly before she let out a hum.

"Sazerac… age 51, biologically male, used to work at… Vandelay Technologies as part of the HR department before being laid off?"

"Oooh, extra suspicious." Chai said in an accusing tone, looking at the man's photo. Meanwhile you were silently praying that he wouldn't hate you when you'll face him.

Peppermint continued to type some more. "His last known location according to street cameras is Vandelay Lodgings.”

“Wait, Vandelay has hotels?” Chai asked.

She shrugged. “Eh, it was for dorms but I’m pretty sure Mimosa hated mingling with losers so she was the one who upgraded the hotels.”

“We have a location,” Korsica intervened, “so let’s get him.”

“Not so fast.” Peppermint stopped her, displaying an overview of the hotel’s address. “The hotel has crazy security. Rising stars, influencers, even political figures stay in that hotel so not anyone can just go in. For people like us, we need clearance from a lot of key figures in the hotel staff.”

“Why do I get the feeling of deja vu?” Chai mumbled to himself.

“I’ve already got 3 of the hotel staff. Head of security Maja, a woman who takes her job seriously just like someone else we know.”

She gave a knowing look to Korsica who rolled her eyes. The screen soon showed a woman with white hair, high cheekbones, and yellow eyes that could cut.

Peppermint continued. “Kitchen head Cardamom, a man whose words cut sharper than his knives.”

The next was a chef with an incredibly large build with dark green hair and form-fitting chef uniform. But what was surprising was the absolute jovial smile on his face, showing his pearly whites to the world.

“He doesn’t look so bad.” Chai said, looking at the man further. “Looks like I could just ask him for the clearance!.”

“He got his salary cut from inflicting bodily harm on several customers because they wanted ketchup on their caprese salad.”

Both you and Chai blinked. Both of you seemed to share the same idea. Never disrespect someone in the kitchen.

“And finally, the architectural head-slash-interior designer, Chamomile.”

The screen soon showed a man with long blonde hair tied into a half-bun as the rest of his hair went down to his knees. Daisy-like flowers decorated his hair and bangs as his kind face caught your eye. He didn’t look so menacing, with his baby blue eyes smiling with his wide grin as he wore a white chiffon shirt and brown dress pants. He looked the least threatening compared to the first two. Though, knowing the streak that Peppermint is going…

What’s his beef? You signed to Peppermint.

“Purposefully had the Modern Institute of Laudatory Fabrics have large windows for wind to blow into so the fabrics keep flying everywhere. Reason why he did it is because the person who hired him to make the building emailed him at 11 PM.”

You sucked in air through your teeth. Petty. Yikes.

“And that’s all of them.” Peppermint, finalized, putting the big three on the screen. “These three are the key in getting us inside the hotel and getting to Sazerac. And fortunately for us, they’re all outside the hotel’s facility.”

Korsica stepped forward, looking at you and Chai before clearing her throat. “Mission Report. We need to get into the hotel to get to Sazerac. In order to do that, we need clearances from the big three.”

Peppermint stepped in. “Frankly, the easiest one to get it is Maja. Her office is in a building a ways from the hotel.”

“Wait, I thought she was head of security?” Chai asked. “Why’s her office so far away?”

“Because a lot of the rich folk don’t want so called ‘cheap labor’ to be seen near them. That’s why Maja’s got an entire security system connected from her building to the hotel. Her building is basically a giant security office that has all the cameras in the hotel hooked to it.”

“This is where you come in, Chai.” She said to him. “You need to sneak into the security building via sewers, infiltrate her office where she’s always in, and get her clearance.”

He smirked. “Easy enough! I’ll get to her no problem!”

“Chai,” Korsica warned, “remember the last time you sneaked into a security office?”

He nervously giggled. “Water under the bridge?”

“There is no saving Korsica’s humiliation ever since that event!” CMNM inputted.

“Thanks CNMN.” Korsica gritted out.

You raised your hand, Peppermint nodding at you. I want to help. This is just as much as my fault for not realizing I was using stolen tech.

She smiled gratefully. “Figured you would say that. That’s why I implanted the transportation device on your legs so Chai can call you in whenever.”

Your mouth hung open. So that was the reason how people just flew in and out of existence when you fought Chai. This technology is incredible!

Still, that wasn’t what you meant. I meant that I want to fight alongside Chai. I owe it that much to him after he came to my defense.

Peppermint and Korsica’s eyebrows raised, clearly surprised by your decision. They both looked at each other, giving wary glances. Feeling left out, Chai stepped between you three, looking at the two women with furrowed brows.

“Hey,” he drawled out, “just what were you two talking about?”

Peppermint paused, wondering how to phrase what you’ve said, until she decided. “Chai, how would you feel if they were with you for the whole mission?”

He blinked. Once, twice. The cat blinking in sync. It took a second before he responded with a garbled gasp. “Wait, them-with me?”

She nodded and you tapped Chai’s shoulder to get his attention. He turned to you just as soon as you’re done typing on your phone. I want to help you. As thanks.

He floundered for a bit. It was clear that he definitely wasn’t used to someone fighting alongside him permanently until he showed a grin. “Sure, why not? I don’t hog the stage!”

“I guess that settles it then.” Korsica said. “You two are to get the clearance as soon as possible. We don’t know how long Sazerac is staying here on the island and we can’t intercept him in the port.”

Before you could sign something, someone behind you cleared their throat. Turning around, you saw a large man approach your group and in his hands was your precious cello. You immediately ran to him, hands already reaching for the instrument until he raised it against your reach.

“Hey, not yet.” He chided. Minty green and baby blues coloring your vision. “I’m Macaron, a Vandelay worker. I took the liberty of analyzing your cello and, as far as I know, there’s nothing that seemed too dangerous.”

He smiled wider, his kind face almost seeming joyful. “I must admit, you've done a lot of impressive modding on this thing. I would love to get to know more about how you're able to play with it."

Your smile widened. Finally, someone who can understand your craft! If this is what shakedowns result in, you should have been kidnapped all the time!

He eventually handed you back your cello. Your hands immediately smoothed out the metal frame as your fingers strummed across its neck. Its bow was still functional, twirling it with your other hand as you played a few notes.

You hadn't really paid much thought on what notes you were playing. It was obvious to one, though, of your true feelings. Chai let out a victorious little giggle. "See? They just said how happy they were that they got their cello back!"

You flinched, eyes widening at his words before you slowly turned around to see him. Out of curiosity, you played more notes, this time in a short staff.

He glared at you. "Hey, I swear I didn't mean to hit you that hard!"

You scurried back out of weirdness. You've heard of people understanding the nuances of music but this… this was unheard of.

And it was obvious that the rest of the crew were weirded out by this revelation as well. It was Peppermint who decided to break the silence. "Wait, Chai. You were serious about what you said earlier?"

He turned to her. “Duh! I wouldn’t lie about a thing like this! This is like… A scientific revolution!”

“It definitely may be scientific but I wouldn’t call it revolutionary.” Korsica said. “I don’t think the STEM students would be thrilled to communicate with musical notes.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous that me and them got a super secret language that only we could understand.”

He pointed a finger gun at you. “Right, buddy?!”

You played a note. “Sure.”

Korsica and Peppermint rolled their eyes. The blonde woman stood up, patting the cat that was on Chai’s shoulder. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure you and Chai can hold yourselves out there. We’ll tak to you via 808 when you guys enter the sewers.”

Chai fistbumped Peppermint before turning to the rest of the team, which now includes you. “Alright team! Let’s head out!”

#hi fi rush x reader #hi fi rush #hi fi rush chai #hi fi rush chai x reader #series #mara.works #mara.series: the takes over the breaks over #chai x reader

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Ugly Little Girl (Arya II) [Chapter 64]

Surprisingly long.

Hilarious title by the way.

Eleven servants of the Many-Faced God gathered that night beneath the temple, more than she had ever seen together at one time. Only the lordling and the fat fellow arrived by the front door; the rest came by secret ways, through tunnels and hidden passages.

