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f3mme-f4tale · 8 months ago

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which witch

part one

word count: 4k potential warnings: potential depictions of violence, sexual content, fingering (r! receiving) adult themes (explicit language), tension, angst, world building, more to come... pairing: rebel!ellie x princess!reader (categorized within the knight!ellie aesthetic)

authors note: there are some influences from game of thrones! :))

A cloud of gray smoke lingered above the vine-infested concrete walls of the booming city, machinery roaring to life and wildering conversations floating in the thick air. A war was looming over the Sovereign City, an invading force from the south eagerly plowing through the skin-biting tundra. The hundreds of guilds within the city's walls fed the economy, although some whisper that underground trading of magic folk is what really fuels the financial state. A spy for the rebellion circled the local market, running her hands over the bruised fruit and eyeing the common folk cautiously, trying her best to go undetected. The city center was preparing for the Sun Festival, ironic given the smog that shielded nearly all sunlight.

A local fruit stand was at the center of the market, an older gentleman staffing the exotic fruit from outside the city walls. Bright, intricate starfruit and jelly-filled strawberry papayas littered the concrete mosaic ground. A small goat with a blue bell was tied haphazardly to a post, the yarn fraying with every slight tug from the animal. A group of children dressed in muted shades of brown and green played a game of dice on the other side of the courtyard, daring each other to steal blackberries. The butcher’s son was pushing a small wagon of discarded meat and small fish bones towards an alley, likely to discard the leftovers.

The spy was adorned in local fabrics, muted mismatched stitching holding together a quilt-like material that resembled a shawl. Her deep maple hair cascaded down her neck with a simple silver pin holding some pieces out of her face. Her fingertips were stained with nightshade, her left-hand concealing a small dagger. The weapon was known for immediately striking down any foe, its metal laced with poison. Magic folk and creatures were no exception, despite their enchantments. An abstract fox decorated the handle, a symbol of the rebellion against the empire. On her hip was a small satchel containing various assortments of herbs, sliced plum mushrooms, and powdered oleander seeds. Being a spy, a magic one at that, had its benefits.

The spy detected a woman pocketing something from a guard across the courtyard. She watched her scurry away down an alley, not before stealing a fig from one of the stands. With the day being as slow as it had been, she reasoned that any mischief became her mischief. As she made her way towards where the other woman went, her grip tightened on the weapon. Upon turning down the alley, she seemingly vanished. It was not often that the spy’s prey escaped her sight, not since she was a child at least. At the last possible moment, a speck of red disappeared through a doorway fifty feet in front of her. Swallowing a sigh, she followed.

Inside was a desolate old factory, broken machinery sprawled across the floor and spray paint covering the walls. Sigils were marked on the concrete ground – emblems and allegories from The Blackmoor Book. She questioned how someone within the walls could have such knowledge, risking the high court finding such symbolism.

What was this place?

�� She did not dwindle on this apprehension long, sinking into the shadows and scanning the place for that woman. A crackly, high-pitched laugh erupted from the other side of the room. Before thinking twice, the spy was across the room in mere seconds, her knife pressed firmly against the mystery woman’s throat, as if in reflex.

“Ya know for as skilled as you are, I figured you’d recognize me,” the woman pestered, her dialect thick. The spy could place the voice, but the face was distant from her mind. The blade stayed against her throat, the pressure never wavering.

“Ellie,” she cooed, “it’s me.”

There was nothing I could do. My feet were lodged between the large stones that decorated the bottom of the fast river, the murky sand blinding my vision and setting my lungs on fire. I was becoming weak, fighting a losing battle with the force of the water. I wanted to give up, to let the depths swallow me whole and my mind run blank. My fingers just barely reached the surface, scratching at the sliver of life that was never fully mine. The anxiety was bubbling up from my stomach and began to make me tremble with complete fear; I wasn’t getting out of this.

Once, when I was young, I would swim in streams and small rivers just like this one. Uncle would be back at the village, father out with the council. My older foster brother would often join me, teaching me how to catch the fish and which plants could be used for medicine. When it was a quiet day, we would read books to the frogs and small insects. Now, at the precipice of death, I can only focus on the day he showed me how to fashion an arrowhead. On how his fingers made sharp movements and the glimmer in his eyes was its purest. He was the mouth of God; I took his words as religion. But he wasn’t there.

My arms grew numb, my body losing sensation. This was it. This was how I was finally going. I screamed against the current and inhaled the river. As my vision darkened and I began to accept defeat, I remembered the reason I was trying to traverse across in the first place; the heaviness of the guilt weighing me down. I made a promise, I swore to him. They were going to die, and it was all my fault. It was a mistake to think I could perform this journey alone, inexperienced.

And then I could breathe again. My fingers dug at my chest, eagerly gasping for air. My eyes burned from the sunlight, my right ankle adorning a jagged cut from the rock that once imprisoned me. My savior hovered above me, breathing just as heavily as I was. Where did they come from?

“T-thank you,” I managed to get out once the anxiety subsided, my throat still burning.

Hesitantly, I glanced up in their direction. They were drenched in luminance, a godliness highlighting their physique, black paint dancing across their nose. Meeting their enticing eyes, I realized I recognized them. A local girl a year older than me from the village, her hair tied tight against her head and half of her body soaking wet. She offered me a curt nod, adjusting the straps on her satchel and securing a few stray pieces of hair. The outfit she wore was jarring, nothing like the large tunics the women wore at home. The breeches and sleek overcoat were skin-tight, a throwing knife strapped securely to her thigh. She did not say anything back, leaving me as fast as she appeared.

“Dina,” Ellie mumbled, her voice rough against the soothing nature of Dina’s. Her eyes scanned the other's face, the memories of her childhood friend rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The same black paint was decorated across her nose, symbolizing her coven. Ellie let her guard down, the blade dropping to her side. The sigils made sense then – she grew up in the same village beyond this city within the Withering Woods, learned from the same potions master, and drank the same Mistmoor river water. Their village Jackson’s Crossing, surrounded by the White Mountains and often disregarded on official cartographer maps, was a cloister of small families from varied ethnicities.

Dina’s fingers were also stained a dark purple – evidence of witchcraft. The last time they had seen each other was years prior, back when Ellie was recruited to fight against the tyranny of the High Ruler, who came into power with varying degrees of support from the public. The last she heard of Dina was that she had joined a coven, practicing magic in secret.

She had grown a lot since their last encounter, her scarlet hair now many inches longer and herself several inches taller. They spared each other the formalities in catching up, Ellie reaching for the item Dina snatched from the unsuspecting general just beyond the door. She let her, Ellie’s mind working through possibilities as she brought the ring of keys closer. She should have known; such an item was predictable. Although, what did Dina need them for?

“Trying to sneak someone out of the dungeons, hmm?” she finally spoke, placing her dagger back into the depths of her clothing. Dina smiled at Ellie again, raising her eyebrows and letting her face do the talking. “Ah, well, sneaking into prison seems more your speed anyways.”

“The council has been very unyielding in my request for an audience,” she began, walking a few steps away from Ellie. “So, I’ve had to find my own ways.”

“Why do you wish to speak to them?” Ellie questioned, puzzled as to what her companion could want with them. Dina’s gaze meant nothing but trickery, her smile growing wider and wider. Whatever her intentions, Ellie considered leeching on, her own assignment from the Rebellion creating a need to be inside those palace walls – although for a quite different reason.

