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cherrygummycandy · 1 year

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Rescue from the Rescue

A platonic! Puss-in-boots and Perrito x reader

Summary: Working as a helper at Mama Lunas isn't always easy, and unexpected things can happen. Though, you never though meeting a Spanish-speaking cat and a dog dressed as a cat would be one of those things.

(An: This request was orginally for a younger niece or nephew of Mama Luna, but I didn't want to make it too gender specific (and I couldn't for the love of me figure out how to make a realistic family tree for Luna) so I made the reader an occasional volunteer. Please enjoy!

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Sweep. Sweep. Sweep. The scratchy sound of the broom rings out as your broom glides across the floor, as bits of fur, spare litter, and kibble are swept up into the dustpan. You hum a soft tune, swaying in turn to the beat. "Oh, Little Helper, come here!" Mama Luna's voice rings out across the brightly colored casa. "Coming, Miss Luna." You prop the broom up against the wall, grabbing the dustpan and dumping the contents in the nearby trashcan. 'Don't want any of the cats trudging through this and undoing my work.' You think, placing the now empty pan back by the broom.

You hurry through the house, tiptoeing across persians, shorthairs, and tabbies as you attempt not to step on any tails. You step into the living and sigh in relief, having dodged all the cats. Mama Luna sits in her rocking chair, knitting what appears to be yet another pair of cat mittens. "Oh, come here child." She waves you over, eyes not leaving the yarn project in front of her. "I'm planting a catnip bush out by the garden, would ya' mind tilling the soil?" She asks, stopping to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. You nod, but pause with a grimace when you see the plethora of cats napping atop her ratty grey hair. "Yeah, sure. Do you know where the garden supplies are?" She waves a hand over in the direction of the backdoor. "Just check the bag by the door." As you step away, slipping at the back door, you hear her call. "Thank ya', Little Helper! I'll make ya a real nice sweater for this. You giggle a little, and shake your head.

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Stepping down the rickety steps of the porch, you enter the garden. Bright stone walls enclose the area, decked out with various hanging plants. The ground is carefully decorated with all sorts of colorful plants, from poinsettias to marigolds. You smile, remembering the first time you entered Mama Luna's garden, coming to ask for some Marigolds for your Dia De Los Muertos altar. Honestly, you have no idea she managed to keep this garden looking so nice before you came along, seeing as anytime you see her she's knitting or bathing cats.

Just as you begin looking for a trowl, your ears perk up at a nearby sound. "So, Pickles, what do you want to do today? I was thinking-" "WE are not going to do anything, Perrito. I am going to sun in el jardín." You watch in amazement as what appears to be a talking cat strolls into the garden, standing on two legs. Behind him follows a, cat? 'What is that thing?' You think, tilting your head in confusion. The scrawny creatures look less like a cat, and more like a rat in a feline costume. "Oh! Sunning, just like a real cat! I'll join you, maybe I can sun my belly." The little animal says. "Um, excuse me?" You say, stepping forward to make your princess known. The orange cat jumps in shock, dropping to stand on all-fours, while his companion lowers his head, and attempts to use his hood, which has a cat face poorly knitted on it. "Uh... meow?" The orange cat tries. You furrow your brows, before looking back toward the house in realisation.

"Oh, you're worried Mama Luna will hear you. I won't tell her anything, I promise." You place a hand on your chest and kneel down, reaching the orange tabby's height. "I'm Mama Luna's helper, I just stop by from time to time, helping her with chores and what not. And you are?" The cat hesitates, green eyes looking you over cautiously, before standing back on two legs and taking a dramtic bow. "I am known by many names, but you, pequeño ayudante, may call me Puss." You smile, amused. "But your tag says pick-" "I know what the tag says! That is simply the name given to me by the-" Puss shudders, and glances at the house. "Iady of the house." He finishes. As you nod, your attention is drawn to his friend behind him.

"Who's your friend, Puss?" You ask, looking at the strange sweatered animal. Puss sighs, gesturing weakly with a paw. "This is Perrito, and, he is not my friend." Puss explains, barley glancing at Perrito. "Perrito... the cat? That seems like an odd name." You feign confusion, slowly reaching for Perrito's hood. Suddenly, you flip it back, revealing the a small, scrappy looking dog. "A chihuaha?" You exclaim, as the dog yelps. "Oh! Please, please, please don't tell Mama Luna, I don't really go into the house, I live under the por-" Perrito goes on, frantically rambling about his living conditions under the porch. Puss scoffs, turning away from the dog and pressing a paw to his forehead. You, on the other hand, feel your smile drop at the pitiful little pup. "Hey, calm down, please?" You ask, putting your hands out in front of you. Perrito's rambling stops and he looks up at you. "I'm not gonna kick you out or anything, I promise. You're a stray, right?" He nods. "Look, I know Mama Luna probably wouldn't be to keen on keeping a dog, or letting a walk around talking and standing." You admit. Perrito and Puss watch, waiting for your next words. "But, I'm not Mama Luna, so I guess I'll have to let it slide." Puss smiles and nods with gratitude, while Perrito hops up in delight. "Oh wow! Can you believe it Puss? Now, I've gone from no friends, to two friends in one day!" Perrito exclaims, tail wagging back and forth.

