#the tale of remy

[let-remy-cook]

The Tale of Remy, A Rat Enchanted || Part Three

Summary: In which Remy's search for the perfect song for Josephine begins, and he meets several colorful characters along the way.

Part One!

Part Two!

Chapter Seven: A Crumb of Music 

When it came to music, Remy’s ears were well-tuned. After all, music had been one of Remy’s first and fondest scents, even if it was one that none of his family could recognize. And so he put his nose to the streets, to sniff out music. 

He found a man who played a stringed instrument on the streets. It was not quite a guitar. It was thinner and smaller, but the notes were just as beautiful. Carefully, Remy approached the man on his two hindpaws. The streets were busy as ever, full of rushing big-feet, and so no one really noticed the rat. They were not looking down, nor were they looking at the man who played his instrument. 

So the man saw Remy first. He laughed out loud. “What’s this? A rat has come to listen to me play when the streets of Paris ignore me?” 

Remy froze in place. Oh no, what had he done? He broke one of the most important rules of being a rat–!

“Don’t worry, little rat,” said the man. “I won’t harm you. But I’m afraid I have no food to share either.” He shook his head and kept plucking away. 

Remy stayed frozen for another minute, but when he realized the man would keep his word, he walked even closer. He pointed at the instrument until the man paid attention to him again. 

“Ah? You like the mandolin?” the man chuckled. “Imagine that! Fine, little rat. No one has stopped all day. Here, my friend. I will share my food after all.” He reached into his pocket and unfolded a croissant from the napkin, then broke off a tiny bit for Remy to taste. Remy nibbled away as the mandolin twined on. Ah, it was light, flaky, and buttery– sweetened ever more by the music and the man’s generosity. Perhaps this was the song that his Josephine required? 

He did not finish the croissant. Instead, he placed it carefully in his cheek pocket then waved at the man the way he saw big-feet wave at each other. The man’s mouth dropped open in amazement. 

“Adieu! Adieu! Imagine, a rat saying adieu!” the man exclaimed, as he waved as well. And then his hands returned to the mandolin, and he played on.

Remy returned to Josephine’s. As always, the window was open. He hesitated there on the sill, looking left and right. She was not there. And so he hopped inside, darted over to the counter, climbed over the cabinets and put the croissant-crumb imbued with music and generosity down. He put a daisy flower down as well, as a signal to her that this crumb wasn’t to be swept away. It was to be used. Quickly, he darted out again, then waited, and watched.

But it was Fatou who came in, not Josephine. “Ah, what’s this? She’s not cleaned off the counter again! Messy girl!” Fatou tut-tutted. Remy squeaked in indignation as his flower and his magic crumb were wiped up and thrown in the bin. 

He would have to try again.

Chapter 8: Two Sisters

Remy returned to the streets of the 18th Arrondissement. This time, he found a woman with long dark hair singing on the streets, while her sister danced. Oh, it was absolutely beautiful! Remy gasped from across the street. The notes the woman sang were smoky and sweet, the sort of smell that piped out of chimneys on cold nights. And as the sister danced, bubbles bloomed around her and floated into the air. Bubbles, like the ones that appeared on the surface of Josephine’s soups!

Yes. This must be the song, Remy was certain. He must ask for just one note of it.

Looking left and right, Remy scampered across the street, then approached the sister. “Excuse me–” squeaked Remy, but he hadn’t learned how to speak French or any other big-foot language. 

Instantly, the dancing sister screeched so loudly she burst all of those beautiful bubbles in the air, then jumped behind her singing sister. Remy shrieked and jumped too, but did not yet flee. “Wait!” he declared, shaking his paws in the air. “Don’t be scared!”

“It’s going to bite me! It’s going to bite me!” 

“No, no! I won’t bite!” Remy insisted. 

“I’ll kick him!” declared the singing sister. 

See, this is unfortunately why rats call humans the rather derogatory term ‘big-foot.’ And so Remy barely dodged the singing sister’s big foot as it slashed through the air. 

As soon as he landed again, Remy put his paws over his ears and curled up. “Please! Please no more kicking!” He trembled in fear. 

The screaming stopped. No second foot flew through the air. 

Slowly, Remy lifted his head and peeked at the two sisters, who were looking at him suspiciously.

Remy realized that he would need another way to communicate. Their noses were not sharp enough to pick up his own calm, friendly scent, nor were their ears tuned to understanding his rattish voice. Thankfully, Remy was not only a very smart rat– he was a very creative one. And so he straightened up and then started to sway from one side to the next. His tail curled in the air. Then, he twirled on his left hindpaw, but oh, he messed up his balance, and fell right onto his rump! 

“Oof,” said Remy. 

The sisters giggled. “Oh, Didi,” said the dancing sister. “I think the rat wants to dance?” 

“That’s crazy!” exclaimed this Didi. “What rat wants to dance?”

“Dance! Yes!” Remy scrambled up and once again swayed from one side to the other. 

The dancing sister giggled again, then stepped out from behind Didi. She picked up her long skirt and swayed along with Remy. It took Didi another moment, but then she began to sing once again. Ah! The air was so warm with the song! Remy twirled again, and again, and he fell again and again, but that didn’t deter him. He got up every time, and kept twirling. He was so wrapped up in the beautiful song and its magic that he did not even realize that a crowd had gathered to watch the two sisters and their funny dancing rat. 

