#mags writes

[justmaghookit]

Contractual Obligations

Raphael/OC

SFW

AN: Did you know that in the case of devils one of their almost "signature" abilities is they can summon other devils into combat. I just think that's neat. Takes place in an au where my oc Belladonna has been a devil under Fierna for many years, and an on-again off-again lover of Raphael's

---

The House of Hope was under lockdown. All its entrances and exits were watched over by goat-headed devils who snarled and snorted at any who dared try to get in and take advantage of its Master's absence. Not that there was much worth taking left, the greatest of its treasures had been plundered, the best of its servants slaughtered.

And Hope?

Belladonna had cut her throat himself when he'd arrived in the foyer and seen the scene unfolding. Raphael had called him, summoned him, he'd never done that before. There was a clause in their business deal that allowed them to call upon each other in troubled times, neither of them would ever use it if they could help it, it was embarrassing, a show of weakness, a blow to pride.

This time though, it seemed Raphael's sense of self preservation won against his ego. He had called and Belladonna had been contract bound to answer.

Raphael's triumph had become Raphael's tragedy. Those ithilid infested adventures had smashed through his House with all the grace of a cannon ball and had the cambion cornered. Even his ascended form unleashed upon them had not slowed them down. He was beaten, bloody, leaking hellfire from gashes in his body and drooling from his maw like a rabid dog. He roared and shrieked and lashed at them but to no avail.

Raphael had been losing.

Belladonna had slit Hope's throat open with his claws, her gurgled death peals caught the attention of the adventurers. Belladonna had had just enough time to misty step across the foyer and grab Raphael's armored forearm and teleport them both away. The cambion had fought against the spell for a moment, refusing to leave his House before the fight drained out of him and he let the younger devil spirit him away.

Raphael now lays sprawled out and unconscious in Belladonna's own baths, taking up nearly half of the space with his monstrous form. That he hadn't turned back even after the worst of his injuries had been dealt with was a sign of just how close to death he had been. There was no afterlife for devils, only oblivion, that the man had risked it for his stupid plot and that stupid crown. He couldn't think about it for long or he'd be furious at a half dead man. He hopes those damned adventurers blow themselves up with it.

He sits with Raphael when he can, pulls his three faced head into his lap and strokes his fingers across the lattice of flesh and bone. The older fiend's internal fire did not roar and it was only thanks to the faint rasping of his breath he knew he was alive. With the amount of damage he had taken, not just to his body but to the house that was near an extension of him, it could take him decades to wake. He hoped it didn't take that long, he could only keep Raphael's affairs running for so long before Avernus came knocking and deemed him unfit for his position.

Belladonna did not want to deal with the fallout of that. Better to expedite the healing process and hope he'd only be out for a few weeks.

He tilts Raphael's head in his lap, pries open his maw and cuts into his own forearm with his claws. He lets his blood drip into the other fiends mouth and pool on his tongue, watches as he swallows unconsciously, it was progress. The past few days he'd had to force feed him the power that flowed through his veins. Very few devils would ever go to the trouble to do something like this willingly, nurse another devil back to health. Belladonna would have been better off letting him die and absorbing the other fiends parts of their business deal for himself. But it was Raphael and he was…

Well he was Raphael.

So far it was a good enough answer for his own mind, but he's sure once the other devil was up and about and questioning him he'd need to figure out a better one.

-

Raphael wakes on the third day of the third week, his eyes shoot open as Belladonna cuts into his own arm and the massive fiend has him pinned beneath his claws in seconds. Raphael’s arms shake with the effort of keeping his body up, his fire sputters and sparks and he pants wetly over the slight devil's face. He doesn't seem to know what to do now that he has him. Belladonna reaches for his clawed hand with the arm not pinned and pets over the protruding scales.

“Release me Raphael, then I'll give you what you want.” He orders. The other devil fights himself over it, conflict racing through animal eyes as he stares down at the prey he did not have the strength to kill. He releases him eventually, stumbling to the side with a rolling snarl. It does not intimidate Belladonna, not when the great beast's legs buckle and he crashes to the tiled floor. 

“Poor thing.” Bella coos at him and kneels at his head, offers him his bloodied arm and sighs with pleasure as he opens his mouth and lets his tongue slide out to lap at the blood. He lets the cambion draw his arm into his mouth, he doesn't even bat an eye as his jaws snap shut and his teeth tear through flesh and crush bone. Belladonna wraps his free hand around Raphael's boney neck and rests his head atop Raphael’s own. An arm is an easy fix, worth the loss to see Raphael’s fire flare steady and strong.