“Remember Jesse?” she smirks, running a hand through her locks. Ellie snorts at this – because of course she remembers Jesse, how could she not? They were practically joined at the hip before Ellie left Jackson.

“He’s gotta learn to keep his mouth shut in front of the guards. He’s so pretty, but he can be pretty thick headed sometimes,” Dina scolds, shaking her head. “So, naturally, they’ve finally decided to sentence him after years of causing mayhem.”

“Well, I want in,” Ellie says coldly, adjusting with the fabric that covers her shoulder. Dina squints at her friend, questioning her motivations. “I’ve got orders to relocate a member of the royal family, per the Rebellion's bequest.”

Deep viridian ivy covers the cobblestones and beige pillars of the courtyard, dark shadows stretching up the walls. Rain litters the ground, the damp air an inviting aroma. Billowing clouds darken the sky, the thunder a welcoming presence.

You’re sitting at a desk, candlelight framing your face as you attempt to read the book in your hands. It’s no use however, as your mind is swirling with a million different thoughts. The betrayal of your father cuts deep; all that remains is the stark reality of your pain. You trace the outline of the candle's flame with trembling fingers, its flickering dance mirroring your thundering heartbeat.

A knock at the door interrupts your spiral, haphazardly setting down your book and the weight of the chair creaking as you stand. A woman is on the other side, her curly black hair cascading down her back. The servant's uniform does her no justice, her figure cloaked in a tunic two sizes too big. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the intruder at such a late hour.

“Yes?” you ask, voice wavering slightly. You know she can see the dismay in your face, your eyes all too forgiving. You instinctively hunch your shoulders, nails pushing into the meat of your palm, knuckles turning white.

“Lord David sent me to draw you a bath, my lady. He wants you to be clean and fresh for your engagement tomorrow,” she responds, bowing her head. She holds clean linens and a sponge in her hand, a slight look of sorrow crossing her face that you almost miss. You step aside begrudgingly, letting her through.

Large buckets of water make their rounds over the fire as the servant works to untie the laces of your bodice, making quick work of the material. The cool air filtering through the partially opened window makes your skin grow cold, the woman helping you out your chemise, body bare to her wandering gaze. Her hands were warm, a stir emerging within your gut. You always disliked having other people bath you, yet you found yourself straightening your back, showing off. She made eye contact with you, half slitted pupils devouring your form. You welcomed this, using your left hand to remove a pin that was keeping your braids in place. She steps behind you to begin dumping the contents of the bucket into a metal tub.

And then suddenly the servant is several inches away, hands agonizingly tracing your shoulders, her breath hot on your neck. She places a small kiss just underneath your ear, a shudder escaping your lips as you tentatively close your eyes. You’d never had someone approach you this way, not unless you count the several forty-something year old male suitors that you had declined since you turned sixteen years ago.

The servant uses one hand to pull your hair over to one shoulder as the other palms your bare stomach. You suck in a breath, not pushing her away. You knew this was wrong, save for the fact that she was another woman. What would your father say? What would the maids whisper to each other when they thought no one was looking?

Despite protests shouting against your very core, you remained still, leaning into her frame. You could feel her breasts pressing into your back, her right hand dancing dangerously close to the space between your legs. Her left hand dragged across your chest, fingers grazing and pulling. When her right hand plunged into your slick, you leaned your head back against her shoulder.

“Lay down, my lady,” she murmured, gently moving your already wrecked body towards the bed in the corner. You obliged, sitting on the edge. She pushed you down, immediately dropping down to her knees. You were new to this, not even daring to touch yourself. Her mouth felt foreign on your pelvis, but you bucked up into her face regardless.

Her tongue slid across you, pink bud becoming raw from the friction. When she pushed two fingers inside of you, a borderline scream escaped your delicate lips. The swell of your breasts bounced as she began to pick up her pace, rocking your body against the frame of the bed and adding another slender digit. Her tongue continues its assault on your clit, forcing you to take it, to take all of it.

It’s over before you realize, her face covered in you. You pull her up by the collar of her uniform, forcing her lips against yours. She’s taken aback at first, but then melts into the embrace. She’s sticking her tongue into your mouth, the taste of you invading and arousing.

“As much as I’d love to continue Princess,” the woman says suddenly, breaking the kiss. “I did come here to bathe you.” You nod, suddenly extremely aware of your surroundings and how easily you folded under her touch – a woman’s touch.

As she dumped another bucket of hot water into the metal tub, you gazed off absentmindedly. Her coarse fingers work through your locks, detangling the pieces that frame your face.

“You’re so beautiful, but you have to keep him happy. He gets bored easily.”

You glance over at her, noticing the way the fireplace behind her makes her skin glow.

“I don’t want you to end up, well, like the others,” she sighs, moving to grab a rag to clean your skin with. You were so used to the mindless handling of your body that sometimes you forgot how vulnerable you could be.

“W-what others?” you croaked, tension once again creeping up your spine and through your fingers. You felt her movements stiffen, realizing she spoke out of turn.

“Oh, I shouldn’t, it’s all hearsay. I apologize, my lady,” she replies, her actions becoming more disorderly. You watch her closely, her sudden discomfort adding another layer of unease to the already heavy atmosphere. Despite her attempt to backtrack, your curiosity is piqued, and you press further.

"No, please, tell me," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, torn between loyalty to her lord and a desire to warn you. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

"There have been others before you," she begins, her words careful and measured. "Women who were... chosen, like you." Your heart pounds in your chest, the implications of her words sinking in. You swallow hard, pushing down the rising sense of dread threatening to overwhelm you.

"What happened to them?" you ask, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed. She hesitates again, her gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes.

"They... disappeared," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. "Some say that he grows tired of his playthings, discarding them when they no longer amuse him, banished to distant lands never to return. Others whisper darker tales of rituals and… well," she clarifies, her hands shaking as she runs her nimble fingers through your hair once more.

You struggle to process the implications of her revelation, the realization dawning on you with sickening clarity. "You mean... they're dead?" you whisper, the words feeling foreign and surreal on your tongue. You turn to her fully, putting on a show of false confidence. “This is my home. He can’t frighten me.”

“Of course, my lady. Forgive me.”

You nod, still reeling from her earlier words. As she finishes bathing you, you're left alone with your thoughts once more. The warmth of the water does little to soothe the chill in your bones, the weight of impending responsibilities pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

“Will I see you again?” You mumble, eyes pleading with the woman as she’s half way out of your chamber, a robe now draped around your figure. A frown catches her lips, a sigh is all the answer you need.

“I’m afraid not,” she finally answers, yet doesn’t move from her place at the door. You feel your stomach drop, reaching out to catch her lips in a kiss once more. This one is less aggressive, a plea for more. She cups your cheek softly, kissing you back. “It’s not safe. We live in a world where desires are often sacrificed for duty.”

As she finally steps away, you watch her silhouette fade into the dimly lit corridor beyond your chamber. A sense of loss washes over you, as you're left in the silence of your chambers. The flames of the candles flicker ominously, casting dancing shadows on the walls. You try to shake off the unease settling in your chest, but the seed of doubt planted by the woman’s words grows with each passing moment.

You know you should rest, to prepare yourself for the challenges that lie ahead, but sleep eludes you. Instead, you find yourself pacing the room, the echoes of your footsteps mingling with the whispers of your own fears.

