#ALL I HAD WAS A YELLOW BEAR WITH BUTTONS A TIE AND A HAT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fazbear-entertainment-au · 3 months ago

Text

"Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza!" - 1986

Curtains pulled closed, lights off on the stage, the dining room had many voices speaking out, of all ages. Nerves spiked in one of the workers, adjusting their outfit that consisted of a vest, apron, and biker shorts. Yellow, white with a colorful pattern that said 'LET'S EAT!', and black for their respective colors. "Three years, and I still get nervous doing this."

Passing behind her, someone gave a small snicker, carrying a red and white guitar with no strap attached to the protruding studs. "You've never been one for the spotlight, Chi-Chi." He said, but there was no real bite behind his words, and this behavior was more common, given by the woman's glare behind her to the darkness. Still, the faint, red glow of his eyes were enough to be spotted. Despite his eyes being a more pink color.

"Stage time, you two. Ready?" Another voice broke through, causing the previous male to quickly scampering to his position on stage, adjusting his guitar and making sure it was plugged in, as the woman fixed the microphone pack hidden on her back. A gentle, white glow came from the center, from the main entertainer's eyes, blue being much duller in shine, but still there. "Ready?" He asked again, his voice dipping to a quieter whisper as his handheld mic got plugged in. The woman nodded, the nod back before turning, the bass player also nodded.

"Ready, Goldie." The main entertainer spoke, before smiling and speaking into the microphone fully:

"Hello, everyone! And welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza!" The curtains pulled back once the room fell into a semi-silence and the cue hit. Of course, cheers rang through the room as the three revealed themselves to the party room. "Please, welcome to the stage: Chica the Chicken, and Mr. Cupcake!" The two on the left side of the stage, from the audience view, motioned to the person on the right on the stage, smiling and holding her cupcake with one hand while waving with the other. Short, dirty-strawberry blonde hair pressed to her head, aside from a cowlick that made it look like she had feathers on her head like a chicken. Her apron donned, but clean, shoes orange, with long, white socks with two, decorative stripes on them to make her outfit complete.

"Bonnie the Rabbit!" Now, Chica and the middle entertainer motioned to the person on the left of the stage. Taller than Chica by an inch or two, but his platform boots helped up that to about half a foot taller. He gave a strum to his bass guitar, the purple bunny ears on his head perking up. His hair was a darker shade of purple, framing bangs in the front and a braid bun in the back, with a purple vest on. A red, clip on bow tie, the guitar strap hooked onto his belt, and the laces to his boots were all the same red, pink eyes smiling along with him. He was, notably, the darkest color pallet to the rest of the three on the stage, but it was fitting for him.

"And Freddy Fazbear the Bear!" Bonnie and Chica motioned to the center of the stage, where the last entertainer stood with a bright smile, wielding the microphone. Brown, shaggy hair and facial hair on his chin made him more inviting, blue eyes helping with it. He wore a brown vest, a white undershirt that was rolled up to his elbows (counter to Bonnie's that was black and hemmed like a tee-shirt). Grey, finger-less gloves, bow tie, and top hat all adorned his body, red shoes to help balance the dark, and brown bear ears were tilted out of the way to make room for the top hat on his head. "Let's party!" He spoke into the microphone, an immediate uproar from the kids only made Freddy smile more.

----

A few taps, a couple of clicking cues, keeping the area hidden while making sure the party room was lit up and fun- Goldie gave a huff to themself and glanced to the time: 4:27. Perfect. A click to two buttons was enough to send the signals to the entertainers without alerting the guests. That message being a silent one saying 'after this song, it's time'. Their ears twitched in place as they time went by, hearing someone in their ear say something about the cake being ready in a mixed, but identifiable accent.

"Thank you! Now, if I remember correctly, it's someone's birthday here today!" The cheer from the party group made Chica giggle, as Bonnie played into his role. "Someone's birthday today? But we don't have a cake for them!" Chica waved her free hand in a dismissive, but playful way. "Of course we have a cake! Oh, Foxy~" Her voice wavered in a sing-song-y way, giving time for Goldie to shine a light on the birthday kid, and for Foxy to come out. As well as Bonnie strumming a few cords, the whole room sprung into song easily as Foxy set the cake down on the table and lit the one and zero candles with a matchstick.

----

"Ever find yar own antics a little insufferable?" After hours, Foxy asked the question while sitting at the table, handing a paper towel wrapped bag of ice to the rabbit entertainer. "Mm, a bit, but it's for the younger kids. The teenagers love me no matter." Bonnie chuckled, settling the bag of ice on a dark bruise forming on his arm, a quiet hiss at the cold leaving his teeth. "Besides, it's fun to play around with it sometimes."

"Whatever ya say. Whatever helps ya sleep at night."

====

[Bonnie, Freddy, Chica, Foxy, and Goldie available for asks]

[Pictures of them with image ID's underneath the cut]

#five nights at freddy's au #fnaf au #freddy fazbear #foxy the pirate fox #bonnie the rabbit #chica the chicken #golden freddy #Year 1986: Freddy Fazbear's Pizza #fnaf fanart #humanized fnaf #art o'clock

2 notes · View notes

darkstalker1247 · 1 year ago

Text

This is an older writing about the Bite of 83

it probably sucks and is like super innacurate but I don't care I was 13 when I made this

enjoy I guess

___

The little boy sat at a table in the corner of the room, while the other screaming toddlers laughed and played and threw candy at each other’s faces. He said nothing, and tried to make himself as invisible as possible. He clutched his favorite toy in his hands; the muddy yellow bear with a purple bowtie and hat. He looked around at the children, all having fun and running around, except for the older kids, who leaned against the wall and silently stared, as if they were waiting for the right moment. Evan knew he couldn’t go over there; he couldn’t have the older kids ruin his birthday party. He felt silly sitting in the corner away from his own friends, cake, and his favorite characters at the diner. The kids weren’t gathered around the stage; he could probably sneak over and hear the birthday song while the kids weren’t looking. Or he could sit here and stay quiet. He didn’t want to risk anything.

The diner was brightly lit with different colors, with confetti scattered on the black carpet. The tables each had a stand with a pizza box on them; Evan could smell the different flavors from across the one-room dining area. The walls, usually a striped gray, had colorful paper streamers and balloons covering them. The prize counter, actually close to where Evan was sitting, was giving out 1 free prize to every guest, and 2 for the guest of honor. The shelves were stocked with some of the diner’s most popular toys, including the plushies, action figures, off-brand Lego sets from the diner’s official TV show, and a small brown robotic dog with a collar reading “Fetch.” The man at the counter was turned around towards the hidden kitchen, reading a book. At the south end of the area were some of the newest and most popular arcade games, like Space Invaders, Donkey Kong, and Centipede. At the north end was the showtime stage.

Oh, how magical was the stage! There were two characters on stage: a bear and a rabbit, singing side by side, barely heard over the rowdy children. The bear had a purple button down vest that barely fit over his fat belly, a purple hat and tie, and shining brown eyes. The rabbit had a similar purple vest, one that actually fit, with a red bowtie, whiskers, and green eyes. The rabbit was also holding an acoustic guitar.

Evan stood up from the table he was sitting at and looked around. The older kids were still watching the younger kids, and none of them seemed to be paying attention to him. So Evan decided to take his chances. He crept over tentatively, to the prize counter, and adjusted his golden party hat. “Hello, sir,” he said to the man at the counter, “I’m here to pick my prizes.” The man at the counter turned in his chair to face the boy and smiled. “Hey, Evan,” he whispered, “you don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ you know.” Evan nodded. “Okay, Mr. Emily.” Mr. Emily handed Evan his two free prize tickets. “Call me Henry,” he said.

“Okay, Henry,” Evan almost whispered. “Can I have the green bunny? The robotic one?” Henry picked a box off the top shelf. It read: “Plushtrap Chaser! Walks in the dark, freezes in the light!” He handed it to the boy. “Here you are,” he chuckled. “Try not to turn it on inside the restaurant, okay? The different colored lights will mess with the sensors.” Evan handed Henry one of his tickets and crept back over to the table where he had been sitting before. He clutched the fresh new toy in his hands. The kids had all gone to play arcade games, even the older ones. Evan thought he could get away with walking over to the stage and watching the animals sing. So he walked over, carefully avoiding the group. He could see Henry calling someone over at the prize counter as he moved.

The stage was brightly lit, and the characters were dancing and singing some nursery rhymes. To an adult, the songs would seem boring and the robots creepy, but to a child like Evan, it was magical. It was like stepping into another world, one where bears were friendly with no sharp teeth and didn’t pop out from under your bed. Where foxes could be pirates and be heroic enough to have movies made about them. Where birds ate pizza and had talking cupcakes for best friends. Where the robot bunny rabbit your dad made was a better parent than him. Evan zoned out for a while, holding his yellow bear toy, watching the duo on stage. They sang a few songs, then talked for a while, then sang a few more songs. Evan was mesmerized. Until he heard 4 pairs of footsteps from behind.

Someone tapped his shoulder. “Hey, loser,” a voice called, “Turn around! We just want to wish you a happy birthday…” Evan pretended not to hear them. He held his toy tighter and forced back tears. “Turn around,” the voice pleaded sarcastically, “turn around and say hi to your older brother, why don’t you?” Evan still didn’t budge. His brother grabbed his shoulders and whirled him around.

The four older kids were each wearing character masks; a brown bear, a purple rabbit, a yellow bird, and a red fox with an eyepatch. Evan recognized them; his older brother, Mike, and his brother’s three friends. “Happy birthday, little brother,” his brother cackled. “Come on, we have a gift for you!” Evan could feel a few tears begin to run down his face. “Mike, stop,” he tried to yell, but it ended up coming out squeaky. “Stop it or I’ll tell dad!” Mike and his friends laughed. “Wow, your brother’s such a crybaby, isn’t he?,” the boy in the rabbit mask asked. Mike laughed. “Yeah, it’s hilarious! Why don’t we help him get over his little fears? Let’s help him get up close and personal!”

As he said this, the four hoisted Evan over his shoulders, like a king. “All hail the birthday boy, haha!,” one of them said. They started to walk closer to the stage. “Put me down,” Evan pleaded. But they persisted. “You heard the little man,” Mike laughed. “He wants to get even closer!” They all laughed, and Evan dropped the toy he was holding. It started at him from where it sat on the floor. “Boys,” Henry shouted at them, “Put that poor boy down! Micheal, your father will hear about this!” Mike laughed. “Oh, let him come,” he whined, “He’s not gonna do anything. Now, let’s have the little man give Fredbear a big kiss!” They were in front of the stage now. Evan’s forehead was greased in cold sweat and tears ran down his face. The bear, which had once brought him so much joy with its goofy smile, now had the grimace of a hungry monster, intent on eating him alive. The 4 older kids lifted him higher. “On three,” one of them shouted, “One, two, three!”

They fit Evan’s head into the jaws of the animatronic bear. Evan could hear the kids laughing at him. A dull pain was on both sides of his head. Motors whirred and an error message came from the bear’s voice box. Henry ran toward the stage, shouting words Evan couldn’t hear. Evan heard a sickening crunch, and a new searing pain formed all over his head. He could feel blood gush from his forehead and fill his mouth. He heard the laughter from the kids in the diner turn into horrible screams. He felt all of it for a moment, before the cold claws of inescapable death gripped his throat and dragged him away into darkness.

#fnaf #writerscommunity #bite of 83 #five nights at freddy's #fnaf 4

7 notes · View notes

dullahandyke · 1 year ago

Note

If someone was to mayhaps want to draw one of your OCs do you have any drawings of them or any more information about the kind of clothes they wear?

ANON ILL KISS UUU um I have a couple drawings but they're old, let me grab them n also describe more accurately their appearances....

Ok as for the drawings please ignore the copious style shifts and bear in mind that most of these cunts r like OLD old. Like 'drew her on the open night for the secondary school I have since graduated from', 'ex-danganronpa oc' old. And that's not as much to do w how recent the drawings are bcos most of them are like 2 years old or so but like. I keep trying to keep certain aspects of their designs and it shows. ANYWAY heres some Ames designs that can get smushed into one

Ames Spector

Stocky build, on the short side

Filipina

Black hair, the middle picture is pretty much it, tho I'm still attached to her with a ponytail if u wanted to go for that

Black button-up with the sleeves rolled up

Yellow tie with a star-shaped tie pin (listen she's had a star pin for 6 years and even if it's not a hairpin anymore it's still hers)

See I really do like the vibe of the blazer tied around the waist ala picture 1 but I couldnt make it work colour-balance-wise so I ended up just making her slacks yellow. If u think u could make it work then go for it my guy

Sturdy black boots

Eyebrow piercing on her right

See I did vibe w her having a tattoo but I dont think the snake suits her... omit it or freehand it as u like

Ringo Fleming

I'm not entirely happy with the balance of the outfit but it's a good idea of its style (which is 'was born sad and alone in a Claire's)

I think I put his cane on the right side? It's his right leg that he needs it for

It has hearing aids that it definitely dangles earrings off of

Snake bites

Pink dyed hair with some sort of undercut

Oh yeah hes noticeably tall. I'm not good w heights but like 6'6 even without his penchant for platform boots

Large nose

Very reedy build

White

Thea del Arte

Heavily based on Arlecchino (predecessor to the harlequin, from Italian renaissance-era theatre) with the right picture as my heaviest inspiration

Fat

Hes pretending to be Italian bcos it's better for PR but hes actually Catalan

Tan skin

Dimples

Short curly dark brown hair

Black mask is more masquerade or superhero than arlecchino, it emotes when she has it on, you know the drill

Wears reading glasses over his mask in his 'reading documents' animation

Neck ruff

In the drawing I have her down as wearing shorts but tbh I think she'd cover as much of herself as she could for the intrigue

White gloves

Black lipstick

Shirley Fortunis

See I like her current design but it doesnt feel very ace attorney to me. Trying to incorporate a dice/coin/luck motif.

Black

Long black locs with silver jewelry

Acne

Big purple cardigan somewhere in her design

Officewear under the cardigan

Maybe a trench coat of some description over the cardigan to make it feel more detectivey? Idk spitballing

Maybe a coin necklace?

Miren Diez

And now we get into the area of 'all my drawings for this one are so old theyd do more harm than good'

Sickly pale and visibly malnourished

Long dark brown hair, untrimmed beard

Bcos of spirit medium shenanigans I dont think they have much in the way of their own clothes tbh. Mostly its theas clothes that they're left in once they stop channelling her.

