#clarabelle cards

[clarabelleblog]

Only 10 Years

[toontownlibrary]

Series 1 Toonography cards.

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Now I'm wondering with both of these card reveals, is this meant to be like some kind of roleswap/genderswap AU of the Three Musketeers DTV? that could mean Clarabelle may also be a musketeer in the future?

LORCANA PEOPLE, WE NEED THE LORE. WE NEED NOVELS BEHIND THESE THINGS. PLEASE. PLEEEEEEEEAAAASEEEE

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Based on the twst ghost bride event, what if there was like a ghost groom instead that kidnapped Yuu to be his bride? Sure, the boys would fight to rescue Yuu unlike what they did with Idia, but they also boost their chances of success by rallying up everyone in the House Mouse.

Ace pops his head through the mirror to the club: Yuu's been kidnapped by ghosts.

Everyone: *yelling, kicking up a fuss, flipping tables, the mob from Beauty and the Beast raising pitchforks, card soldiers and Maleficent's goons lining up, Donald once again going: MY CHILD!!!

They're all gonna being kicking down the school doors playing ghostbusters all the way.

And when everything is done and Yuu has been rescued, people are slyly suggesting: "well, since you're in a wedding dress and the decorations are still up... you could still get married." *everyone side eyes their favourite twst boy

OKAY THIS IS ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS 🤣🤣🤣

I love how it's not even the actual main characters. Like the club gets told the news and before anyone even blinks, the henchmen have all gone to rescue her whilst everyone else are just sitting there.

Clarabelle: Shouldn't we do something about that?

Maleficent: *sipping her tea* No need. Diablo's a great babysitter.

Five minutes latter they all come back carrying a dazed Yuu still in her wedding dress like it was no big deal at all.

I just love the idea of Yuu being close to the henchmen/NRC NPCs.

[leviathansshadycorner]

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 7

Summary: Interview

A/n: Sorry for any inconsistencies and spelling errors, enjoyyyyyy!

Pt.6Pt.5 Pt.4 Pt.3 Pt.2 Pt.1

____________________________________

Chapter 7: Interview

The games were Tomorrow. Today was your last day of peace and possibly life. Most of the time today was supposed to be spent preparing for the interview, however, Dolly and Rasmey gave you two or three hours of bliss before having to prepare. 

You were positive Buckley was out in the rose garden with Dolly. It was only natural for him to want to be outside instead of cooped in like you. Ramsey had come in to check on you twice but eventually stopped when he assumed you were sleeping. In reality, you were crying. Crying the whole two hours mourning the fact that you’d never get to see the faces of your family again. 

You remembered Amaranto and how the two of you would’ve been having breakfast together at this time. Or how you would have packed your Pa a lunch to take to work. You thought about those Sunday afternoons spent sitting on the dry grass with a blanket, just the three of you talking about life and reminiscing about your mother, occasionally eating something special when they’d work overtime. 

You thought about the times you spent with Clarabell in the angry rivers, scared out of your mind that a peacekeeper would come and hurt you both, but having so much fun in the water that you forgot that they even existed in the first place. 

Your mind went to Buckley. It was crazy how you went from greeting each other in the morning at school to being with each other every day. He looked out of place in the Capitol, and so did you. It was odd seeing someone from home on the screen, but you guessed that’s how he felt about you too. The two of you had grown closer than you would have ever at home. That’s when you started realizing that you should’ve appreciated everything you had at home instead of slowly isolating yourself as you grew up. 

Wiping the snot from your nose you decided to get up and wash your face. The clock read 12, and that meant it was time for your mentors to get you interview-ready. The actual interview itself was to start at 6 pm. However, you still had to practice your speech and what you were going to say to several different questions. The whole point was to make you appealing to not only the sponsors but the Capitol as a whole. After all, the sooner the tributes get used to the Capitol’s mannerisms, the better the victor will adapt. 

“Alright, let's try this again.” It had been thirteen minutes and Pradain was still struggling to get you to sit up straight. 

“Come on, we started an hour ago, I’m sure they can learn how to sit up straight later. What’s important is that we get them to speak clearly and with charm.” Dolly protested as Pradain pressed a hand to your back to get you upright. 

Pradain’s outfit consisted of satin gloves, and a matching dress that towered to his ankles, his feet adorned with five-inch  platforms. It was beyond you how he had learned to walk in those. 

“Don’t be ridiculous Dolly, this is a must when it comes to Capitol mannerisms. Now up!” Groaning you forcefully sat up, your shoulders still drooping.

“Ah! See- I thought you were shaped weird, but you’re just not lifting your shoulders.” He clasped his hands onto them, bringing them up and fixing your head’s posture. “See? That wasn’t too bad. Now let’s do it again.” He instructed, 

You looked over at Buckley- who had a scarf tied around him and the chair, propping him up straight. “I think I got it.” The poor boy pleaded to be untied. 

“You stay. And you,” He pointed at you, “Up!” 

Ramsey rolled his eyes. “Alright well, I’m just gonna go ahead and start reading these questions. Ramsey was already dressed in his suit claiming that he didn’t want to put it on later, so he decided to put it on now. 

He shuffled through some cards with common interview questions. “Alright, Buck-o this one’s for you. How would you describe home?” 

Buckley perked up, “Easy- Home is-” 

“AH! This isn’t a test, it's an interview. Tell them why you like home, what makes it special. Start with, ‘Well, home to me is-’” Pradain scolded Buckley. 

“Right, ok.” He nodded and looked at Ramsey to reread the card. 

“How would you describe home?” You looked over at Dolly, your face bored and uninterested. She noticed it and ushered you to pay attention to Buckley, sitting up straight which reminded you to sit up as well. Your back was on fire, you always thought you had an okay posture, but only now knew that it was too forward leaning. 

“Home to me is..” He stopped to think, his nose twitching as he was lost in thought, “Home to me is the yellow sunset, the dirt on my boots after a long day of work, the voices of my siblings arguing over a small toy, the pretty girls fluttering their eyelashes at me, the way their hair falls on their shoulders, and how round their-” 

“Okay, no stop- you’re getting distracted.” You laughed at Buckley’s response, starting nicely but going off-topic. 

“Alright then, at least you’ll make them laugh. You’ve got a good voice too Buckley, nice start.” Dolly tried making the best of things. 

“Same Question for you (Y/n). How would you describe home?” Ramsey put the cards down, his tired eyes looking at you as he waited for your response. 

“Any time now.” Spoke up Pradain. 

“Home to me is…Home to me is.” There was about a three-second pause, “My Brother. My Pa. Our little house by the wheat fields, and the river that runs through 10.” It wasn’t much, but it’s all that could come to mind. 

“That’s a start.” Dolly smiled. 

“We need you to say more, and don’t be afraid to get emotional, the Capitol loves that. They eat it up.” Ramsey crossed his legs. “We’re gonna have a long day.” He sighed. 