At the end of the song, all the big-feet cheered and whistled, breaking Remy out of his trance. He froze again, expecting more feet to start flying in his direction. Instead, silver coins glinted in the air as they fell, like perfect raindrops, onto the sisters’ scarf. 

The crowd dispersed. Didi leaned down, plucked one of the coins and presented it to Remy. “Here you are, our dancing rat,” she offered. “You earned this.” 

Remy reached out and took the coin. Oof! It was heavy. Still, rats are stronger than people think. He nodded in thanks, stuck the coin between his front teeth, then scampered off. Oh, he could just taste the music in the coin. It rang with jubilance and laughter!

Through the streets, Remy once again ran with all his speed. Onto the windowsill, Remy once again climbed. And then into the kitchen, and onto the counter he went. Remy put the coin down, the coin now marked with two small indentations from his teeth. Josephine would recognize it as Remy’s signature– the sign of his devotion. 

The door swung open.

Remy squeaked. He leapt off the counter and skidded underneath the table. Two feet appeared in his vision. They were not Josephine’s feet, but rather the large gardening boots of Adama. 

“Oh, what’s this? A lucky coin!” boomed Adama’s deep voice (which tasted nutty and rich like coffee beans. It had a particular crunch to it too.) 

“No,” Remy whispered in frustration as he peeked out from under the table, and watched as Adama pocketed his silver coin. His dancing, laughing, shining coin! Adama carried it out again as he returned to the garden.

Remy sighed. But he could not lose hope and he would not give up. Not until Josephine finally had her song. 

Chapter 9: The Piano

One more time, Remy embarked into the 18th Arrondissement, sniffing the air for beautiful, magical music. This time, he caught the trail of the delicate plinking of… well, Remy didn’t know the name of it yet. Let’s go with him to see!

This time, the notes did not rise from the streets. They were tucked away, in an inside place. Remy found the building but when he did, a new, very familiar smell filled Remy’s nose. He shuddered. Oh– there were rats in this building. Rats who did not belong to his colony. If Remy entered now, according to rat law, he would be declaring rat war. 

He knew what his father, the king, would say. He knew what his mother would say. He knew what Emile would say: Remy, turn back around! 

But the notes tickled the air– delicate and gentle. This could be the song for Josephine! Remy couldn’t turn back around, not now, not when he was so close. And so Remy took a deep breath and wiggled into the hole created by the other rats. He would be sneaky and he would be quick! 

Thankfully, most of the rats were asleep as it was the middle of the day, while the foragers were certainly searching through the alleyways of the 18th Arrondissement. Remy was able to sneak quickly from the basement to the upstairs. He picked his way through the kitchen, then peered around the corner. There, an old woman sat on a bench with a much younger boy as she instructed him on which notes to press to create such a beautiful sound. 

But the real song was not in the notes at all. Now that Remy was closer, he realized there was music in the old woman’s voice. She spoke with so much love for the pup and for the song that she was giving him. What was more beautiful than teaching another person your heart’s song? 

“Oh,” uttered Remy. He sighed and smiled, feeling all…buttery, from the inside out. He would have to ask for the song, but he also did not want to interrupt. This moment was for the woman and the boy alone. 

“Ah, beautiful! Just beautiful, mon chou!” the woman exclaimed as the boy finished a section of the song. “You play the piano so naturally!” 

“Beautiful, just beautiful!” Remy repeated. “Mon chou! Mon chou!” What a wonderful name for such a precious pup. 

“Shall we do it again?”

“Oui, Grand-mere!” 

“Oui,” repeated Remy, nodding vigorously. “Oui, please, play it again.” 

But Remy would not get to listen to the boy, his grandmother, and their song. Because a terrible hissing erupted from behind Remy. 

He spun in place, his eyes bulging at the sight of– hostile  rats! There were four of them, all hulking and twice his size. They leered at him and snapped their teeth.

“How dare you come into our house!” snarled one of the rats. “We shall rip you limb from limb, feast on your insides, and drag your bones back to your colony!” 

“Oh please, don’t do that!” Remy squeaked. He went onto his hindpaws so he could hold his paws up, which was something he saw the humans do, but this was truthfully not the best decision. It made him appear taller to the other rats, and was therefore a show of aggression. He should have flipped himself onto his back. But well, despite being very smart, Remy was often very stupid anyway, as you’ve probably caught on by now.

“How dare you make yourself taller than our king!” cried out another rat. 

“What? No! No, I simply want to talk this through like civilized– AHHHH!” 

The hostile rats lunged. Remy scrambled back. He had nowhere else to run but straight into the room with Grand-mere and Mon Chou. 

Immediately, as humans often do, these humans screamed at the sight of him…and the four larger rats on his tail. 

“RATS!” screamed Grand-mere

“RATS!” screamed Mon Chou. 

Rats. The word, spoken with such hatred and fear, rotted through the magic still lingering in the air. It filled Remy’s noses with the smell of something burning. It feels his mouth with the taste of something poisonous, that he wanted to spit out. It brought tears to his eyes. And he would have cried again, but he was too busy running for his life. 

The piano bench smacked onto the ground, nearly squishing Remy as he passed by it. He dodged it, and scrambled up the leg of the piano. “I’m leaving, I swear!” Remy screeched, but the rat war was on! Piano notes clinked and clonked as Remy tripped over them. They banged and bonked as the enemy rats followed. 

“KILL IT!” screeched Grand-mere. 