-

As much as he gets a perverse thrill from feeding Raphael parts of himself, infecting his very being with his presence, he cannot do it forever. He cannot afford to weaken himself to the point the cambion could overpower him. As much as it would be a fitting end to his own miserable existence to let Raphael devour him, he has too many plans in process to let them all fail. Fierna kept him busy enough to keep the ennui at bay.

He also cannot afford to babysit Raphael for much longer. The older fiend was still in no state to attend his own affairs, half feral as he was and making a nuisance of himself in Belladonna’s private chambers. Many of Raphael’s indebted souls had escaped in the aftermath of the battle in his house and while he has bullied many of the fiends lesser servants into chasing them down, those old wrung out conquests would not be as filling as something new.

Bella could hand him something from his own stocks but with the way infernal contracts worked it wouldn’t be the same. No it had to be a soul from a deal Raphael had struck himself if it was to make any difference. In the meantime he could purchase bulk grubs from the soultrade, though he’s sure the man would turn up his nose at fodder like that, he also knows Raphael does not have much of a choice in the matter.

He hears the click-clack of claws and scrape of his tail on the tiled floors of his bathing chambers, the fiend pacing back and forth, his steps uneven as his left leg still struggles to support him. Belladonna sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. If Haarlep was still here he’d know which contracts to point him to, unfortunately the incubus had met his end to the same adventurers that had nearly destroyed Raphael. If he thinks too long about their mangled corpse he’s sure he’ll throw up from distress.

He had liked Haarlep, they had been friends. Or as close to friends as fiends could get.

There was no use dwelling in what was. Devils did not deal with the past, they toyed with the present and planned for the future. In the present he fixes Raphael and he plans to obliterate those adventurers in the future.

-

Raphael manages to speak on the fourth week, his voice a hissing gurgle from somewhere in his animal throat.

“Why?” Raphael asks him, he lounges half in the revitalizing waters of Belladonna’s bath, trying to look noble but coming off more like a gangly lizard, his breath rattles in his ribs and hellfire flickers weakly down his spine.

“Why what?” He counters, his arms hooked over the edge of the bathing pool where the water was deepest, letting himself half float there. Raphael slams his tail into the water and the younger devil sputters and shakes his head as he’s splashed.

“Do not play Bella.” He wheezes, too large teeth snapping in the air, a growl rumbling in his chest.

He sighs and tips his head back against the edge of the bath, tries to ignore the other fiend but knows it's not possible. He’d brought him here after all. He drops his hooves in the water and stands, walks across to where Raphael lays, the cambion watches him warily as he reaches out to cup under his jaw, thumb rubbing over a protruding tusk.

“What do you want me to say? That I did it for the sake of our ”business”? That it was on a whim? That it was to have you in my debt? You know why Raphael, don’t pretend you don’t.” Belladonna answers.

I love you, I love you, I hate you, you cannot die on me, only I get to kill you, you’re part of the reason I’m like this, I hate you, I love you, you are the ruin of me, I will ruin you, I love you.

“You are a fool.” Raphael growls, he manages to curl a massive clawed hand around his waist, although he lacks the strength to restrain him there. Belladonna finds he has no reason to wiggle free.

“No more a fool than you are, my prince without a crown.” He hums to him, tipping his head forward to press his forehead to Raphael’s. The fiend’s eyes burn, filled with fury and humiliation in equal measure and his claws prickle against his skin, threatening damage he does not have the strength to inflict.

“Do not sulk Raphael, it’s unbecoming of you. Rest, heal, grow stronger for your failures. We’ll punish those adventurers together.” Belladonna promises him, pressing his lips to the center of his twisted face.

Raphael heaves a great breath. “Together then.”

[spiral-man]

There is some so insanely heartbreaking to me about Jonathan Sims and the way the statements were recorded. They were all originally handwritten which is such a very human thing, using your own flesh and blood write something down, just the amount of effort and emotion that goes into that. And then Jon had to digitize them using a tape recorder, definitely a lot less human as it’s now batteries and tape but still human enough since it’s using his voice. And now he’s fully inhuman, robotic, stuck in a computer, where there used to be blood and skin and bone there is now plastic and wires and a screen.