4 pm came quicker than anticipated. In the period you’d been practicing you were able to learn to project your voice, and Buckley learned how to be quieter. The two of you learned some fancy words, though you doubted you’d use them in a genuine sentence. 

Sashay and the rest of the stylists waited for you down at the stylist quarters where you were ready to get replucked like a chicken. It didn’t hurt as much as the first time, but the stinging feeling was still there. After you got bathed, they began working on your hair. Its (H/c) color being amplified and made brighter as they put some chemicals on it. It smelled foul, far worse than the cow poop at home. 

Your nails were painted black and white, You mentally groaned knowing where this was going. When your hair was finally dried they worked to braid it, putting some turquoise accessories on you before handing you to Sashay. 

She smiled brightly at you and kissed your cheek, “My my don’t you look beautiful.” She complimented taking your hand and leading you to the hanger where a long sleek cow print dress hung. It looked to have fur on it, and you assumed it’d come from home. 

“You’re going to look amazing.” She said excitedly as she instructed you to take your robe off. Sashay herself was dressed in all black, contrasting with what Dolly was wearing- white. You assumed the whole theme surrounding 10 would be cow print, and you were right. She helped you put the dress on, making some adjustments while it was on you so it would hug your figure better. It draped down longer on one end, the other end having a slit and exposing much of your leg. Below you wore some high-heeled boots that you thought looked ridiculous, but Sashay seemed enamored by them. She adjusted a belt on your hips- also containing hints of turquoise, and finally a necklace on you, tying the look together. 

“Oh!” She sighed clasping her hands together, “(Y/n), when you go home I guarantee you every man will want your hand in marriage.” She cooed as she circled you. “Perfect, now all we need is makeup.” The lady sat you down for another hour and a half of makeup application. You liked Sashay, she was more level-headed than Pradain and had such eloquence to her, however, the mix of having to speak in front of millions, and the games being tomorrow was not settling in right. Ramsey had to ask Pradain for a pill that would calm down your stomach. 

Sashay was escorting you out to the backstage area where Dolly and Ramsey were waiting. Ramsey was wearing black, Pradain opting to wear white, both of them sticking to the theme Pradain and Sashay had planned. You looked around for Buckley but he was nowhere in sight. 

“Wow.” Ramsey let out a long whistle, “You do not look like yourself at all.” He said admiring Sashay’s work. 

“(Y/n), you look stunning.” Dolly’s mouth was agape as she went to hold your arm and observe you. Your hair had been taken out of the braids, leaving behind curls in its place. 

“I can’t walk in these.” You whispered to her frantically. You didn’t want to fall on stage, but that seemed like something that would happen in your near future. 

She laughed, her smokey eyes closing making it look like she had hollowed eyes, “It’ll be fine, just try not to think about it.” She assured you. 

The stage was light as people began to flood the venue. There were stagehands all over the place, getting things set and ready. More tributes flowed in, you shrank back when you realized how extra Sashay had been with your interview gown since the others looked to be more playful and simple. People kept staring at you as they walked in, and that was a bad thing in your book. Eventually, Buckley came in. His stylist next to him as they chatted about god knows what. When he spotted you he froze slightly, keeping his gaze on you as they made their way to the group.

His hair was slicked back, his face looking more square but in a good way. He had some makeup on, but it was only to even out his tone, his freckles had been redrawn over his real ones since the base of his makeup had covered them. He wore a black suit, with hints of cow print on the inner side and flaps that poked out towards the neck of the suit. His boots matched yours, and he had a belt as big as one of the screens on. The two of you looked like you ran some sort of Texan Casino. 

“(Y/n), You look beautiful.” He complimented, his hands taking yours as he made you spin. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”  He said light-heartedly. 

Buckley’s attention made you flustered and you felt the room get warmer, “I could say the same,” You smiled, “Have you seen your hair?” You asked carefully, poking his gel-held hair. 

“Alright well, we’ll be out in the front row. Look for us alright?” Sashay excused herself and Pradain, leaving the two of you with Dolly and Rasmey. 

“They’re gonna line you up again, two lines- boys and girls.” Ramsey explained, “There’s a screen back here so y’all can watch but don’t miss your cue alright?” He ordered. The two of you nodded. 

“(Y/n), remember what we went over alright?” Dolly caught your gaze. 

Previously you’d spent time with Dolly going over some things you could do to emphasize your image as the Capitol’s cowgirl. Dolly had instructed you to speak with more southern twang than usual, keep a smile and hospitable personality, and speak on the livestock and ‘ranch life’ back at home. All things that would make a District 10 resident roll their eyes, but a Capitol citizen clap and shout. Unfortunately for you, you knew that this whole act would blow up in your face. You wouldn’t get taken seriously by the tributes, and if the small chance of you winning existed, you’d have to keep up the stereotype. 

Your mentors left you to take their seats. There was about an hour until show time, and some makeup artists stuck back to touch up some of the tributes. You and Buckley paced around the backstage, practicing lines with each other, and working on pronunciation. You hadn’t even noticed that the careers had flowed in. Glimmer was wearing a pink poofy dress, far too short for her. The only thing that distracted from her body was her giant blonde hair that cascaded perfectly, but even then she wore body glitter that made her shine. Clove on the other hand wore an orange dress and a hairdo that puffed the top part of her hair up. The two looked at you and laughed, making it obvious that they were laughing at your gown. You couldn’t blame them though. You would’ve laughed at yourself too. Buckley defensively went to stand in front of you to block their view, but it didn’t do much since they’d have to walk past you anyway. 

Behind them came Marvel and Cato. Both their faces were serious as always as they discussed something about weapon quality. You paid no mind to them, knowing that if you did they’d find a way to cause a scene. You weren’t sure why you were their favorite tribute to a bug, but you blamed it all on your stunt on your first day here. As they walked closer Marvel patted Cato on his chest, and the taller male turned to look at where you were standing. 

“Damn, never knew the girls from District 10 could look like that,” Cato said as they walked past the two of you, pretending to be nonchalant although you knew he had purposely said it. 

“Nice dress 10,” Marvel said, eyeing you as he trailed behind Cato. The two of them shook their heads and laughed as they approached the front of the line. 

“If I were a career I think I’d go after those two first.” You told Buckley who gave you an amused smile. 

“If you were a career you’d be with them.” He corrected. It wasn’t far from the truth. In almost every game, the careers were quick to form alliances with each other, alienating the weak from the strong. 

“You ready for the spotlight?” Talking was something you’ve come to realize that you did when you were nervous. Your hand practically shook, and you wore a nervous smile on your face. It was involuntarily there, however as much as you tried you couldn’t get rid of it. 

“No.” His simple reply. “Not too thrilled about it.” He exhaled. He had been holding a straight posture, his shoulders up, turtling his neck. 