Secret tunnels? Must be an Arya chapter.

+.+.+

Their tall chairs were carved of ebony and weirwood, like the doors of the temple above. The ebon chairs had weirwood faces on their backs, the weirwood chairs faces of carved ebony.

Remember the time I said there was a suspicious lack of the old gods in Braavos? That was dumb.

+.+.+

"I know this man," she did hear a priest with the face of a plague victim say. "I know this man," the fat fellow echoed, as she was pouring for him. But the handsome man said, "I will give this man the gift, I know him not." Later the squinter said the same thing, of someone else.

Arya will murder Raff the Sweetling in TWOW. Knowing her victims doesn't appear as if it's going to be an issue for her.

+.+.+

After three hours of wine and words, the priests took their leave … all but the kindly man, the waif, and the one whose face bore the marks of plague. His cheeks were covered with weeping sores, and his hair had fallen out. Blood dripped from one nostril and crusted at the corners of both eyes. "Our brother would have words with you, child," the kindly man told her. "Sit, if you wish." She seated herself in a weirwood chair with a face of ebony. Bloody sores held no terror for her. She had been too long in the House of Black and White to be afraid of a false face.

I don't know, seems like the author might be preparing Arya to look upon a ghastly face.

"Let us see." The priest lowered his cowl. Beneath he had no face; only a yellowed skull with a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket. "Kiss me, child," he croaked, in a voice as dry and husky as a death rattle.

Does he think to scare me? - Arya I, AFFC

Lady Stoneheart lowered her hood and unwound the grey wool scarf from her face. Her hair was dry and brittle, white as bone. Her brow was mottled green and grey, spotted with the brown blooms of decay. The flesh of her face clung in ragged strips from her eyes down to her jaw. Some of the rips were crusted with dried blood, but others gaped open to reveal the skull beneath.

Her face, Brienne thought. Her face was so strong and handsome, her skin so smooth and soft. "Lady Catelyn?" Tears filled her eyes. - Brienne VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

He slapped her.

The blow left her cheek stinging, but she knew that she had earned it. "Thank you." Enough slaps, and she might stop chewing on her lip. Arya did that, not the night wolf. "I do deny it."

"You lie. I can see the truth in your eyes. You have the eyes of a wolf and a taste for blood."

Ser Gregor, she could not help but think. Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei.

Only Arya would think a night wolf persona is detached from her real identity.

I think they know she's a warg.

+.+.+

"You were a cat, they tell me. Prowling through the alleys smelling of fish, selling cockles and mussels for coin. A small life, well suited for a small creature such as you. Ask, and it can be restored to you. Push your barrow, cry your cockles, be content. Your heart is too soft to be one of us."

They definitely know she's a warg.

Arya smelling of fish will be repeated 3x in this chapter. That might be Tully things.

+.+.+

He means to send me away. "I have no heart. I only have a hole. I've killed lots of people. I could kill you if I wanted."

"Would that taste sweet to you?"

She did not know the right answer. "Maybe."

"Then you do not belong here. Death holds no sweetness in this house.

Unless you're Daenerys Targaryen.

+.+.+

"I can pay the price. Give me a face."

"Faces must be earned."

"Tell me how."

"Give a certain man a certain gift. Can you do that?"

I'm sorry, did I miss something? Who is this man? Why is another servant giving out assignments and reprimanding Arya instead of the kindly man?

Also, hasn't she been wearing faces the whole time?

"Then on the morrow, you shall be Cat of the Canals again. Wear that face, watch, obey. And we will see if you are truly worthy to serve Him of Many Faces."

+.+.+

She got her first look at the man she must kill later that morning as she wheeled her barrow through the cobbled streets that fronted on the Purple Harbor. He was an old man, well past fifty. He has lived too long, she tried to tell herself. Why should he have so many years when my father had so few? But Cat of the Canals had no father, so she kept that thought to herself.

Two sisters attempting to justify awful situations.

When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest. I must not pity him, she told herself. He was vain and cruel, and soon he will be dead. She could not save him. And why should she want to? Marillion tried to rape her, and Petyr had saved her life not once but twice. Some lies you have to tell. Lies had been all that kept her alive in King's Landing. If she had not lied to Joffrey, his Kingsguard would have beat her bloody. - Sansa I, AFFC

Probably don't need to point out one of these acts is considerably worse than the other.

+.+.+

He has no courtesy, she thought, watching him go. His face is hard and mean.

Look who's talking.

+.+.+

The old man's nose was pinched and sharp, his lips thin, his eyes small and close-set. His hair had gone to grey, but the little pointed beard at the end of his chin was still black.

Boy, if I didn't know any better I would think this man is meant to represent another character in the story.

Petyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, an inch or two shorter than Catelyn, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same laughing grey-green eyes. He had a little pointed chin beard now, and threads of silver in his dark hair, though he was still shy of thirty. - Catelyn IV, AGOT

+.+.+

"He is an evil man," she announced that evening when she returned to the House of Black and White. "His lips are cruel, his eyes are mean, and he has a villain's beard."

The kindly man chuckled. "He is a man like any other, with light in him and darkness. It is not for you to judge him."

Pfft, that doesn't sound very House of Black and White.

Villain's beard, lol.

+.+.+

That gave her pause. "Have the gods judged him?"

"Some gods, mayhaps. What are gods for if not to sit in judgment over men? The Many-Faced God does not weigh men's souls, however. He gives his gift to the best of men as he gives it to the worst. Elsewise the good would live forever."

The old man's hands were the worst thing about him, Cat decided the next day, as she watched him from behind her barrow. His fingers were long and bony, always moving, scratching at his beard, tugging at an ear, drumming on a table, twitching, twitching, twitching. He has hands like two white spiders. The more she watched his hands, the more she came to hate them.

"He moves his hands too much," she told them at the temple. "He must be full of fear. The gift will bring him peace."

Bending herself into a pretzel to rationalize this.

The Many-Faced God does not weigh men's souls, however. He gives his gift to the best of men as he gives it to the worst.

Assuming the cheque clears. What a crock of shit.

+.+.+

The old man was some sort of merchant, Cat concluded after watching him for a few days. His trade had to do with the sea, though she never saw him set foot upon a ship. He spent his days sitting in a soup shop near the Purple Harbor, a cup of onion broth cooling at his elbow as he shuffled papers and sealing wax and spoke in sharp tones to a parade of captains, shipowners, and other merchants, none of whom seemed to like him very much.

Some sort of merchant, eh?

Sounds like a man who might have a few enemies who would pay to have him killed.

+.+.+

The old man would count it out carefully, sorting the coins and stacking them up neatly, like with like. He never looked at the coins. Instead he bit them, always on the left side of his mouth, where he still had all his teeth.

I have a prediction!

Pate grabbed it from his hand. The gold felt warm against his palm. He brought it to his mouth and bit down on it the way he'd seen men do. If truth be told, he wasn't sure what gold should taste like, but he did not want to look a fool. - Prologue, AFFC

+.+.+

"But what is he selling them?"

"He is writing each a binder. If their ships are lost in a storm or taken by pirates, he promises to pay them for the value of the vessel and all its contents."

"Is it some kind of wager?"

"Of a sort. A wager every captain hopes to lose."

Oh he's an insurance agent! Writing contracts, doing money deals, collecting coin! Fascinating.

"How will the crown pay its debts without Lord Petyr? He is our wizard of coin, and we have no one to replace him." - Tyrion III, ASOS

The Waynwoods are very old and very proud, but not as rich as one might think, as I discovered when I began buying up their debt. - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

"… they lose their ships, oftimes their very lives. The seas are dangerous, and never more so than in autumn. No doubt many a captain sinking in a storm has taken some small solace in his binder back in Braavos, knowing that his widow and children will not want." A sad smile touched his lips. "It is one thing to write such a binder, though, and another to make good on it."