Mon Chou, who was truly a very loyal and obedient pup, grabbed a vase off an end table and threw it with all his might at the piano. Remy leapt onto the other side of the notes and barely dodged it. It shattered into many sharp pieces of ceramic. Quickly, quickly, Remy slipped inside the piano! Was he safe here? Oh please, let him be safe here!

Well, what would you do if a rat got into your piano? Obviously, you’d want to get the rat out again. 

And so Mon Chou hauled the top of the piano up and, with all his might, began to whack the piano with a broom. 

Smash! Clank! Twang! The strings snapped so viciously they could cleave a rat in half. Yes, it’s a terrible image. If you are queasy, skip to the next chapter. 

Because one by one, those strings snapped and sliced through the air, filling Remy’s ears with a terrible hiss. One string took the tail off a hostile rat, who screamed in pain. Another took off an ear. No longer was the piano filled with music. Instead, rat blood splattered the turning pins and smeared the hammers. It was a terrible rat war indeed, and though Remy knew those hostile rats were not his friends, his heart hurt to think of the pain they were in, because of him. But he couldn’t help them! He had to run! 

And so out of the piano Remy climbed, just as another string snapped. It hissed through the air, catching the tip of Remy’s tail. The pain was so swift, Remy hardly felt it. His fear was much greater. So he flopped onto the ground and sprinted away from the terrible squeaks of terrified rats. 

When he finally emerged from the inside place, Remy was shaking and bleeding. He was a rat who loved light, fresh air, and the colour of the sky. But after such an experience, he was just like other rats. He longed for a dark, warm, small place. 

He snuck through the grates into the sewers. The sound of rushing water soothed his ears and his racing heart. He settled on the damp concrete and drew his tail around himself, so he could hold the bleeding lump at the end. With trembling whiskers, Remy rubbed his own tail and watched the water for quite some time, until he finally cried out all the stress from the afternoon.

Perhaps, he thought, he should go home. 

But if he went home, would some of the other colony trace his scent? Would he bring the rat war back onto his family? 

Or, if he went home, would his family see the blood and  smell the scent of the other rats on Remy, and know he had broken one of the most important rules? Wouldn’t his father, the king, kick Remy out once and for all?

And so…what now? 

Truthfully, Remy knew the answer all along. Josephine, sang Remy’s heart. More than ever, he longed to see her beautiful smile and smell her delicious soup. He wished that she could hold him and tell Remy that all would be well. Home was no longer back in the basement where he’d been born. For a while now, home was with her. Remy just hadn’t wanted to admit it fully. Because to admit it would mean…

It would mean… 

If Josephine didn’t want him, Remy would have no place left  to go.

Oh, what a truly horrible thought. Remy was more scared than he had been just moments ago, trapped in the piano and surrounded by the smell of blood. It was one thing to die and another thing to be rejected. There was certainly a part of Remy who wanted to disappear into the streets of Paris and perhaps be run over by a cart or eaten by a cat. He thought about it, and thought it’d probably be much easier, for both rats and humans alike.  

But Remy was still our special rat– kind, optimistic, creative, loving, and above all else, brave. He was a rat who sat by a mandolin player’s side, and a rat who had danced with two sisters to the city’s applause. And so the dream of love was still alive in him. The dream of love was still alive in the streets of Paris. If he was rejected, why, then he’d die– but not until that point!

And so Remy climbed out of the sewers and back into the light. 

[toyastales]

Step up your style game with these fierce and fabulous cheetah print knee boots!

https://toyastales.blogspot.com/2024/12/remy-knee-boots.html

[backuparguelles]

Chibiverse is live in front of a studio audience

[honey-minded-hivemind]

I don't have any questions or requests or anything like that

But here's some more Cobbler!Reader doodles

I love them all!!!

Poor Patches (Cobbler!Reader) woke up to find a thief stitches to their arm, who is shocked amd trying to pull away (only pulling Reader up amd waking them in the process). (Plus look at alarmed Gambit, with his fluffy hair!) Patches has stitches everywhere! They're like a patchwork quilt! Sewing their arms (Logan amd Hank are trying to pull their hands away without causing the stitches to bleed-), holding nails and tacks in their mouth (it adds to their expression, you did marvelous with it!), their beanie hat and vest/jacket and scruffy fluff hair! AWww! They're such a bean!

( @thewickedweiner Cube Anon, this is adorable. Thank you for introducing the idea of Cobbler!Reader! And the idea of them stitching themself to Gambit. Comedy gold and a bonding moment, right?) (Remeber to takes break and eat some food. And to drink your water!) (Here's a bonus part for Scales And Tails AU: Gambit and Logan and Scott act like mother hens/cats towards Reader, who they scopp into their scaled embrace and wrap up in their claws/wings/tail... And Reader has wings, and can fly, because they need something good; they go on flights with Rogue amd Jean and Storm, and learn to hunt with Logan, and learn how to hoard stuff with Gambit-) (Gambit, no, no, do NOT kindAp the BaBy-!)

(Just watch Cobbler!Reader meet the Readers... The bean gets along real well with Sentinel Reader-!)

[hakusins]

tw // injury, bruises, blood, degrading tattoos

276 days later - Eri the Orphan

[romancemedia]

World Masterpiece Theater anime series

[nerdycartoongal]

Zeno Robinson in Disney cartoons

[skyfallscotland]

Tecarus: work for me for a couple of years and you can have your own private island to live happily ever after on together

Violet: I could never leave everyone else to die, that would be morally wrong!

