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keeroo92 · 3 years

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A Father’s Presence

Hi guys! This was my contribution to the @dadgilzinedmc, in which the Sparda boys take a trip to the amusement park. I hope you enjoy it!

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Vergil grimaced and did his best to block out the sound of howling children. Their laughter and screams of delight grated on his ears, and he found the encouraging shouts of their parents equally disturbing. Yet again, he questioned his sanity in being where he was.

An amusement park. How ludicrous.

Buttered popcorn and human sweat tainted the air, colorful banners and balloons in every direction. The whirring of machinery oscillated as nearby rides cycled through the crowds waiting their turn, grinning excitedly or grumbling about the wait. Starry-eyed teenagers barely outnumbered the swarms of unruly children. Case in point was a nearby family of four, the father hand-in-hand with a toddler, laughing proudly as the child devoured an ice cream and smeared more of the treat on its face than it managed to get in its mouth. The cheerful buffoon leaned down to wipe away the mess and pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead.

Disgusting. Was that what a father was meant to do? This may be more difficult than he thought.

Yet he had only himself to blame for his current predicament.

As the weeks had passed in the Underworld, he’d had plenty of time to ponder the existence of his son and all it implied. Duty, responsibility, strength. Fatherhood; a gift he never expected to receive. Having lost so much already, Vergil knew family was a precious gift (excluding Dante, of course). By the time he and his accursed twin returned, Vergil’s resolve to be in Nero’s life was unshakable.

But his desire to do so didn’t help him know how to be there properly.

His first few clumsy attempts had led to disaster, and Nero seemed reluctant to be in his company after he asked one too many awkward questions about Kyrie. In the end, his lackluster efforts left him no choice but to ask Dante for aid, and after weeks of enduring his brother’s teasing, here they were. Three grown men surrounded by children and young families at an amusement park.

“Dude, we have to ride the Mega Coaster! It’s huge!” Nero cried, pointing at a snake-like metallic structure on the opposite end of the fair grounds. Even from such a distance, the screeches of the patrons aboard were faintly audible.

Dante tossed an arm around the youthful man’s shoulders and cackled. “For sure! But first —cotton candy!”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, stepping over a splash of fluid he didn’t dare to ponder further. The ease of his brother’s banter with his son summoned a strange longing in his heart, but he shoved it aside. Feelings were not to be trusted. “Cotton candy? That doesn’t sound edible.”

His two companions exchanged a grin Vergil didn’t like one bit. They were scheming something; this could only spell catastrophe. He glared at Dante but got only laughter in response.

Within moments, the eldest Sparda held a stick with a blue cloud larger than his skull mounted on it. He eyed it suspiciously, curling his lip at the sugary scent. Why did people eat such things?

For that matter, how did people eat such things?

A glance at his brother and his mass of pink fluff showed one technique of tugging a chunk off with one’s teeth. Animalistic, but effective enough. Perhaps now was the time to emulate his twin; he had more experience with situations such as this.

Vergil took a bite, allowing the fluffy sweetness to meet his taste buds. It vanished within seconds, melting away as if he’d merely dreamed it. Only a powerful aftertaste of sugar marked its passage.

He didn’t despise it.

“Good, huh?” Nero commented, his own helping already missing several mouthfuls. Vergil offered a non committal hum in response. Using words only got him in trouble before, maybe avoiding them would be more effective for now. He took another bite.

The trio soon rejoined the crowd, allowing the flow of humanity to pull them along towards the rides. According to Dante, the sooner they got in line the better, so they might as well finish their cotton candy on the way. For once his logic was sound and Vergil followed his lead into a snaking queue for The Zipper.

The pointless contraption was only the first of numerous conquests, each daring to seek an answer to the question of how many planes of rotation a human being could withstand before vomiting. Children and adults alike screamed and laughed as their bodies whirled and spun about, tinny music and the squeal of metal a soundtrack to their terrified joy.

Hours passed in a blur of color and sound, motion and taste. At first Vergil tried to argue that he did not, in fact, need to experience every single ride, but Nero and Dante’s pestering only grew more tiresome as they dragged him along. The two seemed determined to force him to endure it all. With each absurd ride, they grew ever closer to the monstrous roller coaster overshadowing the park.

Yet despite his reservations, Vergil stifled chuckles as Nero settled a balloon animal hat on his closely cropped hair, and he outright smiled when Dante vomited after riding The Orbiter. His own stomach fared rather well, though it did change position whenever a ride featured a sudden drop. Apparently Yamato only trained him to resist rapid horizontal motion.