This union is a death sentence, a promise made to satisfy your fathers requests. Your older sister was the next in line to rule, your brother already married off to a Duchess in the East. You would never sit on the throne; the pressure of said title always out of reach but forever a taunt. You could taste the longing for power – a snake wrapping around your heart, squeezing.

By marrying Lord David, you help ease the emerging tensions between the East and South kingdoms within the empire. It had long been kept secret that you were a bastard, a lie living a life of luxury. Guilt ate away at you from every inch of your skin, your real mother a ghost of your past. Of course, maids and servants talked. That said, the effort to uphold the ruler's dignity and honor reigned supreme; Those who were caught gossiping would meet a punishment worse than castration.

You understand the importance of maintaining stability within the empire, of ensuring peace between rival factions. But on the other hand, there's the gnawing fear that grips you, the fear of being trapped in a loveless marriage, of becoming just another casualty in the game of power and ambition.

You remember the stories you heard as a child, tales of kings and queens whose lives were dictated by duty rather than desire. You used to dream of a different fate for yourself, of finding love and happiness on your own terms. But now, as the reality of your situation sinks in, those dreams seem like distant echoes of a naive past.

Tomorrow, you will be betrothed to a man you hardly know; a union forged by politics and alliances. When morning comes, you will rise with a sense of resignation, steeling yourself for the path laid out before you.

Dawn breaks upon a canvas of melancholy, the sky adorned in swathes of slate-hued clouds. You dress in a gown of regal elegance, each layer of silk and lace feeling like a shroud closing in around you. Your reflection in the mirror is a stranger's face, masked behind a facade of composure that belies the turmoil within. As you fasten the intricate clasps of your necklace – a delicate chain of platinum interwoven with strands of glistening rhodonite and sunstone – you can't help but wonder if you're adorning yourself for a wedding or a funeral.

Downstairs, guests mingle in clusters of polished nobility. Their smiles are as artificial as the flowers adorning the tables, masking the alliances and rivalries that simmer beneath the surface. You navigate the crowd with practiced grace, exchanging pleasantries and feigned enthusiasm.

In the grand hall, where sunlight filters through stained glass, illuminating the opulence of the surroundings, you stand amidst a sea of faces, each one a mask concealing clandestine desires. At the center of it all stands Lord David, a towering figure of authority and ambition. His gaze finds yours across the room, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he turns to greet another guest.

His eyes, like shards of obsidian, pierce through the veneer of social niceties. As he acknowledges your presence with a nod of his head, you offer a polite smile, concealing the turmoil churning within your breast. His lips curve in response, but there is a hardness in his gaze. With unspoken haste, the sea of guests transitioned into the next room, organizing into rows.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of color upon the assembled guests. The delicate lace of your veil cascaded like a waterfall around you, framing your face in a halo of soft radiance. Lord David, regal and imposing, awaited you at the altar.

As you drew near, the murmurs of the crowd fell silent, and all that remained was the steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. With each step, you felt the weight of expectation pressing down upon you, the gravity of the moment settling like a cloak upon your shoulders.

At last, you stood face to face with Lord David, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped his in yours. The officiant's voice filled the air, the solemn words of the vows binding you together. His grip tightened at your wrists, thumb pressing into your pressure point. You fought against the sinking feeling in your chest, the fear washing over your features.

Concealed behind a pillar, at the room's farthest edge, stood a guest with a blade, its hilt adorned with an abstract fox; A silent sentinel amidst the opulent chaos. Their gaze, like a river's current, flows over your form, lingering on each curve and contour with a cautious reverence. The bodice of the gown hugs your frame, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist before giving way to a voluminous skirt that pools around your feet in a sea of soft fabric. Layers upon layers of tulle and organza lend an air of weightless beauty to the ensemble, each fold and pleat catching the light in a mesmerizing dance.

The spy stole a final glance at the princess, and for a brief moment, she could've sworn she saw a glimmer of fear entrenched in your gaze. Rancorously, Ellie envisioned taking a blade to Lord David's throat and smiling as the congealed mess of his arteries betrayed him. She shoved the wrinkled piece of parchment into the confines of her satchel. Her mission began.

Secure the youngest daughter of the sovereign.

taglist: @seraphicsentences @onlinelesbo @yumimak @elliewilliamsblunt @bready101

#tlou2 #ellie williams #fanfic #lesbian #tlou #ellie x reader #wlw #ellie x fem reader #free palestine #ellie williams fic

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stokerbaby2013 · 2 years ago

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#my apartment complex smells like an 18th century parisian fish market today #also having nightmares about white powdered face dustin hoffman

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saioratral · 1 month ago

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so there's this professor... - 02 Chalked Hearts masterlist

if you ever had to give a mathematician a gift, a set of hagoromo chalk would be the perfect choice. known as the "rolls royce" of chalks, the "steinway" of writing tools, hagoromo is a luxury that many would go to great lengths to obtain. the same chalks that turn every mastermind into old folks fighting for the last fish. it's feather-smooth writing, even a mathematician transforms into an artist, the blackboard becoming their canvas.

that was exactly what you were planning on buying for your professor. you’d often notice how he relied on the university’s cheap chalk, constantly wiping his hands to rid them of chalk dust. you’d watch his expensive vest get coated by the fine powder, almost resembling a sugar doughnut.

you’d even gone as far as offering to clean the board after class—it just didn’t seem fair for your professor to teach for hours and then clean up the mess. determined to make a change, you resolved to buy him a set of hagoromo chalks. you spent months saving up every bit of your pocket money, but even the smallest set was beyond your budget.

“why are we in the market in this blazing heat?” your best friend alvin leroy groaned

“it will be quick! i just need to buy a nice cloth and some hagoromo chalks!”, you replied, pulling him closer to avoid losing him in the crowd.

“wait hold on- did i hear you say hagoromo chalks? why on earth would you need that?” alvin stopped dead in his tracks.

you looked back at your friend’s confused face. he proceeds to drag you both away from the bustling crowd, into a quieter corner of the market. you looked up to alvin who stood firm as a statue, clearly not planning to move until you confessed. with a sigh, you lowered your head, finding comfort in staring at your shoes.

“i want to buy it for.. professor….. william”, you muttered under your breath

“professor william?!” alvin nearly shouted before you clapped a hand over his mouth in panic. “Why him??”

“don’t shout it out loud! urgh why did i bring you?”, you retracted back your hand

“wait... don’t tell me you have a crush on professor william? no way, [name]! you? crushing on professor will- hey, wait up!”

you bolted away, your face flushed as you tried to hide your embarrassment. for the rest of the day, alvin declared himself the “captain” of his newfound ship, teasing you relentlessly until you finally parted ways. the next day, he was waiting for you with a... board?

“alvin what are you doing??”, you shouted as you ran over and pushed the board down.

“i’m having a voting poll on my ship name! i’m debating between will[name] and [name]liam!”, alvin grinned, folding the board back into his bag.

“i don’t like him that way”, you grumbled, throwing the nastiest side eye on him

“I hope so too”, alvin mutters to himself

despite this antics, alvin's smile didn’t hold the same meaning. there was a hint of something else behind it. deep in his heart, resentment began to spread as he let you drag him into the classroom.

even during your maths class, you weren’t left in peace. your professor walked in with his neatly pressed coat draped casually over his arm, which he placed on his chair. he looked around the empty hall, spotting you and alvin seated at the front.

“i never thought i’d see mr. leroy arrive on time," william joked, pulling down the extra blackboard.