I’m currently studying funeral services and in my embalming textbook it talks about how one woman phrased it like ���a dead body is an object, but it is an object unlike any other object, cannot be like any other object, because this object used to be alive” and I really like that, it feels comforting, it feels human. Jon doesn’t get this though, he was terrified of being inhuman and he doesn’t even get to be human in this “somewhere else” he doesn’t get to be an object that used to be alive, he is just an object, like a pencil that wrote down the original statements, or the tape recorder that used to record them, and now the computer.

[dzknik]

jon when annabelle cane told him that nobody is making him want to forcibly compel statements out of innocent people and that all his actions are his own

[ID: A tweet edited to be by jon sims @/lucipur which says "Finally caught the dipshit that's been ruining my life." Attached is fanart of Jon Sims from The Magnus Archives, shown in a mirror and angrily pointing at his reflection. He's holding a cassette recorder like a phone. End ID]

thank you @princess-of-purple-prose for the ID

[candlecoo-sideb-art]

Been relistening to TMA again and wanted to highlight some of my favorite lines

"meat is me"

"Sleep no more"

“there’s no feeling, but the no feeling hurts,”

“The maze is sharp on my mind. The angles cut me when I try to think.”

“Life is a current which cannot be fought. It is a march with one destination. You cannot cease your step, nor move your course, to one that skirts the journey’s termination.”

“YOU HAVE ALREADY READ TOO MUCH”

“Not enough space to move. Never enough to breathe.”

‘MR. SPIDER WANTS MORE.’

"She dabbed a napkin at her mouth and asked me where her son was. I asked her what his name had been. She didn’t know."

“The blanket never did anything.”

"The only thing in those eyes was violence. Carnage... Blood"

"Such things are not to be dwelt on, but serve to illustrate my proposition that violence, inflicted, received or even just witnessed, can not only deal injury to the body or the mind, but to the soul itself."

"What is my metaphorical pit?"

“Pray the Sandman only brings you sleep.”

“Long pig. Short pig. Wide pig. Narrow pig.”

"I knew what it was to find your meaning buried in the earth, to claw your sense from under the sand and mud and soil, to dig."

“Your perfect body is here. Become all you can be.”

“Come, meat. Be my guest. And let thy gifts to me be blessed.”

"Transmitting nothing. Powering nothing. Connected to nothing."

“We’ve got one down here. Come on, I’ll show you.”

"After all, whatever all that other stuff was, they weren’t laundering money."

[victorie552]

Just had a thought, it's completely half-baked: So, um, NoME I think, said that there totally could be hröar without any fëar running around, right? Translating: there could be moving bodies with no souls/occupants left.

Zombies. Middle Earth has zombies.

And when would be a better time for zombies to roam around than after Nirnaeth Arnoediad? Even more after Second and Third Kinslaying. You know who would have a perfect opportunity to fight zombies to the point of habit? Fëanorians.

So I imagined the situation where Maedhros and Maglor fight some zombies, successfully turning them into parts (I mean, duh). Then Maedhros says something self-hating like "Surely there's more good to them than was left of us(me) as it hunts and hurts without consent, intent nor will, unlike us(me)."

And Maglor looks at him, then at the zombie's head he holds. He reaps the skull open (with his hands, yes), takes zombies' brain out, and throws it at Maedhros with "We also have an evidence he had a brain, unlike some brother of mine."

Cue Medhros releasing the MOST Older Brother Sigh.

[opheliaweeps]

martin k blackwood u will forever be famous

(from mag 197: connected)

[gallaghersgal]

i've been thinking sm about how lip wanted to be a dad so bad and how it would be soooo different if he had a girl who treated him right and was loyal and sweet

“emmie girl, are you excited to see daddy?”

your daughter squeals and babbles, “dad-dy!” her little hands waving in the air, one grasping onto your chin. you look around the commons, sighting a familiar head of messy curls and heading over to him.

“who’s that, hm?” you ask little emily, pointing out her daddy where he sits at a table outside the student center. as you get closer your daughter recognizes lip, squealing and squirming to be put down so she can run to him. you smile.

“go get ‘im emmie,” you murmur, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of her head before placing her steady little feet on the ground. she toddles over with adorable determination, shrieking in excitement until lip’s head is turning at the commotion. his jaw drops slightly and his eyes light up, flitting from his baby girl up to you, then back down.

"da- da-ddy!" emily stumbles on her path but lip catches her easily, lifting her up and spinning her around.

"what's up eminem! how's my girl, huh? didya miss me?" he smothers her little face with sweet kisses, listening to the sounds of her baby giggles. the two of them are so sweet, lip and his baby girl. he loves her so much. you know how much he misses his sweet emily- and you too- when he's away at school.