At last, he found himself seated beside Nero as the Mega Coaster creaked into motion. Behind them sat Dante, already whooping as the ride began. The lack of proper restraints barely registered in Vergil’s mind as they climbed a steep slope, the first of many dramatic steel hills their small cart would plummet down. He braced his feet on the floor and locked his eyes on the rails.

“Here we goooo!” Nero hollered, grinning as the cart lurched over the peak.

Vergil swallowed harshly as his belly shifted, the ground racing closer with each beat of his heart. Faces still waiting their turn in his seat blurred below, shouts echoing from the ride’s other passengers. Wind roared in his ears and through his hair, louder than the metallic hum of their cart in motion. He was tempted to close his eyes, but the view was impressive any time the cart slowed.

The Mega Coaster proved it deserved its name, throwing his body to and fro as he hurtled through the track. Loops and twists, peaks and valleys too numerous to count, the ride in full control of those few minutes. His eyes watered in the intense wind, but Vergil refused to submit. No childish ride would best him, on this or any day. He crossed his arms and glared through the final turn, forcing his stomach to rethink its plans of revolt.

As their ultimate conquest slowed to a halt before the platform, Vergil smirked at his victory over physics. His body was his to command, though it was admittedly thrilling to require his focus to do so. Perhaps roller coasters served a purpose after all? It merited further study.

“Hey, check it out!”

He turned and followed Nero’s extended finger to a nearby display. Beside it sat kiosks showing photos of terrified faces plummeting down the steepest slope of the Mega Coaster, glee and fear alike sparkling in their eyes.

The largest display screen showed an image from Vergil’s own escapade. Nero sat beside him in the front cart, hands braced on the metal and laughter clear in his youthful expression. His own face wore a stern frown, arms crossed and hair aflutter. Behind them both sat Dante, his hands raised and collar flapping in the wind as he whooped at top volume.

“Damn, Vergil looks like someone just pissed in his cheerios! I’m getting twenty copies,” Dante replied with a shit-eating grin, already striding to the kiosks.

“Foolishness,” Vergil commented. Undoubtedly, he’d never hear the end of it.

He followed Nero away from the kiosks and the horde of fair-goers demanding their own photographic evidence of their supposed courage. How pathetic to imagine riding a roller coaster was a feat of bravery. Vergil scowled —the masses truly had a simple existence.

The setting sun painted the clouds with shades of pink as they walked, reminiscent of the cotton candy Dante ate earlier. Vergil licked his lips at the reminder, still unsure if he enjoyed his own sample of the sugary treat. It was both pleasant and revolting, following the theme of the day. At least the younger children were dissipating at this late hour, their high-pitched squeals of delight fading away as the park approached closure.

Indeed, the crickets were just beginning their song as he and Nero found a suitable place to wait for Dante’s return, leaning on a white fence overlooking an empty field. The tall grass swayed in a light breeze as if to beckon them closer, urging them to leave behind the distractions of the fairgrounds.

Beside Vergil, Nero sighed, his short hair still mussed from their exploits with a certain roller coaster. A smirk curled the boy’s lips, amusement glinting in his eyes as he watched Dante wave in their direction before dashing towards the food stalls with far more enthusiasm than fair cuisine warranted, a massive stack of photos in hand. Childhood was short, but immaturity lasted forever.

“So, uh…” Nero said hesitantly.

Vergil raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak, content to let the boy finish his thought before offering any comment. The way he shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his neck brought home just how young Nero was, his awkwardness an obvious sign of his inexperience.

As if I have room to judge, Vergil thought.

“It’s been a good day,” his son continued. “Dante mentioned it was your idea, so uh… Thanks.”

Vergil froze. The lingering echoes of laughter and mirth faded to a dull buzz. It all seemed distant and foreign, like a mirage. The only thing in the abhorrent display of normalcy that mattered to Vergil stood beside him, brow furrowed in a mirror image of his own stern face. How hadn’t he noticed the resemblance before?

He cleared his throat, struggling to find an appropriate response. “You’ve enjoyed it?”

Nero leaned back, lifting his eyes to the sky with a hint of pink coloring his ears. Another trait they shared. Dante had always teased him about it when they were children.

“I mean, yeah. Never been to one of these before.”

A disorienting tightness bloomed in Vergil’s chest, different from the ache of separation he’d grown accustomed to. It hinted at joy, teased him with hope and danced with potential. Was this how having a family was meant to feel? He didn’t mind it. In fact, he wouldn’t complain if it became a regular occurrence.