“Yeah yeah- oh professor, [name] has something”, alvin nudged you with a not-so-subtle grin

“[last name]? how can i assist you? having trouble with yesterday’s theorem?” william asked, setting his board at last

he turned to face you both, his expression patient but with a hint of curiosity. he slowly walked closer to your seat, standing not too far from you. alvin gently pulled your chair back and gave you a small pat. you turned over to the boy and wished to slap off the wide smirk he showed

“professor moriarty... i’ve noticed how you often leave with a rather... dusty coat,” you began softly as you stood up

“i thought it was unfair for you to put in so much time to teach us- especially alvin”, you snickered remembering his test score

“hey-”

“i decided to buy some new chalks for you! it’s pretty popular amongst mathematicians”, you continued

taking a closer step, you could smell his woody perfume, tinged with a hint of citrus. never in a million years did you expect to stand this close. alvin’s voice died down, watching the subtle tension and nerve you held to yourself

you presented your professor a neatly wrapped cloth with his name engraved. william’s usually sharp and calculating eyes soften by the gesture. he took the gift from your hand to carefully feel the soft cloth.

“thank you [last name]. it was rather unexpected but i am flattered”, william’s voice portrayed his genuine gratitude

the rest of the day went on as normal. students rush into the class feeling dreadful but are left with joy after william promises not to give any homework. later that evening, william walks back to the moriarty estate feeling happier than before

“you look like you outwitted sherlock holmes” albert welcomed his brother with a sip from his glass

louis glanced up to see his brother indeed looked in a good mood. he watches william settle his satchel down on a nearby sofa before he sits himself. his lips created a small smile as he looked back at albert. he pulls out the small present he receives, letting it rest on the table in front

“one of my students gave me a set of chalks as a gift for always coming home like a baker” " william replied with his rare gentle humour

“that is rather…”

“considerate. you don’t often see students go out of their way like that” " albert finished louis’s hanging sentence

louis leaned forward, wanting to see more of the chalk. adding a small comment on the expensive gift, he questioned his brother about the owner. even albert expressed a wide-eyed smile, listening to william refusing to reveal your name

while on the other hand, alvin stared at the ceiling of his dorm, replaying the events of the day. a heavy heart is what he would describe his feelings. he tried brushing off his obvious feelings of jealousy. he needed to ensure his ‘ship’ wasn’t sailing too fast, even if he was the ‘captain’.

He prays that moriarty isn’t who he suspects to be

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images used are from pinterest

taglist:

@fishii28 @ayaswrld @eliasorchard @onna-musha-mari @dija200

#william james moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #mtp #william james moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #x reader #william x you #gn! reader #moriarty the patriot x you #๋࣭ alvinleroy⭑⚝#ᡣsaioratral⋆˙୧⍤⃝

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writerpey · 1 year ago

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Omg wait, you have so many fandoms I love, ok, ok could you make like a list of characters from theses shows and what they’d be? Like regressed, caregiver, ect? (So I can send asks based on that) I’m so excited right now

Arcane, Detroit Become Human, Last airbender, Our flag means death, and Six of crows/shadow and bone

happy 2024! this has been in my inbox forever but looks super fun to do! here’s my take on what characters would be regressors/caregivers for arcane, dbh and atla. I totally wrote way more than I expected to but here u are! <3 I’ll do a separate post for ofmd and soc bc they have so many characters I have opinions on.

Agere Character Headcanons

(Arcane, D:BH, ATLA)

(jinx is me cooking up this thread)

Arcane

Vi: As much as she’d be a wonderful caregiver, she’s absolutely a regressor. Being small reminds her of days spent with her parents and Powder, family trips to the fish markets of the coast and sunny days building sand castles at the beach. She tends to be on the older side, a natural tendency from a life spent as the older sibling, taking care of Powder. Vi’s a very active and vivacious little, playing outdoors and hanging off Caitlyn’s shoulders. Loves physical touch, hugs and high fives are the way to go.

Caitlyn: Caregiver all the way! I think she loves kids in general, and despite her awkward nature and sheltered upbringing, she finds it easy to take charge and step into the role of a protector. Definitely looks after Vi and is oftentimes too concerned about her safety. She loves taking the little out to the playground and to eat at Jericho’s food stall (even if she still refuses to eat a bowl of slop herself).

Jinx: Tiniest, cutest, moodiest little troublemaker there is. Jinx regresses to about four or five years old, and absolutely bounces off the walls at all hours of the day. She’s not the quiet, sweet child she once was as Powder, but rather gets herself into trouble and feigns innocence. She loves to annoy both Silco and Sevika, clambering on the latter’s lap and hiding under Silco’s desk for games of hide and seek. Her mood changes rather drastically as well, as she can go from completely happy to hyperventilating sobbing from anything as simple as scraping a knee to refusing bedtime.

Jayce: He’s a very attentive and high strung caregiver. Looking after Viktor is much easier than Caitlyn, Silco, or Sevika’s jobs, but Jayce always fusses over the little. He’s quick to scoop him up whenever it’s deemed necessary, and goes to Mel for help when he needs another pair of hands. Jayce loves caregiving because it gives him something to focus on other than his responsibility to Piltover, and enjoys simple play with his little like story time and building blocks.

Viktor: Super small and quiet regressor! Viktor can get very young, and has no qualms with depending on Jayce for help when he’s little. He likes to be snuggled up on a couch in a mound of blankets and is also content to sit and watch Mel paint the ships that go by the balcony of her apartment. Viktor is sweet and shy and doesn’t tend to verbalize his needs, but because Jayce is so attentive they mesh well together.

Detroit: Become Human

Kara: Caregiver. Need I expand? It’s in her coding in the first place to protect and nurture. Upon her deviance, Kara realizes that even if she was made for it, she can still reclaim that part of herself for herself. She is quick to console whomever her little may be, and projects the kindest and warmest energy to the person she’s taking care of. Kara enjoys making up her own stories, and loves playing make believe with her regressor.

Connor: One hundred percent a regressor. This little guy was shy and uncertain when he first started regressing, as he didn’t know what ‘normal’ behaviour from a deviant was, let alone how to process all the new emotions he was feeling. Connor loves to spend time at Hank’s house with Sumo, revelling in the feeling of the dog’s fluffy fur and laughing happily when he teaches Sumo all sorts of tricks. Connor is usually happy when regressed, but struggles with anxiety and asking for help. Hank is always there to walk Connor through his big feelings and encourages him to use his words.

Markus: He’s one of the most chaotic caregivers there is. You picked the pacifist route in the game? Doesn’t matter. This guy is unhinged when it comes to caregiving. Spoiling his little at any time possible, letting them stay up hours past their bedtime, giving them candy for breakfast and encouraging colouring on the walls. He spent so many years being exactly who Carl wanted him to be while also tasting freedom through Carl’s art that it brings him so much joy to see a regressor’s eyes sparkle when he says yes to whatever their heart desires. He’s also amazing at comforting a regressor. Big hugs and gentle eyes!

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Katara: Is a caregiver! Incredibly kind yet less patient than one (Sokka) might hope. Katara is quick to caution her little, always on the lookout for anything that they might hurt themselves with or on. But this doesn’t mean she hates fun! She adores the beach and using her bending to splash around, and is always ready to get her little an extra blanket or any snacks they ask for. She’s super sweet and falls into the role of a caregiver like she was made for it. Katara has even sewed a plushie or two as gifts, and has a knack for settling a regressor in front of a crackling fire and braiding their hair before bedtime.