"We aren't amigos, amigo." Puss retorts. "Look, I have to finish tilling the soil, Mama Luna wants some new plants going in over there." You point towards the northern end of the garden, to a small bare patch under a tree. "But, once I'm done, maybe you guys can tell me a bit about yourselves?" You suggest. "Wow, Okay! Hey, I'm really good at digging. I bet if I help, we can get done even quicker!" Perrito exclaims. Before you can even respond, he bounds over to the unused soil and begins to dig at a frantic pace. You chuckle to yourself, and look a Puss. "He's... a bit odd, no?" Puss says, tilting his head as he watches Perrito fall into a hole that he just dug. "I'll say. Y'know, I'm looking forward to learning more about you, Puss. It's not everyday I meet a talking cat." You say, looking to the ground sheepishly as you kick a pebble. "Well, it seems like Perrito could be at it for a while... why don't I just started with the story now, sí?"

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It's been several hours, much longer than you realize, since the three of you began to discuss your pasts. You were amazed to learn about the adventures of Puss. You couldn't imagine going through half the things he has. Not only that, but you didn't actually know cats had nine lives, you always assumed it was a myth. "So, I say to the man, 'That is the last time you'll cross Puss-in-boots!'" Puss exclaims, finishing a story. Perrito stands on his hind legs and claps, while you let out a loud cheer. You quickly cover your mouth to stifle the sound, realizing Mama Luna must be asleep. "Oh my god, w-what time is it?" You ask, looking up and realizing how dark it's gotten. "About 9:00, why?" Perrito asks. You hop up quickly, moving up the steps and towards the backdoor. "I need to pack up, I must've gotten carried away with your great story-telling puss." You compliment. Puss follows you in, but Perrito stops at the edge of the door. "Perrito, you sure you don't want to come in? Mama Luna's sight isn't what it used to be." You suggest Perrito smiles, but shakes his head. "Nah, I've got a cozy corner under the porch waiting for me, besides, the rats are probably expecting me back." He gives you a goodbye, and you smile sadly as the chihuaha scrambles under a lookse board of the porch, fall down under the porch with a 'pop'.

You hurry to begin the journey back home, tying your boots and avoiding cats as you grab your bag and coat. As you do a last minute chek, to ensure everything you need is with you, you see Puss out of the corner of your eye. He is stood leaning against the bottom of a bookshelf, seemingly conflicted. "Puss?" You ask softly. His head snaps up, and he looks at you. "Are you okay?" You ask. "Fine, just thinking is all." He says. You feel that there is something more, but simply turn away. As your hand moves to reach the door, he says one final thing.

"How often do you stop by?"

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echo-goes-mmm · 6 months

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Ambrose and Elliot #20

Masterpost

Warnings: briefly mentioned past torture

Ambrose said snow would be falling soon, and Elliot was terrified. The weather was colder here than his old master’s land. The wood floors wouldn’t be so bad when winter came, but snow was snow and snow was deadly.

Once, his old master had thrown him outside as a punishment. He nearly died from the cold and ice, and had to beg until he passed out to be let back in. The doctor said it was a miracle of the gods he hadn’t lost any fingers or toes.

Elliot had more clothes than he’d ever had in his life now, but would it be enough?

He had two blankets, woolen socks, gloves and mittens, a great big coat, everything. But the fluttering hollow of anxiety inside him wasn’t satisfied.

He got up early, before dawn, to sneak wood into his room. Ambrose didn’t come in often, so he hopefully wouldn’t notice the pile of extra wood in the corner.

What else would he need?

Elliot remembered the tiny closet his old master locked him in. It was the best place to be in that horrible house when snow fell. It warmed him up because it was so little and stuffy. Ambrose didn’t have a closet that was both big enough for him to sit in and small enough to trap heat.

Elliot stole a blanket from the linen closet and lined his wardrobe with it. If it got cold enough, he could hide from winter inside it.

He began to squirrel away food and water under his bed. It was bad of him, but he needed it. He couldn’t take another winter hungry and freezing. Elliot had gotten two glass jugs and filled them with water. He also wrapped up some smoked and salted pork Ambrose had stored away downstairs. He tucked several apples into a small sack, and stole a jar of pickled veggies and a tin of nuts from the storeroom. Master Ambrose had made dozens of jars and had been smoking and salting meat for ages. He wouldn’t notice anything wrong.

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Elliot thought he was being sneaky, but Ambrose knew something was off right away. It just took him a few days to figure it out.

He was going to use those two jugs to make mead, but oh well. Elliot’s little stash was all shelf-stable, so he wasn’t going to discourage him.

The wood wasn’t a problem either. In all honesty, Ambrose probably should do the same thing. It would save him a lot of trips outside.

Ambrose didn’t have to wonder for long why Elliot was so twitchy lately. He kept glancing out the window at the sky, poking around in the fireplaces, making hot drinks and steaming meals.

He didn’t want to think about why Elliot was so scared of the cold. Ambrose was certain it stemmed from something horrible. Elliot’s quirks were almost always some coping mechanism to avoid pain.

Ambrose didn’t know how cold it would get this year. But Elliot would be fine, even without his secret cache of food. He wasn’t going to try and talk him out of his fear, it didn’t work like that. Winter would always have some level of danger, so there was no use reasoning with him. Ambrose could only hope Elliot would relax when he realized he would be alright.

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The snow fell down gently, in large flakes. It was pretty, but the bubbling anxiety in his chest kept him from watching for long. He got through his chores as quickly as possible and retreated to his bedroom.

He closed the curtains. He didn’t want to see the proof of winter looming outside. The room was warm and toasty and he was content to curl up and wait. If he had to spend all season in here, then so be it.

“Sweetheart,” called Master from behind the door, “I made some hot chocolate. I’m going to toast some marshmallows downstairs. You can join me if you want.”

Hm. That did sound pretty nice. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders and peeked out into the hall. It didn’t seem cold.