The two men stood in silence as the first stars twinkled to life above. Little sunlight remained, yet the world seemed a touch brighter. Wasn’t it strange, how different one’s perceptions could be when one wasn’t alone?

Nero eventually broke the reflective calm with a wry chuckle, running his palm through his hair and smirking at his father. “How much do you wanna bet Dante’s coming back with nothing but pizza?”

Vergil met his son’s gaze and matched his smirk, a dry huff of amusement slipping free. “That or strawberry sundaes. Perhaps both.”

Nero chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Warmth he hadn’t known in decades suffused Vergil’s chest. He’d made his son laugh. Perhaps there was hope for them yet? At the bare minimum, it seemed the young man didn’t hate him the way most sons despise their absentee fathers. The way he despised Sparda. Why the difference?

I came back. My father did not.

Was it possible that his mere presence was enough to tip the scales? What a strange concept; he’d have to ponder it further. For the moment, he had other priorities.

“Perhaps we could do more things like this in the future,” Vergil said carefully. “If you’d like to, that is.”

Nero nodded, his eyes bright as he spotted his uncle on the way over. “Yeah, sounds good. But maybe next time we shouldn’t let Dante get the food?”

The legendary devil hunter held three pizza boxes, his stack of photos balanced precariously on the top. A grin stretched across his entire face. Vergil smirked and shared a knowing glance with Nero.

“Indeed; children do require supervision after all,” he quipped.

Nero coughed to disguise his laughter as Dante joined them, sending another burst of warmth through Vergil’s heart. Yes, family was a blessing. He’d never take it for granted again.

#dadgil #dmc vergil #dmc nero #dmc dante #my writing #fanfic #fluff #family bonding #devil may cry #dadgil zine

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theveryworstthing · 7 years

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today we learn about the mainlander castes, their ruling families, and their God Royalty. this is part one since i’m going to put the Royals on their own post.

pictured here we have:

Lord Cahphie (i call his family Fight Club in my head. you’ll see why.)

Lady Mirriow (a mirage brought on by the cacophonous sound of a million hyenas laughing.)

Lady Twaine (child made of coffee and architectural planning.)

and Lady Emelyerat (the pastel priestess who runs this god forsaken show.)

read below the cut to know the things. there are...a lot of things.

Caste system:

Royals: the King and Queen. God ruler bloodlines.

Lords and Ladies: The non-Royal royals. The four officially ruling families and some super rich families. They run around in a system called the courts, which is basically where rich people go to make deals and sneer at other rich people while looking fancy.

The People: Exactly what is says on the tin. The general range of middle class schmucks.

The Grey People: The lower class. Life is hard man, they’re just trying to get by.

Ink Servants: Pretty much slaves. Slavery was outlawed long ago but there is a contract system in place that makes it so people that can afford it can basically go into any prison and buy a person to have them serve out their sentence as their servant. The buyer provides room and board, the Ink Servant works, and since nobody really checks in on most of these arrangements, they just assume that everyone involved is treated with dignity and respect until this rehabilitation period is over. I won’t elaborate further. Its not all criminals though. Sometimes people in dire straits like poor single mothers or the disabled willingly sign themselves onto the contracts to secure housing and safety for their loved ones. Most buyers treat these people more like normal servants but there are some who see no difference between them and the prisoners. In fact, most of society sees them that way.

Courts:

Cahphie (keepers of the natural order): The Cahphie court and their subjects are known as the People Of Peace. This is ironic considering the astonishing amount of civil wars they’ve been in and how the Cahphie family seems to be entirely composed of ultra-petty ticking time bombs. They are a relentless people who hold serious grudges and thrive on pure brute force and cussedness. They treat the caste system as an absolute food chain that is never to be disturbed and are some of the few mainlanders who have no problem with feral animals and beastly behavior, since they feel those traits can be used to great advantage. Despite all this, when viewed from a distance (while holding completely still and radiating fear and respect like your life depends on it because it probably does), they seem pretty chill. The Cahphie are a reactive force at heart, you have to piss them off first. They find no honor in going after people without a reason. But oh man, are they good at finding reasons. The rest of Mainlander society has gotten really good at not doing that though and there hasn’t been a war for ages.