If they are wearing their own clothes, probably just a very oversized steel samurai sleep shirt and sweatpants that used to fit but Uh Oh Drastic Weight Loss

Septum piercing

Raph Porter

Tbh I dont have much for them

Light hair in a ponytail

Brown reporter-type hat

White button-up, brown slacks, brown suspenders, brown tie

Brings an entire typewriter into court

Btw this isnt a design thing but like u gotta know that she is just WAITING to be revealed as the big bad so at all times she is wearing an evil outfit under her normal one. It is not at all visible in her normal outfit that's just a fun little fact for u

Generically pretty

The judge

Does not look like the judge from ace attorney

Has robes

Has at least one hand

Has a mouth(?)

Skin is a maybe

#ps jusr bcos i described all of them doesnt mean u gotta draw any of em #this is just as much me hammering out my own thoughts as it is me describing rhem for u #undescribed #aa7: emer edition #my god its been so long since i used thst tag... i was still going by the short spelling of my name...

1 note · View note

ahatintimepieces · 3 years ago

Text

In Want of Stitching

I am delighted to present another little fic for the build-a-bear au by @smieska-draws‘ and me! Smieska generously offered to let me post her incredible art above^ with this fic where Hattie is reunited with her favorite doll from her childhood! The doll is worse for wear, but Hattie knows just how to help! Be sure to give Smieska your love, and if you missed it, the previous fic is here. Without further ado, enjoy!

Words: 4,180

Hattie kicked her legs as she perched on the table in the breakroom. One hand was propped back, nestled between Dimitri’s bag and her backpack, and the other held her dwindling milkshake left over from dinner. While she waited for her dad to finish up with the last customer before closing, she watched Dimitri fuss with the supplies on the shelves.

He struggled to pull out one of the drawers and the sharp jostle of the handle caused the whole structure to shift. He froze and Hattie’s eyes widened as they waited to see if the cleaning items up top would tumble. While the bottles wobbled like a spinning toy wavering to a stop, they stilled without any avalanche and Dimitri and Hattie relaxed.

“I’m just going to deal with that in the morning,” Dimitri huffed, turning around. “Don’t tell your dad.”

Hattie gave him a thumbs up as she reached the dredges of her milkshake and the straw gurgled as it sucked air between the last of the frosty cream. While he crossed over to the rack of aprons, her gaze drifted down to the floor. The off-kilter shelf had shifted away from the wall, revealing a large dust bunny.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to get a better look at the mound of grey that seemed to cover something else.

“See ya tomorrow, kid?” Dimitri prompted, snapping his name tag against the magnet on the wall.

“Probably!” She lifted her chin.

“Boss says a daycare center has scheduled a trip to the mall, so we might be busy,” he sighed, reaching for his bag. She scooted out of his way and nodded.

“That could be fun. But also noisy,” she offered, glancing up as she mentally noted to warn Belle, Mu, and Timmy that they needed to avoid the food court for lunch. Maybe hide in the café connected to the bookstore.

“Noisy is right.” Dimitri swung his bag over his shoulder.

“Will Dad have to work on the floor?” She lowered her empty milkshake.

“I imagine so,” he paused on his way to the door. When she placed the cup down and blew a raspberry as she slouched, he prompted, “why?”

“It just means I have to keep Mu and Timmy away. They’re trying to prove he’s magic and can blow things up with his mind.” Scowling, she swung her legs a little too hard and the table creaked underneath her.

“Is that why they asked him to heat up their—”

“Lunch?” She crinkled her nose. “Yeah.”

Dimitri sucked in air before bursting into laughter.

“They looked so mad when he used the microwave!” he wheezed, gesturing to the other table with the offending appliance. “Mu’s stink eye nearly killed me!”

“It’s dumb,” Hattie grumbled.

Catching her frustration, Dimitri reeled in his laughter and cleared his throat.

“There’s no harm in it,” he tried. “The boss can be a bit eccentric, and it can be fun to pretend, but I’m sure even Mu and Timmy know he’s not actually able to light things on fire or…” he paused, giving her a curious look, “steal souls.”

“They sure act like he does.” She turned away, cupping her chin in her hands.

“Have you told them it bothers you when they fixate on it?” Dimitri asked sympathetically.

“Yeah, and they ignore it because they think he actually does all of those things.” Her glare hardened.

“You could talk to the boss?”

“I don’t want him to know about the rumors.” After a beat, she looked up to meet Dimitri’s blank expression. “What?”

“He knows,” he said dryly. Her jaw dropped and he softened. “Listen, you might want to just talk with him about the whole Snatcher myth if it’s getting under your skin, but it’s not harming anyone. I think it also gets the store more foot traffic from teens, which isn’t usually our intended demographic. So, in a way, it even helps!”

Hattie groaned, flopping onto her backpack and staring at the ceiling.

“Hang in there, kid.” His shoes tapped against the tile as he walked towards the door. “But just talk to him. See you!”

“Night, Dimitri.” She gave a halfhearted wave as he left. Once the door shut, she fixated on the faint buzz of the lights in the breakroom.

Seconds ticked by.

She heaved herself up, bored with staring blankly and too tired to stew in her frustration any longer. After scooting to the edge of the table, she dropped down with her flipflops slapping against the ground. She intended to toss the milkshake cup and pester her dad while he closed the workshop, but her gaze shifted back towards the shelves. The oddly large dust bunny piqued her curiosity once more and she crossed over.

Crouching down, she prodded the clump of hairs and silver dust. A dead fly was caught in the webbing and bits of dirt or crumbs were suspended on the hairs. But when she pressed down, a firm something lay between her and the tile.

Shifting, she pressed her cheek against the wall and peered into the crack between it and the shelf. Behind the dust bunny lay a small doll, crushed and crumpled.

After a precursory check for spiders, she reached back and pinched one of the doll’s puffy sleeves. The dust bunny tickled her finger, and she crinkled her nose in disgust. As soon as the doll was pulled out into the open, she batted the wad of grey from its mitten hand, and the cloud of minuscule debris floated harmlessly to the ground. She gasped when she held the doll out in the light.

Beneath the grey streaks of grime, a missing button eye, the torn right arm, and a left hand hanging by a single thread, was the prince doll that she had loved so dearly when she was younger. Her heart soared, but the doll’s state soon had guilt souring her joy.

It had been ages. The last time she saw the doll, he had been a bit worn, but still intact. She had been near inconsolable when she lost him. Her dad promised to get her a new, better doll, but she loved the prince doll because of all the memories they shared. Despite all her searching and tears back then, her dad urged her to move on as the doll had continued to elude her. And no wonder! All this time, the doll had been in the breakroom rather than home. He must have somehow fallen behind the shelf at the workshop when she had been playing, only to be shoved deeper and deeper into the dark over the years.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, frowning at the frayed threads where a button used to be. When she poked the remaining button, it wobbled, threatening to soon snap away as well. She brushed back the yarn hair, covered in dust that caused the chestnut hue to appear murky. The felt crown looked more brown than yellow, and ashen stuffing dripped from the doll’s arm and broken wrist.

But… it was still her favorite doll. Though it had been years, relief surged through her chest.

“I’ll clean you up!” she promised to herself, gently giving the dusty, dilapidated doll a soft hug.

She knew how to sew, at least! And she had the materials at home. She could even surprise her dad! He always reacted positively when she showed him the hats or masks she made.

Scrambling to her feet, she carried the doll over to the table. She grabbed a couple of tissues to wrap him up, both hoping to keep him protected and intact and to prevent the dust from spreading in her backpack. She was just tucking him safely into her bag, nestled between new fabric she got from her millinery lessons earlier and a graphic novel that Timmy recommended, when the door thrust open.

She turned, noting her dad’s slouched posture as he removed his apron, which was common on days he had to both open and close the workshop. Holding his hand over his mouth, he tried to cover a wide yawn, but his sharp fangs still glinted in the light.

“Time to go?” Hattie prompted while zipping up her backpack.

“Finally, yes.” He paused, glancing towards the shelves. “Did Dimitri refill the sewing kits?”

She shrugged in Dimitri-solidarity when her dad turned back around. He accepted it without further prodding and tossed his apron onto a hook.

Hattie slipped on her backpack gently to keep from jostling the doll as her dad pulled out his hair tie and scratched at his scalp. He grabbed his keys and waited for Hattie to shuffle over.

Once he finished locking up and took her hand to lead her through the dark parking lot, she mentally went through the list of supplies she needed to fix up the prince doll. Neither she nor her dad said a word as their footsteps tapped against the still warm gravel. But that was normal for them. Her dad didn’t usually have much to say unless otherwise prompted by people or work, especially when he was tired. So, she continued her quiet pondering all the way home, staring blankly at the streetlights as the radio played family-friendly tunes at a hushed volume.

As soon as they got home, Hattie dashed into her room. She swept her arm across her workbench to clear away the new beret she was making and placed her top hat on the hat display stand her teacher had given her. Since she only had one, it was her favorite top hat that got the place of honor. Then, she dropped her backpack onto the ground and retrieved the prince doll.

He lay on the tissues that were now smeared with grey. Even just folding back the material caused Hattie to swiftly turn away and sneeze, jostling him as he perched on her palm. She’d need to clean the doll, but the open cuts in his arms worried her. After prodding around, she decided it might be better to pluck out the dusty stuffing, since his arms were closed off from his main body anyway. The loose button, too, she thought to remove to ensure easier cleaning.

She got to work, walking back and forth between her room and the bathroom as she ferried supplies. If her dad wondered what she was up to, he didn’t comment as he settled down in the living room to quietly read.

Setting up a doll bath in the sink by lowering the plug, she submerged the doll into the water with iridescent bubbles lining the porcelain. His one arm threatened to come off and his other hand floated at an odd angle. Undaunted, Hattie stuck out her tongue as she scrubbed the dust and cobwebs from his hair. The felt crown popped off at one point, and while she rescued it, the original gilded color seemed beyond saving so she decided to replace it. But she kept the crown nearby so that she could copy the size and shape.

Once the years of neglect were scrubbed away, Hattie drained the sink and rinsed the soap suds from the doll. The chest felt heavy with the water, even more than the lolling head. But hopefully the doll would dry just fine.

While wringing out the water, she tried to squeeze the doll gently, intent on preserving the fragile threads. Finally, she laid him out on a towel and used another to dab up as much water as she could. Wondering if she could borrow her dad’s hairdryer to speed up the process, she hurried into the living room.

“Da-ad,” she called as she padded onto the carpet. “Where’s your hairdryer?”

“Under the sink in my bathroom. Why?” He turned the page of his novel without looking up.

“It’s a surprise.” Arcing around the table, she peeked at the title. She recognized it as Ember’s latest recommendation from her book club. Curious, she slipped over to the armrest where he reclined. She leaned over his shoulder and identified Ember’s annotations that lined the margins in pencil, confirming that she had loved it enough to lend him the book.

“Should I be worried about this surprise?” he asked, unbothered by her hovering.

“Nope!” she chirped cheerfully as she jumped back to face him.

“Carry on, then,” he muttered, his golden eyes flittering back and forth as he read.

The amber light from the lamp behind him skipped across the strands of his hair, painting the coal-colored locks with flickers of iridescent violets. With his cheek pressed into his palm and his elbow on the armrest, his gaze momentarily flickered away from the book as he used his pinky finger to turn to the next page.

“Need something else, kiddo?”

Instead of answering right away, she hopped onto the couch and crawled onto his chest. He held still as she flopped onto her back, staring up at the book.

“Is the story good?” she prompted.

“It’s crafted well.”

“But are you enjoying it?” She tilted her head back into his shoulder. He kept his eyes ahead.

“Not really.” He sounded calm as he said it.

“But you don’t hate it?” she clarified.

“No.” He turned the page.

She sighed, not expecting anything different.

Usually, it didn’t matter. But she didn’t want the same reaction if she asked how he felt about the rumors of the Snatcher. She knew Dimitri thought she needed to talk to him about it but…

“What would you do if you had magic powers?” she asked instead.

“What?” That got him to look down. He quirked a brow and she shrugged.

“If I had magic powers, I would make my top hat like a bag of holding. I could carry all my stuff everywhere and be prepared for anything.”

“Oh.” He relaxed and lifted his gaze back to his novel.

“So, what would you do?” she repeated.

“Hm?”

“What would you do with magic?”

He hummed, lifting his head and reaching over to help steady the book as he turned the page. Once he settled back, he shrugged.

“I’d use it to heat up my coffee.”

For a split second, she wondered if he was also privy to Timmy’s and Mu’s speculations.

“That’s boring.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m a boring person,” he provided.

She grumbled and he continued to read. Scooting closer to his arm holding the book, she wedged herself into the crook formed by him and the back of the couch. He shifted slightly, but otherwise let her get comfortable. She curled up so that the side of her head pressed against his chest.

There was a muffled crackling sound, like crinkled paper.

“Hey Dad, do you know about the Snatcher?” She tensed.

“You mean what everyone calls me at work?” He managed a snort. “Or do you mean all that talk of soul-stealing?”

She snapped her head up, baffled.

“Y-you’re okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He met her gaze, though from the way his palm squished his cheek and he leaned back, he seemed far from interested.

“Because it’s not true!” She gestured wildly. “Isn’t that something your dumb books talk about? Unfair deformation of character.”

“I think you mean defamation,” he corrected with a sly grin.

“That too!” she insisted.

“It gets us more customers and makes my job more interesting. So, no. It doesn’t bother me.” He started to tear his gaze away, “But speaking of my dumb books—”

“But you don’t snatch souls or eat them!” She sat up, knocking his book back. He huffed as he lowered his arm. She perched on his stomach. “People are scared of you!”

“There are worst things,” he said in a lackadaisical tone. Since he couldn’t read, he swiveled his head in his chin to look out at the living room. He tapped his sharp nails against his cheek pensively.

“But Dad—”

“Hattie, it doesn’t bother me,” he interrupted, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t you have something you were in the middle of? The whole Snatcher thing doesn’t matter. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

She pressed her lips into a tight line to keep from pouting.

“But why doesn’t it bother you?” she tried once more after a moment.

“Kid, that’s enough.” He wiggled his arm trapped behind her back to coax her off. “Go run along.” He suddenly sucked in a breath and covered a noisy yawn. The creases under his eyes deepened as the shadows stretched away from the light.

Hattie deflated.

“Fine,” she grumbled, scooting forward.

He grunted when she leapt off his stomach, but his focus returned to reading without another comment.

Hattie retrieved his hairdryer and returned to her bathroom, where the prince doll remained drenched. She turned the setting to no heat and plugged it in. While the drone of the hairdryer filled the bathroom, she zoned out.