Not paying debts owed? Goodness, that sounds familiar too!

He went back to work after she left, trying to track some golden dragons through the labyrinth of Littlefinger's ledgers. Petyr Baelish had not believed in letting gold sit about and grow dusty, that was for certain, but the more Tyrion tried to make sense of his accounts the more his head hurt. It was all very well to talk of breeding dragons instead of locking them up in the treasury, but some of these ventures smelled worse than week-old fish. - Tyrion VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Cat understood. One of them must hate him. One of them came to the House of Black and White and prayed for the god to take him. She wondered who it had been, but the kindly man would not tell her. "It is not for you to pry into such matters," he said. "Who are you?"

Prayed for the god to take him? Silly girl.

Controversial take, but scumbag insurance salesmen don't deserve to die ... they deserve a lifetime of endless psychological torture, and physical abuse.

I'm kidding. Mostly.

+.+.+

"If you cannot do this thing, you need only say so. There is no shame in that. Some are made to serve the Many-Faced God and some are not. Say the word, and I shall lift this task from you."

Say it.

Please say it.

Please don't kill this crooked old man.

This is not right.

This is not justice.

Think of your father.

Your brother.

Your mother. Your real mother.

+.+.+

"I will do it. I said I would. I will."

Fuck.

+.+.+

How, though? That was harder.

He had guards. Two of them, a tall thin man and a short thick one. They went with him everywhere, from when he left his house in the morning till he returned at night. They made certain no one got close to the old man without his leave.

Littlefinger has a tall and short knight too! Plus an extra for funsies.

The three knights bowed and withdrew, though the tall one with the blond hair kissed her hand before taking his leave.

"Hedge knights?" said Alayne, when the door had closed.

"Hungry knights. I thought it best that we have a few more swords about us. The times grow ever more interesting, my sweet, and when the times are interesting you can never have too many swords. The Merling King's returned to Gulltown, and old Oswell had some tales to tell." - Alayne II, AFFC

We already know Ser Shadrich is important, I wonder if Ser Byron and Ser Morgarth will be elevated in the story.

+.+.+

"The guards go with him even when he slips out to make water," she said, "but he doesn't go when they do. The tall one is the quicker. I'll wait till he is making water, walk into the soup shop, and stab the old man through the eye."

"And the other guard?"

"He's slow and stupid. I can kill him too."

"Are you some butcher of the battlefield, hacking down every man who stands in your way?"

And we have to sit here and entertain discussions about Sansa's morality. Lol

+.+.+

"Him of Many Faces will be pleased." The kindly man rose. "Cat of the Canals is known to many. If she is seen to have done this deed, it might bring down trouble on Brusco and his daughters. It is time you had another face."

The girl did not smile, but inside she was pleased. She had lost Cat once, and mourned her. She did not want to lose her again.

+.+.+

"What will I look like?"

"Ugly. Women will look away when they see you. Children will stare and point. Strong men will pity you, and some may shed a tear. No one who sees you will soon forget you. Come."

Wouldn't you want to go with a forgettable face?

+.+.+

The tunnels here were cramped and crooked, black wormholes twisting through the heart of the great rock. One passage was closed off by a heavy iron door. The priest hung the lantern from a hook, slipped a hand inside his robe, and produced an ornate key.

Gooseprickles rose along her arms. The sanctum. They were going lower still, down to the third level, to the secret chambers where only the priests were permitted.

Oh my goodness, are we travelling to the bottom of the castle where all the secret tunnels and chambers are? Never would have thought I'd see this in an Arya chapter.

+.+.+

The priest took down the lantern once again and led the way. The girl followed the light, counting the steps as she went down. Four five six seven. She found herself wishing that she had brought her stick. Ten eleven twelve. She knew how many steps there were between the temple and the cellar, between the cellar and the subcellar, she had even counted the steps on the cramped winding stair that spiraled up into the garret and the rungs on the steep wooden ladder that ascended to the rooftop door and the windy perch outside.

This stair was unknown to her, however, and that made it perilous. One-and-twenty two-and-twenty three-and-twenty. With every step the air seemed to grow a little colder. When her count reached thirty she knew that they were under even the canals. Three-and-thirty four-and-thirty. How deep were they going to go?

She had reached fifty-four when the steps finally ended at another iron door.

I feel like I've read something like this before.

At first he could see the dim outline of each rung as he grasped it, and the rough grey texture of the stone behind, but as he climbed the black grew thicker. Thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen. By thirty, his arms trembled with the strain of pulling. He paused a moment to catch his breath and glanced down. A circle of faint light shone far below, half obscured by his own feet. Tyrion resumed his ascent. Thirty-nine forty forty-one. By fifty, his legs burned. The ladder was endless, numbing. Sixty-eight sixty-nine seventy. By eighty, his back was a dull agony. Yet still he climbed. He could not have said why. One thirteen one fourteen one fifteen.

At two hundred and thirty, the shaft was black as pitch, but he could feel the warm air flowing from the tunnel to his left, like the breath of some great beast. - Tyrion XI, ASOS

+.+.+

A thousand faces were gazing down on her.

Got to ask ourselves if Jaqen recruited Arya because he knew what she was.

I have watched you for a long time, watched you with a thousand eyes and one. - Bran II, ADWD

+.+.+

They hung upon the walls, before her and behind her, high and low, everywhere she looked, everywhere she turned. She saw old faces and young faces, pale faces and dark faces, smooth faces and wrinkled faces, freckled faces and scarred faces, handsome faces and homely faces, men and women, boys and girls, even babes, smiling faces, frowning faces, faces full of greed and rage and lust, bald faces and faces bristling with hair. Masks, she told herself, it's only masks, but even as she thought the thought, she knew it wasn't so. They were skins.

Pardon? Excuse me? What the hell are they going to do with a baby's face?

This place is fucked, how can anyone read this and not instantly recognize this is bad.

+.+.+

Arya bit her lip. She did not know what she wanted. If I leave, where will I go? She had washed and stripped a hundred corpses, dead things did not frighten her.

I sure hope so.

+.+.+

One tunnel was walled with human bones, its roof supported by columns of skulls. Another opened on winding steps that descended farther still. How many cellars are there? she wondered. Do they just go down forever?

There's four levels.

+.+.+

Still as stone, she thought. She sat unmoving. The cut was quick, the blade sharp. By rights the metal should have been cold against her flesh, but it felt warm instead. She could feel the blood washing down her face, a rippling red curtain falling across her brow and cheeks and chin, and she understood why the priest had made her close her eyes. When it reached her lips the taste was salt and copper. She licked at it and shivered.

Since when is a knife involved?

+.+.+

"Bring me the face," said the kindly man. The waif made no answer, but she could hear her slippers whispering over the stone floor. To the girl he said, "Drink this," and pressed a cup into her hand. She drank it down at once. It was very tart, like biting into a lemon. A thousand years ago, she had known a girl who loved lemon cakes. No, that was not me, that was only Arya.

There are Arya fans who believe Arya is remembering Arya. Bless them.

Since when is there a drink? Are we doing blood magic?

+.+.+

"Mummers change their faces with artifice," the kindly man was saying, "and sorcerers use glamors, weaving light and shadow and desire to make illusions that trick the eye. These arts you shall learn, but what we do here goes deeper. Wise men can see through artifice, and glamors dissolve before sharp eyes, but the face you are about to don will be as true and solid as that face you were born with. Keep your eyes closed."

IS IT BLOOD MAGIC? It's blood magic, isn't it.

+.+.+

The leather scraped across her brow, dry and stiff, but as her blood soaked into it, it softened and turned supple. Her cheeks grew warm, flushed. She could feel her heart fluttering beneath her breast, and for one long moment she could not catch her breath. Hands closed around her throat, hard as stone, choking her. Her own hands shot up to claw at the arms of her attacker, but there was no one there. A terrible sense of fear filled her, and she heard a noise, a hideous crunching noise, accompanied by blinding pain. A face floated in front of her, fat, bearded, brutal, his mouth twisted with rage. She heard the priest say, "Breathe, child. Breathe out the fear. Shake off the shadows. He is dead. She is dead. Her pain is gone. Breathe."