“They’ll love you.” You reassured, but it only made him smile, his nerves still present.

 “Just don’t want to be laughed at.” He mentioned. 

The lights were beginning to flicker, meaning that it would soon be time for the show to start. 

You thought about what he had said. “Trust me. No one’s going to laugh at you.” Dolly and you had trained for your interview. Everything you were instructed to say made you look like a country bumpkin. If anything Buckley would be District 10’s saving grace- and you its fool. 

“Wow. You look beautiful.” Came the voice of District 12’s Katniss. It sounded rehearsed, void of any emotion. The same went for the smile she threw at you. 

You returned it and bowed your head. “Please, you’re the one who deserves such praise.” You guessed she was only saying that because her mentors wanted her to make allies in the arena since her high score presented a problem. 

That was the entirety of the exchange. The stage managers lined everyone up in order of appearance, hushing them as the presentation started. Once again you found the insides of your palms to be sweaty. You tried everything to ease your beating heart, deep breaths, pinching yourself, thinking of other things. However, none of them got rid of the sensation in your stomach. You felt like throwing up. 

Up on the screen Caesar Flickerman’s silhouette appeared, his signature ponytail obnoxiously hanging from his head as he leaned back on the chair. His theme song played, the bass so loud you could feel the floor rumbling. Cheers from the crowd erupted. Buckley stood attentive, watching the screen with his hands on his belt, his stance wide to keep himself in balance. From where you stood you could see Marvel and Cato hyping each other up, Glimmer joining in to fix Cato’s neat suit. 

“Let’s bring her out!” It had been a good couple of minutes, though it seemed like seconds as Caesar called out for Glimmer. She was the first one to go. Leaving about 19 people ahead of you. You watched as her clear, shimmery dress bounced as she stepped onto the stage with a huge smile, waving to the crowd. Her hair effortlessly dropped into place, making her look all the more attractive. The crowds were loud. Your eardrums could only handle so much before you reached out to cover them. 

Eventually, it was Marvel’s turn. He seemed so confident in everything he said, you learned just how charismatic he could be. Clove went next, her interview only made you more cautious of her. Soon after it was Cato’s turn. Unlike Marvel, he gave off boisterous energy. Almost as if he was too good to be there. However, the crowd was eating it up. He ended his interview with a hollar and returned backstage. It was almost the two-hour mark, some interviews taking longer since he wanted to give the tributes who didn’t stand out some limelight. Eventually, it was your turn. 

The stage manager came back to look for you, their hand on your shoulder as they walked you up the stairs. You glanced back to catch the reassuring gaze of Buckley, but instead found Marvel’s. He gave you a wink as a token of good luck, and off you were. 

“Now I’m sure we all remember our next tribute from the tribute parade. I mean how could we forget after the thrilling act she performed!” Flickerman emphasized his words, stretching them at the appropriate time. 

A couple of ‘woos’ and whistles came from the crowd as the anticipation built up. “From district 10- (Y/n) Cuernos!” He announced your cue to cross the stage. The lights were extremely bright, you had to look down as you stepped onto the stage. The crowd cheered at your out-of-place attire, it being one of the most unique (and ridiculous) outfits of the night. Shyly you put on your best smile before catching a glimpse of Dolly in the crowd, making gestures for you to smile bigger. 

You cringed when you thought of your family back at home watching this. Saying a silent apology, it was as if a switch turned on in your brain. Suddenly, your teeth shone as you stretched your lips into a smile, fluttering the huge eyelashes your makeup team glued onto you. With a hand on your hip, the other one waving, you swayed like you saw glimmer doing, your dress’ fabric swishing in the gap your legs left as you strode. 

“(Y/n)! My, my, how you clean up!” Flickerman commented, standing to greet you. 

“Thank you, Caesar.” Your eye nearly twitched at the forced southern twang in your voice. It was a whole lot more than Buckley, who had a natural southern accent, you had close to nothing of an accent. Even when it did slip, it sounded nothing like this. “My stylist purtied me up didn’t they?” 

He looked to the crowd, “Indeed they did.” He motioned for you to sit. 

It helped that the stage lights practically blinded you. You could see that people were sitting in the stands, but you weren’t able to make out distinct features- save for the front row where the mentors sat. 

Remembering what Dolly had told you, you sat up straight, teeth-baring into a cheesy smile. 

“Did that print you’re wearing come from a cow you raised?” The presenter’s teeth glinted in the light as the crowd erupted in laughter, “Oh! ‘course not- just inspired by them.” You giggled back, hating yourself even more. Your heart was beating hoping the president would accept your performance. 

Flickerman adjusted himself in his seat, “Now, I was going to leave this question for last- but I just know the audience has been anticipating the answer, am I right?” He turned to the audience who were cheering blindly. 

Like a doll in a box you smiled stationary, waiting for him to ask the question, but of course, he needed to prolong it for suspense. “What was going through your mind when you rode that steed?” There were some woo’s from the crowd, and you watched yourself on the screen as they replayed the moment. That clip gave you an ego boost each time you saw it. Giggling a bit too nervously you shook your head. “Nothing.” That earned a laugh from the audience. “I just remember wanting to ride it- couldn’t help myself I guess.” You gave a small shrug. 

“What a wildflower this one is.” Caesar made some amused faces. 

The interview lasted for another couple of questions, he seemed to have a lot for you. He asked you about home life, your loved ones, Buckley, and about skills. You didn’t have as many questions as the careers, but it was more than District 8’s tributes who had the least. 

“And do you have a strategy to win the games?” His tone was more serious now. 

Here it was. Your closing line. The one that took you and Dolly two seconds to come up with, but would echo in the minds of the audience. 

“I’m from District 10. I’m a born and bred cowgirl. I have to win. ” 

Cato couldn't help but smirk at your response, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall, he watched with attentive eyes as your interview continued.

His open mouth smile followed by “woah woah woah!” made the stadium rumble. You smiled and waved out to the crowd, Dolly giving you a thumbs up. 

“That’s an ambitious statement! I love it!” He did a little kick, “Well, you go out there and rope them in (Y/n) Cuernos! District 10’s very own cowgirl!” 

If only you could see Cato’s pissed-off face next to Marvel’s smug one. 

As you walked backstage again you were greeted with a bone-crushing hug from your fellow tribute. “Hey, that was good! Though you were a little strong on the accent.” Buckley patted your back. 

“Yeah, I had no idea you had one.” Glimmer teased as she and the other careers leaned against the wall. “Stop trying to win them over, I’m already the Capitol’s sweetheart.” The tall girl crossed her arms, the jewels in her dress reflecting. 

Marvel came around you, making space between you and Buckley who knew better than to cause a scene. “Did they make you skin that cow yourself?” His fingers scraped the waist of your dress, he let out an “O” when he realized it was just fabric. 