"look!" emily points with one pudgy finger at the bandaid on her knee. "kitty!"

"aw, y'scraped it sweets?" he asks, ever attentive. emily nods her head, grabbing onto his curls. "lemme kiss it better." he flips emily on her tummy, holding her secure and high above his head. he blows a raspberry on the squish of her knee, them smothers her with sugars.

"ducky ducky!" emily points at you, holding her little stuffed duck. it was a present from her daddy, and she never went anywhere without it.

"yeah? y'want ducky?"

you smile, coming to his side and placing ducky in her waiting hands. lip hikes emily up on his hip, kissing her, then ducky on the head. one strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in to press one final, sweet kiss to your temple.

"thank you baby. jus' what i needed, time with my girls.

end.

[witchinatree]

who up thinking about they "why is it so easy for you to imagine losing me?" vs "i deserve to lose you, the pain caused by losing you will never outweigh all the bad i have done. it will hurt me forever but it is what i have earned." jonmartin dynamics

[soracities]

Amina Cain, interview with Believer Mag [ID'd]

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

it’s past midnight and i need to sleep but more importantly 

I need to talk about Mags Flanagan from the Hunger Games

Listen. Listen. She might be a minor character who dies halfway through the book she arrives in. But her story is fucking fascinating. 

First of all, since she’s 80 years old during the 75th Annual Hunger Games, she would have been 5 when they started. That means that she’s the only victor we know of that’s guaranteed to have memories of the beginning of the games, not to mention the rebellion itself.

Second, there’s a promotional poster that has a photo of her Victory Tour and the Implications it accidentally has are staggering

her expression and the fact that they dressed her in a military uniform with medals is captivating in its own right but. She’s the victor of the 11th Hunger Games. That doesn’t sound like a big deal but it is.

The 10th Games, featured in The Ballad Of Songbirds and Snakes, took place in a literal arena. They were the first Games to feature sponsorships and betting, which meant they were the first Games where a tribute’s ability to play to the camera mattered. Lucy Gray, their victor, did not have a victory tour.

Mags Flanagan having the 11th games means that she was the first tribute to know that winning over the audience was a factor from the minute she was Reaped. She was the first tribute with a Victory Tour. It’s likely they she also may have been the first tribute to fight in an arena of the kind that’s shown in the actual Hunger Games trilogy.

So she goes from a witness to the fall of the rebellion and the Capitol’s new horror, to a record-breaking and possibly crowd-favorite Victor. That’s already a lot and we’re only 20% through her life.

She then went on to be a seasoned mentor for Four, possibly shaping it into a Career District. She played the Capitol’s games, while eventually becoming a rebel conspirator.

Speaking of the rebellion-Her district’s victors were far more onboard with fighting against the Capitol than any other Career District. If not for Lyme from District Two (shoutout to Lyme from District Two), Four’s victors would be the only career district victors that actively plotted against the Capitol. Why? When did this start? What was Mags’ hand in it?

I have a million questions about her. Mags Flanagan appreciation please

[justmaghookit]

Business Partners

Raphael/OC

SFW

A/N: A continuation of Contractual Obligations

Raphael’s senses were flooded with Belladonna, his scent, his voice, the taste of him on his tongue. His presence pressed in on him from all directions, smothering him. He wonders how deeply into his psyche Bella had pressed, how thoroughly he’d ingrained himself.

He’d always done his best to spend as little prolonged time in the other devils home as possible. Belladonna was a Fiernic devil, directly descended from the Archduchess herself and he had become nearly as infamous as her in his ability to manipulate other fiends, even when he’d been mortal he had been terribly good at worming his way under a devil's skin.

Bella as a devil himself was far more dangerous, his scent alone could lull someone into a false sense of security. Raphael had never felt more ill-at-ease due to a sense of comfort than he did after spending too many days in the other devil's company and right now he had little choice but to stay in his home while his body recovered from the damage it had suffered.

The humiliation hurts worse than the pain, the indignation that he suffered at the hands of those damned adventurers. His house fallen to disarray, most of his servants dead or scattered to the wind, his most valued treasures plundered. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been sequestered in Belladonna’s house, the Crown was likely long gone by now and that was the most painful part of all.

The second largest problem he currently faced was that he was unable to shed his current form. As fearsome, imperious and noble as his Ascended Form may be, it was somewhat inconvenient for regular business, it was difficult to charm prospective marks when they cowered in fear and a devil who could not exert control over himself was setting himself up for ridicule among his peers.