Holy christ, this is dark.

+.+.+

"You may have bad dreams for a time," warned the kindly man. "Her father beat her so often and so brutally that she was never truly free of pain or fear until she came to us."

"Did you kill him?"

"She asked the gift for herself, not for her father."

You should have killed him.

Arya still firmly in camp Kill The Oppressor.

"He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!" - Arya II, AFFC

Hard to know where that might be going.

The memories staying is similar to warging.

When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades - Prologue, ADWD

+.+.+

As they made their way back to the steps, the empty eyeholes of the skins upon the walls seemed to follow her. For a moment she could almost see their lips moving, whispering dark sweet secrets to one another in words too faint to hear.

"It's dead," she said aloud. "It's just a skull, it can't hurt me." Yet somehow the monster seemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. - Arya III, AGOT

Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they were turning to watch her pass. "Dragons," she whispered. - Arya IV, AGOT

+.+.+

Sleep did not come easily that night. Tangled in her blankets, she twisted this way and that in the cold dark room, but whichever way she turned, she saw the faces. They have no eyes, but they can see me. She saw her father's face upon the wall. Beside him hung her lady mother, and below them her three brothers all in a row. No. That was some other girl. I am no one, and my only brothers wear robes of black and white. Yet there was the black singer, there the stableboy she'd killed with Needle, there the pimply squire from the crossroads inn, and over there the guard whose throat she'd slashed to get them out of Harrenhal. The Tickler hung on the wall as well, the black holes that were his eyes swimming with malice. The sight of him brought back the feel of the dagger in her hand as she had plunged it into his back, again and again and again.

Quite the body count so far.

Unfortunate, but it's probably a positive thing she's being haunted by this.

+.+.+

An ugly girl should dress in ugly clothing, she decided, so she chose a stained brown cloak fraying at the hem, a musty green tunic smelling of fish, and a pair of heavy boots.

New face, same fishy smell.

+.+.+

One time, the girl remembered, the Sailor's Wife had walked her rounds with her and told her tales of the city's stranger gods. "That is the house of the Great Shepherd. Three-headed Trios has that tower with three turrets. The first head devours the dying, and the reborn emerge from the third. I don't know what the middle head's supposed to do. Those are the Stones of the Silent God, and there the entrance to the Patternmaker's Maze. Only those who learn to walk it properly will ever find their way to wisdom, the priests of the Pattern say. Beyond it, by the canal, that's the temple of Aquan the Red Bull. Every thirteenth day, his priests slit the throat of a pure white calf, and offer bowls of blood to beggars."

In case you missed it, it's possible the Sailor's Wife is Tysha.

Not sure if the three-headed tale is important, or if we're looking for any reason to drag the Sailor's Wife back into the story.

+.+.+

When she stopped to watch and listen for a moment, Tagganaro glanced at her without recognition, but Casso barked and clapped his flippers. He knows me, the girl thought, or else he smells the fish. She hurried on her way.

I mean the obvious implication is that a wolf will be able to sense a disguised Arya.

But again, smelling the fish on Arya could be a clever nod to House Tully. Kind of a stretch though.

+.+.+

Instead she perched atop a wooden piling twenty yards away as the blustery wind tugged at her cloak with ghostly fingers.

BRAN?!

+.+.+

It was almost noon before she saw the man she wanted, a prosperous shipowner she had seen doing business with the old man three times before. Big and bald and burly, he wore a heavy cloak of plush brown velvet trimmed with fur and a brown leather belt ornamented with silver moons and stars. Some mishap had left one leg stiff.

We'll later learn he's carrying Westerosi coins.

The ugly girl sat next to him and put a coin on the lip of the pool between them. It was gold, with a dragon on one face and a king on the other.

If the silver moons and stars is a specific house, I don't know what it is. Could simply be more random Daenerys hints.

+.+.+

The movement tangled her arm in the folds of his cloak as she was pulling out her hand. Coins rained around their feet. "Thief!" The big man raised his stick to strike at her. She kicked his bad leg out from under him, danced away, and bolted as he fell, darting past a mother with a child. More coins fell from between her fingers to bounce along the ground. Shouts of "thief, thief" rang out behind her. A potbellied innkeep passing by made a clumsy grab for her arm, but she spun around him, flashed past a laughing whore, raced headlong for the nearest alley.

Slightly similar to another scene I've read.

The old man feinted with one end of the staff, pulled it back, and whipped the other end about faster than Dany would have believed. The Titan's Bastard staggered back into the surf, spitting blood and broken teeth from the ruin of his mouth. Whitebeard put Dany behind him. Mero slashed at his face. The old man jerked back, cat-quick. The staff thumped Mero's ribs, sending him reeling. Arstan splashed sideways, parried a looping cut, danced away from a second, checked a third mid-swing. The moves were so fast she could hardly follow. - Daenerys V, ASOS

+.+.+

Cat of the Canals had known these alleys, and the ugly girl remembered. She darted left, vaulted a low wall, leapt across a small canal, and slipped through an unlocked door into some dusty storeroom. All sounds of pursuit had faded by then, but it was best to be sure. She hunkered down behind some crates and waited, arms wrapped around her knees. She waited for the best part of an hour, then decided it was safe to go, climbed straight up the side of the building, and made her way across the rooftops almost as far as the Canal of Heroes.

Enjoying this account of Arya narrowly escaping a pursuit.

She heard shouts, then pounding footsteps, closing behind her. She dropped and rolled. The red cloak went careening past her, stumbling. Arya sprang back to her feet. She saw a window above her, high and narrow, scarcely more than an arrow slit. Arya leapt, caught the sill, pulled herself up. She held her breath as she wriggled through. Slippery as an eel.

[...]

It was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her chest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home.

By the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. - Arya III, AGOT

+.+.+

"It wasn't stealing. I took one of his, but I left him one of ours."

The kindly man understood. "And with that coin and the others in his purse, he paid a certain man. Soon after that man's heart gave out. Is that the way of it? Very sad." The priest picked up the coin and tossed it into the pool. "You have much and more to learn, but it may be you are not hopeless."

What if the sailor didn't pay with all his coins? What if someone pocketed the coin while it was on the street? Flawed plan.

+.+.+

That night they gave her back the face of Arya Stark.

They brought a robe for her as well, the soft thick robe of an acolyte, black upon one side and white upon the other. "Wear this when you are here," the priest said, "but know that you shall have little need of it for the present. On the morrow you will go to Izembaro to begin your first apprenticeship. Take what clothes you will from the vaults below. The city watch is looking for a certain ugly girl, known to frequent the Purple Harbor, so best you have a new face as well." He cupped her chin, turned her head this way and that, nodded. "A pretty one this time, I think. As pretty as your own. Who are you, child?"

"No one," she replied.

I don't understand why she keeps progressing when they know she still identifies as Arya.

Final thoughts:

I don't think the takeaway is that Arya will poison Littlefinger (she could still kill him), but perhaps a contributing factor to his downfall will be coin?

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#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #the ugly little girl #arya II

30 notes · View notes

ofmermaidstories · 1 year

Note

Hey, Merms! 👋

You always do such a good job avoiding physical descriptions when writing the Y/N's, but lately I've been wondering: what kinds of clothes do you personally imagine them wearing? You once mentioned your "headcanons" for the kinds of perfume they might wear, and I thought that was super fun. Also, you always describe clothes so beautifully! The parts in something where Kenzo, Kihara, and Scribbles are going over the Hero Gala outfits are some of my favorites.

On that note, I'm especially curious about Scribbles' wardrobe, since Deku's poor fashion choices are always a point of major contention lol.