All this time, she had been trying to shelter her dad from the rumors but apparently, she was the only one who cared that people thought he could suck souls out with his fangs like some sort of vampire who loved to sunbathe and didn’t mind garlic.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered under the whirling hairdryer. She glared down at the faceless prince doll. His mitten hand fluttered precariously while the gash in his bicep caught air and caused his arm to fluff up like it had stuffing again.

Her features softened as she carefully tilted the dryer back and forth.

She would rather her dad wasn’t upset by the rumors, which is why she waited so long to say anything, but somehow it felt lonelier than ever when she was the only one who cared.

With a slight slouch, she turned the dryer away and then carefully rolled the doll onto his stomach. She finished drying him out and placed him on a fresh towel while she cleaned up. And though she passed her dad as he returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug while she was on her way to the laundry room, he didn’t question her bundle of towels under his hairdryer.

Her step gained an enthusiastic bounce when she was finally ready to fix the doll. She carried him back to her workbench and gingerly set him down. For reference, she carefully pried the old storybook from her shelf and opened to the most crinkled set of pages, worn from love and constant rereads under her covers at night.

“Here it is, Prince!” She presented the first illustration of the kindly character with puffy sleeves greeting bluebirds, bunnies, and deer. She winced at the doll’s blank face. “Whoops. You can’t see. But don’t worry! I’ll fix that!”

She propped the book back against the worktable and used the beret and open sewing kit to pin it open. After she grabbed a handful of stuffing from her reserves in one of the drawers, found a button to match his eye, and sorted through the spools she’d need, she finally sat down.

Now that the doll was clean, his vibrant crimson coat and purple boots looked just like the illustration. But the blush on his cheeks had faded and one of the stitches meant to look like laces on his boots had frayed. With steady hands familiar with detail work from all her hat making, she looped thread through a sharp needle and got to work.

Fixing the boot and resewing the buttons was a bit tricky, but once the prince had his eyes again, his blank features regained the warmth she remembered. She stuck her tongue out as she restuffed his arms. At first, she wondered if she could add a little muscle definition but no matter how she finagled the lumps, she couldn’t get them to look right.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with noodles for arms,” she lamented dramatically, tugging out the extra fluff.

His large button eyes stared at the ceiling.

The final challenge was stitching his hand back on, and only because the mitten hand was so tiny. She struggled to keep it in place as she threaded the needle through his wrist. After having to backtrack and redo the area a couple times, she eventually got the hand snuggly back into place. The stitches lined his wrist, mostly concealed by the edges of his sleeve.

Then, she only needed to close the tear in his bicep and was able to hide the work under the gold band of his puffy shoulder. Once she placed the scissors down after snipping the final thread, she leaned back with an exhale. As she stretched out her back, she appraised her work.

“How do you feel?” she asked, cupping the prince doll and giving his arm and wrist a few squeezes. When she tapped his button eyes to ensure they remained firmly in place, she glanced up at the illustration to compare. She jolted.

“Your crown!” She whirled around, looking for the dull accessory that had popped off during the cleaning. Her head snapped down and she heaved a sigh of relief when she noticed it had fallen onto her carpet.

She grabbed the felt crown and procured a piece of scrap cloth leftover from the bright yellow beret she intended to give to her dad when it was finished. Snipping the dull crown to flatten it out, she traced its pattern on the scrap fabric. After she cut it out, she glued the edges together, careful to keep it seamless as she held the ends with tweezers.

“Perfect!” She held the new crown next to the prince’s head. She found a lump near the base of the yarn hair where the other crown had been glued previously and glued on the new crown its place. Once the glue had dried and the crown remained fastened to his head, Hattie beamed at her work.

“You look perfect!” She leapt to her feet, hugging the doll to her chest. “Let’s show you to Dad!” She darted over to the living room, shouts of excitement welling from her pride, but she skidded to a stop when she found him fast asleep on the couch.

She heaved out a sigh that dissolved into a blown raspberry.

Oh well.

Since even the book flopped open on his chest visibly quivered from his shivering, she crossed over to the wicker basket filled with throws and blankets and grabbed his favorite from the top. She dragged it over him with one hand, but when she reached the book with pages folding at odd angles, she looked from the blanket pinched in one hand and the prince doll cradled in the other.

“Watch him for me for a second,” she whispered to the prince, dropping the blanket and trading him for the book.

Her dad flinched in his sleep at the sudden shift, but she was too busy locating his bookmark on the coffee table to notice. After guessing where he left off, she placed the closed book next to his mug, which still had a puddle of coffee. She turned back around to find her dad twitching.

“Dad?” She reached out but recoiled at how much heat he radiated.

While his eyes remained squeezed shut, his chest jerked under the limp doll. Panicked panting gripped his restless slumber but before Hattie could try to wake him, he turned to his side, flinging the doll away as he twisted. Hattie bent to catch the prince as her dad’s breathing slowly returned to a calmer pace.

She placed the doll back on the table, fretting as she watched her dad’s tight brows relax. His long, spiky black hair tumbled over his sweaty features, but once his exhales fluttered out like a flickering ember, he began shivering again. Hattie crinkled her nose, holding the back of her hand to his forehead covered by hair and then to his clawed fingers.

Almost like ice.

Unsure whether she wanted to wake him after that, she tugged the blanket the rest of the way and watched him for a few seconds longer. He usually felt colder at night, often kindling the image of a campfire dwindling as those around it slept, but his sudden spike in temperature concerned her.

Was he getting sick?

A few more moments passed, and he remained steady. Hattie gnawed on her lip but decided not to worry. If she woke him up when nothing was wrong, he’d just get grumpy. She’d make sure to check on him later, though.

When grabbing the prince doll, she found it trembled in her palm. She tried to meter her own breathing to soothe herself, thinking her dad’s temperature spike had left her more shaken than she realized. She calmed enough to stop shivering after nestling the doll into the plush pile next to her pillow. But as she walked away to get ready for bed, she did not realize that the prince doll continued to tremble on his own.

Slowly, and like a heartbeat that just remembered its pulse.

#a hat in time #ahit prince #ahit snatcher #ahit hat kid #ahit dadtcher #build-a-bear au #my writing #friend art #smieska-draws #smieska #*Jessie's song from toy story 2 plays in the distance*#'so the years went by~ i stayed the same~'#'i was left alone...'#i love this au for all the accidental toy story refs we can squeeze in #but also when somebody loved me is just a prince song... look deep into your heart... you know its true #ANYWAY I LOVE THIS ART SO MUCH GO GIVE SMIESKA ALL THE LOVE #THIS IS IT!!! THIS IS THE PIECE THAT INSPIRED ME SO MUCH I HAD TO WRITE THE MOONJUMPER BIT ;O;#LITERALLY HAD IT OPEN ON ONE SIDE OF THE SCREEN WITH THE WORD DOCUMENT ON THE OTHER #DOLL PRINCE IS JUST SO CUTE!!!!!! LOOK AT HIS LIL ROUNDED TOESES #LOOK AT THAT DETAIL ON THE SLEEVES AND THAT EMBROIDERED HEART #HIS LIL BUTTON EYES AND HIS YARN HAIR!!!!!#THE COWLICK STICKING OUT OF THE CROWN!!!!! ITS INCREDIBLE AND DARLING AND I LOVE HIM #HIS MITTEN HANDS!!!!!!!!#I WANNA GENTLY HOLD HIM #okay i'll stop crying now but seriously GO SHOWER SMIESKA WITH LOVE AND ADORATION AND ALL THE FELT HEARTS

132 notes · View notes

pansypr3p · 4 years ago

Text

Concept:

(Before season finale (goldifying) but after the big mega bunny-explosion thing)

The Mod Frogs are short on food because of Scarlemange taking food for his coronation. Harris is considered a low-ranking frog due to Jamack’s exile, and others (besides Kwat, of course) don’t care for him because of this and his combined unusual appearance, so he is given a very small, non-sustainable ration amount.

So, Harris eventually gets desperate enough to try and steal food, and gets caught. This gathers a crowd, and eventually Kwat comes out to see what the ruckus is. Kwat sees Harris cornered, without Mrs. Sartori or any other authority figures in sight, and so Kwat backs him up.

Unfortunately, this only gets the both of them exiled. To add injury to insult, the group of frogs, meant to shadow them as they leave in order to make sure they actually leave, end up attacking them to try and steal their meager items. Kwat manages to get out of the fight relatively intact, having had a larger ration amount and as such, being stronger, but Harris is pretty heavily injured, having been mildly dehydrated, and hungry. The bruises littering his unusually pale skin were much larger than they really should have been, his eye was partially swollen, and the large gash on his arm was slightly inflamed, which was concerning.

Tie already cut, and his suit now in tatters, it broke all illusions of still being a Mod Frog. Harris hadn’t even bothered even trying to button his suit back up, he knew it was useless. He just discarded the external suit jacket, and tore his already ravaged sleeves all the way off so they could be used as bandaging for his wounds. His colorful arms were now showing clearly now, which was certainly a shocking act, considering all of his… hang-ups about them.

Kwat did the same, throwing aside her suit jacket and rolling up her sleeves. She looked more intimidating this way- her undershirt showed off her muscular frame well, and she knew it.

They traveled aimlessly for a short while, before deciding, albeit a bit hopelessly, to try and find Jamack. So, they set out to search for clues and information on where Jamack is. It takes a month or so of traveling through Las Vistas and other nearby parts of the wasteland, and way too many deals and… favors, but eventually they figure out he’s in Timbercat Village.

Luckily, since they’re relatively near the Timbercat Forest, it only takes another half month or so of traveling to get there. Unfortunately, they’re in the driest area near Las Vistas, and even less fortunately the half-month they travel is full of small but nonetheless harmful skirmishes, and the two combined work to worsen Harris’ already poor condition.

Kwat grows increasingly worried as Harris seems to get more and more tired, more and more quiet, but whenever she brings it up he simply shrugs it off, until one day, after a particularly harsh battle with some of the Umlaut Snake gang, Kwat suggests they stop and rest for the night, and Harris snaps. “No! We will not stop until we reach Jamack, we cannot afford to! Don’t you dare forget about what we’ve gone through to get here! What I had to do to get us here!” He yelled, throwing his hands up and tossing his spiked bat on the ground. He turns away from her, and crouches on the ground, hands on his face, “We- we need to reach Jamack as soon as possible, Kwat- I… Kwat… I don't think I… I don’t think I- I’ll make it much longer l-ike this,” He drags one hand down his face, voice breaking, and Kwat can see the shine of his tears in the last rays of the yellow-orange sunset.

They had become... closer, in the time they traveled together, and so Kwat felt she could get away with comforting him as he was currently. She approached him, and sat down beside him. She draped her arm across his slim shoulders, and pulled him closer. He leaned into her, and let out a strangled croak of distress. She spoke quietly, “Harris, we need to rest. I’m sorry about… what we had to do get here, I- I’m sorry that was ever necessary. I can’t fix that for you, Harris, hell. I can’t even fix it for- for m-myself,” She let out a strangled laugh, and Harris looked up at her sympathetically, “Just.. know I’m here for you. We’re in this shithole together. And… Look, you need food, and we both need water and sleep. Let’s just set up camp here, and I’ll go see if I can find anything in those stores we saw earlier. Okay?”

Harris takes a deep breath, and nods shakily, “O-okay. I… I can do that. Thanks for.. that. I.. Try not to get into any trouble, Kwat. Just…please stay safe. I.. I need you here with me,” His voice got quieter as he spoke, and remained shaky, but it still brought a small, sad smile to Kwat's face. She nodded to him, and grabbed her bag before getting up to travel back in the direction of the small town they passed earlier.

Harris focused on getting their, albeit limited, supplies out and set up, ready for when Kwat was back, which wasn’t for another hour and a half. When she did finally return, it was thankfully with a day or two's worth of food, a small sum of water, and the metaphorical holy grail, medical supplies.

Not just any medical supplies either, but pain killers and vaseline, which could be mixed and applied to their skin so they could easily absorb it. Kwat helped prepare and apply it, which was… a bit awkward, considering that his injuries were virtually everywhere on his body, but nonetheless it helped, immensely so. After they were done with that, they snacked on some of the food, and Kwat insisted Harris take the majority of the water despite being almost as dehydrated as he was. Kwat took first watch, of course, and Harris slept.. reasonably peacefully, bearing in mind what he’d been through.

After another few days of traveling, they come across their worst fight yet. They had been raiding a small apartment building that turns out to belong to the Humming Bombers. Harris manages to pack up a fair amount of stuff and run while Kwat holds them off, but this results in Kwat obtaining a substantial burn injury on her abdomen from one of the nectar bomb blasts. Now, with both of them having potentially lethal injuries, their only hope is to make it to the Timbercat Village before something terrible happens.

Finally, they make it to Timbercat Village. After weeks of traveling with injuries, having to scavenge for even a little food, they make it to their destination. They manage to limp their way to the entrance of the Main Hall, where Jamack comes out to see what the ruckus is about.

Harris passes out nearly immediately.

He manages to croak out weakly, fallen, hands and knees on the ground, “Jamack…I-I’m sorry for what we did, f-f-for what I did.. but I…I j-just… hnngh,” he groans, arms buckling and giving out, he continues in a raspy whisper, “Help us… a-at least help her… sh-she deserves it… please, Jamack… p-please,” before he completely passes out.

Kwat falls with him, sitting next to his prone body, breath shallow. She presses a hand to her chest wound, and hisses out a strangled “F-fuck,” Trying, and very nearly failing, to contain a pained croak. Jamack is still standing in the entrance, mouth agape, trying to find his words.

“Kwat, what… what happened? I.. I thought…” he trailed off, as Kwat chuckled, and then coughed. She put a hand to her mouth as she coughed, and it came away stained with red. Jamack gave a small gasp, followed by an aborted move to try and put a hand on her.

“There’s a food shortage back ho- back at The Pond. We- Harris needed more food. We got caught, and… and we paid the price for it,” she looks away from him. “We’ve been on the road for about a month and a half, now. Harris.. Harris isn’t doing well, Jamack, I know…” Her breathing stutters and Jamack rushes forwards and sets his hand on her shoulder before jerking it back, as if burned.

She continues, “I know we didn’t help you, when you were… exiled, but, please Jamack. If you really want us gone… well. You know what to do if you- you really want us gone. I.. I wouldn’t blame you. But, please, just let us rest here for a day or two. We haven’t made camp in days, a-and-“ A coughing fit overtakes her for a moment, before she continues, raspier and quieter than before, “I don’t think he’ll make it much longer, Jamack. He.. he’s not good. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll make it much longer,” she looks at her blood stained hand, “I don’t think I will. So, wh-hat do you say, Jamack, for… for old times sake?”

She looks at him, staring right into what feels like the very center of his being.

He shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around this. Misinterpreting this as a ‘No’, Kwat very nearly starts crying, letting out a small croak.

Jamack rushes to correct her, lifting his hands up towards her “No- no, not like that, I- I mean, yes, of course, you can stay- please stay, let me take care of you, let me help you, you- you’ve always been my family, you’re so important to me, Kwat, I- I’ll never stop wanting you and Harris near me, just- just stay with me, please,” his hands relocate themselves, one ending up on his leg, the other on his face.

Kwat lets go, and tears stream down her face silently. She laughs, swears to herself that this is fake, we could never get this lucky- except for this is real, she’s always known Jamack was emotional, she just thought his ability to hold grudges would hold out more.. more than his love for them. She was sure it was love, from the look in his eyes to knowing what he was feeling, she felt the same. They were family. They always had been, since when they were tadpoles.

She hesitantly holds her arms out, and Jamack practically dives in, careful to avoid her injury. Kwat’s hugs are the best.

16 notes · View notes

krattgirl124 · 4 years ago

Text

Core Activated Chapter 9

The year was 1987, four horrible years without Belle, Elizabeth, Chris, Charlie, and Henry. William had turned cold against his last remaining son and just focused on his new restaurant, Freddy Fazbear’s Jr. He was busy setting up three animatronics on stage while Michael was setting up the last one in the Kid’s Cove. On the stage had a brown plastic bear with a black top hat, blue eyes, and pink cheeks, on his left, a bright blue bunny with a red bow tie that matched his red rosy cheeks, bright green eyes, and a white muzzle. On the bear’s right, a yellow chicken with a bib that said “Let’s Party”, a small pink cupcake that matched her pink cheeks, and bright blue eyes.

In the Kid’s Cove stood the white and pink fox with red lipstick and cheeks, a hook on one of her hands and a pink heart-shaped symbol on her chest. William couldn’t stand to look at it, which is why he made Michael do it, it looked too similar to Kay and he did not want to be thinking about that wolf that he locked away again. He didn’t really believe that Kay held Belle’s spirit. Kay was just mocking him, just like in his dream.

He finished with Toy Bonnie and left the stage. He walked by Michael and he glared at his only son with extreme hatred.

“Father—“

“If you want to make it up to me after the crap you pulled. I have one option and only one.” William cut him off, “Some engineers have claimed that the supposed deactivated animatronics in Circus Baby’s are moving around. You are you go down and see what’s going on.” William growled. Michael opened his mouth to protest then quickly closed.

“Okay.” he mumbled. “When do I leave?”

“The sooner the better,” William replied. “The sooner you leave the sooner I'll stop seeing you.”

Michael slowly nodded and left the building, heading to his car. He looked back at the pizzeria before driving to where he last saw Circus Baby’s Pizza World. The building had been knocked down, and rebuilt underground for who knows what. But thankfully it was built just right underneath where it use to be.

“So many awful memories lie here.” He mumbled, getting out of his car and opening the trapdoor, dropping into the elevator. On the way down Michael felt as if someone was watching him even though there was no one there. A small keypad appeared and Michael walked over to it. He typed in the first thing that came to mind, which was Eggs Benedict. He chuckled to himself and set it to default as a joke for the next person who used it. As the elevator stopped creepy laughter ran in Michael’s ears. His heart leapt into his throat and he quickly ducked into the vent.

“I didn't do anything!” he said as he crawled deeper into the vent.

‘First off let’s check on Ballora to see if she’s on stage.’ The hand unit voice said. Michael shrugged a later and pressed on the light button for Ballora Gallery, it was empty.

“What the…?” Michael stared at the empty stage, there was no trace of Ballora or her minireenas.

‘Looks like Ballora doesn’t feel like dancing. Let’s give her a controlled shock.’

“A controlled shock huh?” He looked at the red button and pressed it. A loud zap was heard and a loud screech emitted from the room.

‘Let's check on Ballora again.’

Michael pressed the button again and Ballora was on her stage, dancing away with her minireenas.

“Fascinating, they actually still work.” He said in awe.

Back in Freddy’s Jr, locked away in the darkest parts of Parts and Service, Kay lied on the floor in a sleep-like state. Her paws twitched rapidly and the faint whirs on her rusty gears were the only sounds in the room.

“Chris…...mommy’s here…..don’t worry mommy’s here…..” she mumbled in her sleep. A dark figure appeared and crouched next to the white wolf.

“Just you watch Belle.” the figure hissed. “You'll soon lose your eldest and last child. What good is a mother who can't protect her own children? How does it feel to know you failed? Failed as a sister. Failed as a wife. And failed as a mother.”

‘How do you feel to know you let everyone down and didn't do a thing to stop it?” the figure stood and grinned at the helpless wolf, “And your youngest son suffered much more than you think, the nightmares I gave him and you were never there to protect him from these nightmares, making you fail even more as a mother.” Kay whimpered in her sleep state and the figure laughed.

The figure smiled and disappeared back into the darkness. When she walked out she was in Ballora’s Gallery watching Michael who was looking at Funtime Foxy. Just as Michael pressed the shock button Willow snapped her fingers cutting the power off making Michael curse. Looks like Funtime Foxy is back on stage. The voice said.

“Funtime Foxy isn’t even there!” Michael protested making the figure smirk. Michael kicked the wall and cried out in pain as his foot hit the metal wall.

“Idiot.” the figure hissed. Michael held his foot for a minute before crawling through the vent to Circus Baby’s Auditorium. The figure smiled and crawled in after him. Michael froze and glanced behind him. His eyes widened in shock and he scrambled back.

“Who-who are you?”

“I’m your aunt Willow and the last face you’ll ever see.” the figure said. Michael crawled faster into the vent and Willow followed slowly and calmly. Michael burst into the Auditorium and dashed into a small open space under a desk. He dragged the metal door in front of him and turned his flashlight off, he had nearly forgotten about it.

The figure chuckled and summoned two small animatronics called Bidybabs, which peeked through the holes of the door while trying to pull it open. Michael gritted his teeth and pulled the door shut.

“Crap crap crap crap!!” Michael yelled, still holding it closed.

As the figure watched the last Afton child struggle to keep the little animatronics away, heavy footsteps approached behind her.

“Stay away from my brother!” A familiar voice yelled, a claw lashing out to attack the figure, but it went right through them. Willow spun around to see Circus Baby/Elizabeth glaring at her aunt. Willow laughed and shot out a black tendril at the animatronic. Circus Baby dashed to the side narrowly missing Willow’s attack. Willow growled and shot up black tendrils around Circus Baby’s legs.

“Get off!” Circus Baby hissed as she started to struggle. Michael took his chance and dashed past Willow and Circus Baby.

“Not so fast.” Willow hissed and summoned several tendrils to shred open Michael’s back.

“No, you don’t.” Circus Baby said before punching Willow in the face. This time it hit Willow and she stumbled back in surprise as Michael made it safely out of the Auditorium and rushed to the elevator. Willow hissed and used her claw-like nails to cut into the animatronics circuit deactivating Circus Baby.

“You little brat, always interrupting my plans. Looks like I’m gonna need to dismantle you.” Willow growled.

“Elizabeth?” Funtime Freddy’s voice was suddenly heard as the large bear pulled himself through the vent and into the Gallery. Willow glared at him and threw a thin needle, piercing through the hard suit and endoskeleton, deactivating him.

“I’ll have to deal with both of you later.” Willow snarled as she left the Gallery.

Michael ran for his life. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he didn’t like one bit. Who’s Willow? Why did Circus Baby protect him and call him brother? All of these questions flooded his mind and he had other things to do. One of those things, get home safely and tell his father what he saw. They were active, they were alive, they were sentient. He got out of the elevator and rushed to his car, driving home.

#fnaf #fnaf1 #fnaf2 #fnaf3 #fnaf4 #FNAFSL #fnaf sister location #fnaf pizzeria simulator #afton family #william afton #chris afton #michael afton #elizabeth afton #fnaf story #Core Activated #belle afton #mrs afton

11 notes · View notes

maybeimwierd · 4 years ago

Text

Mastermind!Danganronpa edits 2 explained!

This is the explanation for design choices in my 2nd batch of mastermind edits you can find right over here so I hope you all enjoy

7. Kokichi Ouma

Fun fact I actually started on this edit in the middle of Father’s Day which is kokichis birthday and I finished it early morning the next day, also I did the sketch in a car because I was coming home from a family members house right after I started it. Of course I like red buttons hehe so I have them to him, his outfit is mostly white so I changed his sleeves to be black and I made his pants to be red with those weird straps black. I love that I gave him face paint but it’s kinda hard to see the white part, I was going to color half his face black instead of white but I realized it could be taken as racist which I am not (ok when I say it like that I sound like I’m in denial but I swear I’m not) but of course red monokuma eye around the characters left eye hehe

8. Tenko Chabashira

Hers was actually the first edit that I actually redrew the whole sprite rather than putting stuff over it so you can tell my skill gets better after this one! I actually had originally thought up the headband first and I wanted to make the base red so I made the monokuma eye be pink which honestly is cuter and I made her hair ties be pink to match! I made her weird green hair thingys be black and white because monokuma also they are fun to color then I made her choker black. I decided to replace her cropped uniform shirt with a sports bra which is something women usually wear when they workout at the gym also hehe hoohoo it’s red with a nice black and white trim! I think adding a third layer to her skirt makes it looks puffier and cuter so I’m glad I did that hehe!

9. Kazuichi Soda

There is actually a cancelled draft of Kazuichi! The way I do these edits is by asking my buds over on Crackganronpa (a Dr discord server) who they want to see as a mastermind next, the owner requested Kazuichi but I didn’t want to do the method I did with Tenko because I felt it took way too long so I tried to do my color over method but it was too complicated due to his hair and I had spent around 2 hours just trying to color his hair white so I cancelled him and told them “I’m willing to continue on Kazuichi but if I do then I’m starting over” and they really wanted to see him so I redrew his sprite also so now you all have this Kazuichi! I liked the idea of him dying his hair again if he was a mastermind (because he canonically dyes his hair pink) and I liked coloring his hat black because it matched the white. I decided to color his jumpsuit red and give it pink accents but I colored his shirt last minute and if I was thinking I would have made it black, I had fun replacing the logo on his jumpsuit and making those buttons! I have 2 fun facts about that hammer he has there, it’s actually a large recolored version of the hammer I gave to Mastermind!Angie, the second fun fact is that I actually was listening to Sonias voice lines while doing the hammer. Adding onto that last fun fact when doing the lines for the face I was listening to Ibuki’s voice lines and was listening to Celeste’s voice lines while coloring the suit.

10. Chihiro Fujisaki

This one is truly where I have peaked in design (well for now, don’t know when I’ll strike genius again) so I’m very proud of this Chihiro and my Angie! I’ll start with saying that CHIHIRO IS NOT A TRANS GIRL THAT IS A FACT THEY LITTERALLY WERE BULLIED INTO BEING A GIRL so I gave him some super cool pants and it was fun drawing that belt! I took away his overcoat so you can see his dress shirt and I replaced the coat with a super cool cape!!!! It was fun to come up how the cape is layered the left side going over the right side with a part on top. This was a idea I loved so much and wanted to put on a edit (right under using that cape idea) which is the big Ol fairy flower hat! His design was lowkey based off fantasy things! I felt the design needed one more thing so I lightly airbrushed his face to give him a sickly and sort of pale look. This was also the edit that I started adding the fabric overlay on

11. Korekiyo Shinguji

Now this one! This is a doozy! Lots of little details here and there but first things first, if Korekiyo was a mastermind he would definitely have trinkets here and there from the dead students (also in these mastermind universes the person who is the mastermind in the game they are from dies instead of them) so feel free to guess what thing belongs to who! I believe Korekiyo would want to dress liek the original mastermind and it was fun to give him big pigtails like her, he is wearing a ripped sleeve from one of the dead students (won’t specify but it was hard to get it from under where it was from) and the tie is from another student instead like the one the original dr1 mastermind wore and the little buttons are from other students, the gloved hand is ripped as a little detail and I think that Korekiyo could definitely rocks a skirt! This is truly my husband heehee

12. Yasuhiro Hagakure

This edit came into my home and pissed on my clothes then shit in my sink I am not proud of this one at all just like Kaito (if the 18th mastermind sucks I think that makes it a pattern) so here’s why. I was going to do this like the others but I didn’t want to spend hours tracing the lines for his hair so I just added some bear ears and a monokuma eye over his left one. I changed the yellow from his shirt and pants string to be a nice red and I made the inside of his jacket use the pattern I originally made for Kaito! Yay recycling. Fun fact I was listening to a He///va B//s BLM charity stream (I censored I don’t want fans of the series to come across this in the tag due to how tumblr works and they might get spoiled) also the sprite I used actually was sweaty faced so I removed it to make him look smug. I also removed his stubble because if he was betraying his friends he definitely would wanna look nice for it. The pattern used for Kaito and Yasuhiro is downloadable in the previous explanation post for use!

#danganronpa #drthh #sdr2 #drv3 #kokichi ouma #tenko chabashira #kazuichi soda #chihiro fujisaki #korekiyo shinuji #yasuhiro hagakura

4 notes · View notes

aprilqueen84 · 5 years ago

Text

Halloween Treat

A/N: Today is the one year anniversary of my story “Halloween Treat.” So I decided to edit it a bit and post again. If you have already read it or if this is your first time I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: The Swan-Jones family are in for an extra special treat this Halloween

Tag List: @hollyethecurious, @resident-of-storybrooke, @kmomof4, @jennjenn615, @nikkiemms, @kingofmyheart14, @xemmaloveskillianx, @angellifedeath, @facesiousbutton82, @a-faekindagirl, @kymbersmith-90, @winterbaby89, @ekr032-blog-blog, @laschatzi, @teamhook, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @capswantrue, @bmbbcs4evr, @kday426, @tiganasummertree, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @Ifh1962-Ifh1226-linda @met8, @meganhinsley, @captswanis4vr, @laurielulou,

Emma stood in front of the bathroom mirror staring at her costume for Granny’s Halloween party tonight. Earlier in the week Hope had overheard her conversation with Snow and had been so excited, saying that she wanted to wear “matching” costumes with mommy. She just couldn’t say no when she looked up at her with those bright green eyes of hers. When her daughter had told her what she wanted them to dress up as Emma shouldn’t have been surprised “Winnie-the-Pooh” is one of Hope’s favorite books and movies.