He made his way downstairs, and there was a roaring fire in the dining room fireplace. Ambrose waved at him from a chair sat in front of the fire. He felt a little more settled, and he eyed the steaming mugs of hot chocolate and the tray of cheese and crackers.

Ambrose was, in fact, toasting marshmallows. He ate one right off the stick, and Elliot found himself smiling as he went to sit next to him.

Ambrose handed him a prepared stick with a marshmallow on it. It was fun to toast them, and Ambrose showed him he could plop one into his mug and it would get all melt-y.

It was pretty hard to remember how scared he was when they were eating snacks and sipping on sweet drinks all afternoon.

Maybe winter wouldn't be so bad this year.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone

#me 🤝 Elliot hating the cold #ambrose and elliot #whump #my writing #slavery whump

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be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie · 10 months

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I was bored and started thinking about pets and here's the thing: I like dogs just as much as the next person, but hear me out when I say that the Sullies are hands-down a cat family and through years of volunteering at their local cat rescue and fostering kittens each Sully (+ ensemble) has their own puffball serotonin angel.

Snowflake. Snowflake is Tuk's cat—and, funnily enough, one of the oldest of the Sully's cats at 11 years. Nobody knows why she chose to name him Snowflake when they adopted him, he isn't even white (he's gray). Despite his age he loves playing with toys and is also very chill when Tuk dresses him up to play any number of make-believe games.

Batman & Robin. Named during Lo'ak's superhero phase, Batman and Robin are his cats. It didn't really start out that way, at first they were just foster kittens, but as time went on Lo'ak got so attached that Jake caved and let him keep them. Batman is a black and white tomcat and Robin is an orange tabby, and amusingly enough they hate pretty much everyone but Lo'ak—or at least Robin does. Batman is a bit more flexible and has been known to sleep in Neteyam's room from time to time, which really pisses Lo'ak off when he and Neteyam are in a fight.

Naia. Naia is Kiri's cat and came to them from an abusive previous owner. She's very quiet and rotates between Kiri's room and the outside. Nobody can recall a time she's ever set paw in any of the other rooms in the house besides Kiri's. Kiri always leaves her window open so that Naia can roam freely. Naia doesn't really like to be touched, even by Kiri, which the girl understands. Even so, Naia is very loving in other ways, sleeping on the pillow next to Kiri or following Kiri around the neighborhood as if keeping an eye on her.

Mittens. Neteyam's cat and the sweetest creature you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. She loves cuddling more than anything in the whole world and will do so with just about anyone. Unlike Batman, Robin, and Naia (Snowflake could care less either way), she loves strangers and is most definitely the first cat to approach when you first enter the Sully household. She's also very vocal, meowing and purring and yowling. She has a reaction for everything.

Seze. Neytiri, unlike the rest of her family, is a dog person. Neytiri does not like cats. If she had it her way their household would be filled to the brim with doggos. At first she was very resistant to the idea of having her own cat, too. Seze was a something she cold never have anticipated. She was originally brought in as an emergency foster kitten with her two littermates, and of course Neytiri left it to Jake at the time. But as their conditions got worse and they had to be hospitalized, Neytiri bonded with Seze, who became the only one of her litter to survive and recover. Nowadays her and Seze are a package deal and can be seen in the kitchen together while Neytiri cooks. Neytiri may not be a cat person, but she is a Seze person.

Bob. Jake's therapy cat and his one true joy in life (after his kids of course). He got Bob fresh out of the military and has had him ever since. Bob is dopey as hell but the whole family loves him, and he's the oldest of the cats. He and Jake watch the tv together, Jake complaining jokingly about whatever is on and Bob enjoying his pats.

Watermelon, Pickles, & Pumpkin. Spider is the only one with three cats in the family and all of them are menaces to society. From Watermelon the escape artist to Pickles the climber to Pumpkin the kleptomaniac, these cats are the bane of pretty much all of the adults' existences while the kids find them to be hilarious. No matter where you are, Watermelon will find a way to get to it. No matter how high it is, Pickles will climb it and will leap off of it, most likely breaking something in the process—or sometimes just not getting down from it for days at a time. No matter how well you hide it, Pumpkin will find it and steal it and put it somewhere you will never be able to find. Ever. And the worst part? They never do it around Spider, so he's literally in so much denial over it lmao. Neytiri is convinced they're demons while Spider is over here like "I am appalled by these accusations".

Olly. Norm's cat that has the weird habit of disappearing for weeks and then all of a sudden showing up out of nowhere. Like, Jake will stop by Norm's place and just see Olly and be all like "dude I thought he was dead" and Norm will be like "oh yeah nah".

Jasmine. Tsireya's cat and the most spoiled feline ever. Tsireya takes precious time grooming her and maintaining her specific food and water diet and adhering to her exercise schedule, and all for competitions (both show and courses for agility, etc.). Tsireya is the only one to have a purebred showcat amongst them all and both she and Jasmine take their winning streak seriously. They're not intense about it, but it is something they've worked for and are finally being rewarded for after a few years in the ring.

Pearl. Ao'nung's cat, supposedly. And I say supposedly because this cat loves Rotxo more than life itself and goes out of her way to be with him at all hours of the day. Ao'nung claims it's only because Rotxo spoils Pearl with treats and food on a regular basis, but Rotxo thinks he should just admit that his cat is their cat.