Cato gave him a look, causing him to back off. “You have to win huh? How do you think you’re going to do that?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” You refused to look at him. 

“Oh, I’m not worried. You see if anyone should be worried about you.” He sneered, his gaze getting darker. “Save yourself the disappointment, enjoy your time in the Capitol, and accept your fate. I’m winning this one.” 

“As if.” Clove rolled her eyes. 

Buckley and you both stared down Cato. 

He snickered, “And don’t go around thinking your friend here is going to help you. If you’ve been doing your research you know that there’s no such thing as friends in the arena.” 

That irked Buckley, “So who’s to say your little posse won’t turn on you and gang up on you in the arena?” 

“Pft, then let’s hope they can outrun me.” His response made the careers shift uncomfortably.

“We knew what we were doing when we signed up.” Marvel spoke up,” It’s our job to ween off the weak ones, so the strongest can prevail.” He said looking at you. 

“So is that what Cato’s going to do to you?” You didn’t mean for it to be a comeback. It just came out that way. The careers looked pissed now, but a stage manager came just in time to lead them back to their mentors. 

“Watch it 10.” Cato’s wild grin didn’t deter you, you continued to stare him down.  

Just like that, your time at the Capitol was coming to an end.

____________________________________

Tags: @randomgurl2326

[thefluffyrailway-official]

So whats the full Orion family tree. Also please forgive me if I misspelled his name

Nah it's perfectly fine! Now here's his family tree and a little famoly card to make it easy.

(Free little clue of the loafs' mates nyehehe)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FAMILY

PARENTS

- Thomas Aiden Billinton

- Emily Stirling Gresley

SIBLINGS

-Emerald Billinton

UNCLES/AUNTS

- Percy Gresley Avonside

- Nia Kur-Billinton

- Timothy Billinton †

- Roly Browndusk

- Annabelle/Annie Browndusk

- Clarabel Browndusk

- O💚💚💚💚💚 Collett

- T🩶🩶🩶 Collett

COUSINS

- Aiden Collett Browndusk

- Octavia Collett Browndusk

- Claire Collett Browndusk

- Hakim Gresley

- Raj Gresley

GRANDPARENTS

- Theodore Billinton jr (Bio Thomas part) †

- Helena Adderhick (Bio Thomas part) †

- Cedric Browndusk

- Adella Cedarbloom

- Arthur Stirling (Bio Emily part) †

- Valley Greenwish (Bio Emily part) †

- Gordon Gresley

- Henry Avonside

OTHER RELATIVES

- Edward Arsen (Mentor)

- Maddison Stream (Rival)

- Harriet Woods (Bff/future crush)

- Vanessa Lima (Friend/future Coach 1)

- Verónica Díaz (Friend/future Coach 2)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was too much info?? QwQ

(As always creds to @steam-beasts for the inspo for this AU. We don't share Orión. But i wanted to give her creds anyway :3)

[dent-de-leon]

newly resurrected tealeaf my beloved...he wakes up so scared he just--"bolts up and runs." His first real world is Love, Molly reaching out to Yasha and pulling her into a hug as soon as he recognizes her. Calling out for his Magician and all his other loved ones after. He gently asks, "Home?" looking uncertainly around the rotting remains of Cognouza, until Jester rushes to reassure him--no no, this isn't home. But it's okay. We're going to take you home.

The Mighty Nein all hold hands to teleport. And Tealeaf doesn't know what that's about, but he happily holds hands with all these warm, achingly familiar strangers. He picks pretty flowers from the Blooming Grove for Beau and Yasha, looks so pleased and excited when he finally gets the chance to give them. He walks under Catha wide eyed and full of wonder, taking in the verdant greenery and moonlit lake. Notices Clarabelle is clearly watching him, but is content to just let her quietly follow.

He looks so fond when Jester gives his tarot cards back. Does he still remember the last dream he had of his goddess, back in that liminal space between life and death? When she read his fortune and held Yasha's tarot card out to him? "The Love card...Do you know what that means? It's okay if you don't." "One might call that a miracle...Perhaps fourth time's the charm."

Molly and Lucien reached out to each other when everything ended, shook hands and decided to go back home together. This little tiefling is their shared connection, their twin souls--reborn from all the love the Nein had for them, the love that Tealeaf always returned. "A part of a soul. Or is it a whole one? If souls could grow from but a piece..." A soul born and saved by Love--

[polina-me]

A mini-card for Donald Duck's birthday!

HDL: Happy birthday, unca Donald! We love you! *presented: a flash drive with a musical number, a large drawing and a chocolate cake made of pancakes*

Donald: Aw, boys~ *cried a little*

Webby (May, June, April): Happy birthday, uncle Donald! *presented: handmade jewelry and toys*

Donald: <:_0

Mickey, Goofy, Daisy, Minnie (Oswald, Ortensia, Clarabelle): Happy birthday,Donald! *gifts: a large number of dresses and "girly" things* *they giggle because they think Donald will get angry*

Donald: OMG! Thank you guys, it's so beautiful!

All: what

Cousins (Fethry, Abner, Gladstone, Gus. ALL): Happy birthday, Don! *gifts: photos on the marine theme from Moby and Fetri, a wooden statuette from Abner, a cake from Fethry and Gladstone (miraculously left over from Gus)*

Donald: Thank you!~

Grandma Duck: Happy birthday, my sweet! *gifts: baking set*

Donald: Oh boy, granny! How did you know that this is what I want? *hugs* Thank you, I love you

Grandma Duck: I love you too~

Scrooge: Happy birthday, Donnie! *hugs tightly and kisses a lot*

Donald: Thanks, unca.. *blushes and giggles slightly from tickling*

Scrooge: For you~ *gifts: guitar and citizenship in Scotland, Mexico and Brazil*

Donald: *gasp* THANK YOU, UNKIE, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! *hugs*

Scrooge: He-he~ *happy gay dad*

Panchito and Jose: Happy birthday, mi amor!

Donald: Thank you~

Jose: Can't wait to see your presente, right?~

Donald: Maybe?~

Panchito: Great, because now it's time to look at them!

10 minutes left

Panchito and Jose in the sea dresses of their native countries

Jose: Do you like charmosa?

Panchito: I hope so, patito~

Donald:

Donald: I feel in love again.