I love getting to play with clothing, in writing, because beyond just liking clothes, personally, narratively they serve such an important function in world/character-building. Clothes are so telling of a person! Which is why I find it so necessary to avoid it as much as humanly possible with a Y/N, unless there’s a narrative/meta reasoning for it (getting a new coat, scarf; being kitted out for a formal event. Indulging in high-end lingerie to showcase you do think about what you’re wearing, at least intimately, and thus giving you a reason to be judgemental of someone else’s poor tastes in fucking cargo pants). But okay, I’ll play. 👀 Putting everything under a cut, so those of our friends who don’t want the fun/fantasy of the Y/N they imagine ruined don’t have to see my subjective taste in fashion, LOL.

Let’s start off with my baby, Weedsy-woo.

Weeds would wear a lot of natural fibres, like 100% linen pants or dresses, woollen tops for the cooler months. Weeds was raised by Granddad, so Weed’s style would be unconsciously conservative, (high necklines, for example) especially on days when Weeds is working in the shop (which is most days lmao). Granddad was a practical man, though! So even though there’d be a unintentional romanticism in Weed’s choices (a lot of flowy cuts in the dresses and skirts), they’re made knowing that Weeds has to stand or work in them, and that they need to be comfortable and be able to handle, idk, getting wet from dripping flower ends, be about to get dirty and easily washable. There’d be a lot of soft colours (beiges and pale rosy pinks, sage greens) with the occasional vibrant pop of colour (a fun print of fluro pink and yellow and orange, for example, on a top maybe; or the red coat Akane gifts Weeds for Christmas, the yellow scarf from Katsuki). Once Katsuki comes into the picture and has carved out his own permanent space, some of his jackets would start appearing slung over a shop chair, or wrapped around Weeds in the early morning hours of the freezing warehouses of the flower markets.

Okay though, let’s talk my troublemarker Scribbles.

Scribbles is sloppy. Wide-leg men’s pants, fished out from a 200-yen bin at an op-shop. Old, well-worn band t-shirts that have given so much in slack they slip over the shoulder. A sarong from a little Bali-import store that Scribbles finds in Mum’s stuff, when Mum moves to New Zealand. Oversized mens shirts, fished out from that same op-shop, layered over crop tops and silky singlets. Scribbles would like cuts that show cleavage, because why spend good money on lingerie if you’re not going to show it off somehow?

But mostly, I don’t think Scribbles would really overthink things. Because Scribbles spends like, idk, 17 hours or something bent over a tablet/lightboard, trying to draw, the pieces Scribs wears have to be comfortable (cue the wide pants, the oversized shirts). Scribbles crawls out of bed at 8 am (after coming home at 4am), crawls into the first pair of pants that smell clean and then idk, a random top pulled from a basket, before throwing on on old painter’s overcoat, because the aircon can get kind of chilly. But because Scribbles is an artist (an artist raised by a model mother who adored fashion), Scribs has an unwitting eye for it—every piece in Scribble’s wardrobe can be mixed and matched. I’ve always, always, from day one imagined Scribbles to be the kind of Cool Girl that can make anything work, from sheer attitude alone, but I think the deck was stacked from the beginning for Scribs, too. I think it makes it doubly unfair that Scribbles is so mean about Deku’s choices LOL, because Scribbles just takes it for granted that of course people can dress well, so wtf is he doing with all those cheesy t-shirts? That kindergarten colour-blocking he has going on with the hero merch? Disgusting, pull yourself together, Deku.

#ofmermaidstories-asks #i enjoyed answering this one anon but now im worried scribbles isn’t cool enough to be as mean to deku as scribs is LOL #surrender-fic verse #passion for fashion: the dress-up tag

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foodandfolklore · 1 month

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The Grimm Variations, Episode 2

A new Netflix Anime has caught my eye. It's Called the Grimm Variations; which feature retellings of Original Brothers Grimm fairytales. But rather be a beat for beat, they are more reimagined. A "What If" kind of thing. I figured I'd share the original Fairytales these stories are based on for those interested.

The second Episode is based on the Story of the Pied Piper. Which wasn't first created by the two Brothers Grimm (Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm) but was first a Pome by Robert Browning. However, it latter became a Brother's Grimm story when the Grimm Brothers added it to a published collection of stories. With Browning's Credit of course. Here is the Original Pome, translated into English.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin (Also Called the Children of Hamelin) Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity.

Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats. And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation—shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease? Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing! "At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sate in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain— I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap? "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!"—the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red, And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smile went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table: And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same cheque;

And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers they noticed were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon his pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.)

"Yet," said he, "poor Piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats, I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats: And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? fifty thousand!"—was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered;

And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives— Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished!— Save one who, stout as Julius Cæsar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he, the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary: Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psalteryIs breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! 'And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'— I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles, Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!"—when suddenly up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gipsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something to drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

The Piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait, beside! I've promised to visit by dinner-time Bagdad, and accept the prime Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d' ye think I brook Being worse treated than a Cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

Once more he stept into the street, And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;

And ere he blew three notes

(such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air)

There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls.

Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by.— Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast." He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain side shut fast. Did I say, all? No; One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,— "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me. For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand,

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!"

Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says that Heaven's gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated dulyIf, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the Twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six: "And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper's Street— Where any one playing on pipe or tabor, Was sure for the future to lose his labour. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people that ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbours lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men—especially pipers! And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise!

#food and folklore #fairytale #folktale #folklore #brothers grimm #grimm variations #Pied Pipper #Pied Piper #pied piper of hamelin #classics

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raspberryhell · 2 years

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[ID: Digital art of 4 full body drawings of the main cast of Chapter and Multiverse: Masks. From left to right is Mini, Adeeb, Morgan, and Joseph all dressed in their hero costumes. The background is a purple gradient with several light purple patterns scattered around. End ID.]

(Extended ID + close ups + helmet-less Joseph under the cut!)

Congrats to the cast of Chapter and Multiverse for finishing their Masks campaign!! Here is my lineup of our heroes in their costumes!! :D

[ID: Two digital drawings of Adeeb. Adeeb is a tall Muslim man with brown skin and short dark hair and a goatee. He is wearing a long black and gray shirt, a blue turban, a red scarf, and black pants and dress shoes. He is standing with his arms raised, long white ribbons wrapped around his palms and hanging down around him. He is wearing a thin pointed mask and is smiling with a confident expression.

The second image is the same as the first, but without the white ribbons in his hands. End ID]

[ID: Two digital drawings of Mini and Morgan.

Mini is a short chubby tan-skinned woman with long black iridescent hair held in a high ponytail. She wears a form fitting purple suit with several yellow and orange starburst patterns. She wears big white space gloves and boots, a work apron with the words ‘The Shoe Space’ written on it with a small shooting star logo, and a bright orange starburst shaped mask. Her outfit has several neon pink and blue accents. She is skipping forward with a hand on her hip and another holding up a small laser gun. She winks and sticks out her tongue playfully. There are two small pink cartoon-y alien antennas sticking out from the top of her head.

Morgan is a tall muscular white woman with long red hair, green eyes and freckles on her face and shoulders. She is wearing a dark green tank top with a bright green vine pattern and brown cargo pants. She wears a red jacket tied around her waist and red high top sneakers, as well as a pair of dark fingerless gloves and a bright red bandana mask across her face. She has a tattoo band on her shoulder of a Celtic knot. She is posed facing the side, looking down with a slight grimace. One hand is at her side holding a long wooden quarterstaff and the other is raised in a fist. End ID]

[ID: Two digital drawings of Joseph. Joseph is a short white man wearing a helmet that covers his face. The helmet has a black visor, a gray stripe down the center, and two small cameras sticking out on either side of the face with a small red recording light in the corners. All of his clothes, jacket, pants, boots, belts, and gloves, are shades of black and dark gray. He wears a large cape that bundles at his shoulders and ends at his knees. One hand is resting at his neck on his cape, the other held down holding a small sickle weapon with a chain attached and looped around his arm.