Remi: …how big is it?

[deepfriedscallops]

Wow how did I never post Her✨...anyways, she's still among my top favorite OC designs from 2024

[ratwhowrites]

World building or something

The crowd was like a never-ending sea, waves of people from every district, swallowing everything in their path, stragglers trapped in the current. The hot air generated from the large wave of people was practically suffocating me, and I could feel sweat dripping off my forehead despite not doing anything particularly laborious. It didn’t help that the air is naturally hot here. Such is the norm for the busy outlets of Cinderstone Heights, Hestia’s most popular tourist destination. 

I stumbled and took a second to regain my balance before I too was swept away. The smell of someone cooking meat from a nearby restaurant filled my nose as I tried to navigate my way through the endless stream of shoppers. Women in extravagant hats that make them stand out, men with long coats that dragged along the ground and got stomped on by the crowd. Teenagers hanging out outside the shops.. ah somethings never change. People dressed in all sorts of outfits, each one different. They ranged from simple farm clothes, glamorous gowns and suits, even hunters attire. I tried to avoid the last ones. The people wandering the market were like snowflakes, each one unique with none that were exactly the same. Beautiful.. from a distance at least. To be caught in the current was overwhelming to say the least. I couldn’t take more than three steps without bumping into someone. The chatter of what could have been thousands of shoppers and tourists hammered in my ears and pounded in my head.

It was then that I noticed the man in front of me had dropped something. It was small and just barely noticeable, if I had blinked, I would have missed it. I watched it catch the light as it spun, then disappear into the ocean of feet and wheels. Against my better judgement, I made a dive for the fallen object, careful not to be trampled by the herd as I scoured the floor for the shiny object, the hot ground burning my hands if they lingered in one spot too long. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small shimmer. To my delight, the item was there, and I made quick work of snatching it and standing back up. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a gold pin, designed to look like a rose. It was beautiful but worn. Whoever dropped it must care a great deal about it.

I looked around frantically, hoping to locate the stranger but trying to pick out an individual in this crowd was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I struggled to remember what the man had looked like only recalling his leather coat and sword sheath. I rushed through the crowd, asking if they had seen the man. I felt as if I were swimming upstream as I had to push against people to get through. One girl had fortunately spotted him heading towards the farmers’ market. I knew that area would be less crowded at this time of day due to the heat. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked the girl and made my way to the market, eyes peeled for the sword sheath and coat.

As I had predicted, the markets were rather empty, save for the occasional old ladies or collectors passing through.

That’s when I saw the coat. I raced forward and tapped his shoulder. When he turned, whatever I was going to say had been long forgotten. I was staring at Dallas Nightingale, legendary outlaw, hero of the isles. I felt almost shy. I had never spoken with a celebrity before, much less a hero. Ask anyone and they will tell you he’s the most approachable person, greeting everyone with a smile. Right now, he seemed a little confused, as if he were waiting for something... Wait.

“Um,” I said intelligently. “I- I found your pin.” I meekly held it up, mentally cursing myself for not having more to say. He looked down at it, then to a spot on his jacket and back to the pin in my head seeming to have the realization. He carefully picked it up and pinned it back in place. I anxiously awaited a response from him. After what felt like ages, he cleared his throat.

“Oh my gods I didn’t even realize I had lost it. Thank you so much; I don’t know what I would have done without it. This pin means a lot to me. I can’t believe I almost lost it, thank you again. You’ve got a better eye than I do.”

His smile was dazzling, had we not been outside, it would have brightened up an entire room. It was warm and friendly, enough to almost make me forget that I was talking to a famous person and not a close friend. He had that effect on people, as if he were simply a friend you’ve known for ages. He shook my hand firmly and I thought I might faint. He. Shook. My. Hand. THE Dallas Nightingale had shaken my hand. I momentarily wondered if I was dreaming, or perhaps had gone insane and that this was all a hallucination.

“It- it was no trouble at all. I’ve got a eye for shiny things. It runs my family hehehe-” I’m talking to much, I thought. Dallas only smiled and gave a warm chuckle.

“That’s pretty impressive... oh- forgive me. I haven’t even asked you for your name.” He nervously chuckled.

“Ariel. Um Ariel Silver. It’s nice to meet you.” I didn’t even bother to pretend I didn’t know him. Everyone and their mother knew who he was. My face felt warm from embarrassment, and I could only hope he didn’t think I was weird.

“Ariel is a very nice name. It suits you. Thank you again miss. I’ve got to be going but I hope we’ll meet again. Take care!” He shook my hand one last time before rushing off. I stood there for a moment, gathering my thoughts. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone at work that I met him.

Meet Ariel Silver! My special, tragic little gal. Another important character in my story who has yet to be introduced here. I have a really cool idea for how I want to make these books and she is a big part.

@randowaffle @thatmangledpheonix

[l-egionaire]

I love that in their Twisted Tales story, Collette does what Linguini never did and just ASKS Remy why he knows how to cook.

[let-remy-cook]

The Tale of Remy, A Rat Enchanted || Part One

A/N: Hello and welcome to my Remy Backstory, which will probably be my rp magnus opus lmfao. Whilst everyone else was doing wonderful swynwrimos, I was writing thousands and thousands of words about a rat in the style of The Tale of Despereaux. That children's book is one I've constantly cited as one of my greatest influences as a writer and a reader. It shaped my tastes and taught me really interesting things about voice and narrative structure, which persist to this day. So with all that said, this is in many ways an homage, and as silly as it is to dedicate a glorified Ratatouille fic to an author, it is dedicated to Kate DiCamillo. She will never read it, but I hope y'all do lol.

i will be releasing it in little chunks (the chapters of Despereaux are very short, normally just two or three pages). So... enjoy!