Oreo. Ronal and Tonowari's shared cat. Like Neytiri, Tonowari is a dog person, but Oreo has a special place in his heart. They're surfing buddies and hit the waves together during the summer months, while Ronal takes great pleasure in experimenting with homemade cat treat/food recipes with Neytiri. Oreo is a picky eater and working out which recipes he'll enjoy is a fun hobby of hers. Oreo also loves the water and gets so excited when he sees Tonowari with their surfing gear.

THIS IS SO ADORABLE. Nothing makes me smile more then when you guys send me these long headcanons, sometimes I have to add paragraph after paragraph and sometimes I'm like you did it, Joe, I'm just along for the ride.

I gotta argue with you on the cat family thing, the Sully family are a family of outdoorsman. They are camping and fishing and swimming and hiking and rock climbing and doing everything active and outside, and they need pets that can tag along. I am voting for dogs. I'm also arguing against Kiri letting her cat go outside. Kiri cares about the environment AND the cats enough to let any of the family let any of their cats out to wreck havoc on local species and get themselves hurt. Kiri is the type of bitch to judge the shit out of you for having an outdoor cat.

That being said, I'll kill a man for Spider's three fucking cats. Icons all around. Also tell my why I teared up at Bob being a sweet old cat 🥺 please, Bob is young and VITAL and he will live for decades more!!

#tuktirey sully #lo'ak sully #kiri sully #neteyam sully #neytiri sully #jake sully #bob the ikran #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #norm spellman #spider sully #tsireya #ao'nung #ronal #tonowari #melissa's asks #melissa on avatar (cameron)#we are mindmelding get in

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textsfrommittens · 2 months

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NEW Daily Mittens: Pickle Edition

#texts from mittens #funny texts

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nutstickler78 · 24 days

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hai! heard u had comms open. If i got it right,do you have any hcs about anhane?

Anhane ↣ꨄ

MY FIRST REQ!! And yeah, ofc I do :]! Thank you for requesting this, aun-muaq!

This might be a bit OOC cuz I haven’t really read up on the most recent VBS story (on EN), so I‘m truly sorry if something is incorrect! :[

Also I did. this before going to sleep lmao

☆ To start off, let‘s talk about Nicknames! I feel like they‘d either have the cutest or most CORNIEST nicknames for each other, no in between

☆ An would call Kohane: Kohammy, Babygirl, Honey, Sweetiepie and My SUPER TALENTED SINGER AMAZING DANCER AMAZING GIRL WHO IS ALSO THE CUTEST AND MOST BADASS AND PRETTIEST AND KINDEST SUPER SWEET GIRLFRIEND

☆ I‘d like to think Kohane is more normal (but also cornier) about the nicknames she gives An, such as: My Inspiration, My Love, My Darling, My Angel and My Really cool girlfriend who‘s as bright as a star and amazing girlfriend who I really love a lot and hope to marry her someday she‘s so pretty and cool and I love her so much.

☆ I feel like they both are SO whipped over each other, like notice how I gave both of them at the end a little swooning for each other? I feel like that would be them when they‘re not with each other and would unknowingly start talking about each other.

☆ I feel like An is a night owl despite being so energetic during the day, so I believe that in the nights, when they‘re cuddling with each other, Kohane usually dozes off as An rambles to her about who knows what!

☆ THEY‘D WEAR MATCHING HANDMADE EARRINGS !!! I WILL ACTUALLY DIE AND DISAPPEAR ON THIS HILL!!!

☆ if they‘re in each others vicinity, they‘re holding hands, no telling my differently. The only time they aren’t holding hands together is when one or both of them is/are carrying too many things.

☆ Kohane can crochet and with that magical ability, she crochets cute gifts for An, such as plushies, or hand mittens, or a winter hat, or another plushie and the list goes on!

☆ As for An, who‘s on the receiving end, she always proudly displays any work Kohane gifts her. Cold winter day? No worries! This scarf will keep me warm! See a cold little kitty? That‘s her kitty now and she‘s keeping it warm with one of Kohane‘s mini sweaters and with one of Kohane‘s mittens.

☆ Talking about Stray cats, if An and Kohane ever moved in with each other, I feel like they‘d keep bringing home any stray they catch even the slightest glimpse of in the streets!

☆ Lowkey they‘d at least have 3 cats; Princess Pickles, Nuclear Bomb and Tom (yes I‘m serious about these exact names)

☆ Though, despite being so whipped for each other, I definitely do think they‘d want to keep their relationship private from the public and only let their friends know.

☆ They both constantly get/make gifts for each other, they definitely have a whole organized pile from gifts of each other.

———————

That should be it! I Hope you enjoyed it :] it was actually my first time writing headcanons, so I‘m still new to this whole thing.

#anhane #an shiraishi #kohane azusawa #project sekai #pjsk #character x character #an x kohane #Nutstickler78 Writing

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pysoch · 1 year

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Good evening losers!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have more headcanons because I am awesome. As always, spoilers for both comics and videos. This one is gonna be miscellaneous and with all the mercs to pardon the hearts I broke with my last one 🗣️ love you guys!!!1!1 :3

(t/w for the mention of sensitive topics)

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- Sniper has horrid hearing. Constant "huh"s and "what"s from him due to the volume of his gun. For some reason, he's real good at small noises though.

- Scout sleeps with a fan because sometimes his thoughts get loud and white noise drowns it out.

- Engie suffers clinic depression, and since methods back then weren't really humane nevertheless good, he deals with it by doing non-bloodshed ways of s/h. This includes forcing himself to stay awake, sometimes skipping meals, overworking himself, or clenching his teeth really hard.

- Medic has seven different pairs of gloves for different days of the week, and two extra for major holidays! His halloween ones have embroidered blood stains, and little webs on the edges. His Christmas ones have a mitten design on the edges.