The second image is the same as the first, but with his helmet taken off. He has chin-length black hair and black eyes. He glares down with an annoyed look on his face. End ID]

#chapter and multiverse #cmv #Mini Smithson #Adeeb Bin Yeslam #Blodeuwedd Morgan #Joseph Teller #how about that #SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER i legit have been working on this since may and have had such a hectic summer aaaaaaaa #PLEASE LISTEN TO CMV MASKS ITS SO FUN AND I LOVE THE ENDINGGGGG #i hope i did all of the designs justice i wanted them to all look cool on their own but also look cohesive-ish as a group #there is a lot of details id be excited to go on about #but i will just point out my favorite one which is adeebs mask #it was mentioned that it actually didnt hide his identity well #and also that hes a huge anime nerd (and at one point made a sailor moon transformation joke)#so i made his mask look like Tuxedo Mask's mask!! :D

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facewithoutheart · 2 years

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from the prompt list, should it tickle your fancy:

29: “i really want to have my heart broken so i can scream this song properly.”

Tropes: friends to lovers, fake dating but it turns into real dating and uh oh it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. To set the scene: Interior, Baz's Jaguar. Baz, dramatic, says this line when a certain song comes on the radio/aux (author's choice). Simon, foolish, decides they're fake dating so he can fake break Baz's heart so he can do the thing. I think you can see where I'm going with this.

Oof. This was a doozy. I’m not sure this is exactly what you were looking for but I’m pleased with how this turned out.

One elbow out the driver’s side door, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel. Baz’s headscarf whips in the wind and I can barely see his face for how much is covered by a giant pair of sunglasses.

If ever I loved a man…

“I’d give my all,” he sings, “to have just one more night with you. I’d risk my life to feel,” he jerks the wheel just enough to send my heart down to my stomach, smirking, “your body next to mine. ‘Cause I can’t go on!”

By this point in our road trip he’s listened to this song so many times I know the lyrics by heart but I can’t imagine joining in, disrupting his performance.

“Living in the memory of our song. I’d give my all,” his voice dips impossibly lower, the deep sound reverberating through my whole chest despite the competing road noise from his open window, “for your love tonight.”

He repeats the last line, drawing out, “tonight,” for so long I’m half-tempted to check whether air’s still escaping his lips. Even so, he manages to follow up his melisma with a deep sigh.

“Can you imagine?” He rests his head against his propped up hand, copper skin a perfect contrast against blue silk. “Loving someone so much losing them feels like that?”

“Imagine?” I raise both eyebrows. “No. Bet on it? You know I do.”

He grins back at me; pearly whites nearly blinding. It’s what brought us together, that fateful semester we were charged as roommates: heartbreak, but never ours.

“You know I envy them,” he says, his eyes nonexistent behind dark lenses.

“Our clients?”

He nods. “I feel like I’m off pitch when I sing this song. Like I’m missing something.”

He sounded perfect to me. “Missing what?”

Yellow lights blink from the side of the road, indicating an upcoming town. Baz takes the car off cruise control and coasts as the speed limit lowers. “Love.”

I hum noncommittally, thinking that’s all Baz has to say on the matter. But when we’re stopped at the intersection of this one light town, he sends his gaze upward, the back of his skull falling against his headrest. “I really want to have my heart broken so I can sing this song properly.”

“So dramatic.” I roll my eyes, though a few neglected wheels in my head start turning.

What if…

When Baz doesn’t immediately huff and pout like he usually does when I call out his theatrical nature, I ask, “Do you really want that?”

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. The light turns green. “Maybe.” He presses down on the accelerator a little too hard, jolting the car forward.

“Maybe,” I repeat, just to feel the word in my mouth. Savor the idea. “Maybe I can help.”

Baz bursts out laughing as he brings the car back to top speed. The world blurs away in the background, streaks of red and gold and green and blue all melting together. The joy on his face remains in sharp contrast. “You?”

There’s a knot under Baz’s chin that holds his headscarf in place. It stretches and loosens as Baz continues to laugh, and laugh.

I place one hand on Baz’s cheek then drag my fingers along his jaw to rest just under his chin. He’s not laughing anymore.

He places both hands on the wheel, knuckles white where they grip the leather.

I tighten the knot of his scarf. I let one finger trace his swallow. “I could try.”

“To break my heart?” His scoff comes out more like a whine. “But you don’t like men. That’s not,” again, he swallows, “that’s not what we do. You take the women, I take the men. That’s what we’ve always done. That’s our job. That’s what makes us work.”

Sometimes things change, but Baz doesn’t need to know this. He doesn’t need to know the way I’ve started watching him across the crowded rooms where we operate: feral, rabid. A deep well of jealousy growing in the pit of my stomach every time I watch him draw another stranger into his web.

There’s no one in this world better at breaking hearts than Baz.

Except me.

“I could do it,” I whisper, one hand on his thigh, the other slowly squeezing the back of his neck. “That’s why I could do it. I could make you fall in love with me even though you know I’d never feel the same. Even though you know I’ll never love you.”

This game of deceit starts with ourselves.

“Could you?” Baz whispers, and from this close I can see his eyelids fluttering behind his sunglasses, struggling to keep his eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” I release a hot breath as I drag my lips down his neck like he’s glass I want to fog with my wanting, my own milesma, “I’d give my all.”

From this prompt post

#snowbaz #fanfic #prompt game #dark!simon #ust

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debbyghost13 · 1 year

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“Minnow...I hope to see you again...when I get out of this abyss.”

Last night I had a weird dream. My dream was about this boy with this very big red and gold cape with a gold ribbon like scarf. He also had white hair and yellow eyes. I don’t know who he is but apparently I was him, and he’s in this academy where there is different classes based on what color you pick (Like red was arts, green was sports, blue was...I forgot. But ect.) TW: ranting

I was in red and I was called up for a task. This man with a yellow flat shaped cape, with feathered shoulder embellishments, was talking to me when we were arriving to a giant portal of light. He said, “You promise to stay by me at all times? We can’t have your light depleted.” I said to him, “Yes sir!” We entered together, it seems this man is my friend or parental figure. We were met with a underwater like void with the grass a dark blue and it was growing coral with orange fishes around. There were splotches of black everywhere. On the floor of our feet there was a orange and yellow orb. I picked it up and the fishes all turned to me. “RUN!” The man said as he took my hand, the fishes went after us. One by one the group of fishes attacked us but mainly me for an odd reason. My light was going away fast. As we made it to the edge of the grassy coral terrain there was just a pool of black. At the end was doors. “...We’ll have to swim.” The man said and I felt shocked. “WHAT?!” I yelled. “Just trust me on this one.” He said as he grabbed my tiny body. I still had the orb but now as we are swimming, my light faded at the half way point. His did as well when we were almost to the doors. “Minnow...I hope to see you again...when I get out of this abyss.” He told me and threw me as he sank. My name was Minnow. I fell onto a platform next to the doors and had all my light back with the orb. “Mr. Otto we did it! We made to the...exit...” I yelled in excitement as I looked around to see he wasn’t there . ”Mr. Otto?” I then looked at the black abyss we swam through as saw a faint yellow light. “...No..nononono-” I put the orb down and took of my cape. I seemed scared of the water but dived in anyways, not know anything at the moment. I kept swimming down until seeing the yellow light again but this time from a grayish person. I grabbed him and swam back up with my light depleting fast. I got him on the platform but not me. Things went fuzzy from here but I remembered the fished swimming me up onto the platform and then they transformed into a see through blue cape with orange fishes. I was seeing the doors open, but they were the exit I had in my mind. It was the entrance of the academy. I was running in a panic, crying and coughing black goop. I was looking around to find this Mr. Otto. I turned around to find a crowd and some people were looking at me. I made my way through the people and saw in the middle was Mr. Otto with my old cape and he was fighting someone. I ran to him but fell in my weakness and began coughing a lot. He looked over and ran to me.