Chapter One: A Rat Enchanted

Once upon a time, a very special rat was born in the streets of Paris.

He was born during the rainy season, which rats referred to as the Great Wet. The Great Wet was a very difficult time for any street rodent, whether you were a rat or a mouse or even a squirrel, and squirrels have the unfair privilege of being very welcome in green places with lots of trees. But if you are a rat, you have it worst of all. This is one of the sad truths of being a rat. You are often too big to fit into nooks and crannies unless you spend weeks in advance chewing out rat-doors and rat-tunnels, which some rats do. But if you are a pregnant dam, you have no time for chewing out escape routes. And there are no homes for you in the trees. The places most welcome to you will be the greatest, wettest of all– the below places, like the sewers and basements. Many pups will die if they are born during the Great Wet, in all these below places.

Yet this was the place where Remy was born.

(Remy is the name of our special rat, although he will not come into that name for some time. Still, it is rather rude to refer to him as simply ‘the special rat’ and so we will call him by his name, the name that he chose for himself.)

Remy was born as the rain came down in spades and gushed through the grates. He was born in a box of gardener’s gloves on the top shelf of a basement home. The water filled the basement and the sound of the rain filled Remy’s sensitive ears, while his nose filled with the smells of his siblings on either side of him, as well as his mother’s milk, the soil from the gardener’s gloves, and most importantly of all, the faint memory of the fruits and vegetables those gloves had tended. Remy was so fascinated with all those smells in particular. His siblings mewled and suckled, but Remy sniffed and sniffed and sniffed.

And the more Remy sniffed, the more that he smelled. Because the rain had washed in the whole wide world of Paris– all those above places, now below.

He smelled the warmth and dust of horses

He smelled the smoky remnants of discarded bullet shells

He smelled the rankness of spoiled meat and the riches of spilled wine.

And oh, there was even more. It was like a soup of scents, many of which Remy would spend his pup hood searching for again, because of the way they made him feel. He did not have the word for them then, but I will tell all of you now: it was magic that Remy was smelling, magic that danced on the tip of his quivering and curious nose. Magic, and hope, and dreams, from a city that looked out their windows into the Great Wet, waiting for the sun.

Perhaps if it had not been raining, Remy wouldn’t have been different. Perhaps he would have suckled his mother’s milk and grown up a regular rat like his brothers and sisters. There would be no story. There would be no miracles. And there would be no heartbreak.

But it was raining on the day that Remy was born. And so Remy sniffed, and he dreamed, and magic nestled itself inside his heart. He was a rat enchanted, and this is his story.

Chapter Two: The Below

Remy quickly realized that he was different.

It wasn’t hard to figure out. While his fellow pups ate regularly on schedule, Remy missed feedings because he was too busy sniffing out things he really should not be sniffing out, considering his size and his age. He was blind, just like his siblings, and hairless, just like his siblings, but still he could not help but crawl around and treat his whiskers and nose to all kinds of wonderful sensations.

At first, his mother chastised this behavior, because her heart was filled with love and worry for all her pups, and she couldn’t bear the thought of this strange baby of hers getting lost or not eating enough. But she also quickly realized that Remy was different, since he could describe to her the entire layout of the basement without even opening up his eyes. He was strange, but smart.

“Oh, but you really need to eat more,” his mother urged him. “Eating is the most important thing in life.”

This was Remy’s first lesson. And it must be said that it was one he took to heart, no matter how different he became.

Still, he grew to be slim and long, a bit smaller than average for his age, which also set him apart. And every day, there would be something new and bizarre that Remy would do.

One day, Remy asked if they ought to all give themselves names. The colony did not know what he meant by that! A name? How unnecessary, the rats chattered among themselves, when they had scents which distinguished one rat from another. Scents were better than names, because a scent could not only mark a rat, but let their fellow rats know where that rat had been and what they had eaten and if they were in heat or not. It was all useful information.

The next day, Remy asked if they all could smell the music. Someone was playing a guitar upstairs, each note as crisp as the first bite into a carrot. Ah, Remy wanted to listen forever! It was a banquet to his senses! But all the rats chattered at him that they couldn’t smell anything, certainly not carrots. There were no carrots discovered in the heap of trash behind the house either, so Remy must have his scents confused.

And then the third day, Remy asked if anyone would like to come upstairs with him, to sit at the foot of the wonderful music, and feast on the sounds.

At this point, the king of the colony, who was Remy’s father, scuttled forward and bit Remy’s ear.

“Ow!” Remy exclaimed.

“Let those ears of yours work properly or shall I bite your nose too?” exclaimed his father. “We never go upstairs, unless the big-feet leave the house! And when we do, I decide who stays and who goes. Were you not paying attention to the lessons?”

“Lessons?” Remy had not been paying attention to the lessons. He had been paying attention to the music, which smelled quite like celery, carrot, and potato this time.

“Bah, you ridiculous runt,” said the king. “Pay attention. Or one day, I will have to ask you to leave the colony.”