Sokka: Regressor for sure. Even though he’s a big brother he never let go of his goofy side, and it plays into so much of his behaviour when he’s regressed. He’s on the older side, around 6-8, and has so much energy he doesn’t know where to put it all. Queue him running around for hours, laughing at absolutely anything that Aang says and bothering Toph just so she’ll play with him. Sokka doesn’t cry, even when he takes a tumble (which is quite often) but is fussy when he doesn’t get his way. He’s a troublemaker, but his beaming smile lets him get away with plenty.

Aang: Honestly I think he’s a caregiver, but is more like a fun uncle than any other label. His sage airbender wisdom doesn’t come through often, which means he’s all about fun all the time. His childish side matches a little like Sokka’s constant energy, and he seems to vanish into a cloud of smoke when any tears come his way. And how did Sokka and Zuko get chocolate all around their mouths, you ask? Well, there’s no one to ask because Aang’s just taken off on his glider on some very important business.

Zuko: LITTLE! REGRESSOR! TINY! Oh my goodness, he’s the first fictional character that I ever headcanoned as a regressor. There’s no need to delve into his trauma here, but the boy is in such a desperate need of healing his childhood that he regressed long before he even knew what it was. Regresses very young, between 2-5. Before meeting the Gaang he’d hang off of Uncle’s shoulder during Pai Sho tournaments on his ship and would shyly ask the crew members to play songs during music nights. His tough demeanour disappears completely when he’s regressed and he turns into a shy boy that is insistent on doing things himself and is quick to cry when he’s unable to, for example, wrap his robes the way he wants. Zuko has a turtleduck plushie that Katara sewed for him after Aang asked him what his favourite animal was and Sokka caught him cuddling up to Appa at night. Sweetest boy in the whole world.

Toph : Caregiver! Matches more with Aang’s style of caregiving than Katara’s, but still lands somewhere in the middle. Her earthbending gives her the ability to pick up on every tiny emotion that a regressor feels, and it means she’s prepared and in tune with every need, happy or unhappy, that someone needs. She tends to playfully tease Zuko and Sokka, but knows exactly where to draw the line with either boy based on the rhythm of their heart. Toph helps Aang when it comes to letting the boys do something Katara has specifically told them they’re not allowed to, and will always feign innocence when confronted by the eldest caregiver.

#sfw agere #sfw agere fic #detroit become human agere #dbh agere #dbh #detroit become human #arcane agere #arcane #atla agere #avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar the last airbender agere

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starshippingweek · 11 days ago

Text

On the third day of Starshipping,

Mod B gives to you a little silly analysis essay on the topic of: the boys’ “favorite” foods.

It’s a widely accepted and/or portrayed idea that Judai’s favorite dish is エビフライ (fried shrimp) and a less prevalent idea that’s nevertheless also found in fics and arts that Yusei loves milk. Some parts of the Asian fandoms even use the 🍤 emoji as a shorthand for Judai (thus making Starshipping 🦀🍤)! But where did these ideas come from - and how much of it is actually based on canon?

(Note: This analysis is sourced from the subbed version of both shows. I have not watched the dub of either and cannot account for how the dialogue may influence the conclusions drawn here.)

The fried shrimp dish first appeared in GX in Episode 66 (Judai’s First Dream Duel!). It is said to be a special, once-in-a-month treat at Slifer Red Dorm.

Earlier, in Episode 63 (Kenzan VS The Curry Fiend! A Spicy Duel), Manjoume complained that the food at Red Dorm was the same everyday. We can see that it basically consists of fish, pickles, rice, tofu, and miso soup. However, Kenzan remarks that no matter what the meal is, Judai just digs right in, and without his enthusiasm it is hard for the others to have the appetite. So, even though Sho calls this meal Judai’s favorite in Ep 66, it’s not hard to imagine that if you have to eat the same things every single day, you’d come to appreciate something rare and more indulgent like this fried shrimp meal in comparison, right?

I personally think that Judai is the kind of guy who loves to eat, who enjoys the experience of tasting food of all kinds, and he’s prone to excitement towards things that are hard to come by (another example being the Golden Egg Draw Bread - an very nice detail to reinforce the worldbuilding). Perhaps, outside of the context of Duel Academia, fried shrimp wouldn’t particularly stand out as Judai’s absolute favorite amongst all the other food options he may have at his disposal.

However, Judai must’ve developed a sentimental connection of some sort to fried shrimp. It’s entirely reasonable to imagine that after the show ends, as he travels the world, he will come to crave this dish as it reminds him of the memories he’s made at Duel Academia.

Yusei’s connection with milk, on the other hand, is considered as more of a meme that originated from Episode 11 (The Special Pursuit Deck Returns, Regain the Bonds with a Friend), where he walked into a bar at the direction of Himuro to meet Saiga. The bartender got pissy when Yusei ordered milk, but upon seeing the card that Himuro’d given him, complied and gave him a glass on the house.

Now, there’s practically no information to deduce why Yusei made this order in particular. The beverage never came up again in the series (unlike fried shrimp, which made another appearance at the very beginning of GX’s Season 4). Some on the interwebs have speculated that he was not of legal age to drink, so he ordered something non-alcoholic in order not to attract attention, but why not order something else less outrageous in the setting of a bar - such as juice or soda?

Here's my speculation: Since right after he’d been born, Yusei’d never been outside of Satellite. And Satellite, as it’s portrayed, is basically a colony, kept under blockade and sanctions by Neo Domino City. Food is hard to come by, and there is probably not enough agricultural land to keep cattle at a scale where dairy products would be widely available (given that the “island” was a part of the City not long ago). Based on living conditions during wartime and sanctions irl, and based on the fact that there is a black market in Satellite where goods are illegally transported in from Neo Domino, it is likely that dairy products were only available in processed, non-perishable, and lightweight forms such as milk powder or condensed milk.

Perhaps Yusei's always wondered, at the back of his mind, what fresh milk tasted like ever since he was a small child - the stuff they give the babies at the orphanage having all been formula/powder, and was also hard to come by. Perhaps the very first stop (aside from jail) he makes in Neo Domino presented him with an opportunity to quench his curiosity - and he took it. And, perhaps there might not be any meaning to infer at all - it was just an inside joke that the script writers and animators were making amongst themselves.

Whatever it is, he quickly downs the glass and leaves, the letting the plot move on to more serious beats - but this for sure became one of Yusei's most iconic moments because it seems to give us a glance into something about his character that we don’t often get to see. I, for one, would love to know all about the things he likes to eat/drink, as well as any emotional connections he might have to them because of his upbringing - similar to Judai’s attachment to fried shrimps, and I think it's great fun to keep thinking that he really is into fresh, whole milk.

These little details get me imagining so many ways they would show love and affection to each other. In Episode 152 of 5Ds’, Yusei is seen taking charge of shopping and cooking up a feast for Team 5Ds - an expression of the love and care he has for his friends. When they're together, he will learn how to prepare a perfect meal of fried shrimps for any time Judai’s cravings arise. On the other hand, Judai’s enthusiasm for food will definitely open up new avenues and culinary adventures for Yusei, who probably does not put as much care into this aspect of his life due to his origin. I especially love it when people touch on this kind of complementing differences between them in their arts and fics.