This would be good news for the current Lord Cahphie, who through a fluke in genetics isn’t filled with gallons of barely contained Liquid Fight, but that just means that his court gets bored. Past events say that boredom is more dangerous for his people than actually going to war so his great great grandfather, sick of not having enough excuses to stab people in peacetime, cultivated a strong dueling culture. People in the Cahphie courts duel over just about anything; land, love, the last slice of cake, and Lord Cahphie duels the most. Every day in fact. Every day by law. You see, only the strongest deserve to be at the top and winning duels is the best way to prove you’re still capable of running the Cahphie family. So every day there is a call for challengers and (almost) every day he destroys them. If he loses then one of his siblings or worse, his parents, get a chance to fight him and if he loses to them he loses his position. He’s come close to failure a few times but he’s still ruling ten years in with no sign of flagging. Good news for the court duelists, as he’s much better at non-lethal wins than his kin (much better meaning he tries at all not to murder them as hard as possible). Better news for the People Of Peace in general since his rule has really thinned out the heads on pikes. Neutral news for his family members, who totally aren’t using the dueling tradition to find honorable and legit ways to assassinate him before he has a child and take his place. The lack of a good war is really starting to make them itch.

Relationships With Non Mainlanders: They find Rabbits hardy and admire both their chemical warfare and their survival tactics. They mostly see them as possible cannon fodder/playthings though. They have the same kind of respect that a dude in a wolf shirt has for huskies. Noble creatures who are good enough, but at their core they’re dumb animals compared to Real Foodchain Kings. They respect the Hare’s ability to live their nomadic lifestyles and thrive in the wilderness but mostly hate the fact that they stray into their (at least they claim) lands without permission sometimes. They don’t really deal with Vultures. Vultures have seen too many battle aftermaths to play into the spiel about their honor.

The Mirriows (the blood that rejoices): The Mirriow family and their court are known as The Good Neighbors. This name is apt as the other courts basically go there to party and eat, while occasionally asking to borrow things that they have no intention of returning. Their cities are lively, boasting year round festivals, exciting new fashions, and news from the ships and caravans that stop there. Their food is legendary on the mainland, taking inspirations from the different cultures passing through (yes, even Vultures) and turning out dishes good enough to have local cooks routinely enlisted to cook for The Royals. Their theater and dance scenes have similar acclaim, and simply wandering the night can take you to anything from dramatic historical shows to small jazzy underground burlesque joints. Truly the Mirriow courts are places of happiness and distraction. Forget your sorrows, don’t mind what you saw out of the corner of your eye, and don’t bother reading the fine print sugar. Its probably fine.

Everyone’s not so easily swayed by the Mirriow though. The mix of cultures makes their courts far more accepting of the bending of societal rules, making it known by some as the Unseemly Court. This accusation is usually flung after meeting Lady Mirriow, the personification of the sound that a contract signed in blood makes when it snaps its fingers to a groovy beat. She sashays through life with the aesthetic of a Disney villain, wielding a laugh like a mildly singed saucy velvet painting of a hyena and an amazing Nervous Making Smile. Despite her whole deal, she’s good ruler and her people love her. She takes care of them, carrying on her family’s legacy of generosity, always ready to make deals with others for favors and goods. The amazing gifts and services she gives in exchange for what can usually be seen as trifles to the untrained eye through these friendly contracts keep her in the good graces of the other families and out of most drama. They are totally not ways to subtly manipulate people and find on the books reasons to punish anyone who tries to cross her with near impossible riddle-like fine print clauses that depend on quick clever thinking to make sure she doesn’t own you for life. They are certainly not that. Unrelated, her family is known for their disorienting conversational skills, distractive backhanded flattery, always following through on deals, and the ability to somehow never lie even when you feel like they are lying to your face. They also own a secret trove of very old, very illegal literature that would definitely have gotten their whole bloodline struck down in a bloody rage by the Royals if it was ever found. It’s a good thing its never been found. It’s a good thing everyone is too distracted to look.

Relationships With Non Mainlanders: Rabbits, while still certainly second class citizens as a whole, are treated a little more equally here. This is the only place that they and Hares are really free to act and dress more according to their own cultural ideals. Mostly the ideals mainlanders see as cool but still. Vultures are fans of the area, flying in with all the juicy gossip and relishing in cuisine that actually bothers to include their tastes.