Remy nodded, running one of his delicate paws over his trembling whiskers. Well, Remy did not want to leave the colony. Perhaps he was very different from his siblings, his aunts, his uncles, and his cousins, but he loved them anyway. They were his family, and their scents were still his favourites, even more so than the music. They were the scents of home.

Since that day, Remy attempted to curb his strange questions and strange behaviors. He was a smart rat, after all. Smart rats (and this goes for people too) have a gift for tricking others into believing that they fit in. In fact, Remy put his smarts to good use and quickly became one of the best foragers in the colony, and so the king sent Remy out of the basement into the above world.

Chapter Three: The Above

The day Remy poked his head into the above world, the world welcomed him with light, sound, and scent.

Oh! It was even better than the guitar! Remy’s senses came alive. He could taste the sunshine on his tongue– as sweet and hot as melted sugar. The breeze tingled like pepper in the nose. Remy scampered out with abandon, forgetting the lessons he had dutifully practiced until this point.

“Hey! Come back here! Come back!” shouted Remy’s brother.

Remy skidded to a stop, his fur sticking right up. “Right!” Remy turned right around and scampered back, twitching his whiskers apologetically to the mischief that he was leading. He couldn’t forget them. As the lead forager, his duty must be to his siblings.

But from here, Remy could smell into the faraway places. He stood on his hindlegs to sniff, sniff, sniff, catching not only the rich smells of fresh food, but the traces of the lively, bustling city. Big-feet! That’s what he smelled. They smelled amazing to him, as distinct from one another as one rat to the next. He could not resist learning more about them, and so he beckoned his siblings forward. Instead of exploring the trash heaps along the streets, they headed deeper into the city.

The troop zigged, zagged, and skidded. They scuttled, dipped, and raced as gracefully as– well, as gracefully as rats. I know that rats are probably not what you think of when you picture a graceful animal, but they really are nimble creatures worthy of the compliment.

It did not take them long at all to arrive in a trading market. The air was kicked up with dust, warmed by the sun, and full of human sweat. It was also full of fresh vegetables, ripe fruit, raw cuts of meat, fresh fish from the river, baked bread, and bowls and bowls of spices and herbs.

It was the best-smelling place in the world. For once, Remy and his siblings all agreed.

His siblings began to plot. What foods should they go for first? How would they avoid the big-feet? Ah, perhaps there were some trash heaps in the immediate area that they could scout for. Yes, a good idea! What did their brother, the lead forager and most clever among them, think?

But Remy wasn’t listening.

Remy had his paws grasped together, his entire body trembling at the scents. It was not just the food, the food, the food! It was the big-feet. He quivered as he drank in, for the first time, the smells of human emotion. There, a man arguing with another– their emotions stung his nose. And over there, two men were laughing with each other. Their laughter was milk-and-honey, and filled Remy’s stomach to bursting. And in the middle of the market, a man presented his pregnant dam with a flower, and the dam laughed and kissed the man on the mouth. To Remy, this kiss was the most delicious emotion of all. It tasted like a sunshower– like rain and like light– and he wanted to wrap himself in it, and die a happy rat.

It was too much for such a small, young, strange rat. And so Remy put his paws over his eyes and began to weep.

“What!” squeaked Remy’s sister. “What dreadful noise are you making?”

“Did I step on his tail?” asked Remy’s brother.

“Was he bitten by a mosquito? Is he dying?” asked Remy’s brother (another one).

“By the king’s whisker, he’s leaking!” said one of Remy’s cousins, jumping back.

Remy could not answer his family, even though he wanted to. He could not explain where the tears came from, or how he, a rat, could cry them. It was yet another unexplainable thing about this unexplainable rat, and it struck him right then what a miserable fate it was to be unexplainable. In fact the more he cried, the more his own loneliness bloomed, tasting as bitter as coriander. It hurt his teeth. It hurt his heart.

“I think we should leave him here, in case it's contagious,” said Remy’s sister, who was the beta for the troop and also one of the smarter ones. To her credit, she said it sadly. Remy could taste his sister’s regret. It was also as bitter as coriander.

So Remy nodded to his sister, to let her know that he understood and did not take it to heart. (But he did take it to heart. He took it to heart very much.)

One by one, his family turned away from him, until Remy was alone.

But he was not really alone, was he?

No. Remy looked up from his paws and he looked through his tears to the market, where all the humans moved in front of him, talking and yelling and laughing. It remained the best-smelling thing in the whole world. And right there, Remy’s wish was born. Oh, he thought to himself, how I wished I could belong among them.

[aller-geez]

My grumpy boy is the 3rd commission I’ve completed out of 12 for @thekinkyleopard 🥰

[edupunkn00b]

French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 17: Le Roi est Mort. Longue vie au Roi.

Colorized version of Fighting at the Hotel de Ville, 28th July 1830 by Jean Victor Schnetz. (embedded image description)

Prev - Le roi est mort. - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Le roi est mort. Longue vie au roi. - The King is Dead. Long live the King.

12 Julliet 1789

“My father?” Remus asked the steward. 

He nodded once, his eyes warmer than Janus had ever seen them. He waited a moment, then moved to the door. “Shall I call someone to assist, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Remus dismissed him with a wave. “Thank you," he added belatedly, without really looking at the steward. His gaze had gone fuzzy, like he wasn't really seeing any of them. "We will be out presently.” The door clicked shut and Remus sat frozen on the bed.