What do you think? What would a perfect Starshipping meal consist of? What will become their new favorite foods once they get together and get to know each other’s eating habits? Hopefully if you've read all the way to the end (woah!) your head is now filling up with ideas regarding this topic - feel free to share, I'd love to hear 'em!

#12 Days of Starshipping #starshipping #yugioh #yugioh gx #jaden yuki #yusei fudo #yugioh 5ds #judai yuki #headcanon #fanon #discussion

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howlingday · 1 year ago

Note

Soo chowder x panini is Ruby x oscar?

Ask and ye shall receive.

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Ozpin: Oscar, take note of the girl in front of you.

Ruby: (Scratches herself)

Oscar: Note taken~.

Oscar: Hi, Ruby~.

Ruby: Um, hi?

Oscar: ...

Ruby: ...

Oscar: ...

Ruby: ...Why are you staring at me?

Oscar: Because~.

Ruby: Because why? Is- Is there something on my face?

Oscar: I was in the market today, and I bought some powdered hearts. Would you like to try some~?

Ruby: What's it taste like?

Oscar: Taste it and find out~.

Ruby: Is it sweet?

Oscar: Well, taste it and find out~!

Ruby: Is it salty?

Oscar: TASTE IT.

Ruby: (Bites into it)

Oscar: Can you taste the romance~?

Ruby: (Coughs) The romance tastes a little dry.

Oscar: Have a sip from my... canteen.

Ruby: (Takes canteen, Chugs)

Goodwitch: Ohoho~! Dohoho~!

Ruby: Are you okay, Professor?

Goodwitch: Not as okay as you~! (Winks) So tell me, how long have you little lovebirds been... going steady?

Oscar: I'm Ruby's boyfriend! And Ruby is my girlfriend, and we're totally going to be together forever and ever (Grabs hand) and now we're holding hands~!

Ruby: (Spits out canteen, Continues spitting home)

------------------------------------------------

Ozpin: Ms. Xiao Long, you will groom yourself like a cat!

Yang: No way, dude! I have too much self-respect for that!

Ozpin: (Taps scroll) Oops! You're now a C student.

Yang: ACK! (Starts licking her arm)

Ozpin: And make kitty-cat sounds while you do it.

Ruby: No, Yang! You're not a kitty-cat!

Ozpin: Oscar! Silence the caped one!

Goodwitch: I didn't say anything.

Ozpin: No, the caped one with the dark hair!

Summer: I didn't say anything.

Ozpin: (Grabs Ruby) THIS ONE! SILENCE THIS ONE! (Tosses at Oscar)

Oscar: (Catches Ruby) With pleasure~. Kiss me, you fool~! (Tries to kiss her)

Yang: JUST DO IT, RUBY! WE NEED THOSE GOOD GRADES!

Ruby: I'D RATHER BE A DIRTY KITTY-CAT! (Licks herself with Yang, Meowing with her)

------------------------------------------------

Ruby: Come on! We have to get to General Ironwood! He's the only one who can help!

Oscar: Oh my gosh! She's holding my hand! Non-descript Winter Holiday dreams do come true~!

Summer: Be the dream. Live the dream. Touch the dream. TOUCH IT!

------------------------------------------------

Oscar: I'll do it!

Oscar: As your student council president, I officially declare student marriage legal! (Grabs Ruby) You may now kiss the groom!

Ruby: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

------------------------------------------------

Yang: Ruby needs a tutor, but it has to be someone willing to give him the close, personal, intimate tutoring she needs!

Jaune: (Steps in) Hell-

Oscar: (Tosses Jaune out the window) I heard you need a tutor!

Yang: Yeah, but I can only pay you in hugs.

Oscar: DEAL! (Zooms past Yang)

Ruby: (Tied to a chair) Yang's worried for no reason. I've already told her I don't need a tutor when I already have the skills.

Ruby: THE SKILLS!

Oscar: Let's get started. Hm, but first, let's get a little closer.

Oscar: Maybe a little closer.

Oscar: Just a smidge closer.

Oscar: (Next to Ruby) Oh, yes, this should be close enough. Now, what subject should we start with? How about... CHEMISTRY~?

------------------------------------------------

Ruby: (Running away) Why, oh why was I born so handsome?!

Oscar: (Holding her cape) Ready for your daily public display, Ruby~? (Tries kissing her)

Ruby: Watashi was anata no garufurendode wa arimasen! Ichido mo nai! Ichido mo nai!

------------------------------------------------

Oscar: Oh, Whitley, I am so sorry for treating you so horribly! Can you ever forgive me?

Whitley: Well, I, uh-

Oscar: Great! Phew! I'm so glad to have my Ruby back~! (Tries to kiss her)

Ruby: I'M NOT YOUR RUBY! (Tries to run)

Oscar: (Holding her cape) Ha ha... DOWN, RUBY! (Yanks) She can be so excitable. (Carries Ruby) Good-bye, Whittleson. And next time, lay off the cologne. You smell like a fish's armpit.

Ruby: ACK! NO! DAD! UNCLE QROW! HELP! I know you guys aren't in the tags, but please help me!

Taiyang: What is she talking about? Our tags are right down there!

Qrow: Should we go help her?

Taiyang: No, these are the only lines we have.

------------------------------------------------

Oscar: Sooooo... It only makes sense for you to let your future husband and the father of your twenty children win, right?

Ruby: TWENTY KIDS?! You must be straight trippin', my dude! I'm planning to play the field until I'm at least thirty-eight! Then maybe, MAYBE if I decide to settle down and get married, I'll think about possibly considering about maybe toying around with the notion of having one- JUST ONE- child, and I'll have it by myself when I'm ready! Thank you very much!

Oscar: Oh, so that's how it is, then? Alright. GAME ON!

------------------------------------------------

20 Years later...

Oscar: Oh, Ruby~!

And of course, Ruby and Oscar ended up together in the end, just as the creators intended.

Oscar: I'm taking our fifty babies out for a walkie-walk~!

Ruby: I thought we only had thirty babies.

Oscar: I had twenty more last night~!

Ruby: Oh. Hi, new babies!

Babies: Hi, Mommy~!

Oscar and Ruby lean in to kiss...

Ruby: NO! STOP! HOLD IT! I reject this reality! It's evil! Evil, I says!

Oscar: Aw, but Ruby, look at how happy we are~!

Ruby: I'M NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND!

Oscar: Just look at all our babies~!

Ruby: I REFUSE TO LOOK!

Ruby: (Holds Oscar) Wow... We were pretty cute kids, huh?

Oscar: (Leans into her) Mhm~!

Ruby: But seriously, no more babies.

Oscar: Okay~!

Adrian: HELP! THE BABIES GOT ME!

Oscar: Okay, I'll stop~!

Ruby: BABIES, NO! PUT ADRIAN DOWN!