“You will look so cute Emma,” her mother had said, but she didn’t feel cute. At nine months pregnant and her due date less than three weeks away all she felt was tired and her back has been hurting all day so she was entitled to be a little grumpy. Okay, so the costume was really cute and very comfortable. She was dressed in a long sleeved yellow dress with a short red shirt over it resting just above her belly. On top of her head sat bear eared headband, and to round out the outfit she was dressed in black leggings with ballet flats.

She picks up a black drawing pencil to color her nose that will put the final touches on her “Pooh” costume when she heard a knock on the door and Killian’s voice. “Swan, are you almost done? We don’t want to be late.”

She finishes and puts down the pencil and calls out. “Yeah. I’m coming!” She walks out of the bathroom to see her husband bent down fixing their little “Piglets” ears. Killian was dressed in black slacks with a long white button down shirt with half of the buttons undone to reveal a blue under-shirt with a large S in the center. Also a tie hung loosely around his neck, slicked back hair and thick fake black glasses completed his Clark Kent/Superman costume.

Hope looked over to see her mother standing in the doorway. “Mommy!” the three year old called out as she ran up to Emma and hugged her around her legs. “You look pretty mommy.”

Emma looked down at Hope. Her head barely visible over her large bump and smiled at her. “Thank you baby girl. You look pretty too.” Hope giggled and stepped back and to twirl in front of her parents as Emma and Killian giving each other amused looks. She was dressed in a long sleeved shirt, the sleeves of which were pale pink while the rest was dark pink with black lining. She was also wearing a pink tutu, and the finishing touch was a headband with pink pig ears on top of her dark blonde hair. “Are you excited to go to the party sweetheart?”

Hope nodded her head in excitement. “Yes it’s going to be so much fun!” All of a sudden she got quiet and asked. “Mommy. Daddy. It’s not going to be scary is it?” her bottom lip started to tremble and tears filled her eyes. Killian went forward and immediately lifted her up in his arms, while Emma came forward to rub circles on their little girls back.

They gave each other confused looks at Hope’s change of emotions. Killian was the first to speak to his daughter. “Cygnet of course it’s not going to be scary. We are only going to Granny’s darling,” but Hope didn’t look convinced.

Emma lifted her hand to wipe her daughter’s tears and tried her hand at reassuring her. “We promise you baby there is nothing to be afraid of, okay. We will be with you the whole time,” Hope looked at both of them for a few seconds, before finally nodding her head in acceptance. “Alright now why don’t you go downstairs and grab your shoes, Daddy and I will be down in a minute?” They each gave her a kiss the cheek then Killian set her down on the ground and she left the room.

After she left they turned to face each other, arms going around each other. “Hello love. How are you and the babe doing?” Killian asked moving is hand down to rest on her belly.

Emma moved her hand to rest over his and replied. “We’re fine. Although your son is making my back hurt and I really do look like a fat bear in this outfit,” She rubbed their hands up and down over her bump when suddenly their son gave a big kick to where their hands were. They both smiled down at where they felt the kick.

“I think the wee lad disagrees with you love and I have to say I think he’s right you look smashing,” Emma looked at him tenderly, he always made her feel special and beautiful when she wasn’t feeling either.

“Well I think you make the perfect Superman, soft and strong at the same time,” their gazes met and they both leaned forward, but before their lips could meet the baby sent a sharp kick to Emma’s ribs. “Ow!” she gasped. Clutching her stomach tight, breathing in deeply for a few seconds until the pain stopped.

“Emma! What’s wrong?” Killian asked her in a panic. He had never seen her react that way to one of the babies kicks before.

“Nothing. I guess he just doesn’t want to be late for the party. We should get down to Hope,” she gave him a small smile and a quick kiss before turning and headed downstairs.

When they got to Granny’s the party was already underway. The diner had been transformed, white cobwebs covered the ceiling with spiders of various sizes attached to them. The counter had several cauldrons with white smoke bubbling out of them and onto the floor. White candle “ghosts” with black felt glued on them sat on all the booth table tops. Tall “dead” trees with fake bats attached to them are standing in the corner of the diner.

“Wow! Granny’s did a wonderful job with the decorations,” Killian observed as they walked through the doors. Glancing down at Hope who was looking at the room in awe. “See little love it’s not scary at all right?” Hope nodded her head in agreement. With that she was off and running over to the apple bobbing game where her grandparents and her Uncle Neal were dressed as pirate’s. He looked over to Emma who had been strangely quiet since they left the house and she had also been rubbing her side allot. “Swan, everything ok,” he asked gently touching her arm.

Emma jumped a little at his touch. She admits she hadn’t been paying much attention to anything since they got here or really since they left the house. “What?” she asks confused.

“I asked if everything is okay. You’ve been really quiet tonight and rubbing your side love, are you feeling alright?” Killian turned her to face him, putting his hand and hook on her arms.

“Killian I’m fine I,” Emma paused when she saw the look on his face. The one that he gives her when he knows she is not being a hundred percent truthful. “Fine! My back is still hurting and my ribs are still sore from where the baby kicked me earlier,” she confessed. He didn’t say anything until he suddenly took her by the hand and led her to one of the booths. “Killian what are you doing?” she said, bewildered by her husband's behavior.

He gently lowered her down into the seat. “Swan. Why didn’t you tell me you were still in pain, maybe we shouldn’t have come tonight,” He said frantically pulling a chair up next to her. “I think that you should rest here for the rest of the night,” his hand hovered over her not sure where it was safe to touch her, afraid he would cause her more pain if he touched her.

Emma took his hand in hers. “Killian calm down, I’m fine,” she reassured him. He went to protest, but she cut him off firmly. “I’m nine moths pregnant, everything is going to hurt at this point,” she raised her hand to his cheek and her touch immediately calmed him.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Killian turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “I overreacted. Forgive me?” His eyes meet hers and she pulled him forward into a loving kiss.

When they pulled back she responded. “Of course I forgive you, I love that you worry about us and want to take care of us,” she paused before saying. “How about this, I promise to rest if I need too and I will tell you if anything feels different deal?”

Killian nodded his head. “Aye. Deal love,” he bent his down to her belly. “Now my little lad, I need you to be good for your mommy alright?” his eyes moved to Emma’s and gave her a wink.

Emma giggled at her husband. “Okay baby whisperer how about you go help our daughter out,” she said pointing over to where Hope was playing the “Witch Hat” ring toss but not being able to quite get the glow stick ring to land on the hat. Emma could see the frustration start to grow on Hope’s face. “Go on Man-of-Steel, go save the day,” Killian pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead, stood up and walked over to their daughter.

A few hours later Emma was once again sitting in the booth seat. She had been up a few times making the rounds chatting with everyone. She helped Hope decorate her pumpkin at the arts and crafts table, and played a few games with Killian and Hope now it was time to go. As soon as she thought that a sharp pain shot through her side, the strongest of the night. “Ok buddy just let me get daddy and we can go.”

She felt bad for keeping Killian in the dark all night about her contractions. They had already been here by the time she knew for sure that’s what the pain in her back really was. The pain they thought was the baby kicking had been the first real contraction of the night, but they had been far apart and brief. It was only within the last hour that they had started to grow in intensity and frequency, so it was time to get Killian and go to the hospital.

Killian had been keeping an eye on Emma all night looking for signs of discomfort. While he could tell she was a little uncomfortable, it seemed that what had been ailing her had passed. He was talking to Rogers when he spots Emma making her way back over to the booth walking slower than normal and holding her side. He excuses himself, when he gets to the booth Emma is breathing deeply, rubbing her belly. “Emma darling what’s wrong?” he asked anxiously.

Emma raised up a finger, indicating to give her a minute. After a few more deep breaths she looked at him and said,“Killian I think we should go.”

“Alright I’ll go fetch Hope and tell everyone we are going home,” he went to turn, when Emma put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“No, Killian not home. To the hospital, the baby’s coming.” She told him.

Killian’s eyes grew large and he crouched down in front of her. “What! Emma are you sure, when did it start?” he asked her in a hurried voice.

“Yes I am sure. It first started at the house. You know the pain in my back and the baby’s kick, well it was actually labor pains,” she stopped as another contraction hit her, grasping Killian’s hand. When it stopped she said breathlessly. “and it’s been getting steadily worse all night.”

Killian reached out to place a hand on her belly, he could feel how tight it was. “Emma why didn’t you tell me?”

Emma covered his hand with her. “Because I didn’t want to ruin tonight for Hope, she was so excited to come and dress up together and I just couldn’t disappoint her,” she sighed. “Besides it’s still in the early stages, my water hasn't even broken yet, but I think it’s getting closer.”

Killian jumped up and carefully lifted her up onto her feet, slowly walking her over to where her parents were, informing them that they were about to have a new grandson. Shock and then happiness overtook them, as they said goodbye to Hope she was confused as to why she couldn’t go with them. They told her that they needed her to stay with her grandma and grandpa and the next time she sees them, she will get to meet her new baby brother. When they got into the car, they face each other and smiled, they were going to have another baby.

When they got to the hospital they were admitted very quickly, the perks of being the Sheriff and Deputy of the town. As Emma was changing in her hospital gown and Killian into borrowed scrubs, her water finally broke and from there it was very fast pace. When the doctor came in to examine Emma, she was shocked to discover that she was already ten centimeters dilated. A short time later Emma was pushing with Killian beside her holding her hand and giving her words of encouragement. “Come on Swan, you can do this,” she gave one finally push and a few seconds later a healthy cry rang out into the room.

Killian and Emma both cried in relief, Killian leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. The doctor lifted up their son and placed him directly onto to Emma’s chest.

“Oh Emma! He is so beautiful,” he reached his finger out to gently stroke his cheek. “Hello there my lad I’m your daddy and this is your mummy.”

Emma looked down at her son in awe. “He’s here Killian. He is finally here,” she leaned in to kiss his forehead. “He still needs a name,” she paused in thought, “What about Aiden?”

Killian pondered for a second. “Aiden? Aye my love that's a fine name, we still set on his middle name?” she nodded her head. “ Well then it settled welcome to the world Aiden Leo Jones.”

The End

#Captain Swan #Halloween Treat #Fic Anniversary #emma swan jones #killian jones #hope jones #CS fic

50 notes · View notes

roserozu22 · 5 years ago

Text

Crack

Author’s note: I am so sorry for this late update! I have meant to write this chapter but due to me travelling a lot this year and every time I come back from travelling, I will always end up forgetting to write or I end up getting busy helping my family. So, this chapter is once again unbetae'd as I made you all wait for a long time, so all mistakes are mine. You can find me on twitter RoseRozu1. I am also thinking of creating a Curious Cat account. Let me know if you like the idea. Also, during the lockdown I’m planning to try and write new chapters that do not be beta read online daily... so please bear with me and stay safe and follow your local governments guideline, I am sending you all my love from the United Kingdom! Oh and Happy Easter x)

It was still afternoon, Aoba, and Ren who is still a tall and has a very pale complexion young man, due to his avatar settings. He sports dark blue hair reminiscent of his fur, a headdress that covers his eyes, and a large dark blue cape covering most of his body down to his knees. He wears light grey pants with a black belt and blue boots that look like his cape... are still in the Rhyme field, however, Aoba is acting weird.

“Ren, attack!” Aoba commanded coldly. Ren followed albeit reluctantly as he knew that something was wrong with his human and tried to find out what. However, after Ren’s attack Aoba went back to normal.

“Ren, what did I just do?!” Aoba asked.

“I don’t know, but it looked like that you played Rhyme before.” Ren answered while trying to scan Aoba.

‘These readings...’ Ren thought as he scanned Aoba, ‘I’ll need to keep an eye on Aoba.’ He then felt an attack and heard Aoba shout “Ren! No!”

“Your all mate is just a tool why care so much?” The rabbit man asked.

“I care for Ren and I want to get out of this stupid Rhyme game!” Aoba answered.

“Well then the only way to get out of here is for one of us losses.” The rabbit man explained. “Attack them with no mercy!”

The rabbit mans all mate followed the command and continually attacks Ren and Aoba even when Ren tries to defend and Aoba running away from the bunnies.

“This is bullshit man!” Aoba swore as narrowly missed one of the rabbits shaped all mate.

After a short while both Ren and Aoba lost the game.

“Well this was a waste of my time.” The rabbit man murmured, however as he about to leave, Aoba and Ren’s health points started to go up. “How is that happening?” The rabbit man asked himself and his all mate in awe.

“It’s time to end this,” Aoba said in a cold voice and with the following words Destruction and Death Aoba destroyed the Rhyme field.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

Back in the real world, Aoba tried to not lose his conscious to find out if Ren is okay but he failed and someone with a gas mask picked up Aoba bridal style and picked up Ren and placed him on Aoba’s lap took them too Aoba’s workplace along with Aoba’s bag, meanwhile the rabbit man took of his mask as he was running away the from the scene and caught himself on the fence. “Shit!” he said as he looked at his wound and continued staring at it for a long period of time.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

After about ten to twenty minutes the guy with the gas mask arrived at Mediocrity.

“I’m sorry sir, but we are about to close for lunch,” Haga said apologetically while cleaning the twerps mess, but as he looked up, he saw someone holding an unconscious Aoba bridal style while having Ren on his lap.

“Take then too the staff room, I’ll just have to call his grandmother.”

The man with the gas mask nodded and started to walk towards the staff room. While Haga walked to the reception desk and rang Tae’s house phone.

“Hello, this is the Seragaki residence. This is Tae speaking.” Tae greeted.

“Hello, this is Haga from Mediocrity I’m calling on behalf of your grandson.”

“What did that brat do now?” Tae growled.

“Miss Seragaki, I think he was in a Rhyme battle.”

“He hasn’t been in a Rhyme battle for years, why would he do one now?”

“I think it was a drive by, he looked pretty beat up plus he was carried here by an unknown person.

“…”

“Miss Seragaki, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, in his bag there should be some medicine that he has to take, he’ll know which ones, if he isn’t awake then Ren can find them.”

“Okay!” Haga said. “I’ll send home once he’s awake and feel better.”

One hour later Ren and Aoba woke up in Mediocrity staff room.

“How did we get hear?” Aoba asked out load while also trying to find Ren and quickly found him on the floor asleep. “Ren?!” Aoba exclaimed while trying to get off the sofa but swiftly clutched his head in pain. “My head it hurts!”

Meanwhile somewhere at the oval tower two people are seen watching the drive by, one of them is seen in the late forties all the way to his possible early sixties. He has short, slightly spiked brunette hair that is parted in the middle and reaches his neck. He is light-skinned and has an average body build. He might have trouble seeing out of his right eye, as he always wears a monocle. His outfit consists of a dark green plaid suit with a white undershirt and crimson vest, accompanied with white gloves. He wears a light pink ascot with a square, purple jewel sewed into it and sports an earring on his left ear.