“My dearest,” Janus whispered, brushing fingers down his cheek. Remus covered his hand with his own, lips pressed against his inner wrist. He stayed like that for a long moment, merely breathing against his skin. The tic in his eyebrow danced and his knee bounced under the sheets. “You’re not alone,” he whispered.

Remus nodded, but didn’t get up.

“May I help you dress?”

“Roman,” Remus murmured, eyes focusing. “He is alone.” He nodded again and, still holding tight to Janus’ hand, climbed out of bed. “Let’s dress and go find him.”

They dressed in silence, speaking with gestures and touch. The steward was waiting outside the new King’s door and, though his gaze lingered briefly on Janus, he merely bowed his head to each of them and led them to the former King’s chambers.

Remus’ heels echoed down the hallway, his formal shoes stiff and hardly worn. Janus remained at his side, keeping pace with his longer stride. He moved as though to delay would only make it worse. The King’s own Mousquetaires stood with lances crossed in front of the closed entrance to the King’s suite.

“Your Majesty,” they said in unison before looking pointedly at Janus. Remus glared back and took Janus’ hand and they, like the steward, bowed their heads and opened the door.

“Re?” Roman’s voice was small. He sat in a chair near the head of their father’s bed, holding his hand. He wore a silk robe tied haphazardly over his sleep clothes, no wig, no makeup. Even dressed so differently, the brothers wore matching expressions, jaws set, identical eyes hard and pained and fighting tears. The King’s eyes had already been closed, the sheets drawn up to his chin. Janus realized he wasn't sure what color the King's eyes had been.

Without being asked, the steward fetched two more chairs. “Thank you,” Remus nodded, the tiniest warble in his voice. “Leave us now.” He waved the steward away and the rest of the staff loitering in the room. Once they’d filed out, he opened his arms to his brother and they cried together.

“He knew, didn’t he?” Roman whispered after a while. “It’s why he insisted we join him at dinner tonight.” The younger brother rested his head against Remus’ shoulder, the stiffness around his eyes and his jaw melting away. “Why he agreed to dismiss everyone else.”

The future King only nodded and held his brother close for a long while. Janus laid his hand on Remus’ shoulder for a moment, then rose and murmured, “Would you prefer privacy?”

Remus’ hand shot out and grabbed his. “Please don’t leave, mon douceur,” he whispered, his other arm still tight around his brother.

“I won’t,” Janus promised, cradling his hand in both of his own as he sat back down. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The room fell quiet again. Eventually, a faint pink dawn bled over the horizon and birds from the gardens loudly greeted the sun’s return. “Does Maítre know?” Remus straightened in his seat and turned toward the door.

“Philomène is with him,” Roman nodded. “He’s…” He frowned and blew out a slow breath “He’d forgotten Father was ill.” He stared, unseeing, as his father’s corpse. “I heard them talking.” His voice was hoarse. “In the hall, before you arrived. The ministers.” He nodded. “They want the coronation immediately, perhaps even before the…” Roman swallowed, still holding his father’s hand. “The burial.”

“They fear a sign of weakness,” Janus nodded. “A chance for chaos, a chance for the more radical voices to be heard. On both sides.”

Remus’ knee bounced and he held tighter to Janus’ hand. “It’s wise,” he murmured. He stared at the morning light as it lit a path across his father’s body. Without his makeup and his wig, the frailty of the King was laid bare. Sunken cheeks, bruised shadows under his eyes, his bony hands… even the gentle light of dawn couldn’t soften the signs of his illness. Either way, there was no hiding it now.