Belladonna could not hold Avernus’s court off for long, sooner or later one of Zariel’s minions would come looking to assess his worthiness to continue to run his business out of The First. If he was unable to regain complete control of his faculties by that time not only would it bring even more humiliation he would likely lose permission to run his House in Avernus, they would find him incompetent, repossess whatever was left in his house as Tax and then laugh him off the layer. To slink back to Cania after all these centuries was the last thing he desired.

He lounges across Belladonna’s bed, taking up a good third of the surface area of it. Ennui was a dangerous feeling for devils and yet as it stood Raphael saw little reason to fight against the rising listlessness, so many of his carefully laid plans had crumbled in such a short amount of time, he saw no way to salvage them.

“You look as miserable as a mange ridden hellhound Raphael.” Belladonna’s snide comment cuts through his thoughts like a knife and he blinks open a single eye to watch the younger devil saunter back into his room. He was all slim frilly shirts and tight leather pants, satin jacket cut to draw the eye to the dip of his waist. He smelt like honey and spices.

Bella carries a pile of scrolls under each arm and deposits them at his desk on the other side of the room. “Cheer up you old tom, I come bearing gifts outside my well sought after presence.” He hums, plucking several scrolls from the pile he had brought home with him.

“I’m afraid to ask.” Raphael groans. There was a not insubstantial chance a gift from Belladonna would be as useful as a kick to the balls.

“Oh don’t be like that, you’ll like this I’m sure.” Bella chirps, dropping the scrolls onto the bed near Raphael’s face. 

The cambion adjusts himself on the bed, reaches out and plucks one of them to examine, he recognizes it instantly.

“These are…”

“Some of your more high profile relatively recent contracts, yes.” The other fiend answers before he can even finish asking.

He opens the scroll with a flick of his wrist and examines the contents, confirming that it was indeed one of his although with a single difference than the last time he looked this one over.

“The soul has been collected? Where is it?” He asks, swallowing down the spark of anxiety trying to twist his stomach at the thought of Bella tampering with his contracts.

“In the dungeons, kept in stasis, waiting for you. There are more to sort through but these five here were the best of the bunch. I organized for.. Let's call it an early collection of these souls.” Bella purrs, tail curling smugly.

“They should have been left to increase in value. These souls had a lot of potential left.” Raphael growls.

“I know that Raphael, but feeding you the energy from fodder off the market is getting you nowhere, and I will not feed you more of myself, even if I wanted to, Fierna would not allow it. You will simply have to pull as much suffering and misery from these souls as you can, and soon. Apparently Mizora is being sent to harass my door next.” Bella says, crossing his arms, giving the cambion a look that said ‘you should be grateful.’

Raphael sighs, dragging a hand over his face. Mizora would not be cowed like some of Zariel’s other minions, Bella would be unable to turn her away at the door without offending the Archduchess of the First. He groans and tries to bury his face into Bella’s bed, though finds it impossible in his current form.

His current form.

Suddenly, he has an idea.

“How are the mansion's Hunting Grounds Bella?” He asks.

“As well kept as they always are.”

“And your hounds? Your other pets?”

“Healthy, loyal and vicious. Why do you ask?”

Ignoring the aches and pains that twinged across his body, as he had experienced far worse, Raphael gets his arms under him and pushes himself up, arching his spine and stretching out his wings and tail. “Invite Mizora over for afternoon tea, I know exactly how to wring those souls dry.”

[inthehouseoffinwe]

“Kanafinwë Makalaurë Maglor Fëanorion.”

Despite the dangerous tone that had once sent Morgoth’s armies fleeing, Maglor smiled innocently.

“Mhmm?”

Maedhros turned fully towards the younger, a thunderous look darkening the fair face. He held the phone to Maglor’s face.

“What. In Eru’s name. Is this.” He ground out.

“Fanfiction, brother dear. The name gives it away.” Maglor said with an offhanded wave, laughter threatening to break out despite the elder’s ever increasing rage.

Maedhros snapped.

“It’s MORGOTH’S WORK, THAT’S WHAT” He jumped up from the sofa, pacing back and forth, and Maglor was suddenly thankful that the walls were... somewhat soundproofed. “WHAT DEVILRY IS THIS THAT PORTRAYS THE EVENTS OF THE FIRST AGE IN SUCH A- A FRIVOLOUS MANNER-”

A string of curses followed as Maedhros ranted on and on about the inaccuracies, and Maglor fell off the sofa, clutching his stomach laughing. Maedhros glared daggers at him.