The Twaine( the keys that shape the door ): the Twaine family and their court are known as The Fair Folk. The Twaine are strange, bordering on both the most beloved and most despised by the Royals. The dismissal comes from the fact that Twaine society is focused on forward motion. They’re the inventors and artists who develop housing, transportation, machinery, medicine, and manufacture a good chunk of mainlander goods. They’re driven to build and fix and work. They tend to be smaller and less bombastic than other mainlanders, typically going for simpler aesthetics. The Twaine family even crop their luxurious ears and tails when they come of age, signifying function over form. Despite all of this desire to make new discoveries and help society progress, The Fair Folk rarely do anything new with all this knowledge. This is because at the end of the day they are very loyal to the Royals (perhaps even more loyal than the Emelyerat in some ways), and the Royals have a certain way they want the world to be. So, before anything is made for public use it must be submitted to the Emelyerat for approval. Failure to make your thing official and use it anyway can get you labeled as a degenerate treasonous Witch, a term that doesn’t carry the sweet old aunt fondness of Rabbit society. Mostly because it usually carries a death sentence. Of course sometimes submitting your idea gets the same result so most Fair Folk just keep their ideas to themselves, occasionally writing them down or discussing them with those they really trust, burning the notes afterwards with a swell of love for the Royals, civic pride, and a little fear. Not a lot of fear (they will be quick to tell you) but like. Enough.

On the flip side of all the witch executing, the Royals love the Twaine for their amazing musical ability (more than a few have been summoned to the Royals for lifelong employment) and the sheer level of housekeeping they do for the mainland. They’re quiet and subservient and have no problem being ordered wherever to fix whatever. They’re a boon during natural disasters, getting places looking good as new in no time, and their restoration of older buildings and objects preserve much of the mainland history that is left from the Before Wall times. They also handle the building of the Castles, the twin structures that are destroyed and rebuilt in different locations every hundred years. The Twaine family are the head architects for the Castles and hold their position with pride. The Castles are labors of love (and slight madness), a release of all the creative energy that can’t be put elsewhere. Rooms of amazing art and beauty hidden in blank walls, stairs that descend into a darkness that lasts too long and is full of the sound of far off orchestras and footsteps that aren’t yours, secret gardens that can only be reached by singing at the gates of prismed glass, wash rooms that resemble pools in forest groves where its always twilight and clockwork lightning bugs perform synchronized dances through the trees, ballrooms of scented mist and crystal floors that make dancing feel like gliding over a troubled ocean. All this is done with no input from the Royals. They’re not even supposed to tell them what they’re doing. Sure there are guidelines but each Castle is meant for the next in the Royal bloodline and since no one knows what the child will like they just wing it. Pure freedom.

The current Lady Twaine just became the head of this project and is trying her best not to burn out on the creative power. Her father’s death was unexpected, so with her older brothers dead just years before in a witchcraft scandal and her mother trapped in a cycle of grief she took on the crown. She’s barely 19 and her people describe her as resilient, industrious, mature, and delicate. Mostly she’s just young. Young and tired and possessing an inability to read or exhibit social cues reliably that make her seem more aloof than anxious. She has thirteen years to get caught up on and finish the newest Castles before the next heir is born which is not much time to make something that should entertain your godlike king and queen.

But that’s okay because it isn’t like she ever sleeps.

Relationships With Non Mainlanders: They find Rabbits to be fine workers but they don’t really ‘get’ them. The abstractions in their art, their community based living arrangements, their social structures, and their family allegiances. None of it really makes sense to The Fair Folk. They work closely with Rabbits and share a love of discovery but to some this makes it look like they’re on the same level and they’re not okay with that. They will go through amazing lengths to show a rabbit with the exact same credentials and skill level that they are beneath them. Not in cartoonishly evil ways just… they’re cold. Cold and dismissive. As for the others, they straight up don’t trust Hares (liars and thieves, practically homeless vagabonds) or Vultures (disgusting cannibalistic flying germ factories) but they rely on them to transport materials and goods so they tolerate them and pay them well so they don’t return the saltiness and leave them up shit creek. There will be a paddle though. That paddle just happens to be held by a person on the shore who is snapping it over their knee while staring you straight in the eyes under a banner depicting rude illustrations of you getting sensual with a toilet brush. Of course if anyone drops out of their jobs its just claimed that clearly the mainlanders were right about them all along and how dare they shun their generous offers. The Fair Folk are not popular.

The Emelyerat( the holy uplifted): the Emelyerat family and their court are known as The Gentry and they are the only Lords and Ladies that have the privilege of getting direct holy orders from the Royals. Serving as the clergy for all variations of mainlander religion, the Emelyerat are…enlightened? They’re certainly devout. Taking the Royal’s words as law and shaping the culture and aesthetics to deliver whatever they need from all mainlander kind. They are the ones who write and approve mainlander history. They declare who won what wars and what they were fought for. Not so much editing as strong bias and a tendency to simply eradicate periods of time if the Royals deem it so. They serve them always and think of nothing but their happiness. And how could they not? The King and Queen are just…just…they love them. Their presence is a blessing. Their beauty inspires them and their power gives every mainlander safety in their fold.