#rwby #rosegarden #ruby rose #oscar pine #chowder #ozpin #glynda goodwitch #yang xiao long #summer rose #jaune arc #taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #adrian cotta arc #whitley schnee

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clawdmg · 1 month ago

Text

✿ . APPLICATION / WRITING SAMPLE

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 a little scruffy creature —— with equally scruffy powder-pink hair —— who'd periodically pop her head out from the safety of her father's tall legs. bright, inquisitive eyes the shape of almonds and the hue of seaglass gleamed in awe of the vast world surrounding her. most striking of all were the twitching, real calico ears crowned atop her head.

this was diona kätzlein. she's very important.

when she was younger, she seldom visited the moon city, apart from when her father caught big game that day and took her to the market to celebrate. such fond memories warmed her stomach. the mora in his calloused fingers would sparkle like gemstones as he placed them one by one in his daughter's tiny hands. he would then gently encourage her as she reluctantly approached good hunter and placed an order like an adult. they'd spend the afternoon feasting on chicken skewers, grilled fish, and fruit juice together until their bellies swelled full enough to burst.

but then calico ears would twitch, alerting the girl of hushed whispers drifting over the market square. she'd glance to find eyes pinned 'pon her, mouths open wide in wonderment. she'd try to blend into the chair, sinking lower and flattening her ears against her skull as her cheeks dyed red. as always, her hero of a father would come to her aid, ruffling her hair till she scoffed indignantly.

❝ let them stare, ❞ he'd say between another bite of fish. ❝ you and me? we're hunters, kings, conquerors of the wild. people like us aren't meant to shy away in a corner. didn't you say you wanted to be a hunter, just like your daddy? ❞

❝ of course i do! ❞ with a shout, fists pound the table, eyes gleaming with determination. ❝ i want to —— no, i will —— put together an unrivaled hunting team. we'll travel across the region and won't come back until we've caught the largest bounty you've ever seen. just you wait, dad, it'll be for the history books! ❞ realizing the scene she was creating, the righteous fire in her voice fades to a softer tone, ❝ . . . because then you'll be swimming in mora. you won't have to worry about working ever again. ❞

❝ atta girl, ❞ her father chuckles, reaching over to pet her head once again, but she swats his hand away with an amused but annoyed huff. he laughs again, ❝ well, aren't we just spirited today? i'm looking forward to it, but you should know it'll be a long time before you're ready to take on the family legacy. ❞

❝ what!? but i'm already plenty prepared! ❞ to prove it, the calico extends her arm over the table. ❝ c'mon, wrestle me. ❞

❝ ohoho? think you're strong enough to take on your old man? ❞

❝ i know i am! ❞

II.

diona giggles absentmindedly as she ties back her hair, recalling how draff used to always let her win their wrestling matches. she threw a tantrum when she first discovered it, but now she thinks it's astonishing how long the jig lasted —— what a lousy actor he was!

hands rest on her head. she doesn't remember when he last ruffled her hair.

III.

for a young mondstater, especially for one less acquainted with the outside world like diona, learning how the other archons reign over their people can be quite the culture shock.

indeed, it made some sense for morax —— ah, it's awkward to say this about a god, but bless his soul, she hopes he's resting in peace —— to have descended from the heavenly skies once a year to lead his people. but then her thoughts drift to kirara, the two-tailed inazuman courier, who she was told has delivered parcels to the almighty shogun herself. she often rolls the idea around in her head like a pearl, imagining what it must be like to witness a deity in person and speak with them as you would any other person.

quite frankly, it feels strange, and she doesn't like it.

while neither the most devout nor the least pious, diona's connection to the god of freedom was precious all the same. when she snuggles into her favorite spot 'pon the giant oak in windrise, bathing in warm sunlight, she understands barbatos' love does not manifest in grand spectacles nor glorious feats, but rather the gentle breeze caressing her cheeks. like a cherished tune murmured beneath one's breath, it is a love faint, comforting and, most importantly, hers.

IV.

❝ i'm. . . archons, it sounds so stupid now that i'm saying it aloud. i'm mad at someone. like, really, really mad. ❞

❝ language, my dear. ❞ a gentle breeze swept through the little garden, rippling through white tablecloth where sister grace and her old friend's daughter were seated, stirring the shimmering amber liquid in their cups. the calico's plush ears twitched in displeasure, but she did not pounce right away, instead narrowing her eyes as the nun lifted the teacup to her lips.

❝ even worse, i've been mad at d—— uh, my friend for what feels like forever now. i can feel it driving me crazy. he's driving me crazy. ❞ diona frantically gestured to her tail, the fur standing on end. ❝ just talking about it now has me riled up! give it to me straight, grace, will i be punished for this? ❞

rather than reply, sister grace tilted her head curiously, taking in the child's expression. pink, fluffy eyebrows furrowed the longer she studied the young girl; diona was never the patient type. ❝ well? ❞

❝ why, my dear, ❞ sister grace finally said, setting down her cup and folding her hands in her lap, ❝ would lord barbatos punish you for this? ❞

a groan of frustration. ❝ it feels —— i don't know —— wrong? it's a heavy feeling in my stomach, like swallowing a pile of rocks. my kätzlein intuition is screaming something bad is about to happen! ❞

despite the calico's obvious distress, sister grace simply traced the rim of her teacup with a neatly manicured nail, humming, ❝ i don't think you'll be punished, diona. ❞

❝ and how do you know that? ❞ she scoffed.

sister grace smiled, pointed to her veil, then the remainder of the habit, and finally to the anemo archon statue in the distance. ❝ because i know enough about lord barbatos to know he would never punish his children. ❞ she paused before adding, ❝ i was concerned at first when you came to me seeking repentance, but dear, i am relieved to inform you that you have not confessed to any sin. feeling slighted is a fact of a life, i'm afraid. ❞

❝ but i —— augh, it's not about being angry, ❞ diona huffed. feline eyes wandered to the skies, searching for the right words amongst the white clouds dotting the skies. ❝ you don't have to tell me that it's okay to feel angry. i know damn well —— ❞

❝ language. ❞

❝ darn well, ❞ she grumbled under her breath. ❝ that it's fine. in fact, i could give you a long, long list of unruly drunks who'd i'd give anything to turn into my personal scratching posts. i don't feel a lick of guilt for hating any of them! but when it comes to my friend. . . ❞

❝ you don't want to hate him, ❞ grace's sister nodded, ❝ but it's nearly impossible because you think he deserves it. ❞

❝ exactly! ❞ diona exclaimed, clapping her hands together. the elation is fleeting, however, as she then frowned, muttering, ❝ but it's not his fault he acts like that. he doesn't deserve to be hated. it's the evil alcohol infecting his mind and feeding him those horrible thoughts. i'm the one who isn't working hard enough. ❞

❝ diona. ❞ calico ears perked up as she watched the nun set her teacup carefully back onto the saucer. the patient's smile vanished into lips pulled taut. ❝ indulge me for a second, will you? ❞

diona's brow furrowed once more but slowly nodded.

❝ lord barbatos blessed me with the chance to take care of many children. wonderful children. i know sometimes draff isn't always —— ❞ sister grace's eyes flickered to diona's own, gauging her reaction before continuing on, ❝ —— present, so i wouldn't mind taking care of you in his stead. there'd be warm meals every day and a warm bed every night, and i'd promise a happy, prosperous life. ❞

her lips pulled tighter as diona fidgeted uncomfortable in her seat. where was she going with this? ❝ but i know you'd never want to part from your father. you love him dearly, don't you? ❞

the calico's response was lightning-quick: ❝ of course i do! more than anything else in the world! ❞

❝ i thought so, ❞ sister grace nodded. it was as if a magic spell cast over her had faded in an instant. diona had always been a perceptive girl, but now she could see the dark circles beneath steel blue eyes, how her pale skin seemed to sag even further after hours sitting in the sun. was she always so tired? ❝ i want to ask one more thing: does he make you happy? ❞

❝ pfft, what type of question is that? of course he. . . ❞ diona began, but the words died in her mouth as she saw sister grace's face, which suddenly bore a wry, melancholy smile.