The youngest though looks like in his mid to late thirties and is seen wearing studded, black fedora with a Morphine pin on the side. He wears an open shouldered, long sleeved white shirt that has black straps over his shoulders. He has matching jeans and gloves that have skeletal designs and wears a half skirt that is connected to the right-side hem of the pants, connected by black suspenders that hang on either side of his body. Two studded collars adorn both his neck and wrists. He also wears a pair of white boots with black studs.

“Interesting...” the man with the monocle said as he saw the fight. “It looks like a family reunion is ready to start.”

‘Aoba I’ll save you!” The youngest thought as he was about to drift off to sleep.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

Later that evening Aoba went home and after being checked for anything cuts or bruises Tae set Aoba back to his room and tried to fall asleep but failed and decided to call Virus and Trip.

“Hello Aoba.” Virus greeted. But unknown to Aoba Virus and Trip are in some alleyway spraying the Morphine tag art. “What’s wrong you don’t sound good.”

“I’ve just got a headache from some drive by earlier today. That is what I wanted to ask, did I used to play Rhyme?”

“Yeah you did. But after loosing your memory you stopped, and we were told not to mention it to you by doctor Seragaki. Is that all Aoba?”

“Yeah that’s all thanks Virus I’ll see you soon.” Both parties then hanged up. Aoba then wanted to make sure that Ren was okay from the drive by. After Ren’s data said he was fine Aoba fell asleep.

Two hours later Aoba woke up by Beni pecking on his face,

“Get up your lazy arse!” Beni shouted.

“Beni what are you doing here?” Aoba asked sleepily.

“Koujaku and I heard what happened and we wanted to check on you.”

“Thank you, but I may need help from Koujaku my head still hurts badly, and I feel sick.” With those words the hairdresser in question entered the room and helped Aoba to get downstairs to the kitchen diner.

“I made some okonomiyaki but with no meat.”

“Thanks Gran.” Aoba said before eating half the food on his plate and due to this Tae made Aoba some strawberry protein shake.

“Koujaku take Aoba back upstairs and make sure you let him gets some sleep and you can stay overnight.”

“Thanks Miss Tae.”

After helping Aoba to go up the stairs to his room and back to his bed Koujaku then wanted to know what really happened. After Aoba explained his point of view Koujaku remained quiet.

“I don’t want to baby you but be more careful tomorrow, I don’t like seeing you sick.”

Aoba laughed and said, “More like you want your cancer stick but unable to because of the smell makes me feel even more sick.”

“Ha-ha!” Koujaku said sarcastically. “I’m being truthful you know, and I heard you visited Mizuki yesterday.”

“Yeah, he looked a bit down about Rhyme getting more popular and I think he needs to speak to a follow Ribster.”

“Okay I’ll visit him during my rounds but please get some sleep I can tell you can hardly stay awake.”

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

The next morning at the Junk Shop Aoba found his ‘saviour’ and Aoba tried to make sense of it all they have short, scruffy snow-white hair that sticks up in multiple places, a gas mask and is seen wearing wardrobe consists of a white trench coat and a yellow scarf. Under his coat is a white button-up shirt, which is quite short and reveals a little of his abdomen, and gray pants. He wears white boots with black laces that reach up to his calves and white gloves.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better master.”

“Okay... why are you calling me master?” Aoba asked

“Because your my master, my master.” They guy in the mask replied.

After getting the guy with the mask to leave Aoba then entered the shop and dealt with other perverts on the phone until a tall, slender man who has short, strawberry blonde hair. He has light green eyes and very small, but thick eyebrows the same colour as his hair. His body is entirely covered with piercings, and he has bandages wrapped on both of his hands while his outfit consists of a dark navy and white collared shirt with a long sleeved black undershirt, a green tie, and multiple badges on his chest pocket and tie. He also had various accessories with an Usagimodoki pattern imprinted on them, such as his belt and his hat. He wears dark navy pants with his Allmates connected in a chain to his waistband, hanging over onto the sides his waist. The man’s black beanie looks like it has a woollen green underlayer, is a rabbit patterned, and one larger smiley face pin.

“You’re the guy from the drive by! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m here to speak to you.”

“About what?”

“You playing Rhyme, you acted that you didn’t know how to play but at the last minute you were able to defeat me.

“You were the one who did the drive by!” Ren growled. “Get out of the shop and leave Aoba alone!”

The man left and not knowing they were destined to meet later that night.

Veggie okonomiyaki recipe (the source www . bbcgoodfood. com / recipes/ veggie - okonomiyaki just remove the spaces)

3 large eggs

50g plain flour

50ml milk

4 spring onions, trimmed and sliced

1 pak choi, sliced

200g Savoy cabbage, shredded

1 red chilli, deseeded and finely chopped, plus extra to serve

½ tbsp low-salt soy sauce

½ tbsp rapeseed oil

1 heaped tbsp low-fat mayonnaise (you can use vegan mayonnaise too)

½ lime, juiced

sushi ginger, to serve (optional)

wasabi, to serve (optional)

Veggie okonomiyaki method Whisk together the eggs, flour, and milk until smooth. Add half the spring onions, the pak choi, cabbage, chilli, and soy sauce. Heat the oil in a small frying pan and pour in the batter. Cook, covered, over a medium heat for 7-8 mins. Flip the okonomiyaki into a second frying pan, then return it to the heat and cook for a further 7-8 mins until a skewer inserted into it comes out clean.

Mix the mayonnaise and lime juice together in a small bowl. Transfer the okonomiyaki to a plate, then drizzle over the lime mayo and top with the extra chilli and spring onion and the sushi ginger, if using. Serve with the wasabi on the side, if you like.

#DRAMAtical murder #fanfiction #A03 #sorry for the wait #sorry for any mistakes #happy reading #happy easter

1 note · View note

kentonramsey · 4 years ago

Text

Tie Dye Forever: The Outfit Anatomy of Mordechai Rubinstein

Welcome to Outfit Anatomy, a series of comprehensive style analyses that aim to break down the mechanics of why we wear what we wear. Up this week is Mordechai “Mister Mort” Rubinstein, who authored the recent book Dead Style. In it, Mordechai chronicles the outfits and personalities he encountered over the past few years at Dead & Company concerts, from the perspective of a newly minted Deadhead. (For those curious, at the time of the interview, Mordechai referred to “Not Fade Away” as his favorite Grateful Dead song.) You may have also become cinematically acquainted with Mordechai’s work, whether you knew it or not: He’s been involved with the costume design for the Safdie brothers’ two most recent films, Good Time and Uncut Gems. Read on to learn more about how Mordechai transitioned from his Hasidic Jewish upbringing to wearing tie-dye in unparalleled ways.

When I get dressed, normally I think about headgear, because I don’t ever leave my house with my head uncovered. Scarred from wearing a yarmulke most of my life. But I just feel naked without a hat or headgear.

I wore a straw cowboy hat, which is brand new to me. But it’s not very easy to wear a cowboy hat around Brooklyn. You know, I got dressed the other day and I told my wife, “I can’t start pushing the stroller in this cowboy hat, I look like such an idiot.” It’s like, why was it fine in Maine? Why was it fine in the photo shoots? But I’m obsessed with it. It’s straw. And it’s a straw cowboy hat, and it’s so sick. I like to challenge myself. Tie-dye, that’s easy. But wearing a cowboy hat with tie-dye? Maybe not. But also, it’s perfect.

I grew up with all secondhand stuff from neighbors and thrift shops and hand-me-downs from siblings, and I never really had anything new to break in myself. And then when I got something new, like a Barbour jacket finally in my 30s, I’m like, “Wow, I’ll get this wax all patina-ed, and ripped and everything.” And yeah, it broke in on the stress points, but never to really my liking. These days, so much clothing is disposable, and you can’t even wear it out. You wear it out before you wear it in.

I’ve got a lot of tie-dye, from turtlenecks to mock necks to button-ups to T-shirts to underwear to long johns to socks. To hats, yeah, I’ve got hats too.

And you know, tie-dye’s hot. The book is new and that’s hot for me, and tie-dye is trending. Even though to me, it’s in all year, every day, all season. I don’t really care about trends. You know, people ask me, “So are you over it because it’s trending so hard?” Nah, I’m wearing it ten times more. Because of my book, but also because it makes me just feel good.

Dead Style: A Long, Strange Trip into the Magical World of Tie-Dye by Mordechai Rubinstein.

So yeah, so this tie-dye has an Owsley, you might call it Grateful Dead or Dead bear in the dead center of the shirt. It’s kind of like the Kool-Aid Man. This bear is wearing a raincoat, like a yellow slicker with a yellow matching bucket hat with raindrops falling on him, with rain boots, playing the guitar, smiling in the center of the shirt.

So this bear is playing the guitar in the rain. And to me, I love rainy days because New York is so very black in its color. Well, not lately—but you know fashion, it’s always like this thing that people wear black. And I’m so anti-that, partly because I grew up Hasidic Jewish and I just wore so much black my whole life, and now I’m just so happy to express myself in color.

Normally I wouldn’t buy a shirt with holes, but when I look at a tie-dye, and a Grateful Dead tie-dye with holes, I start thinking, Wow, whoever owned this really loved it, really lived in it.

These are a do-it-all short. They’re like magenta, fuchsia. I love pink. I like any shade of pink. They’re kind of like a play on the Baggies. You know, fortunately and unfortunately, no one does it better than them [Patagonia]. This is a sort of a play on it from Nike ACG.

It’s a play on it because these shorts aren’t locked: They don’t have the bag like a Baggie does, but they have sort of like a mesh lining. I could wear them three days in a row, and I like shorts like that as a dad. But you can’t really wear them in the water because they don’t dry. I love the pink color, and I love the six-inch inseam, maybe six and a half, and I’ve got them hiked up. And my shirt is oversized, which I love because I love to be comfortable.

I’ve got a sweater around my neck, which I’ve never really done successfully outdoors because it’s a very tennis look, and I know nothing about that sort of rich lifestyle, but I love to look at it and think I know what I’m doing. It’s a beautiful purple.

What I like about this shirt and sweater combination is when the sweater’s on, there’s a good two, three inches coming out of the waistband that’s tie-dye. You might say, “Oh, this is about tie-dye. Don’t you want to be showing off your tie-dye?” And I say, “Well, you know, sometimes less is more.” I could put the sweater on and you’ll see the tie-dye coming out of the waistband, and it’s way more powerful than this giant Owsley bear in the center.

And I’ve got a new pearl necklace that I’m obsessed with. It’s got a strawberry glass bead, a heart glass bead and a blueberry glass bead, because my daughter loves strawberries and blueberries. It’s so normal for guys to wear nail polish and pearl necklaces now, and I like that. I think they should be for anyone that wants to wear it. So yeah, it’s my new accessory.

Dad style is grabbing what’s on the floor when your wife says to go get milk in the morning.

In Maine, I wore ragg wool socks every single day for like four months because it’s just so nice and cozy. You could run out and get the mail in them. You can walk around the cabin in them. You can use your foot like a broom to get rid of sand in the doorway in them. So I do love a ragg wool sock, or a merino sock, all year.

For tie-dye, I like secondhand because I like lived-in clothes, and this particular shirt has holes in it. Normally I wouldn’t buy a shirt with holes, but when I look at a tie-dye, and a Grateful Dead tie-dye with holes, I start thinking, Wow, whoever owned this really loved it, really lived in it. They must’ve done a ton of acid. And maybe if I wear it, I’ll feel some of that good energy, you know?

And the holes also act as kind of cooling vents. I like new because I want it to break in and fade, but I like old because it’s true, tried and tested, and it’s already perfectly lived in and broken in. You know? I do like to mix new and secondhand. I don’t really wear secondhand hats anymore. I definitely don’t wear secondhand shoes anymore. I wore a ton of that for the last 20, 30 years.

I took some interviews back in the day about like, dad style is trending. I wasn’t even a dad, and it’s just fun to talk about because I just love the way dads dress. And then all of a sudden, it becomes a thing. And then all of a sudden, I’m a dad. So I’m like, “Bro, bro, let me tell you something, you young kids out there with no kids yet. Let me tell you something you childless dad style dudes. Dad style is grabbing what’s on the floor when your wife says to go get milk in the morning. That’s dad style.”

In the sense that today, I’m pushing my daughter around the neighborhood, I don’t need to get dressed. However, somebody might see me, and you want to present yourself at all times. You want to get dressed. You want to look good. It makes you feel good.

If I wear the same shorts and T-shirt every day pushing the stroller, it’s like you’re that guy. I don’t want to be that guy. But I also don’t want to be a clown getting dressed up every day for a fashion show that’s not happening. So I battle with myself.

If you have a hankering for s’more tie-dye, might we suggest: decadently dyed socks care of General Store, Cotton Citizen, Anonymous Ism, and Midland, sweatsuits and sweatshorts by Brian Robert Jones of LXIX, or the ever-elusive pair of tie-dye underpants?

The post Tie Dye Forever: The Outfit Anatomy of Mordechai Rubinstein appeared first on Man Repeller.

Tie Dye Forever: The Outfit Anatomy of Mordechai Rubinstein published first on https://normaltimepiecesshop.tumblr.com/ Tie Dye Forever: The Outfit Anatomy of Mordechai Rubinstein published first on https://mariakistler.tumblr.com/

0 notes

angelic-writer · 7 years ago

Text

Lost Memories (REMAKE) - Chapter 1

“Can you hear me?”

“Hey... Can you hear me?”

“Can you...”

A young man slowly woke up in an unfamiliar room. He was confused. What happened? Where am I? The man thought. He looked around, confused as to where he was. There was a large desk a few away from the couch he was laying on. There were posters hung up on the wall with strange people on them. There was a young man in the center of the poster. He had short, brown hair, blue eyes and had freckles on his cheeks. He was wearing a long-sleeved brown shirt, a black, buttoned-up vest with a bear pin pinned onto the vest and a black bowtie. He also had a black top hat perched on the right side of his head and he was wearing bear ears. He was holding a microphone, appearing to be singing a song.

The young man on the left side of the poster had long purple hair tied into a ponytail and red eyes. He was wearing a light purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a black unbuttoned vest with a purple bunny pin pinned onto the vest and a red bowtie. He also wore light purple bunny ears. He looked like some sort of Easter bunny. He was holding a red guitar and he appeared to be strumming it.

The little girl on the right side of the poster has short, blonde hair tied into a half ponytail and purple eyes. She was wearing a yellow dress with a white apron with the words “Let’s Eat!” in yellow letters with a purple outline, a chicken pin pinned onto the apron and orange strings that were tied into a bow on the collar of her dress. She appeared to be holding onto a cupcake on a plate with pink frosting and a candle on it. All three of them were smiling innocent smiles.