I woke up after he gave me a really long hug

#dream log #debby talks

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robbyrobinson · 2 years

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THE BAGGES TAKE OSTANIA (Pt. I)

It was a relatively normal day in the country of Westalis. Citizens were hustling and bustling to get to work or to school. Each one had their own schedule and ritual to attend to. The country bordered the west of the country Ostania. There had been several schisms between both countries, but it seemed that tensions were buried, not right forgotten, but anything could threaten world peace.

In all the confusing noise with crowds of people crossing the streets and conversing outside of buildings, out of it came a tall, 6-ft figure wearing a layered trench coat. It was beige in color and, from a single glance, it was obvious the coat was too large for the person. He wore green gloves over his hands, but the sleeves completely engulfed his wrists leaving only his fingers present. On his head was a brown bowler hat arched to cover the top of his head. A red scarf covered what remained of his face until only his yellow-stained eyes were the only thing that peered from the darkness.

He carried a cane even when it was shown he could walk normally without it. He casually gave passing glances at the other people uncaring that he was suspicious-looking. Eventually, he would arrive at his destination: a phone booth. Before opening the door, he gave one last glance to ensure that he was alone. With the coast clear, he opened the door and sat down.

There was another man inside covered head to toe in a trench coat as well. The only difference was he wore his hood over his head and had sunglasses to hide his eyes. He held a lit cigar between his teeth. Seeing the man arrive, he withdrew a small packet of cigars and offered it to the stranger. The unknown man declined the offer, however. Nodding, the man held the cigar with his index finger and thumb and took a deep hit of it. Sucking, he pressed his lips together to allow a circle of smoke to leave his mouth.

“You remember our deal?”

The other man nodded. “Most certainly. You can count on me to do my part of the deal.”

The shaded man smiled. “Glad to hear that. Here, take this.”

He shoved his fingers into another one of his pockets and removed a tube. Inside of it, there was some liquid substance that glowed in the dark. It reminded the man of liquid mercury, the metallic substance that used to be a component in glass thermometers. It gooped and shifted inside of the glass tube like a lava lamp. It was almost addictive staring at it.

He slid the substance over to his partner-in-crime and the other man’s gloved hands grabbed it and tucked it away. With the meeting going well, the bowler hat-wearing man turned around to leave. As he opened the door, the other man stopped him. “Are you sure she will take the bait?”

The man turned around and smiled, his eyes widening with his pupils resembling small suns. “She did win first prize in the Sweet Stuff Contest. I am sure she will love sharing her gift to the world.”

*******************************************************************

Meanwhile in a town far away from either Ostania or Westalis, it was the middle of the day in a small Kansas town known for its oddities and spooky frights. The Middle of Nowhere. There belonged a farmhouse owned by an elderly couple known as the Bagges. The mailman arrived and deposited some letters in the mailbox and hummed a tune to himself as he turned to leave.

An old woman happily placed a tray of cookies into the oven and turned it on. Her begrudging husband sat down at his favorite chair to read his newspaper. A pink dog was watching TV at the time it being nothing but a rerun of some B-rated horror movie about a giant, detached foot gliding around and wreaking havoc on a small town. The poor dog was shivering and chattering his teeth. He wanted to close his eyes, but that was not doing him any good.

The old man peeped over the newspaper with a devilish smile plastered on his lips. Being ever so quiet, he withdrew a large, green mask from mid-air and shoved it over his face. He then knelt down to get to the dog’s level.

“OOGA BOOGA BOOGA!!!”

The dog turned around and shrieked. Without much prompting, the dog rocketed towards the ceiling and smashed a hole upstairs causing debris to fall through the hole. The old man placed the mask down and pointed up busting a gut. He was so busy laughing his butt off, he did not notice that his wife manifested behind him holding a rolling pin in-hand.

BAM!!!

The old man winced in pain and rubbed the back of his head. He was on the verge of swear words at the sudden surge of pain on his bald, bald head. “YEOUCH!! What’d I do?”

“That was the third time this week, Eustace,” she explained. “Besides we can’t afford to hire someone to keep fixing the ceiling every time you scare Courage.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Eustace replied pretending to listen to his wife. He returned to reading his newspaper when Courage came back by walking down the stairs.

“Oh, I think I heard the mailman,” she said, “Courage, be a dear and get the mail, will you?”

Courage nodded and walked toward the door. Despite his name, Courage was unironically uncourageous, and in fact, straight cowardly. But he loved his owner, Muriel, with all his heart so he would risk anything to keep her safe.

Reaching the mail box, Courage, perhaps reminding himself he was a dog, got down on all fours and placed the mail in his mouth. Trudging around, Courage sprinted back into the house. He placed the mail on Muriel’s rocking chair, his favorite spot, before returning to the spot he was sitting.

“Stupid dog probably got his spit all over it,” Eustace mumbled under his breath. And for good reason: Muriel still held the rolling pin in her hands so he better be on his best behavior.

Muriel took the letters and casually went through them. One was a reminder for Eustace to pay the electric bill (even if he did not like it). Another was from Eustace’s mother. Then a few more bills and one asking if they had seen the slab of an ancient pharaoh. The last letter caught the old woman’s eyes. It was large and decorated in rainbow polka-dots. Opening it, Muriel discovered a glittery, yellow letter with bold words.

TO WHOEVER THIS LETTER IS CONCERNED, CONGRATULATIONS! AFTER SOME CONSIDERABLE THOUGHT, YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO WORK FOR JUMPING JACK DEEN’S CANDY EMPORIUM!! WE SPECIALIZE IN CRAFTING THE FINEST CANDY AND SWEETS FOR CHILDREN ALL ACROSS THE LAND. BUT MOST OF ALL, WE CHERISH DEVOTED WORKERS AND YOU HAVE MATCHED OUR CRITERIA.

Muriel’s eyes widened making her glasses slide down to the bridge of her nose. “How exciting.”

“What did the letter say?” Eustace asked.

“It says that I have won a contest,” Muriel said, “funny...I don’t remember running for one.”

“Beh! Sounds like one of those schemes the newspaper would talk about.” Eustace crossed his arms. “Lousy teenagers.”

Courage also looked at the letter with suspicion. Muriel had never applied for this kind of occasion, but he was unsure how much he should be concerned just yet. “Eh?”

Muriel continued to read the letter. Her eyes skimmed down until they came to a stop. “They are saying I have to relocate to some country.”

“Like I said, scams” Eustace reiterated.

“I have never heard of this place, O-sta-nia? Is it?”

“I ain’t goin’ to no other country just for candy,” Eustace bemoans. He plopped his butt back on his favorite chair. “Ain’t offering nothing for it anyway; so, I ain’t leaving this chair.”

“Well, they did say that if I do a good job, I could expect to get a thousand dollars per hour.”

Dollar signs shot out of Eustace’s eyes. Apparently, the thought of getting paid for the work was enough motivation. “Why didn’t ya say so!?” He runs upstairs leaving Muriel and Courage to look at each other in surprise. Rustling and pushing rang from upstairs until Eustace came back down with multiple suitcases and bags.

Before they could say anything, he started to load the supplies in the back of his favorite truck, including his chair. It would seem he took half of the house with him since the bags and luggage made a large mound on the bed of his truck. All tied down with rope, but it did not bring any relief to Muriel and Courage. The ropes barely held together and wobbled. If they were lucky, they could at least lose a couple dozen things on the open road. He blared down on his airhorn.

“What are ya waiting for!?”

“Well, it should be interesting. I wonder what kind of sewing tools Ostania has.”

Courage squeezed in between his two owners still suspicious about the sudden open invitation. He couldn’t help but think that he had also forgotten something of great importance, but he could not put his finger on it.

The Computer, having built a human-esque body for itself, slid into the living room wearing socks and underpants with a lampshade on its head. It held a spoon to its digital lips and started to sing as the radio blared to life.