- Soldier wears earplugs but forgets to take them out, and henceforth why sometimes he doesn't have a grasp of an inside voice

- Heavy actually can't get pickle jars open. It's not that he lacks strength, but his palms are usually sweaty and he lacks grip. Designated opener is actually Demo.

- Spy always opts to sit in solo chairs no matter what. If there's only couches available, he stands.

- Demo isn't "ace" persay (since that wasn't really seen as anything but a mental disorder back then for some reason), but he feels significantly less sexual attraction than the other mercs. Doesn't keep him from jesting about it, though!

- Medic goes to events like weddings, bachelor parties, birthdays, family gatherings, etc, just for food. He sneaks into each and every one and puts on a fake name and persona. Always turns out the life of the party, and has made quite a few buds from a white lie of being a distant relative.

- Pyro sleeps without his optic mask, but has his upper body bundled in blankets and sheet, so he truly doesn't ever be seen.

- The mercs once played a prank on Heavy and Soldier by telling them they were both meant to be on guard of the base for the night together. They butt heads often, so through the cameras, it was a fun watch.

- Engie keeps Pyro's drawings in his hardhat. Sometimes even looks at em mid battle.

- Pyro drinks only a tiny bit less than demo, but still loves to be drunk. Throws down mad hard with dance moves when he is, too.

- Scout squeezes his bat extremely hard. He had to get a different grip tape on it because he splinters his hands real bad. It's partially because of battle anxiety, and otherwise because he wants to hit real hard.

- Spy has prescription glasses, but doesn't wear them because he thinks they're stupid. Sometimes he'll budge and put them on to read, but only when he's alone.

- Sniper hates the sounds of birds. He always snipes them, much to Medic's dismay. He keeps his doves inside now, because of that.

==============

(If you didn't know on behalf of the Engie one; these are actual signs of nonblood self harm. If you do these, it's always a good thing to reach out to professionals or family. You're not alone in this battle.) 💙

Hope you guys liked them blee3h

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #teamfortress #tf2 #tf2 comics #tf2 memes #tf2 headcanons #headcanons

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theoneandonlysun · 4 months

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It's typically custom for me to spam gift a bunch of pickles to someone when I give them an ask for the first time, but uh... yeahhh. In the meantime though, here's a tiny fireproof cat! Don't ask how I acquired it.

-Pickle anon

...KITTY. CAT. KITTEN. CATTO. KITTY CAT!!!!

Sun got Fireproof Cat.

...I'll call her MITTENS.

She's already attached.

#OH MY GOD CAT!!!!!!

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a-luran · 6 months

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10 28 30 39 for the character ask for maybe ireland or wales? please and thank you friend.

sorry anon! this is a little late. I'll keep this one a little shorter but answer for both

10. Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

I think that they both layer clothes but Daffyd's layers are always thicker. Sean would wear fingerless gloves and Daffyd mittens, and that tells me a lot of who they are.

For Sean especially I think that baring skin is a weighted thing. He is heavily scarred which for one invites stares in public and drags up a lot of history, for himself and others. I've talked a bit more about his relationship to nudity and sex in the context of his relationship to Antonio and generally I do see him having a complex relationship with intimacy. I think he is the most comfortable wearing thin layers around his most trusted people but wears thicker fabrics with all the practicality of armour.

Dai would never say this in front of Francis but he appreciates his fashion sense.

28. How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

Out of the four of them, Sean is second to last to resort to violence and Daffyd a far last, a diplomat by trade and a gifted speaker. It is not that Sean lacks any of his skill, but rather that he was primed and ready for confrontation for centuries. I've spoken at length about how i have always seen Sean as a Gallowglass-turned-doctor and i stand by it. For all of Daffyd's diplomacy as well, he is no shrinking violet and anyone would know as much by looking at the strength of his shoulders.

30. What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

In this i think that they are quite similar. They both find ego and wastefulness loathesome. The Tories. The House of Lords. The Conservative Government. Everything the conservatives stand for. Margaret Thatcher. I can keep going.

Sean cannot stand the taste of pickled fish after having to eat nothing but pickled fish for two months due to Happenings and Circumstance. Dai hates snails and slugs and leeches.

39. Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

Dai has only ever been bitten by small animals; mice, spiders. Sean, however, was bitten by a dog once and carries the guilt of driving it to violence. It is undue guilt.

#freagradh #hws ireland #hws wales #my keyboard is starting to break down so if you notice letter missing it's because they don't work well anymore

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lavender-sprite-scare · 2 years

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Random AU Headcanons

-Pickles doesn't like to celebrate her birthday for some reason. No one knows why

-Spot has a lot of artistic burnout.

-Forest and Ace are married^^ Their dates consistent of them building/fixing things and going for walks

-Rosy has a urgency to help people. Whether or not it's worst because she's now a licensed surgeon is up for debate

-Pepper and Toffee are dating! They like to cook meals for each other

-Lady has had a very sheltered life and is trying to break free from it

-Blossom and Marie both have tattoos!

-Mittens and Swirly are sisters, Swirly being older

-So are Peanut and Pillow. Peanut being older

-Lalaloopsy land is more like a city now

#Pickles BLT #Spot Splatter Spalsh #forest evergreen #ace fender bender #lady stillwaiting #pepper pots n pans #Toffee Cocoa Cuddles #Swirly Figure Eight #Mittens Fluff N Suff #Rosy Bumps 'N' Bruises #lalaloopsy adults! au #this au needs a better name #lalaloopsy

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deada55 · 1 year

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His Life Will Find A Purpose (When the River Meets the Sea) - Chapter 7

crossposting: ao3

work summary: A nine-year old in Tomahawk, WI gets glaucoma surgery over Christmas break.

chapter summary: As the advent calendar counts down, Pickles struggles under the anxiety of looming surgery.

tws: none (let me know if I missed a biggie!)