There was text on the top and bottom of the poster. The top text said “Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza!” in bright colorful letters and the bottom text said “Where fantasy and fun come to life!” in the same colorful letters.

Is this... an office, perhaps? The young man thought. He caught a glimpse at an office clock hanging on the wall and he looked at the digital date.

“August 1st...” He muttered to himself. He started to get up, but he noticed something. He looked down. He appeared to be wearing some kind of uniform. Black trousers and black dress shoes. But he was wearing a dark, purple shirt with a golden badge pinned on the left side. Do I... work at this place?

“Hey, you.”

He suddenly heard a young girl’s voice from beside him. It was only for a moment, but he saw her from the corner of his eye. He yelped and sat up from the couch. His heart was pounding in his chest. Whoever that person was nearly gave him a heart attack.

“Hey, what’s wrong?!”

A young man suddenly came into the room with a concerned look on his face. He had short, golden blonde hair and purple eyes. He was wearing a similar uniform as the man, but he was wearing a light brown shirt with a black tie on his neck. He had two breast pockets on both sides of his shirt and he had two badges sewn onto his sleeves with a green rabbit symbol on them.

“I heard a scream. Are you okay?” The man asked him. He just looked at him, confused. Who is that man? He put his hands on his shoulders and gently laid him back down. “Someone will be coming for you soon.” He said.

“Um...” The man tried to say, but he couldn’t think of anything. He was way too confused on what’s going on.

“Now, be patient and wait.” The blonde man said as he rushed out of the room. What...? Who is that man? Does he know me? The man thought. He was getting more confused by the minute. If this keeps up, his head would have likely exploded.

“I wonder who’s coming for you.”

He heard the girl’s voice again. He looked over and saw a young girl looking at him. He covered his mouth in surprise. Soon, he slowly uncovered his mouth and stared at her. She had the same look as the girl on the poster - blonde hair, purple eyes - but she was wearing a yellow shirt and an orange skirt with yellow socks and orange slippers. He noticed something. Something strange. The girl... was floating. And she looked transparent. Is she... a spirit?

“Are you alright? You suddenly collapsed, so I was worried.” The girl said. The man was too busy trying to figure out who the girl was or what she was doing here. More importantly, if she was a spirit, how was he able to see her?

Then, someone else came into the room. He had messy, black hair and brown eyes. He was wearing the same uniform as the blonde man, almost identical, but it was red.

@bonmunroleplays

6 notes · View notes

shadowofthelamp · 7 years ago

Text

A Visit in a Dream

Part 1 Part 2

Bill is both really fun to write and really difficult. You’ve got to mix the showman with the monster who loves violence. Hopefully he came out fine.

Miranda gets a visit from a familiar triangle and is offered a bargain.

Your dreams usually are pretty incoherent. Sure, they make sense at the time, with schools morphing into zoos as you float out of your body and view the shifting scene as if it's just a movie. Mom's a werewolf wagging her tail as she kisses Dad's cheek, and the public pool is made of pink jello.

It's strange in hindsight, but it's just a jumble of barely-connected thoughts your brain's dumping together into soup. There isn't much behind them besides your brain getting rid of the junk from the day.

Most of the time, that is.

Tonight, though, something's different. You're floating in the sky, a gigantic book below you like a magic carpet, and miscellaneous objects are scattered around, resting on clouds. Usually your dreams begin normally and spiral into the absurd, but this one is starting strange. You flop down on top of the book and let your arm dangle down, fingertips brushing fluffy cloud that feels like snow.

"Hey there, Curly!" You sit up and turn around to see- exactly what Stanford warned you about. A triangle in a top hat and a bow tie is floating with one hand on his cane, which is itself balancing on a neatly stacked pile of gold bars. He looks like an acrobat. "Nice subconscious you got here!"

At his words, the clouds surrounding the both of you begin to darken from fluffy white to the gray of a dead tree.

"Stanford said not to listen to whatever you said."

The triangle jumped up, now balancing on the cane with his left foot. "Sure he did, but are you really gonna listen to that nerd over someone who can offer you whatever you want? Name's Bill, Bill Cipher, and I'm here to make your dreams come true."

"You can give me whatever I want? Right." You stand up, but barely bite back a scream as the book you're standing on flips the page and shoves you off. Falling lasts only a moment before your butt lands in the cap of a medicine bottle, and Bill has settled to sitting on the cloud, the cane having disappeared entirely.

"Really! In fact, let's see what's working in that brain of yours, hmm?" He snapped his fingers, and both of you are snapped to-

Oh no. Oh no no no no-

"And that's where I found the thumb. It was a real pain to haul it back, let me tell you, but it does set the mood, doesn't it?"

He's smiling genuinely for the first time since you'd met, and you want nothing more than to keep him that way.

"Yeah, it is really neat." Your hand hovers over his, but when he lifts it to reach for his mug of lukewarm coffee you snatch yours away.

"I should have started talking to the townspeople more before now. You've grown up with the paranormal oddities here. The strangest I saw growing up was a mutated sea turtle with two heads."

"Oh, that's interesting! Did it talk?"

He laughs. "No, it didn't talk. But see, there! You just assumed that it would be intelligent, from what you know of animals around here. That's fascinating. I could have done my entire thesis simply on how being around the supernatural changes one's perspective."

"Well, I'd be glad to tell you anything you want."

He opened his mouth, but then closed it, eyes dropping to his lap.

"Oooh, hit a sore spot there. Wonder what he's so worried about? I can see what you want, though!" He smacked your head with the cane- where had it come from, hadn't he vanished it before?- and then waved his hand.

This time, the image swirled out of the clouds around you. A waterfall of blood poured out, and at a spash something below whimpered, before Bill rolled his eye. "Darn reception." Another handwave, and the blood evaporated into red mist.

The clouds shifted again, twisting like a draining bathtub into...

"I told you it's a long story." Stanford snapped. "I'm a mess and I don't know why you bother!"

"I bother because I want to help." You set a hand on his shoulder, and he turns away, leaving your hand to trail down his back and fall limp.

"Let's go deeper, shall we? How did you feel?" Bill waved again, and the clouds drain again, creating an image within the memory.

An image of you pulling him into a hug, tighter, hands creeping closer together, him lifting his chin to gently press your lips together as your fingers interlock and-

"Stop!" Even in this odd dreamspace you still flush, and Bill's glow flares, the desires and complicated feelings woven into the memory twisting your chest even as the images vanish with a 'pop!'.

"Oh, it's so easy to rile you humans up." He wipes at his eye, flicking away a teardrop that causes a nearby fairy to explode.

"Cut to the chase. What do you want?"

"Well, I want lots of things! A choir of bears, a pet made entirely of teeth, blue moon ice cream. But from you, I'd like a little help with a project of mine! And in return, I can get you what you want. Or more specifically, who you want." Out of a nebulous cluster of stars Stanford stepped out, smiling and holding out his hand. His clothes have been wiped clean of the grease and dirt and blood, and his eyes are sparkling and bright.

"Thank you for everything. Would you like to stay over longer? Maybe we could watch a movie... or something more?" He sounds hopeful and his face is soft and heavenly, hair gently fluttering.

You push yourself up out of the cap, almost in a trance as you reach for him, before the words of the real Stanford slam into your mind.

"Don't listen to a word they say, and don't ever shake their hand."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Your hand drops, and you cross both arms across your chest.

"Come on, Curly, it's not that hard of a choice! I'm a deity, I just want a little help." He floats closer. "Besides, Fordsy could really use you. Hell knows he needs someone to keep him in line and taking care of himself. If he goes on like this much longer he's gonna pass out one day and not wake up, and nobody wants that, right? I'm not just helping you, I'll be giving him a second chance What can I say, I’m a nice guy! You get what you want, he gets what he needs. Two for the price of one."

He duplicates, and the second Bill speaks. "You'll have someone who knows what you've been through."

A third Bill. "All you'll have to do is press a few buttons."

A fourth. "It's a once in a lifetime offer, and it's easy to tell he already likes you! I'll just give him the courage to admit it!"

All four merge back into one, and he morphs into Stanford, and speaks with his voice, blue flames blooming from his six-fingered hand. "I want to help you. All I need is a little favor. What do you say?"

You swallow, heart thumping.

He's lying. It can't be that easy, and if Stanford was that worried he must be bad, and if you're right he's the one that threatened you.

"No."

"What did you say?" His hand falls, and his eyes narrow. They look infected, yellow veins creeping through the sclera.

"I said no. I don't trust you."

With a 'pop!' he's back to his triangular self. "Well, can't win them all! Here's something to remember me by!" Your old stuffed unicorn appears in your arms, mouth full of ragged teeth made of glass, and bites off your hand. Gore begins to sluggishly ooze out and the bone lets out a SNAP.

"Toodles!" He snaps his fingers, and the cloud you're standing on disappears, leaving you falling with a scream until you sit up with a start.

Your face is covered in sweat and the clock says it's 4 am. You don't get back to sleep that night.

#gravity falls #bill cipher #shadow writes stuff #insert #gf blogging

8 notes · View notes

reekierevelator · 7 years ago

Text

The Art of Success - Chapter 3

“Just in time to help with the coffin,” shouted the man in the blue linen suit, as Tabitha ran over to exchange kisses on both cheeks with the women from the car.

Having shouted introductions to each other the men looked to Ralph, the elderly blue-suited gent, as he opened the car’s tailgate and began struggling to remove a long cardboard box.

“This do is all DIY,” Ralph entoned in his deep bass voice. “Minimal cost. The way she wanted it. We’ll need two either side I think. And Roxy, could you take the wreath off the roof. It should be on top of the coffin as we bring it in.”

Up close, Peter noticed that, though disguised with make-up, Roxy’s forehead was furrowed and the odd freckle tarnished the porcelain whiteness of her hands. He realized she was a little older than he’d at first imagined; probably more his own age, late thirties or early forties, but she had an elegant beauty that was in no way diminished by her greater maturity.

“Glad you could make it; looking pretty neat,” said Josh, holding out his hand to shake Peter’s.

“Yes, long time no see Joshua. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. Very busy.”

“Sure useful that Georgy was pint-sized. Don’t know how we’d have fitted a six-footer in the car. Probably would have had to fold her up in the trunk, or stand her upright with the roof open.”

“What a morbid idea – but I suppose black humour is unavoidable at a funeral like this. Glad to see you Joshua. The short notice must have been tricky for you too.”

“Could have been. I’ve been working clubs in France and Germany the last few years. Still based in Edinburgh though, and fortunately – if that’s the right word - I was here when it happened. So no need to travel. Mind you, even back home in the Big Apple it’s getting easy to catch a quick flight over the pond these days.”

“It was hard enough getting that coffin into the car,” Humphrey was saying, his hands resting on his potbelly, “never mind getting it out. We all had to squeeze in beside her. I was altogether crushed into a corner. All the same, I do like your idea of standing her upright, the cadaver staring out from the vehicle’s roof window. If I had the money for a block of Carrera marble I’m sure I could make a perfectly stunning modernist piece based on that image.”

Pulling his large maroon blazer straight, stretching the sides to allow button to reach buttonhole, and then pressing his hat tighter over the silver hair that ringed his bald head, Humphrey proceeded to help Ralph haul a cardboard coffin bound with rope, which was resting side-on over the tops of the van’s seats, out of the vehicle.

Peter took a corner, glad the heavy rain, which would have rapidly rendered the coffin soggy and bendy, had finally ceased altogether.

Peter caught Josh’s eye as he struggled with the opposite corner. “How’s the music business going these days?” he asked.

“Oh, you know, long time since blowing jazz made anyone rich. A couple of dozen aficionados turned up at the launch of my last original collection. Took the best part of a year to write. Jazz is improvisation and I can’t find quality players who can improvise. Laboriously scoring each note, each chord, for each instrument in the band – it’s no fun. And that was really just so we could pretend to improvise in performance.”

“But surely it will be performed many times in future?”

“Who can tell? You know, as Bohr said, prediction is very difficult, especially about the future. And a jazz piece shouldn’t be the same two days running anyway. I’d like to at least have the chance to record one version though. But who’s going to pay for that now that Georgy’s gone?”

“Georgy was still your benefactor?”

“Benefactor of most of the people here I should think. Sure, she helped you out too, didn’t she? I mean, Ralph said she did when he asked me to phone.”

“Well, yes. Quite a lot, as it happens. Selling original paintings is always a bit hit and miss; feast or famine even for the best. To be honest she evened things out for me these past few years, kept me going. She bought my paintings, sight unseen, for more or less fixed amounts. I shipped them over to her and I understand she aimed to place them for sale in small local galleries.”

“I’m sure she did her best for you.”

“Well, I hope so. I don’t really know if she managed to sell any, or what she might have got for them if they were sold. It didn’t matter. Having already paid me according to her basic sliding scale based simply on size, Georgy was naturally entitled to retain any income from actual final sales. I suppose she may occasionally have made the odd small profit, but there again, she also had to bear all the losses when they didn’t sell. I‘m not quite on the breadline Josh but I do know my limits. I don’t think I’ll ever be the next David Hockney.”

Humphrey overheard Peter’s confession and put a plump hand on his shoulder to console him. “That’s the trouble with us Brits.” he said, “Too self-effacing, always ‘putting ourselves down’ as Josh would say. I’m sure you’d never hear an American like him minimise his ability.”

“Remember the wreath,” Josh shouted to Roxy.

Roxy placed the exotic wreath on top of the sagging coffin, and with a man taking the strain at each corner the transfer into the chapel began.

Peter was surprised at the weight. Huffing and puffing, the four men somewhat unsteadily, haphazardly, carried the coffin through the doors of the tiny church, followed by the three chattering, giggling ladies, who gave every impression of arriving at a Christmas party.

Tabby led the tall, white dressed Roxy up the aisle like a father leading the bride. The diminutive Nicole, kitted out in orange and lemon and candy striped leggings, scurried along close behind, prattling away to Catriona, for all the world like an exuberant bridesmaid.

Ralph guided the men in laying the coffin down in its allotted position. Then he sat down, apparently exhausted, in the front pew beside Humphrey, and wiped his brow with a white handkerchief.

After his exertions Peter stood, stretched his arms, and turned back toward the ladies. He noticed various other people had arrived. One wore a fluorescent yellow shirt and another sported a tie-dyed denim jacket. Several others had trickled into the small chapel’s pews at the back of the coffin-bearers. One or two continued to wander in, chuckling and pointing as if they were attending some art show preview. Some then sat down in the pews while others stood in the central aisle chatting animatedly.