( she loves him. of course she does —— it's natural to love your father. she shouldn't be angry whenever happy families run around the market square, flashing mora and feasting on sunsettias. it shouldn't devour her insides when she discovers draff dead against the side of angel share and has to alert a guard to accompany the two of them home. the enemy is the wine, not draff. she needs to say that. )

she finished weakly, ❝ . . . he makes me happy. every single day. sure, he may not always be at home, but only because we both work in the morning. he still puts in the effort to make time for me. he's my best friend and i'm his. we love eachother. ❞

( it's not a lie. its not. he is trying, he does make time for her, he tells her all the time he loves her. why does it sound so unconvincing even to her own ears? )

❝ i see. ❞ another breeze blew through the gardens as the enormous church bells rang, signaling the end of prayer hour and afternoon tea. the air smelled softly of honeysuckle and fresh dew as the two ladies cleaned up, dumping the remaining cold tea into a nearby sink and gathering their belonging. bidding the sister goodbye, diona was the first out the gate, racing down the curving dirt path toward home, hair flying behind her. all the way, she could feel the rocks in her gut slowing her down.

#‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ( IC. ) / * SPECIAL MENU #‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ( SCRIBBLES. ) / * CAT'S CRADLE #tw parental neglect #tw alchohol mention #// see i think this sample is a great peek into what this blog will offer #// formatting that will be hell to work with when events rolls around #// and reasons i want to hit draff kätzlein with a car #// walter white yelling through the car TAKE CARE OF YOUR KID

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frostgears · 7 months ago

Text

We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 4: Lyric 2

It needed information.

Not long after its arrival in this body and this world, its maker and owner (the artisan Coda) had been bound by an archon of the divine "TO CREATE NO MORE BODIES BUT ONE, AND ONLY TO SERVICE HER CREATIONS TO THE BEST OF HER ABILITIES AND AT HER OWN EXPENSE". Coda had just the one workshop, here in the summer capital, the same city that held the Academy. Unfortunately, most of Coda's dolls would be with their owners and their households: nobles, generals, very successful merchants… all people that could afford to relocate south to the warmer winter capital during the cold months.

But there were a few owners that did not move with the seasons; there was one in particular that was almost always home. But it would need a welcome gift, and that meant a trip to the market.

Specifically, the cramped warren of roofed-over alleyways where the fish market became the drug market. It was not Lyric's favorite place in the city, and the coterie of large men that lounged about convenient doorways did little to improve it.

"Ehhh, what you need, girlie?"

"Meltspice," it told him, declining to correct his perception of its gender. "Unblended, if you please."

"Yeah, we ain't got that. Got some lively fuckin' greenwine in from the Sandgate, though; that'll get you out of your head just as well."

"I can't serve cactus wine at a society dinner," it told him, "I'd be scrubbing various fluids out of gowns for a week. If you don't have it, please get out of my way and I will find someone that does."

"Ehhh, you got a mouth on you, girlie."

"Yes, I have a knife on me, too."

It is hard to outstare a doll, and even harder still when you don't know you're trying to outstare a doll.

"Creepy bitch," he said. "Not worth the trouble." The big man spat, and wandered off down the alley.

Another of the big men sidled up to it in short order. "Hey, beautiful. I heard you might be looking for fine spices."

"Your hearing is good. I am. The pure stuff?" it asked.

"Pricey. Sure you don't want blended? Little thing like you?"

"Not for me. A very exacting mistress. She'd know, I'd catch all the hells; no repeat business, if you understand me."

"Ah, fair enough. Come with me."

It looked him up and down. Living with Coda had rubbed off on it; it had been no great judge of character in the world before this one, where it dimly remembered an uneventful life where it didn't have to be. Here, it had watched its artificer mistress navigate the dodgier parts of the city, such as the criminal underworld and the oft equally criminal aristocracy; it had learned when to curtsy, when to flatter, and when to run; and it read no particular threat from this man's relaxed body language. It had also learned that its slight frame concealed machinery of impressive power, capable of impressing this man's sternum right through his spine if it absolutely needed to do so.

So it nodded assent and followed the man into a slightly grubby tavern, where the man's associates laid out several bowls with orange-red powders before it. It cleaned its fingers with its kerchief and rubbed a tiny pinch of the proffered meltspice between thumb and forefinger, finding it as Coda had taught it to feel for, neither gritty nor oily, but fine and freely flowing. But the only true test for meltspice was the nose.

"May I?" it asked.

The man nodded vigorously, eager to move the purchase process along.

It took a tiny, delicate sniff of the stuff. Lyric's alchemical sense of smell was somewhat patchy; earthy, meaty, and pungent scents were largely beyond it, although it could appreciate most flowers and fine tea easily. This was somewhere in the middle of its range, and it was strong.

Coda told it often that compliments cost nothing. Another lesson that it had only internalized once ripped from its old body and its old world, where it had little time for politeness. It put flattery into its monotone voice as best it could, and said, "That's really quite good. You know your product. Shall we talk price?"

One of the men seemed quite pleased by this response. The expert, no doubt. It favored him with a polite smile and suggested an opening number.

They settled on seventy for a few tens of grams in a brown waxed paper bag, which wasn't cheap, but not quite extortionate. It would have to soak the expense.

"Hey, you're a doll, aren't ya?"

"Yes," it said, tensioning several internal springs just in case. "What is it to you?"

"Oh, nothin'. Just, is it true dolls can't melt? Or take dreamdust? Or get drunk? Or even smoke?"

"That's all true." It couldn't do any of those things. Dolls didn't have those kinds of vices; they were, depending on one's attitude, either inherently free from them, or not permitted even those escapes. It had observed that dolls could cultivate other different, more abstruse vices, but nothing so readily comprehensible as a drug habit, and generally not obvious except to other dolls.

"Hah." The man crossed his arms and chuckled. "So the boss wasn't jokin' when he said that a doll could be trusted to stay out of the merchandise and maybe he should replace the newbie with one. Nobody tell him he was right, eh? You're not gonna take our jobs, right, dolly?"

"I do not have the muscles for it." It extended one arm, moved a linkage in a way that would have curled a human's bicep, made a show of patting where the curl would have been, shrugged. "But I look better in this uniform than you would, so please don't try to take my job, and we shall call it even."

That got a laugh. Lyric curtsied, made its exit at a brisk pace before any of the men could take insult.

It crossed the city at the same brisk pace. Among the neat rows of tall, narrow brownstone houses where many of the summer capital's pettier nobles and wealthier merchants made their homes, Lyric slipped down a narrow alley to the servants' side entrance of one particular brownstone, and rapped its porcelain knuckles on the wooden door.

The doll that opened the door was similar enough in height, build, and features to Lyric that she could have been its cousin, if not its sister.

"How may I help— Oh. Hello, Lyric. I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. Is Mistress Coda with you?"

"That's the trouble, Cobalt," it said. "May I come in?"

"Unfortunately, my own mistress is indisposed…"

"Taken care of," it said, presenting the brown waxed paper bag.

Cobalt nodded. "I expect she'll be feeling better momentarily."

---

prev: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 3: Bree 2 next: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 5: Bree 3 original location: https://www.tumblr.com/frostgears/751023990648274944/lyric-2

#dollposting #microfiction #we who

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