The Gentry acquire the best entertainment, the most interesting baubles, and the strongest magics to grant their every wish. So what if the enlistment of certain people into the Royal courts isn’t done with their explicit consent or conscious understanding that they have been spirited away? That good mothers disappear on shopping trips and come back a week later wearing elegant flowing robes with golden beads braided into their new patches of silver fur and breasts completely dry of milk for hungry babs. So what if violent criminals and heretics are granted reprieve from the gallows only for sobbing monstrous beasts warped by magic and in need of hunting to appear in the Royal’s game forests days later? So what if beautiful young mainlanders follow flirty charming people that they’ve strangely never seen around here before into the woods on festival nights and don’t wander back home until its fifty years past? That they appear still twenty odd years old with bright glassy eyes and pregnant bellies and a glow about them that makes their remaining kin not question this gift. This reunion. That they talk about their time away as if it were a dream. The extravagance, the unbridled joy, their lover tall and regal and looking so upset when they reveal their homesickness. No. they were always radiant and loving and they cried the day you asked them where the door outside was. They begged. Begged you to come back to the gardens, to dance and eat more of the strange food. The warmth of their arms around you as you danced the night away. The tantrum. Things breaking. Beautiful crystal shards at your feet. Laughter ringing through the court like spring rain. That first lick of fear. You hadn’t felt it in so long. Your heart was full, you’ll never be happier. You finally notice that they don’t move quite right. Their voice is like honey. A tearful kiss goodbye as the court looks on. You can feel their warm eyes on your belly. You can feel the jealousy.

And now its only been a few days since you left but the baby feels like its almost due now. You can feel it moving and something inside you is screaming a warning but something stronger makes you feel the same glittering euphoria you felt dancing with your Royal lover. Everyone else just looks on, helpful and accepting and you don’t worry about them being in the birthing room with you. Its fine for this. Because someone will need to take care of the baby and you know, through the haze of peace and joy, that it won’t be you. So you let them watch while you expel the opalescent egg and smile at the tiny creature that turns to you when the shell cracks open. Your vision dims as you disappear inside of its hungry mouth but you don’t feel anything. No pain, no fear to accompany the sound of snapping bones. The onlookers coo as you all sense the first glimmer of awareness in its eyes. You feel your consciousness not so much fading as changing, sliding away. You close your eyes. Your baby has grown so much. Surely they’re five or six by now. They look it. Surely the will be happy.

But anyway.

So what? That’s such a small price to pay to bask in their majesty. Not even a price. A gift. A gift that these people find the less divine worthy of company. The current Lady Emelyerat knows all about this gift. As Head Priestess she has been invited to the Royal’s courts many times. Ever since she took the crown at twenty-four she’s been in their confidence. Now, at thirty-eight, she’s a powerful mage who runs the mainland like a well-oiled machine. Forty-nine years of excellent service to the Royals. Traveling from Castle to Castle, solving what problems she can for the people so they don’t have to, putting aside family life to serve. Or rather. Wait. That last one isn’t even an issue as she had no one left after her mother…no no she has a husband. Where was he? They were wed after her coronation. And the boy! I mean son. Sons? Oh what kind of mother was she? How embarrassing. But then again it was so easy to forget these things. Some of them happened at least ninety-three years ago! Speaking of which, her oldest turns three in a few months. She has to remember to do something for him.

She has to remember to.

Her husband will help. He’s so wonderful and.

And he’ll.

He’s.

She probably won’t have time for frivolous activities this week. She’s so busy and the Royals have new projects for her. Having tea with her court or whatever she was thinking about will have to wait. No activity has a greater need than service to her majesties after all! This makes her life a little lonely sometimes but the work is worth it and she’ll have plenty of time to herself when she hands the crown to her future children. No need to fret. She’s only twenty-five after all.

Relationships With Non Mainlanders: All peoples not of mainlander blood are welcome if they wish to swear themselves to the Royals. Sure these people might be lesser in some ways, but that just means they should be uplifted! Through the Royal’s wills all things are possible and all people with open hearts and minds will serve and be loved by Them. And those that don’t? Well.

They all come around sooner or later.

#rabbits of downtrodden #Mainlanders #body horror #pregnancy #worldbuilding for days ya'll #changeling

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adrift-in-writing · 7 years

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Sugary Sweet - Day Four (Saccharine)

Falling | Pedant | Rattle

Read on AO3

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A day for desserts? For whatever reasons that Lena did not disclose, both her and Amélie were tasked with making some sweets for the Overwatch team. Talon initially did not advise Widowmaker to attend this matter, but others within the base suggested it would’ve been a perfect opportunity for surveillance. Regardless, the sniper chose not to do these things, opting to rather be done with it and move on.