“We must prepare.” 

~~~

14 Julliet 1789

Café de Foy 

“No,” Logan shook his head, cutting at the air in a sharp gesture. “Absolutely not, Lucas.” The young men surrounding the hothead egged him on but Logan stood firm. “We are ill-equipped to storm the palace nor do we have any evidence the King is actually dead.” He stood tall and slapped the table in front of them. “Running off, half-cocked and under supplied all on the whims of a rumor that the Crown is weak will do nothing for our cause.”

“You just don’t want your pretty little friend caught up in it all,” a laughing voice called from the back of the crowd. “Hard to escape when you’re tangled in the royal sheets.” Patton crossed his arms and scowled, scanning each face, but no-one would meet his eyes or take credit for the jab.

“What I don’t want is to see good men die for no reason,” Logan intoned, hands gripping the edge of the table. “What could you even hope to accomplish with this? If the King were dead, all you would do with an attack is garner sympathy for the grieving royal family.” He ignored the crowd and stared at Lucas. “And If the King isn’t dead, you surely would be if you tried to breach the palace walls.” 

“Cowards, all of you!” Colére roared back. “You’d rather sit here and—”

The sound of horses outside interrupted Colére’s rant and the doors slammed open. The runner from the bookshop down the street stood, panting, in the doorway. “Le roi est mort! Le roi est mort!” he cried. “He’s dead! He’s dead!”

Patton moved to his side but Lucas got to him first, grabbing the boy’s shoulders and pulling him over to their table. The students gathered close and someone passed over a mug of sweetened coffee. “Tell us what you know!”

“They hired the southern mason and have him working around the clock.” The boy gulped at the cup pressed into his hands. “His shop is guarded now, the King’s guards, but without their uniforms. Just their fancy boots have his crest.” He shook his head and smiled when he spotted Logan in the sea of angry eyes. “They have guns, though. Taller than me.”

“Are you now going to claim the boy’s lying, Father?” Colére spat at Logan. “Or will you admit your weakness and let those who haven’t lost their nerve do what we must do?”

His words were greeted with a cheer from the young men and they smashed their glasses together, beer and coffee spilling on the messenger boy’s shoulder. Patton took his hand and steered him to the bar. “Stay here, gamin,” Remy murmured, but the boy shook his head.

"I need to go back," he said and ran outside, the closing door cutting off his high voice shouting, "Le roi est mort! Le roi est—" Remy frowned and met Logan and Patton’s eyes. He shook his head, nearly imperceptibly. Logan stepped closer to the students but before he could speak, Colére stomped onto a chair and then up on the table.

“The people, the real people of France, not the royals and their hanger-ons, not the parasites and leeches who move among them, forgetting their true roots, but the people of France have expressed the same wish. Everyone wants to be free. Yes, my dear fellow citizens, brothers and sisters of France, we will make ourselves free.”

Lucas glared at Logan where he stood, whispering in the ear of one of the younger students. He was nodding, listening to Logan, but his head jerked up when Lucas paused. “And who could prevent us from being free? Who would even try?”

He released Logan’s gaze and looked around the crowd. The door swung open and another gaggle of men from across the street poured in. “Who would even try to rend a schism between the brothers of France?” He let his words settle, listening to the rumbling voices and watched as the young man Logan had been speaking to shook his hand off his shoulder.

“The people’s silence in the king’s lesson,” Lucas declared.

The moment he took his eyes off him, Logan slid away and let others fill the space he’d occupied. Again, Remy met Logan and Patton’s eyes and nodded. “Go,” he mouthed, and they moved toward the doors.

“Our nation, our France has been divvied up between the nobles and the clergy”—Lucas stared daggers at Logan before returning his gaze to his crowd—”When really France belongs to us. France belongs to the people.” He let the murmurs quiet and stood tall. “In dark days such as this, it becomes the duty of all our brothers and sisters to join together and take back what is ours.” A cheer rose up from the gathered crowd. “Insurrection is the holiest of duties.

“And it will be hard. It is so easy to sit back and wait for the scraping of the King’s plate to fall into our laps. It is so easy to be sated by the King’s crumbs.

“But the King is dead. Le roi est mort.” Lucas stabbed his finger at the door. More muttering people came in and Remy watched Logan and Patton slip outside. “It is no longer longue vie au roi. We shall not say ‘long live the king, but instead, vive le peuple. Long live the people! Vive le peuple!” He chanted and the room erupted in a cheer.

“Vive le peuple!”

“Long live France! Longue vie a France!”

“Vie a France!”

Someone pressed a tankard into Lucas’s hands and he finished it in three gulps. “To the Bastille!”

“To the Bastille!” The crowd roared and poured out from the café and marched down the streets of Paris.

~~~

Logan and Patton hadn’t gotten more than a few feet from the café when a loud cheer rang out. “The stables,” he whispered to Patton, gripping the shorter man’s sleeve and dodging another group from the typically rowdier pub at the other end of the street. 

“Word is out,” Patton murmured. They moved in silence to the stables, then closed and latched the doors behind them. Patton picked up a saddle and a blanket. “We should leave the carriage. Petit and Naif will be faster on their own, and we can trade off which carries two of us once we have Janus.”

Another rousing cheer broke out, this time from the street. “Merde,” Logan muttered, tightening the strap under Naif. “Ready?” 

Patton nodded and pointed to the side door. “Without the carriage, we’ll fit through there.” He clicked his tongue at Petít, encouraging her to lower her head as they moved through the smaller door. It opened out into an alley. The voices were more distant now, but growing louder. “We should move slowly through the city,” He whispered, moving away from the voices headed toward the Bastille. “We have a bit of a head start but we’ll lose it if we draw too much attention.”

Fingers clenched around the reins, Logan nodded. He was as jumpy as the horses, ready to move, ready to run. But Patton was right. There was no room for mistakes tonight.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Imagine a sorta alt version of the au

When Gambit and Cobbler!Reader first met when Gambit snuck into where Reader lived and tried stealing some stuff, only to quickly find his coat stitched to the Readers sleeve because apparently this Cobbler has a habit of stitching in their sleep... as well as nailing things in their sleep when they bonk Gambit in the head with a hammer- and When Reader woke up the two fumbled around a bit since y'know- Reader just woke up to a thief stitched to their arm- they'd probably be pretty startled- only for the two to fall outside and a bunch of Reader's nails and other knickknacks fall out of their clothes

...

And a higher up in the town/kingdom was making their entrance, only to step on one of the nails, resulting in both Thief and Cobbler to get in trouble-

Cube Anon

Ha- Oh no, the babies are in trouble-

Reader and Gambit have to quickly pull off a Rumplestiltsken move, making treasure or stealing it, so they aren't tossed in a dungeon or fed to a dragon or pit of allagators-

So here Reader is, sewing and stitching clothes into gold, some hay into gold, their stray hair strands into gold, and Gambit is slowly handing them rocks, old sacks, and even some loose threads, all of which is somehow turned to gold.

Huh...

When the two have enough gold to make the rich person no longer mad, they go to leave-

Only for the rich person to try to hold them as their prisoners/servants, which leads to Gambit stealing Reader, the gold, and the pants off of that person...

Thus starts their adventures~

( @thewickedweiner What do you think?)

[rabid-dog-steve-horn]

Remy: Trigger (Michael Jackson Thriller Parody)