As December trickled by, Pickles would occasionally feel something rush up from nowhere in slow-motion, like he’d seen a tsunami climb out of the horizon. On the Wednesday before Christmas break started, they had a school assembly to watch the kindergartners and the fifth graders (including Seth) sing Christmas carols, and on that Friday they had a party complete with cupcakes from the classroom mom, quiet Mrs. Lofgren. But not even candy and watching Seth boil red from humiliation on the stage in the gym could break Pickles out of his fog.

Since he’d been provided an assigned seat after the first week of class, sitting with his friends in the back wasn’t an option, so he had to catch up with Rodney, Jonathan, and Michael during recesses. Today, they all sat behind the previous day’s snow fort.

“You’re lucky you don’t go anywhere on Christmas. My mom drags us to grandma’s house for dinner and it’s so boring.” Jonathan seemed to be related to almost everyone in town, if you went by everyone he claimed to be his cousin. A silent nodding consensus among Rodney and Michael cemented that yes, it was possible that Jonathan would have a large family gathering to attend on Christmas Day. Jonathan had the best baseball card collection and made a good playmate despite his constant fibbing, but his remarks consistently needed vetting.

“Yeah, it’s kinda busy at my house on Christmas.” Rodney’s mother was easygoing, yet exhausted with three year old twins, Rodney, and three beautiful Labradors. “I just play with my toys and have dinner.”

“Hey Pickles?” Michael interrupted Rodney just before taking a cool, refreshing bite out of a fresh snowball. “My sister’s in Seth’s class and she said you’re gonna be in the hospital on Christmas.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Pickles took off his wet mittens and drew furrows in the snow with his bare fingers. Traces of dried blood from his cuticles gave the snow the slightest rusty freckles as he plowed it into parallel lines.

“Really?” Rodney wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s his eye thing, remember?” Jonathan chirped, doing his best to be helpful.

“Yeah,” Pickles confirmed. Michael pushed himself up onto his knees.

“Wow. Are you going to get presents there?”

“No, my parents decided it’ll be when I get home.”

“Seth also said you’re not getting nothin’, but I don’t think that’s true.” Michael was always nice, whether he tried to be or not. Believing Seth came too easily to Pickles, and hearing someone else disagree with him always made Pickles feel a little better. If someone else thought Seth was wrong, then maybe he was actually wrong, and it wasn’t just Pickles trying to sabotage himself into disappointment.

Pickles sat back and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t care?” Michael ducked his head a little bit and ended up looking so sincere, with big, warm, black eyes, that Pickles almost snatched him into a hug,

Pickles shrugged, but before he could speak, Jonathan piped back up, this time just to be a know-it-all.

“You know eye surgery sometimes makes stuff worse, right? That’s how my uncle lost his eye!” His uncle lost his eye in a VA hospital in California after he’d come back from Vietnam, a story he told almost everyone he met. And Jonathan’s uncle met a lot of people working at the liquor store. He’d get talking for hours at the counter and wouldn’t even remember the back door of the stockroom was unlocked, and the creme de menthe was awfully close to the back door… Pickles helped himself every now and then. Jonathan’s uncle sure knew how to drum up new customers.

“Would you come back to school if you were blind?”

“I don’t know.” Blindness was such a frightening prospect that Pickles had instead begun to settle with his mortality, and fully intended to choose death over blindness out of sheer will. Still, there was no guarantee that wishing himself dead would finally work… Jonathan had effectively read Pickles’ fearful mind, but he smirked and looked back up into his friends’ faces. “I could get an infection and die with pus coming outta my face, so…” Heh. That’d be funny. Closed-casket funeral for sure. Maybe it’d make his mom sick of making casseroles with that set, gelatinous, yellow cream of chicken soup that was so concentrated that it came out shaped like its can… Can pus be chunky?

The boys were silent as they watched two beads of winter “sweat” drip onto Pickles’ cheeks.

“Well, I’d miss you-” Michael began, but was interrupted by Mrs. Wallace clearing her throat from the other side of the fort. Her festive nativity vest wiggled its pom pom trim at them from above.

“Gentleman, recess ended five minutes ago.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Wallace!” Jonathan was not only a fibber but a kissup and stood up the fastest, but they all trudged into line with the other kids.

At the end of the day, right after the final bell, before she’d even sat her chalk down, Mrs. Wallace called Pickles over to her desk. He slid everything on the top of his desk into his schoolbag, leaving papers and pencils to get crushed under his books, as long as it could close. Then, he walked up to her, standing in the scuffed 12x12 asbestos tile squarely in front of her nameplate.

His eyes only lifted when she held his mittens out to him, dry and warm from sitting on the radiator behind her desk.

“You left your gloves at recess.”

“Oh…” They needed to be washed but otherwise they were perfect and almost steaming with warmth. He cupped them in his hands, but he didn’t dare look at Mrs. Wallace in case he were in trouble for forgetting them in the first place. “Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas,” she offered, softening her eyes.

“Merry Christmas.”

When Pickles had his coat on (and doublechecked that Luke and his inhaler were still in the pockets), he heard Mrs. Wallace call him again while she straightened out the rows of desks. “Pickles?”

“Yes?”