The two girls were crafting cookies and a specialty cake - suggested by Amélie herself - while the rest of the Overwatch team were focused on drinks and main foodstuffs. They had all the time in the world to do this, but it was optimal that these desserts made it out to wherever the organization required by the evening. Aprons at the ready, the two were about a third of the way in to their next batch of goodies.

“Pass me the batter, will you?” Amélie had asked out of the young girl, who was busy decorating most of the cookies with the Overwatch logo or some other novelty design. The next batch was already baking in one oven, and one cake was in another.

Lena stopped just two designs short of a full batch of cookies and reached over her side to grab some more cake batter mix. She extended the box out to the woman, who swiftly grabbed it and began concocting another cake - this time, out of chocolate.

After some time after Lena completed her second batch however, she slowed down and looked up from her work, then over to the blue-skinned Widowmaker who was too focused on getting everything in order. Her next glance was over at the clock, which read 11:22 A.M. in the morning.

They were working rather intensely. Instead of wanting to work from start to finish without any fun, Tracer took off her gloves and began curling and uncurling her fingers. Noticeably, some fingers were a little rigid from the little changes in movements. Lena’s attention turned once more to Amélie.

“Hey,” She spoke softly, over the gentle hums of the kitchen machinery doing its work. “D’you wanna take a break?”

The woman raised her head slowly upwards. Her body shifted around as her hands - which were caked in gooey batter - dripped a little over the counter. Her eyes gazed over in Lena’s direction, and she took a deep breath, as if she were about to say something.

In her defense, Lena calmly raised her hands up. “I mean, if you wanna keep workin’ be my guest, but I want some air!”

Sounds of water from the sink came rushing over to Lena’s ears. Amélie ran her hands through the steady stream, cleaning off her own gloves in the process. She said nothing, and merely had a little smile on her face. When her gloves were cleaned, she carefully slid them off and placed them somewhere safe.

Two cookies that were from the excess batches were snatched away from their pans by Tracer. She began chewing on one of them, noticing the soft texture on top of the vanilla glaze. It wasn’t too bad, and to be frank it was quite delicious. Her next destination was on the terrace, with the doors nearby exiting outside to the city view.

Clouds hovered over the sky, but it wasn’t too much to bog down an otherwise beautiful city. In fact, the city itself was Zürich, in Switzerland. Ships flew overhead, several feet above the standard hover car safety range. Ferries below in the river carried their cargoes to and fro, and in the distance the ever-glowing church of St. Peter’s caught the attention of many people passing by, or it was within range to see over the overtly tall structures of buildings.

Something ethereal was about this place. Whether it be the fact it was the first to rebuild after the Crisis - or the ability of the Swiss to keep appearances - there was no denying the view was gorgeous. One broadcasted message on a hologram loud enough to be heard several yards away played every now and then, reminding the denizens of simple duties as being courteous to those around them, whether they be human or Omnic.

The young girl leaned over the railing, holding onto one cookie with her hand and another in her mouth. The cold woman did the same, albeit with no food in her hands to speak of. She soaked in the moment to herself. For a time, Lena gradually crept over and gently prodded Amélie, who in response opened her eyes and blankly stared at the girl.

Lena offered the other cookie to the woman with a grin on her face. Though her mouth was filled with bits of the cookie, she wasn’t hesitant to be a little less decent. “Wh-nt some?”

Reluctantly, Amélie pursed her lips and calmly shook her head. “Non (No). Thank you.” She had said, and afterwards a small smile was revealed.

But this did not stop her, for she pushed on, poking Amélie’s cheek with the cookie instead. She swallowed whatever chunks of baked goodness were in her mouth. “C’mon, y’know ya wanna try some!”

Her incessant, yet gentle pokings continued. Every little poke towards Widowmaker’s cheek provoked nothing, but her thoughts leaned mostly towards flinging it into the river below - though that would cause a non-stop complaint from Lena, which she didn’t want. Instead, she slowly moved her own mouth towards the cookie and took a tiny bite.

Much to Lena’s own happiness, she moved the cookie more towards Amélie’s mouth and gently tried to slide it in. To her surprise, the woman held onto it with her teeth, making her snicker to herself.

“I dunno if you’re messin’ with me or this is your way of sayin’ you like it.”