#courage #spy x family #crossover #courage the cowardly dog #fanfiction #fanfic

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your-lovely-rose · 1 year

Text

“The Pied Piper of Hamelin”

Robert Browning's poem (published in 1842 in the volume Dramatic Lyrics) is based on a German legend written down by the Brothers Grimm, and recounts events that took place in the town of Hamelin on June 26, 1284.

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Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,

By famous Hanover city;

The river Weser, deep and wide,

Washes its wall on the southern side;

A pleasanter spot you never spied;

But, when begins my ditty,

Almost five hundred years ago,

To see the townsfolk suffer so

From vermin, was a pity.

Rats!

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,

And bit the babies in the cradles,

And eat the cheeses out of the vats,

And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,

Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,

And even spoiled the women's chats

By drowning their speaking

With shrieking and squeaking

In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body

To the Town Hall came flocking:

'Tis clear, cried they, our Mayor's a noddy;

And as for our Corporation — shocking

To think we buy gowns lined with ermine

For dolts that can't or won't determine

What's like to rid us of our vermin!

Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking

To find the remedy we're lacking,

Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!

At this the Mayor and Corporation

Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sate in council,

At length the Mayor broke silence:

For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;

I wish I were a mile hence!

It's easy to bid one rack one's brain —

I'm sure my poor head aches again

I've scratched it so, and all in vain.

Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!

Just as he said this, what should hap

At the chamber door but a gentle tap?

Bless us, cried the Mayor, what's that?

(With the Corporation as he sate,

Looking little though wondrous fat);

Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?

Anything like the sound of a rat

Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!

Come in! — the Mayor cried, looking bigger:

And in did come the strangest figure!

His queer long coat from heel to head

Was half of yellow and half of red;

And he himself was tall and thin,

With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,

And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,

No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,

But lips where smiles went out and in —

There was no guessing his kith and kin!

And nobody could enough admire

The tall man and his quaint attire:

Quoth one: It's as my great-grandsire,

Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,

Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!

He advanced to the council-table:

And, Please your honours, said he, I'm able,

By means of a secret charm, to draw

All creatures living beneath the sun,

That creep, or swim, or fly, or run,

After me so as you never saw!

And I chiefly use my charm

On creatures that do people harm,

The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper;

And people call me the Pied Piper.

(And here they noticed round his neck

A scarf of red and yellow stripe,

To match with his coat of the self-same cheque;

And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;

And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying

As if impatient to be playing

Upon this pipe, as low it dangled

Over his vesture so old-fangled.)

Yet, said he, poor piper as I am,

In Tartary I freed the Cham,

Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;

I eased in Asia the Nizam

Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats:

And, as for what your brain bewilders,

If I can rid your town of rats

Will you give me a thousand guilders?

One? fifty thousand! — was the exclamation

Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept,

Smiling first a little smile,

As if he knew what magic slept

In his quiet pipe the while;

Then, like a musical adept,

To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,

And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,

Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;

And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,

You heard as if an army muttered;

And the muttering grew to a grumbling;

And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;

And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,

Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,

Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,

Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,

Families by tens and dozens,

Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives —

Followed the Piper for their lives.

From street to street he piped advancing,

And step for step they followed dancing,

Until they came to the river Weser

Wherein all plunged and perished

— Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,

Swam across and lived to carry

(As he the manuscript he cherished)

To Rat-land home his commentary,

Which was, At the first shrill notes of the pipe,

I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,

And putting apples, wondrous ripe,

Into a cider-press's gripe:

And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,

And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,

And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,

And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks;

And it seemed as if a voice

(Sweeter than by harp or by psaltery

Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice!

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

'So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,

'Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

And just as one bulky sugar-puncheon,

Ready staved, like a great sun shone

Glorious scarce an inch before me,

Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!

— I found the Weser rolling o'er me.

You should have heard the Hamelin people

Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;

Go, cried the Mayor, and get long poles!

Poke out the nests and block up the holes!

Consult with carpenters and builders,

And leave in our town not even a trace

Of the rats! — when suddenly up the face

Of the Piper perked in the market-place,

With a, First, if you please, my thousand guilders!

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;

So did the Corporation too.

For council dinners made rare havock

With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;

And half the money would replenish

Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow

With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!

Beside, quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,

Our business was done at the river's brink;

We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,

And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink

From the duty of giving you something for drink,

And a matter of money to put in your poke;

But, as for the guilders, what we spoke

Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

Beside, our losses have made us thrifty;

A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!

The Piper's face fell, and he cried,

No trifling! I can't wait, beside!

I've promised to visit by dinner time

Bagdat, and accept the prime

Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,

For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,

Of a nest of scorpions no survivor —

With him I proved no bargain-driver,

With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!

And folks who put me in a passion

May find me pipe after another fashion.

How? cried the Mayor, d'ye think I'll brook

Being worse treated than a Cook?

Insulted by a lazy ribald

With idle pipe and vesture piebald?

You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,

Blow your pipe there till you burst!

Once more he stept into the street;

And to his lips again

Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;

And ere he blew three notes (such sweet

Soft notes as yet musician's cunning

Never gave th'enraptured air)

There was a rustling, that seem'd like a bustling

Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,

Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,

Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,

And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,

Out came the children running.

All the little boys and girls,

With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,

And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,

Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after

The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood

As if they were changed into blocks of wood,

Unable to move a step, or cry

To the children merrily skipping by —

Could only follow with the eye

That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.

But how the Mayor was on the rack,

And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,

As the Piper turned from the High Street

To where the Weser rolled its waters

Right in the way of their sons and daughters!

However he turned from South to West,

And to Coppelburg Hill his steps addressed,

And after him the children pressed;

Great was the joy in every breast.

He never can cross that mighty top!

He's forced to let the piping drop,

And we shall see our children stop!

When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side,

A wondrous portal opened wide,

As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;

And the Piper advanced and the children follow'd,

And when all were in to the very last,

The door in the mountain side shut fast.

Did I say, all? No! One was lame,

And could not dance the whole of the way;

And in after years, if you would blame

His sadness, he was used to say, —

It's dull in our town since my playmates left!

I can't forget that I'm bereft

Of all the pleasant sights they see,

Which the Piper also promised me;

For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,

Joining the town and just at hand,

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,

And flowers put forth a fairer hue,

And every thing was strange and new;

The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,

And their dogs outran our fallow deer,

And honey-bees had lost their stings,

And horses were born with eagles' wings:

And just as I felt assured

My lame foot would be speedily cured,

The music stopped and I stood still,

And found myself outside the Hill,

Left alone against my will,

To go now limping as before,

And never hear of that country more!

Alas, alas for Hamelin!

There came into many a burgher's pate

A text which says, that Heaven's Gate

Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate

As the needle's eye takes a camel in!

The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,

To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,

Wherever it was men's lot to find him,

Silver and gold to his heart's content,

If he'd only return the way he went,

And bring the children behind him.

But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,

And Piper and dancers were gone for ever,

They made a decree that lawyers never

Should think their records dated duly

If, after the day of the month and year,

These words did not as well appear,

"And so long after what happened here

"On the Twenty-second of July,

"Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six:"

And the better in memory to fix

The place of the Children's last retreat,

They called it, The Pied Piper's Street —

Where any one playing on pipe or tabor

Was sure for the future to lose his labour.

Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern

To shock with mirth a street so solemn;

But opposite the place of the cavern

They wrote the story on a column,

And on the Great Church Window painted

The same, to make the world acquainted

How their children were stolen away;

And there it stands to this very day.

And I must not omit to say

That in Transylvania there's a tribe

Of alien people who ascribe

The outlandish ways and dress

On which their neighbours lay such stress

To their fathers and mothers having risen

Out of some subterraneous prison

Into which they were trepanned

Long time ago in a mighty band

Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,

But how or why, they don't understand.

So, Willy, let you and me be wipers

Of scores out with all men — especially pipers:

And, whether they pipe us from rats or from mice,

If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

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