Her mouth opened and shut a few times but nothing in her mind made it down to her mouth. Over the length of the semester, it felt like a light had gone out in her class. Although Pickles became less disruptive, it wasn’t a result of trying to focus more in class, punishment, or ‘maturing’. If anything, he’d gotten more distracted with his head on his desk instead of making faces or trying to cut up with the other students. She let him get away with playing with toys in the pockets of his clothes because it was one of the only remaining signs that Pickles was a nine year-old boy and not a frightened dog. His current state was far from the description of the incorrigible and wildly sincere child his last teacher described. It was like he’d been snapped in two.

Mrs. Wallace knew from being on the church prayer chain that when someone believes they’ll die, they come that much closer to it. Surgery was no laughing matter, but to see Pickles say a roundabout goodbye behind the snow fort he built laughing the day before made her heart lurch into her hands. But who was she to tell him he wouldn’t die?

He could barely stand to be spoken to. With his head tucked and his arms creeping up to his chest, Pickles took baby steps backwards towards the door.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you back in class in the new year.”

He chalked it up to seasonal formalities and nodded in her general direction. “Yeah, uh, you too. Bye.”

While she was dusting the cubbies, she found his mittens again, laid right under his coat hook on the floor. She brushed them off and folded them, laying them neatly in the left corner of his cubby where he could see them as soon as he returned.

Pickles’ sleeplessness followed him to Saturday morning, cartoons be damned. His teeth ached, for no good reason, and it was almost enough to make him stop eating. Weakly, Pickles hiccuped, and scooped spoonful after crunchy, wet spoonful into his mouth, until he could feel the granulated sugar he’d sprinkle over his cornflakes squeak between his molars.

“Just slap me,” Seth moaned with his head leaned against the couch cushion and his limp arms giving him the languishing, saintly form of a groggy Saturday morning schoolkid.

“What?”

“I said just slap me.” The hum of the tubes on the TV was eerie and clear, or were they hearing the refrigerator? They were still as two bodies laying in adjoining cabinets in the morgue.

Pickles reached to the right and hovered his fingers over Seth’s cheek. He brought it down on Seth’s unfocused face with the same hardness you’d use to make a hollow sound on a dog’s ribs, but pulled back when he felt his brother flinch.

“Ow!” Seth squeaked… right before he laughed. “You hit like a girl.”

“I do not!” Pickles couldn’t help being a little brother, but he was not a little girl.

Seth clicked his tongue like an idiot (Mom smacked him when he did it, but he swore he saw it in a mob movie) and returned his head to the polystyrene hammock of the couch seat cushion. With his knobby legs shoved under the coffee table and that smug, satisfied look on his face, Seth looked as comfortable as could be.

“Do it again.”

This time, with twice as much hesitation, Pickles popped him in the chops with an open hand. The sound of Seth’s teeth snapping together briefly volleyed around the room.

“ Ow !” Seth twisted himself towards his brother, then looked back away with a puff.

Pickles pulled his knees to his chest and chased the not-yet soggy cereal stragglers floating around his bowl with a little tea spoon. “Yeah. Don’t call me a girl.”

Instead of letting it go and going back to his own breakfast, Seth slapped Pickles in the side of the head with a flailing arm.

“Seth! God-”

“You’re such a pussy.”

“Am not… Jeez.” Pickles grumbled. Unwilling to debate further, he got up to sit on the couch.

“I know I didn’t just hear you speak the Lord’s name in vain, Pickles! Shame on you…” Molly waltzed into the room clutching her housecoat closer around her chest. When she sipped her coffee, her glasses fogged over and her eyes went missing.

“Seth, I want you to shovel out the driveway this morning.”

“Mom!” Seth turned towards her and crossed his arms tight, hoisting his shoulders over his ears. “That’s not fair!”

“Now don’t throw a fit. I’ll give you $5.”

“But make Pickles do it!”

“He’s too short.” She cut her eyes towards Pickles and he decided to stop trying to hunt every cornflake down. “He did a terrible job last weekend- your father almost broke his back! I want you to do it.” Pickles left the room to wash out his bowl.

“Fine.”

“That’s good.” She took her glasses off and came around the couch to give her oldest a kiss on the top of his head. “Love you. I’m going to go call Aunt Elaine.”

“Love you too, Ma,” he mumbled over his soggy cornflakes, then he stared at the television.

Pickles returned as she was leaving and laid down across the sofa, minding Seth’s head and curling up in hopes that it’d stop his stomach from tossing his cereal around like a front-loading washing machine. The second he closed his eyes, he was dozing off. Almost every waking moment he wasn’t talking to someone, he was thinking about the surgery. There were too many unknowns, from the food to the other kids to the non-zero chance that the surgery would fail and he’d end up even worse. Maybe blindness would be where everything would look like a blurry shape. Or darkness. Maybe his eyes would pop or they’d scoop them out, and he’d have empty, skin-covered eyesockets like one of the neighbors’ outdoor cats. Maybe blindness would be not knowing how nauseating he’d be to the unwilling friends and family who could bear to see his mutilated face. He probably wouldn’t die if something happened, after all. He’d have to learn how to live with it.

Maybe he could be a telemarketer, since he could probably memorize where the numbers on the telephone were, if only someone could read the numbers out to him. Or, braille, there was always braille…

Can labels and money and newspapers didn’t come in braille. Maybe he’d have to live with mom and dad forever, since he knew the house.

The last thing he might ever see could be white sheets or a doctor’s face. How long would it take for him to forget what everything looked like? Last night, he’d tossed and turned and made himself dizzy suppressing sobs and using his inhaler, something that had become more and more frequent as Seth’s advent calendar counted down like a bomb.