[maskofenigma]

another fallen london essay ramble whoo boy (i dont plan these btw) (spoilers for firmament and light fingers in particular plus general spoilers)

ok so do yall remember that one line in Firmament Chapter three where Summer drinks moon milk and looks directly at the player character and nothing happens? if not i get it, that section was pretty hard to follow and it was ultimately inconsequential and also optional so here it is

(from the fallen london wiki - Suggest Summer do it instead)

anyone whos played Light Fingers or is familiar with that plotline knows that this makes zero sense. even normal moon milk has extreme effect if ingested. and unless we're going to have some kind of toxic romance arc with Summer (which would be great but given the lack of foreshadowing and other aforementioned reasons is highly unlikely) we can chalk this up to sloppy writing and unfamiliarity with that ambition on whoever wrote this. such frustration seems to be the consensus on this chapter, at least on here

But! ive been following some liveblogging of early Light Fingers, reminiscing etc etc, when i remembered one other odd tie in to moon milk, in the cave of the nadir. now analyzing the nadir is similarly difficult to zenith because its very vauge and theres a lot of disconnected elements in there all in service of making a place thats confusing and dangerous and unknowable and whatever so take this with a grain of zalt. im sure theres some juicy deeplore in there but what i want to focus on is this

(from the fallen london wiki - "It was the milk... it was the milk, wasn't it?")

this is a weird callout, right? afaik thats one of the very few connections to an ambition in the nadir, alongside whatever the frost moth does in nemesis (havent gotten there yet). so like what gives? its not an especially rewarding action, and it doesnt progress the ambition or anything. its possible, given this comes after the orphanage section, that these two are like escapees of the orphanage after the fire / riot, but it could also be some disconnected memory its all very difficult to discern. and even if that is the case it doesnt really tell us much except maybe foreshadowing for Hephesta's situation. the best i can say is that, taken in context with the other options on that card, maybe its a parallel to Clarabelle's situation, with the references to eggs? there has to be some reason behind this reference, and if there isnt one, than at least let me headcanon this

i think the two instances above tell us very little on their own, but taken in together have fascinating implications. irrigo and violant are thematically opposed colors, forgetting vs remembering, and zenith / the nadir are explicitly connected both textually and in their names (zenith means the highest point of a space or object, nadir means the lowest), so that they both reference moon milk is interesting to say the least. I think this could be telling us that moon milk has different effects when under these two neathbow colors. Moon milk induced obsession seems to be resistant to the psyche destroying affects of the nadir, persisting for the two people in a place where memory is actively unravelled. the woman, even as she tells her companion to forget her, still clearly recalls the affect of the moon milk and her newfound obsessions. maybe this is somehow due to the milk's affect of overwhelming the victims previous life, in essence forcing them to forget what was previously important to them. or maybe, given irrigo's connection with lack of perception and drawing inward, the idea is that when the victim has nothing else to cling to in the nadir, the love instilled by the moon milk persists as a sort of internal source of comfort. in zenith, the violant light seems to dull or entirely nullify the milk's effects if that moment with Summer is to be believed. its stated that the violant forces the player character to be aware of every detail at once, able to perceive even distant objects with total clarity, splitting your attention everywhere at once. the way moon milk works is just an extreme version of a classic love potion: a victim falls deeply in love specifically with the first thing they see. maybe, because one perceives everything at the same time, the moon milk cannot properly take effect. or maybe the violant is just too oppressive, preventing the milk from occupying a victims thoughts as they are overwhelmed by the light.

whatever the case may be this is a very odd pairing. for a section so filled with moon misers, firmament has very little by way of references to Light Fingers, odd given thats one of the main places one would encounter a moon miser. no comment. and that moment in the nadir has always struck me as peculiar, if only for it being seemingly out of nowhere and disconnected to everything else. but moon misers are linked to apocyanic light with some degree of regularity, so i dont think its too great a stretch to connect them to other neathbow colors as well. one wonders how everyones favorite roof beetles might be affected by the other colors of the neath. even if im totally off base and disproven by some text in the high sancta or sunless skies or whatever there has to be something here im sure of it. or maybe ive lost it who knows certainly not me okay bye

[colorfuldreamsmkg]

Melancholy Puppets' Dreams | Unit 2 | Battle of the Bands Submission

A battle of the bands is what Miku had requested. A competition pitting five groups of four against one another, may the best musicians and performers win. 

Well. Unit 2 could play that game. 

A heavy silence precludes the second unit's performance. An enraptured - or captive - audience gathered by lakeside shores. A midsummer night's dreamy concert, the twittering of birdsong in the foliage steadily comes to a halt as the show begins. 

A hazy fog misted off the surface of the lake, covering everything in sight beneath a dreamy sort of veil. This was a world of isolation and solitude, a performance not meant for human eyes - still, you may look upon them if you so desire. Though spectators might have to squint to get the full picture, what fun was a show with no audience participation? They don’t just want all eyes and ears on them; you have to fight for the privilege to watch their performance. If this was a fight to be seen, you would fight to see. Fair was fair, for the fae folk. 

Cast your eyes to the left. Then the right. No matter where audience eyes fell, there was no stage in sight - until movement was spotted within the fog, weaving closer and closer. The lake itself, the surface of the water, was their stage, their stomping grounds. 

Bobbing into view, a series of pierrot masks whirled through the mist, splicing a path through even the densest haze, drawing the eye to their exaggerated, painted expressions. The members of Unit 2 are all dressed as clowns for amusement, adorning masks of varying expressions. Each is dressed reminiscent of a suit of cards; spades for Witch, diamonds for Cecilie, hearts for Clarabell, and clubs for Swan.

As the masked individuals weave into their positions, a chorus of instruments shimmer into existence, crafted out of the lake water itself. Witch and Cecilie come to a stop before a liquid guitar and piano respectively, getting themselves situated. The living doll Miku you had met during the party appeared to be concentrating behind a curtain of water mixed with red flowers among its shimmer, her hands out, palms facing upwards. At her side was a series of Nendoroids, dolls of the performers. Lowering her arms, she passes through the curtain. The Nendoroids sputtered into animation, their rigid limbs becoming pliable, and they marched out from behind the curtain beside her. 

The song starts with Cecilie, fingers fluttering over the keys of her piano, coaxing a timid, staggered melody from the instrument, reminiscent of a music box, the initial notes of their chosen song, Karakuri Pierrot. The Nendoroids slowly began to twirl in time with the crescending music. 

Atop a lilypad, limbs and head dangling limp as a puppet with snipped strings, Clarabell stands, awaiting her cue. Adorned in hearts to symbolise her romantic plight, a tearful mask on her face puts her heartbreak on display for all to see. And on the lake’s surface, standing a few feet away, was none other than Swan, adorned in a jester’s apparel, a suit of clubs, a grinning clown mask obscuring his face from view. Much like Clarabell, his limbs and head hung limp, a discarded doll in a sea of swaying toys.

The sound of whirring, a clockwork toy turning, as centre stage a doll, donning the same mask, starts the tale. The Nendoroids slowly began to circle their leader, gently twirling. 

In awkward, jerky movements, Miku moves to centre stage before she opens her mouth and begins to speak. Her soft, meek voice spoke over the small, looping melody prior to the song beginning proper.  “Once, there was a girl, who like many among us, waited for love to come to her. Everything from a crush to confessing was spent waiting for her own time in the spotlight. This is her story, and the expression of her true feelings.”