“You truly are the spawn of Morgoth, you know that?”

“Now now Maitimo, better not let Ammë hear you talk like that,” he replied, still laughing.

“I hate you.”

“You love me really.”

“I’m going to leave you here.”

“No you won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

Maedhros frowned, crossing his arms as he stared at his younger brother lying on the floor, one leg on the sofa and his hair splayed wildly across the carpet. Maglor gave another innocent grin. Maedhros sighed.

“I will.”

Maglor’s grinned triumphantly, the spark in his eyes, so dull when Maedhros had arrived, finally growing brighter. Despite the reservations of his brother’s sanity, Maedhros gave a small smile back and dropped on the floor, leaning against the sofa

“But I’m warning you now. Anymore of that... whatever you want to call it, and I’ll toss you into the ocean myself. See how Ulmo treats you.”

“You’re the one who said he was first to appeal on my behalf,” Maglor retorted, “but fine. I suppose the last thing I need is to be done for another kinslaying.“

Maglor laughed again at his brother’s long suffering groan then sat up, a gentle smile taking the place of his grin.

“I’ve missed you Russandol.”

AKA: After several Ages, Maedhros is healed enough to be reembodied and given permission to hunt down his stubborn brother. Maglor isn’t quite ready to leave… but that’s ok. Maedhros can wait.

He could do without the horrors of modern day technology though.

[ministarfruit]

I also did mock CGs of them for fun!!

(doppelgänger magni and vesper concepts)

[ceaselessims]

Oh...?

[wintermarmalade]

"Finally!" She spun around in her chair, making a couple full rotations before facing towards her doll. "I've finished work early today for once, so let's do something fun! What do you wanna do?"

"I want to fulfill the tasks you assign me" It stated simply.

"Well, yes, I know what you want to do for me, but what do you want to do... for you?"

Do something for myself? It had never been asked that before. It spent a few moments recalling things that made it feel good, many memories of successfully completing tasks and her masters being appreciate came to mind. "I want to be useful" It concluded.

"Is that all? You've never wanted anything else?"

"I cannot recall ever enjoying anything else."

She gave it a doubtful, but thoughtful look, "Well... I command you to pick an activity for us." She said with a coy smile.

It wanted to complete tasks... to be useful.... what task could it choose for itself that would be useful?

"I would like to learn how to help you make your clockwork trinkets."

"Hmmm, alright!" Perhaps teaching would be more fun than doing it on her own, she thought. "Come watch, and please ask as many questions as you would like." She beckoned as she grabbed a tall stool and set it next to her desk for her doll.

It was not used to being able to speak so freely, but it trusted her. It climbed up onto the stool and watched with amazement as Magdeline fit so many tiny parts together and explained how they moved without any magic. She talked about it all so fluidly, and was so patient with all of her doll's basic questions, no matter how silly it thought they were.

When she was finished, it realized she had made a small, clockwork rabbit! Just big enough to fit in her palm. She wound it up, and it began to shake it's whiskers and hop forward, every third hop doing a flip! It watched the toy creature in awe, unaware of how big the smile on it's face was. It's smile quickly faded as it realized it was reaching the end of the table, about to jump off.

"Quick! catch it!" It said with a genuine urgency, just a bit louder than it's normal voice.

"Hold on, just watch." Mags reassured.

The clockwork rabbit stopped right at the edge of table, then turned around and kept hopping! It couldn't help but laugh, as it couldn't believe Mags made this little creature do so much without magic, she must be the smartest person in the universe it thought.

Mags laughed with her, this was the first time she had seen her doll so much as smile, much less laugh at anything. It was an adorable, precious laughter. She spent a moment just admiring the sound of it's voice and it's joyful facial expressions before it noticed and turned to her attention, as if waiting a command.

"Oh! I didn't have a request or anything, I just didn't know you could laugh, it was wonderful."

"W-Wonderful? What... what do you mean? If... I may ask."

"What do you mean what do I mean?" She teased, "It just made me happy to hear."

She was weird, not like any of the masters it had had before. Why would she care about what her doll felt?

"That is... strange. I'm sorry, I don't understand." It said timidly.

"It's okay, you don't have to right now." She assured it with a gentle pat on it's head. "Now, I'd love to see you try to make your own trinket, if you're ready."

The doll's face lit up again and gave an excited nod, ready to keep tinkering.

[mortal-kingss]

just a sketch but be on the lookout 🕷️

update: they have been rendered… mwahahahhaah