It ran through Peter’s mind that each of the mourners seemed to have located a different version of Joseph’s coat of many colours. He plopped down next to Josh.

“Josh, I’ve kind of lost touch with all the Edinburgh people. Mind you I wasn’t really one of the arts crowd when I lived here anyway, just a barman on the margins. Apart from Ralph, who acts for Georgy and briefly communicates when I offer a painting, you’re about the only one I’m acquainted with in this town any more. Would it be ok if I gave you a call while I’m here?”

“Sure thing man.” Josh took a pen from an inside pocket, wrote his phone number on the blank page at the back of a hymn book, tore off the scrap of paper, and handed it to Peter.

The feeling that he might be guilty of something sacrilegious slipped through Peter’s mind as he thrust the piece of paper into his pocket. He shivered slightly. “I met Tabby in the waiting room when I arrived here.” he said. “Who are the other women you arrived with?”

“Oh, well Roxy Paterson, now she used to be an actor. Did repertory for a while, theatre plays. That kind of thing. Had a couple of half-decent roles so I hear. Too much time resting though. Ended up touring as some kind of magician’s assistant. She got interested in the idea of music when she met little Nicky Choudhury. She’s really the musical one. Father plays the sitar. Then Ralph got involved. Thought Georgy might be interested in sponsoring a folk music combo. Those women have kind of been around though. In different ways they’ve tried their luck all over the world. But don’t get any ideas. Ralph and Roxy, they’re pretty much an item these days. And Nicky plays for the other side. Take it from me, I’ve tried, there’s no doubt about that. Catriona’s her partner.”

But there was no more opportunity to talk before an usher slammed the chapel doors shut and nodded to Ralph. Ralph duly raised himself from the front pew, stepped up on to the dais, and positioned himself behind the lectern.

“May I extend a welcome to everyone. I’m glad you could all make it,” he began, his round bass tones filling the small auditorium, and Peter realised that Ralph was to be the event’s MC.

“Is he really a minister?” he whispered to Josh.

“No, but it’s cool, man,” Josh replied. “Did some kind of Humanist celebrant course. Done a few funerals. No weddings yet. As I recall, Georgy was more a Zen Buddhist anyway. But I don’t suppose she’ll mind. Not now anyway.”

“Ah, I see.”

Ralph was saying “We are here to celebrate the life of Georgina Simpson, a great, though unfortunately underestimated, authoress… or should that be author? – so hard to keep up these days. Though her works never flew off the shelves they are increasingly recognised nowadays and are still selling. May I say it’s lovely of everyone to have come in such beautifully colourful attire. I’m sure Georgy would appreciate it… would have appreciated it. It’s everything she wanted. And now I’d like to start us off with a song.”

He inserted a CD in the unit connected to the chapel’s PA system and a karaoke, music only version, of Imagine filled the chapel.

Ralph raised his arms, both palms upwards, and the mourners rose as one. In response to the sacred music the space filled with the noise of a happily belted out Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try, no hell below us, above us only sky….

After that it was back to Ralph.

“At this time, it’s right to say a few words about Georgina’s background. Her parents both died young. She was an only child. She attended a private girls school in Edinburgh and then university in Holland, Utrecht, - it’s motto Sol Iustitiae Illustra nos (Sun of righteousness, shine upon us) – seems entirely appropriate to her.

“Of course, she never married and despite a significant inheritance from her grandparents, as well as earning her income as a writer, she always insisted on a frugal lifestyle. She dedicated her life to her writing. Sadly, her books were not always best sellers, but the short print runs did find a discerning readership and appreciation of her work is now growing. In the increasingly disjointed world in which we live the appeal of her novels, in which a sense of love and common humanity prevails, is obvious. Her publisher’s expectation is that all her works will not only continue in print but will continue to sell in increasing volume. Some of her wonderful early works, such as Daffodils in old buckets and The innermost layer of the onion which unfortunately fell out of print for a while are now being reprinted. Others, such as Tom’s lost years, have always been available in most decent bookshops and are increasingly in demand. If, by chance, you have not yet read all of her works then I would heartily recommend, for your enjoyment and edification, that you do so as soon as possible.

“But although writing occupied most of her waking hours, it was not Georgina’s sole interest. She never talked about it publicly but in fact she sought to use her money for philanthropic purposes. With no children to care for, she dedicated her spare time and available wealth to nourishing the arts instead. She was the benefactor of so many local artists in so many different areas of practice – poets, musicians, sculptors, writers… that for that reason alone she will be sorely missed by many.”

Ralph fiddled for a moment with the chapel’s music system before continuing.

“To honour her for that part of her life’s work I would ask you all to join me in singing What a wonderful world.”

Rising, the attendees burst loudly into I see trees of green, red roses too, ….

But Peter was thinking that he probably wasn’t the only one whose mind was not so much fixed on trees of green as on the question of whether Georgy’s money would continue to be used to support artists in future.

#short story #Reekie Revelator #edinburgh #art #Crime

1 note · View note

kimwexlers-brownhair · 8 years ago

Text

Yellow Rose, Chapter 57

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10695372/57/Yellow-Rose

"Come on, son, kick the ball here!"

"Raoul, don't encourage Gustave to kick balls in the hotel!"

Christine shook her head, laughing lightly. Little Gustave, whose personality tended toward the serious and taciturn for a four-year-old, was now giggling so fiercely he hiccupped as he kicked the football with his spindly legs back and forth to his father across the 5th Avenue Hotel's ornate rug.

Two-year-old Phillippe was whining from where Christine and the nanny dressed him, the youngest child craning his neck to see the game. He was usually the more athletic of the two, evident even at this young age, and his righteous indignation at being left out was palpable.

"Kick ball!" He stated emphatically, staring at his mother with his little brows drawn down toward his brown eyes. "Papa and Gusta kick ball! Philly kick ball!"

Christine sighed. "See what you've done, Raoul? Wicked husband."

Her husband only chuckled evilly. "I'm a stinker, aren't I, Gustave?"

"Yes," Gustave said in distraction, focusing on the ball. Raoul only guffawed.

"There, little sir," Christine said after finishing buttoning up Philippe's sailor suit. "Go and rampage with your brother and irresponsible father." She kissed him on the forehead.

She received an impish grin in return, reminding her of his father. Then he sped off on his chubby little legs, crying out "ball!" as he intercepted a pass between Gustave and Raoul.

Christine now finished getting herself ready, straightening her hat in the hallway mirror. She was becoming in a high-necked lavender dress, with silk trimmings on her hat to match. "You'll be ready to meet us for lunch, then?"

"Sure thing, madame!" Raoul momentarily stopped the game to kiss his wife, making his boys groan in disappointment. "Go surprise Flibbertigibbet, now. Tell her we'll see her in about an hour."

"I will," Christine said, straightening his tie by force of habit. She pecked him on the cheek and then left, casting one more soft look at her trio of darling boys: happy Gustave, wild Philippe, and the oversized one she called husband.

The ecstatically warm imaged stayed with her until she reached outside, then a strange dread filled her bones. She of course looked forward to seeing Meg, but there was a great chance she'd see him again.

Her former Angel.

Marriage, motherhood, and a growing career tutoring children in music had brought a great serenity and tremulous joy to Christine's life. Raoul was now deputy of the Uppsala police department, and had recently passed his detective examination. Although nervous and unsure at first, Christine found herself a capable tutor, combining tricks she'd learned from Erik with her own empathy and understanding, having been so often in the role of the pupil in the past.

But no more.

She raised her head as she walked down the street.

She was her own person now.

And she had people in her life more precious than anything before.

She smiled as she always did when she thought how ironic it was that Gustave should look so much like Raoul's side of the family but resemble Christine in personality, while little Philippe was the opposite. Gustave had her husband's sandy hair and liquid blue eyes, but he was shy, creative, a little moody; he was a practical genius on the piano. Philippe, although he did not yet strongly favor either parent in looks, did have his mother's dark brown curls and expressive eyes. Though he shared some of his brother's serious nature, he was more adventurous, more the leader, just like his policeman father.

Her boys – all three of them – helped Christine stay sane during some of her dark moments. These moments were fewer now and were more quickly dispelled, but still they came on occasion. She resigned herself to the fact they would always be with her, in one form or another.

Otherwise, she was a happy woman. And she felt she'd earned this happiness, which contributed to her satisfaction.

Yet she felt the wintry chill of those dark moods creep into her bones the closer she came to the Metropolitan. Was she truly wise to come? She'd missed Meg like mad, and after getting over her anger that Meg up and left without telling Christine, she had continually urged Raoul for a visit. But then came Philippe, and they had to postpone.

Which reminded her….

She first noticed once the ship reached the dock.

She was a few days late.

And her breasts were oddly sore.

She'd felt faintly nauseous, too, but on the boat she blamed it on seasickness.

Deep inside, she knew the truth.

She was pregnant again.

The thought filled her with a joyful fire, and it was with this flame in her cheeks that she straightened her shoulders and entered the Metropolitan with little fear.

Meg answered her dressing room door in full costume as Odette, the White Swan. She looked like an angelic little fairy, aside from the exaggerated dark eyeliner all dancers wore.

Yet the fairy turned into a crowing bird when she recognized Christine. She flew into the singer's arms then stepped back abashed, giggling out an apology for smudging some of her pancake makeup on Christine's cheek.

"I wouldn't have a hug from you any other way," Christine replied, laughing.

"Where are Raoul and your boys?"

"They'll meet us for lunch. I just wanted to surprise you early. You don't mind, do you?"

Meg squeezed her hands. "Not at all. I'm glad you did."

Christine looked her over. "Meg, you haven't changed a bit. You're still so youthful and lovely!"

"And look at you, regal as a queen, and beautiful!"

Christine laughed. "You're still as sweet as ever, too!"

The friends sat down and reminisced.

"Did you hear about Justine?" Christine asked.

"No!"

"She just had twin girls with that officer husband of hers, Stephen!"

Meg squealed. "I knew she was expecting but hadn't heard that she'd given birth yet!" She'd admitted to herself a nagging wistfulness when her former admirer and rescuer married, but she was glad it was Justine. She knew they'd both treat each other well. "That's wonderful! Have you visited Cecile and Michel's new hotel yet?"

"I have, and Meg, it's so lush! With that perfect view of the bay! Cecile is such a wonderful business manager."

"She always was the smart one among us. And La Carlotta's book, is it still wildly popular in Europe? It's selling like hotcakes over here, to borrow an English expression!"

"Yes, and she's giving about a million interviews a day. She's singing again, too. Makes me almost not mind her negative portrayal of me in that tell-all trash she wrote."

"Oh, you didn't get it as bad as some. I think she's realized over the years you weren't to blame."

"I hope so. I do find it so nice that she's donated half the proceeds to that charity in Piangi's name."

Meg smiled and nodded. She didn't mention that Erik had, under a pseudonym, designed a statue of Piangi that he sent to Sicily, Piangi's hometown. Or that he'd donated all the proceeds to that very charity.

Meg knew that Erik would most likely come up in conversation sometime today, but she would let it be Christine who brought him up first. Meg remembered the promise she'd made Christine.

"Well," Meg announced, jumping up. "Shall I dress and meet you at the restaurant?"

Although Erik reveled in his unofficial consulting position at the Met, which allowed him to once again surround himself with music, art, and the theater, he did often miss the luxury the Paris Opera afforded him where hiding places were concerned. Here he could not just disappear behind a sliding wall or mirror.

He must hide in open.

And so he sat incognito at a table adjacent to Meg and Christine's. He wore his most nondescript costume; a gray mustache and wig with double-breasted suit and heavy coat. Even if Meg weren't so preoccupied chatting away with Christine, Erik wasn't sure she'd recognize him.

As it was, both women were so distracted they paid no mind to the older gentleman watching them from above his coffee cup and newspaper. Erik could watch them unhindered.

Christine.

It had been five years since he'd seen her face.

She was a vision in lilac. Her dress was of a better class than what she wore as a struggling dancer and singer, but not as ostentatious as most other society dames.

His head pounded.

He looked at both her and Meg, radiant herself in a pale pink dress.

The sun and moon were side by side again, each as luminous in different ways.

How did he feel seeing Christine again, just able to hear her angelic voice over the chatter of the other restaurant patrons?

He felt….

Affection. Warmth. An odd pride in her.

But…what else?

There was a time when the mere sight of her face drove him mad.

Now….

An intense melancholy, to be sure, but….

Obsession? Ecstasy? Any desperate longing?

He heard Meg laugh and he shivered.

He felt he did not know himself anymore.

Then Raoul and the two little boys approached the table.

He watched as Meg hopped up and embraced him, Raoul-- more muscular than before, somehow -- picking her up in a bear hug, making her shriek in laughter. She then turned excitedly to the children, presenting them with a toy sailboat and a toy soldier. The younger boy simply sucked on the sailboat and looked curiously around the room, at the various people in their sundry dress. The older one looked up into his godmother's face as if transfixed. He was obviously infatuated with this beautiful young creature in pink with a grin and light in her eyes that made her seem almost as if she were their age.

They all at last sat, the older child scooting his chair closer to Meg, his worshipful eyes never leaving her. Raoul leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek.

The waiter took their orders and then the group all started talking at once. Laughter bubbled from their table, and the little boys were giddy that their parents were acting just as excitable and energetic as they. The boys bounced up and down in their chairs, and every once in a while Raoul or Christine without even looking would sense when one of their children bordered on going too far in their shenanigans and the parents simply reached a hand out to one of their shoulders or laps to steady them.

People at neighboring tables looked on approvingly, undisturbed by the noise because of how cheerful and contented the group of friends looked.

And Erik at last felt fury rise in him.

In New York Erik had found a chance to integrate himself into society, to blend in with the masses, while still imparting his influence over an opulent opera house.

Yet here he was, sitting at a table alone, watching Meg play with the children of Raoul and Christine, as the couple sat comfortably and serenely together.

Erik was still on the outside, no matter how he'd tricked himself into thinking otherwise.

He looked at Christine's merry brown eyes and felt a tug at his heart – was this a rekindling of his original passion for her and regret at her loss, or regret about what she had once represented to him and no longer did?

He winced at that last thought. No, no, of course she still meant that much to him, for otherwise, what would this have all been for? What would his murders, his heartbreak, his halfway redemption, his dragging the Girys into the secret police and then exile, have all amounted to? A feeling that inspires such upheaval can't just die. It can't.

With her smiling eyes watching Meg turn a napkin into a bunny to amuse the children, Christine reached out a gentle hand to Raoul's, squeezing his.

And Erik almost burst into tears of rage and remorse.

#Yellow Rose #poto #Raoul/Christine #Erik/Meg #rc #merik

4 notes · View notes