In that moment, as the two performers stand upon the sea of fog like discarded dolls, the piano kicks up in tempo. Playing the practiced notes with trembling fingers, the marionettes move to take on their roles. Witch cuts in with a guitar matching the tune, and Miku takes her place in the crowd. Playing the part of the audience well as the centre stage winds up and begins their performance. 

Clarabell and Swan mechanically come to life like wind-up toys, bending rigid limbs at the joints as though they were steadily growing accustomed to movement and motion. 

As the intro swells into the first verse Clarabell begins to sing in very practiced English, her voice was gentle, slightly restrained, but it was charming in a way that complimented her cute demeanour. It certainly wasn’t the voice of a trained singer, but she knew the words and had clearly put in the work to sound at least somewhat passable. Where her singing lacked years of training she made up for it with dance, her body moving fluidly to the music, perfectly choreographed movements that she made sure the rest of her band-mates could follow along with, but still separate for now.

Swan’s voice rises to meet Clarabell’s invitation, molten, warm, inviting, fluent in English and melody. Accusations croon forth, laughing along with a world that conspired to laugh at her. You’re a clown, after all; was it not your duty to keep this sickening, ghastly smile painted on his face, even at your expense? He didn’t so much dance as he did step according to Clarabell’s silent cues, pulling away when she pushed close, turning away when she turned into him. His shoulders shake with suppressed mirth; the very thought of being her partner in any aspect. Untouchable and unreachable, he glided across the lake with the sole purpose of leaving Clarabell to stand and spin in heart-wrenching solitude.

Face obscured by her mask, Miku places a hand to her mouth and leans forward, shaking. Though subtly so, it was clear that she was silently laughing from the sidelines as the chorus went onwards, even if her own harmonies remained completely steady for her performance. The Nendoroids mimicked their leader, giggling into their tiny, doll hands, their expressions flipping to ones of cruel mirth. 

The humiliation was suffocating; Clarabell’s plights became your own, piercing through to the heart, to the core. Your love, your dreams, your humanity scorned, scorned by your peers, your surroundings. Clarabell’s hands shakingly came up to adjust her tearful mask, her hands bunching before her. But she won’t be giving up just yet, already back at it with another attempt to get her feelings to soar true as the chorus swells.

As the pre-chorus rises into the chorus itself, Clarabell spins on her heel and brings her hand to Swan, offering for him to take upon the lilypad she floats upon on her lonesome. Once she has his hand in hers, she pulls Swan into a spin that quickly turns to become more of him spinning her, her body relaxing into the motion and her voice only hesitating very slightly with the quick movements. Spin after spin after spin through the chorus as the two twirled amongst each other Clarabell couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh during a moment between lines.

And for the first time, Swan allows it; rather than pull away, he allows Clarabell to draw him closer until the distance between them is liminal. He lets her guide the motions, an utter role reversal. The manipulator becomes the manipulated, and the ignored becomes the star of the show. And he’s there with her every step, spinning until breathless and at the mercy of the music. His voice lowers to compliment hers; honeyed and fruity, and the lyrics pour out like syrup, sticky and sweet. His voice sinks low to push hers up, ballooning to new heights; a demanding call to attention - don’t look at him, look at her. 

The haze obscures your view as multiple voices sing out alongside the two, a haunting cacophony supporting the chorus as the toys spin and jerk ever forward. In this moment, love exists, and it exists painfully. A fairytale without its happy end, a love cast aside, unrequited - sung out in harmony. Voices raise, as the curtain closes upon the chorus. 

“Still I cannot reach you…” 

Swan dips away, unable to commit, leaving Clarabell to stumble and stagger on her own. With one final spin, Clarabell is released from their dance and falls helplessly to the ground, a scripted movement as she finds herself on her knees sulking alone upon the lilypad once more. The music balloons to a crescendo as the refrain begins. 

Soon enough, the curtain rises upon the follow-up act. As the musical refrain begins to wind down, and the melody starts to settle, Clarabell remains kneeling on the lilypad, as though frozen; poor thing must have missed a cue somewhere, as Swan is already on the prowl again, gliding across the cresting waves to the rhythm. 

Looming above her, he leans down, his hand encircling her upper arm to gently pull her up, a guiding hand at her back to push her and her lilypad along. Clarabell scurries to catch up with her missed steps, trying to find her place in the song that continues to march along without her. 

Cecilie steps in as Clarabell flounders; the piano’s song begins to dominate the stage. As if responding to a silent cue, the Nendoroids come forth and begin to flip, twirl, gyrate, drawing your attention. As Swan helps steady Clarabell and the song continues into the expounding second verse, the Nendoroids take centre stage. The Clarabell doll leans on Swan for support; he moves almost cruelly to the side, allowing her to stumble. However, in a rare moment of tenderness, he seems to change his mind, helping her stand once more while behind them, the real Swan and Clarabell have regained their rhythm, Clarabell breaking away to dance on her own. Just who was the clown here, huh?

As soon as the second verse comes to a close, Witch steps forward and kicks off a guitar solo. Her improvised melody is impassioned, yet sorrowful– a pained cry for love, for affection, for anything at all that could change this sad state of affairs. Like a doll made for a singular purpose, the only part of Witch’s body that moves during her solo is her arms. Curiously, her shadow continues to move on its own accord, mirroring Clarabell’s dance. Once the solo ends, her shadow returns to its normal state, and Witch steps back once more.

Once the solo ends and the chorus kicks off again, Clarabell and Swan come back together, hands on each other’s masks. Witch and Cecile follow suit, their hands coming to the masks on their face, the source of their pain and misery and suffocation. Four voices rise in unison to sing the final chorus as one. The masks are torn from each respective face, turning to face the audience with wide, beaming grins. Carelessly, as thoughtlessly as they themselves had once been discarded, the masks are tossed aside as five voices raise a challenge instead of a prayer -

“Just manipulate me as you want!”

Swan takes Clarabell’s hand in his own, turning to face her head-on; the two begin to sway together for one final time. Gently, kindly, the instruments die out one by one. Soft, sombre, the guitar fades, the piano slows down. Cecilie once again mimicking the sound of a music box slowing down, until it stops all together. 

As the song comes to an end, Clarabell takes a deep breath, putting her hand to her chest to ease her stress for a moment and taking a moment to usher her bandmates and Miku onto the lilypad she had been standing upon. Hesitantly, Witch approaches the center of the lilypad. She stares at the audience, clears her throat, and does her very best to project her voice for all to hear.

"This was the first performance of Constellation Carnival. Thank you for listening."

Linking hands, the five members of Constellation Carnival bow as one before vanishing into the mists like a fading dream.