Today could be his last day to be a normal kid. Tomorrow, he went to Milwaukee.

“Pickles, can I ask for a favor?”

Instead of brushing Seth off, Pickles always felt compelled to accept Seth’s little “deals.” Although they’d bitten him in the ass, there were a handful of times where it’d been fun, or it’d saved them both a lot of trouble… like the time Seth’s friend gave them a ride in the back of his truck to the gas station and he gave them the remnants of nitrite leather cleaner, which kept Pickles entertained for the rest of the month. But Seth would do the same for him eventually, right? That’s what mom told him. Besides, he didn’t have any big plans today.

Seth rolled his shoulders and closed his eyes. “You gotta shovel the driveway.”

“I can’t. Mom said I suck at it, remember?”

Seth leaned forward and looked Pickles in the eyes as he pulled himself tighter and tighter into a ball. “Pickles, look, you’re my brother, alright? And you can do what you gotta do. It just iced over last time- but it was perfect, just perfect before that. You’re my brother, you can do anything you want to, and so what if you did a crap job last time, ok? You can’t do everything right. But you gotta shovel the driveway.”

“You can’t make me. Mom said she wanted you to shovel the driveway.” Pickles dredged himself up and sat upright to argue, but stopped short when he saw how quickly Seth twisted around, and how his face was stuck in that still, stern look that felt almost as bad as mother’s.

“I can’t make you but you’ll be sorry, trust me, ok? You don’t want to know what I’m gonna do to you.” Seth stood up, leaving his bowl of lukewarm, used milk on the coffee table. As he walked away, he backhanded Pickles in the ear.

“Ow!”

As Pickles sat by himself, the TV’s cheerful chirp started to sound mocking and hostile. When it became unbearable and sick-feeling, he stood up, turned off the TV, and grabbed the little shooting gallery pocket game from one of the side table drawers.

“Pickles?”

“Yes, Mom?”

“Your snow suit is clean.” He’d had it taken out of commission for a few days after Seth and his friends infested their yard with every frozen dog turd they could find within a half-mile radius. And that happened only a few days after he’d become un-grounded from slamming the door when Seth chased him up the stairs for using “his” broom for broomball. With all the drama along with his asthma, he’d spent most of his weekends inside. If today was his last good day, he might as well spend it in the snow.

When he emerged from the house, he immediately heard Jonathan reciting the rules of street hockey and ran up the plowed street just in time to even out the teams. Although he wasn’t a particularly valuable player, even when he could see the ball, it was better to have another body on your side than nobody, and there was even an extra stick! He burnt the rest of the morning that way, hollering and hustling, setting his lungs on fire. The ice on the telephone wires gave them a tinsel-y sparkle in the morning sun.

He’d played a couple games before Seth and his friends replaced some of the kids who had to go eat lunch and change gloves, and at the end of a match, Seth slapped him upside the head so hard that his hat flipped off.

“So when you gonna shovel out the driveway?”

“I’m not.” Pickles shot back as he bent down and shook the snow off his hat. “Mom said-”

“I didn’t ask you what mom said, did I?” Seth grabbed the back of Pickles snowsuit and jerked it up so that Pickles would stand. The game hadn’t really stopped, but with two people arguing by one of the goals, the rest of the neighborhood boys stood around and watched the sun shine helplessly on the snow-burdened, slumping cedar trees in neighboring yards.

“I’m not gonna shovel the stupid driveway!”

The white snow sparkled with such a sincere invitation that Seth couldn’t help but kick Pickles in the back of the knees, but before he could do much of anything else Michael Jones’ mom poked her head out of her door, swathed in her own winter fleece housecoat and slippers, but with a silk scarf over her hot-combed hair. And Michael’s mom wasn’t afraid to pull out the phone book and find your parents. And if they hung up on her, she’d write them. And if she wrote them and called them and what you did in front of her house was bad enough, she’d tell Mrs. Wallace or the grocer or even the Schwann’s guy… Mrs. Jones would get you in trouble if she thought you deserved it, and not even Seth would test her this close to Christmas. At the sound of her screen door squeaking, everyone stood still.

Seth stood back, casting a shadow over Pickles as he flipped himself over. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Alright.” Without another word, he turned and left. Slowly, the game resumed, but Michael himself came outside, and he and Pickles and Rodney left the game to go sledding on trash can lids a couple streets over.

When he came back down the road, red-nosed and cold-handed, it was after lunch. He shed his boots and his snowsuit at the door, freeing his sweaty hair from his hat and flinging his gloves to the floor. Snow had managed to wiggle into the arms of his clothes, wetting his undershirt, so he went upstairs to change it while he shivered off the lingering cold in his legs and ears. Seth bounded down the stairs, shoving right past Pickles, with a pair of scissors in his hand.

The door to his room, typically wide open, was mostly closed. The inside was as dark as it usually was, but the outline of his plastic Millennium Falcon looked more like a microwave omelette maker than a blurry dinner plate on the ground. He turned the light switch on and almost gagged at the sight of it cracked in two parts, all the glued plastic joins popped-out, with shards of grey plastic spilling out of the splits. Around it lie the whole cast of Star Wars (at least, the ones Pickles had) in pieces, their arms and plastic boots scattered like they’d lain down on landmines. A couple heads were broken off, or marred by the force of two blades attempting to saw them in half.

He knelt, but he kept his breathy torment and pathetic tears in his hands. After all, they were only toys, right?

#my writing #metalocalypse fanfic #metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #preklok #metalocalypse hcs

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