[bluegreenamber]

Critter Gen Week 2024 - Day 3: Cross Campaign (WIP)

Full fics for Days 1 & 2 can be found on my Ao3 here

Hiya folks! I'm very excited to be doing @critter-genfic-events's Critter Gen Week this year, and while I'd have loved to have had every Days' prompts fulfilled with full fics, things have been crazy busy. So, for Days 3 & 6, I'll be posting WIP sneak peeks for two new upcoming multi-chapter fics that have been percolating for a while now (and are what I plan to finish my Critter Genfic Bingo card with) on here instead of my usual place on Ao3. WIPs will be under the cut (only content warning for this one is very canon-typical swearing), and I hope you enjoy the snippets that I've written to go along with the event prompts!

Clarabelle giggles, unmoved from her spot by the pond. For her troubles, she gets splashed in the face as a strange green mass appears out of nowhere and drops straight into the pond. Her indignant splutter is almost identical to Calliope’s, as Caduceus knows well. 

“What’s that?” Yasha steps closer to the pond, hand clenching and unclenching at her side as if gripping for the greatsword she had left at the temple. 

Suddenly, the green mass bursts from the surface of the water, arms flailing and mouth coughing up lily petals. Their skin is made of a jade-like stone under a red leather outfit, and their hair is made of amethyst-like gems. The combination reminds Caduceus of the residuum seeds that had saved the Grove. 

“Fuck!” the mass says as they spit out another petal. “What the fuck? Where the hell am I?” Then, their eyes lock onto their audience, though one eye is clouded over. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Clay. Caduceus Clay.”

“Clarabelle Clay.” The younger firbolg makes no move to help the newcomer out of the pond. 

“...Yasha,” the aasimar says when the newcomer’s one good eye turns to her. 

“What’s your name?” Clarabelle asks as soon as the newcomer clambers onto dry land a good distance away from where she sits. 

“Ashton. Now, where the fuck am I?”

“The Blooming Grove in the Savalirwood,” Caduceus says. 

Ashton blinks, their confusion not clearing at all. “Uh, okay. Cool, cool, cool. You all wouldn’t happen to have any idea how the fuck I ended up here?”

“None whatsoever,” Clarabelle says cheerfully. 

Suddenly, Ashton jerks their head upwards. “Wait, where the fuck…? Do you have any idea what’s happening with the moon right now? The little red fucker?”

“None whatsoever.”

[clarabelleblog]

To Your Family

To Your Family from our Family at Christmas www.clarabelle.org

Welcome to Showcase Wednesday, where every week on this day I will share with you one of my originally created Clarabelle products. My Clarabelle Cards are created with heartfelt meaning and purpose. My products currently sell on Amazon UK and Etsy UK, so you can check out the full product collection by clicking on the shopping links above. TO YOUR FAMILY FROM OUR FAMILY AT CHRISTMAS To Your…

[sunset-peril]

As Guilt Weighs

-Author's Notes-

Based on the Oswald's History cutscene

Also based on scrapped content from EM's "Playstyle Matters" gameplay mechanic (specifically, the section where Mickey became more similar to the Blot when he made more evil choices than heroic choices)

According to the Epic Mickey book (and the opening to EM2), Mickey canonically chose to kill the Clock Tower instead of redeem him, so I included that.

An AU idea I had in middle school where Oswald had a right-hand-man like Gus was to Mickey who shared Oswald's motives but also had motives of her own. (Like the original game, everyone is neither 100% hero nor 100% villain)

Didn't have either game open while writing, just referenced the cutscene that was linked, so no promises on canon-ness.

So this was the palace of Wasteland's true king. 

It's a… fixer upper for sure. Much like everything else in the once prosperous kingdom. 

The trek to this point since being grabbed by that monster and flung into this bleak, forbidden-feeling landscape had been… disconcerting to say the least. 

He was Mickey Mouse! M-i-c-k-e-y! M-o-u-s-e! Yet since arriving here, he'd been sneered at, glared at, attacked with no mercy, or straight up ignored. 

When all the hostilities faded away, he was… forgotten. Just like Wasteland itself. 

He felt closer to being one of them than he ever could have imagined. 

At the end of this long climb up Mickeyjunk, a mountain made entirely of his likeness, he wasn't sure if he'd even recognize his own face in the mirror. 

And who could? That Mickey was bright, cheery, pure and innocent; a cheery face to brighten weary souls.

He could feel his difference to that mouse. The almost ink-like feeling of his face as almost ghostly wisps flowed from his nose back past his ears (if they were even still that round shape). It had first started, just a couple ink-like drips off the head every now and then, when he'd first been abducted by that creature. Since defeating the Clock Tower, nay, since thinning the Clock Tower, the progression had rushed by and left him wondering if there was even a face to recognize. 

And thinning was the right word to use for such an act. The Tower's deranged screeching and singing and mumbling as his mind left him; and the scraping of metal, the screaming of pain and the snapping of gears and cogs as Mickey's actions tore apart his body and left only a disfigured face as a stepping stone. 

He was no hero.

These citizens torn and worn by grief and war owed nothing to him but their sideways glances.

Many of them were kind still, in their flickers of hopeful emotion. Horace and Clarabelle… he couldn't help the guilt that wracked him at their betrayed (poorly disguised as ‘disappointed’) faces.

They were once co-workers, fellow stars, friends…

And he forgot them. 

A clearing of the throat and a swishing of a white mustache brought him back from his thoughts. 

“Are we ready to meet Oswald?” 

Gus… he was so kind. So generous and thoughtful. He had been trapped down here since the last world war… and yet he never lost his kindness despite all that had happened to him… to all of Wasteland. He was the first friendly face in this world, and was still one of very few. The little levitating gremlin was a living reminder of the hope that could be found in the darkest places. 

“You'll think he'll want to see us?”

“Ah, it's not him I'm worried about.” 

Before Mickey could protest for an explanation, an army of cards surrounded them to shepherd the pair further into the desolate bunker-esque castle at the summit of Mickeyjunk Mountain. 

~~~

“Say, uh, this is that rabbit… Oswald, right?” Mickey pointed a dripping finger at an old, faded black-and-white title card. 

“‘Great Guns’, ‘Trolley Trouble’, ‘Oh What A Knight’... Oswald was in lots of old films.” Gus pulled the title card for ‘Oh What A Knight’ off the staircase wall. “He was the first one of us to become a star! …and the first to be forgotten.” 

“Forgotten…” There was that dreaded word again, the first death of a soul doomed to die over and over. “What… what happened?”

A loud clank came from behind the pair, and the mouse was spun around, neck wrapped around a scythe, before he could greet the voice. “You happened.”

Another human, well Mickey thought it was human, snarled at him from behind a horned mask; breathing and staring him down. 

“Now, now, Sylvia,” Mickey could hear Gus’ nervous voice behind him. “There's no need for that.” 

“What is this Blotling you've brought here, Gus?” 

“Sylvia, that's Mickey Mouse, and he's very much Toon, let me tell you.”

“Even worse.” Sylvia dropped her hold on the mouse.

“Sylvia, he's not staying. He's just here to greet Oswald and get home.”

“Of course he isn't. The people love him too much.” Wings that dripped similarly to Mickey's body, although much brighter in color, flared in his face. 

“Um… pardon me,” The mouse grinned cheekily. “But, uh, who is this?” 

“Ah!” There was that tone of voice Gus had when he was about to start monologuing. “This is Sylvia, Guardian of Wasteland! She has been around since Wasteland's creation, protecting each of its citizens-”

“Until the Thinner Disaster.” 

“T-Thinner Disaster?” No matter how many times he heard the same speech, he still asked the same question. And got grabbed by Sylvia.

“Open. Your. Eyes. Mouse. Do you really think such a place as this is where forgotten characters are supposed to go, huh? A place so dark and desolate, where hope itself has died?” 

“Well, uh, you seem cheerful-”

“The Thinner Disaster changed everything.” She dropped the dripping creature flat on his rear. “Or should I say, it ruined everything.”

“So, uh, what's this got to do with me? O-or Oswald?”

“Nothing. I just don't like you. And that will be King Oswald to you, mouse.” She walked in circles around him, studying him almost, each touch of the scythe on the ground going click, click, click. “The Blot took everything from us. Our home, our livelihoods, our queen is dead because of the Blot. You think you're rough enough? Try being cast aside, dumped for decades and then having the kingdom you built with your blood and tears to prevent them from others be drowned in the likeness of acid; have a beast come raging from the destruction and end the love of your life right before your own eyes and have nothing to celebrate for your victory because your entire reason to live has been consumed by the likeness of Hell itself?! You selfish creature. Wasteland heard the screams that can never be voiced pierce her ears. Wasteland scrapped herself together after the slaughter of her queen and her dearest brethren on the lines of war. Wasteland and her king live on even when there is no queen or kingdom left to live for and serve. To think you could ever compare confirms your likeness of the Blot far deeper than this physical realm. And so help me Walt, if you did anything to bring this pain and suffering upon the kingdom of Wasteland, then thoughts of the Cartoon World will be the last thing on your mind and the furthest from the last thing you'll see.” 

A small ‘plink plink plink!’ brought Sylvia's masked face out from directly above the mouse's nose and turned to a small collection of those blue bunnies that seemed insistent on chunking him into the Thinner himself. 

“Ah, Princes!” The gentleness of her voice now was jarring. “Come here.” The three bunny children hopped into her arms and snuggled as she walked towards a large open hallway. “Daddy's on his throne, right back here, let me bring you.” Her right hand rose and a snap broke through the room. “Cards! Seize them and run his Majesty's tests!” 

And once again, a deck of cards had him surrounded.

And this time, there were no clever escapes. He was firmly on unfamiliar territory. 

“She doesn't like me, does she?”

“Not one bit.”

[thebunnylord]

List of things people have left/ found in Annie and Clarabel

A hat covered in flowers

A half eaten whataburger (whataburger only exists in the US as far as I know. I actually googled whether or not there’s a whataburger restaurant in England. The answer is no)

Someone’s stocking

A sword

Swimming trunks

A teddy bear

A very creepy doll

Weed

One shoe

A bag of groceries

A kid’s homework assignment with the words “do not return to owner” written in bold on it

Someone’s pet rabbit

A squirrel

A hedgehog

A spider plant

Toy army men

A pigeon

A used condom

A purse

Flowers

A balloon

An ice cream cone

A diaper

Pens

Pencils

Playing cards

A smoking pipe

Some kid’s lunchbox

A wooden Thomas toy

A bird

A tiny yorkie on a leash

A coin purse

A yo-yo

A cat

A backpack with a kid’s school supplies and assignments

A toy car

A pack of gum

An empty bottle of cold medicine

[atlas539]

Hi, so I haven't been here for a hot minute.

Xmas Skulduggery Pleasant ideas.

Someone stealing Skulduggery's arm and putting it up the chimney, getting it down later like, "Welp, don't think Santa fit through the chimney"

China sitting by her fireplace and listening to calming music, sorting through all the Xmas cards from her admirers.

Solomon Wreath getting a necromancer themed ugly sweater from Val.

The midnight hotel having Xmas lights inside and a warm atmosphere, open to anyone who wants to get away from the Cold.

Scapegrace, Thrasher and Clarabelle giving eachother gifts.

Tanith getting a decorated sword sheeth from Frightening Jones.

The deadmen all at the hotel having an eggnog chugging competition.

Ghastly going through Dublin City, volunteering at homeless shelters and giving children clothes and toys.

[billygaysanguine]

mods are asleep post entire tvtropes entry for scapegrace The self-proclaimed "Killer Supreme", an incredibly ineffectual mage who has yet to actually kill anybody. A bumbling, but tenacious foe of Valkyrie and Skulduggery. Gets turned into a zombie by Dreylan Scarab in Dark Days.

Back from the Dead: Sanguine kills him in Dark Days after finding out he's not a killer, but Scarab decides they may as well put his death to good use, and makes him a zombie. Then in Kingdom of the Wicked he gets Dr. Nye to bring him completely back to life. See Gender Bender.

Break the Haughty: The final book has him finally face the fact that he's nowhere near as badass as he'd like to be. He actually takes it pretty well.

Butt-Monkey: Seriously. He gets humiliated or injured in every appearance.

Card-Carrying Villain: He's very proud of his status as a murderer. (Er... wannabe murderer.)

Determinator: He simply does not give up. Much good it does him.

Evil Duo: Him and Thrasher, with him being in charge - though eventually, they pull a Heel–Face Turn.

Gender Bender: Nye gives him the wrong body. He's unhappy with it, to put it mildly, and while this is initially Played for Laughs, it's later elaborated that he's feeling at least some gender dysphoria and realises that while his new form makes him popular, he's not popular for who he is.

Heel–Face Turn: Decides to become a superhero in Last Stand of Dead Men. The Dark and Stormy Knight. He's equally bad at it as he was at being evil, but he tries.

Hidden Depths: They're very hidden, granted, and it takes until The Dying of the Light to discover them but would you believe that Vaurien Scapegrace passes the third test (just) and nearly becomes the King of Necropolis. And that he turns it down for the moment because he and Thrasher promised Clarabelle they'd come back.

I Can Still Fight!: With his head chopped off.

Ineffectual Sympathetic Villain: He's so dreadfully awful at being a bad guy, it's hard not to pity him, just a little, especially as Valkyrie and Skulduggery use his incompetence for their own plans. Though he does pretty much deserve it.

Losing Your Head: Under Gordon's house. Valkyrie drop kicks it.

Meaningful Name: Both his first name and his surname mean "scoundrel".

Removing the Head or Destroying the Brain: Turns out... chopping off his head won't kill him.