Moments like these were more or less treasured by Tracer. It was even more so she’d cherish them now that Widowmaker had broke free of Talon’s control over the course of the time they’d been together, though she had to keep appearances by deception. What concerned her the most was that her emotions weren’t really...there. Some days Amélie would act like Widowmaker, and other days it would be vice versa. But what mattered to her is that she was glad that Amélie felt relatively safe in her care, even if she never showed it.

While lost in her own thought with one of her cookies finished off, she hadn’t noticed that Amélie already finished her own, and in the meantime had gotten a bit closer to Lena. Taking advantage of that, the woman moved her arm over to the young girl’s shoulder and brought her closer.

This snapped Tracer back to reality. She flinched and looked upwards, blinking a few times. Amélie had never made a move between the two of them, and the times she did were more of when her intent was warning the Brit off with bullets raining down upon her.

In response, the woman glanced downwards at Lena and her smile became a little a little bit brighter than her usual demeanor. Within seconds, she knelt down so she was of equal height to Lena. After that, she pulled the young girl in for a hug, which caught her off-guard.

“Am --” Lena began, but her words were cut off when she felt cold lips press against her cheek, and then Amélie nuzzled the Brit’s neck while chuckling some. The young girl felt her cheeks flush a little, and suddenly her face felt a little bit hotter than normal.

“I gave you a cookie, luv...” Lena softly whispered, and the woman pulled away gradually. Her cheeks glowed a little more red while the woman glanced over Lena’s face.

“Sorry. I...got lost in the moment.”

It was then Amélie shifted her body back to her regular standing, but she kept a gentle gaze on the Brit. “I think I’ve had enough air. Let’s go back.”

The sniper proceeded to head back into the kitchen, with the ovens now finished baking more cookies and one full cake. Though it had only been a four minute break, it seemed appropriate that there’d be more time after they were done baking to have one larger break.

Lena did not move from her spot. Instead, she pressed the palm of her hand on where Amélie had kissed her tenderly. Her arm moved its way down to her neck, and the young girl rubbed it some. Did that really just happen?

Just before the woman fully went back to her focused-on-cooking mode, she shuffled her feet around and took a quick scan of Lena. With a few blinks and a calm, yet firm smile, Amélie called out.

“Lena! Are you coming?”

Once more, she had came back into reality and nervously gave a nod. “Yeah, lemme just...gimme a minute!”

“Hurry,” Amélie had commented, “We need to make a few more dozen cookies and one more cake.”

The woman rushed along and put her cooking gloves back on to remove the finish products out from their respective ovens so they could cool down. A blue streak zipped right back into the kitchen, and Lena had gotten back her own gloves to help out momentarily.

For a long while, things resumed back to where they were a couple of minutes ago with Lena decorating her share of sweet treats, and Amélie properly getting the batter sorted out into a proper cake.

This time, however, Lena wanted to be mischievous even if they could’ve had all the extra freetime to themselves afterwards. She blinked over to the woman, who had her back turned briefly, trying to figure out whether to make the last cake some unique flavor or keep it simple.

Dipping a finger into the batter, the small Brit stifled back her giggles, and then ran said finger down Amélie’s cheek. It stained the woman of course, and it made her naturally flinch, and move away. Unable to refrain any longer, Lena laughed heartily and scrunched up her nose with a large grin.

“Got ya there!”

The woman ran her hand through the batter and cleaned up her face. Initially, her eyes had that certain sense of irritation to them, until it softened up and Amélie softly laughed alongside Lena.

“Avez-vous vraiment fait ça (Did you really do that)?” Amélie eyeballed the frosting over at Lena’s station and proceeded to swipe it, and then gave it a good squeeze, dousing the young girl in a sugary coating.

Side-tracked by trying to out-do each other in who was more messy by the end of it. They were well aware they still had limited resources, and after expending more than four packets of frosting, Amélie rushed over and restrained Lena from continuing on. Their skin was sticky from all the gooey icing, but most of their faces were still visible.

Laughs filled the air, and eventually they had subsided, leaving only the small breeze of wind to be heard. Lena had forgotten to close the door out to the terrace of all things, but they enjoyed the silence nonetheless. The kitchen was a total mess, but even then they were not responsible for cleaning it up. With the young girl’s warm hands in her icy grasp, Amélie bent down once more - this time, only to touch foreheads with her eyes closed.

“Je t’aime (I love you).” Amélie whispered, in a much genuine and loving way.

“...Uh...omelette du fromage?” Lena responded, unsure of what to say. She didn’t know a lick of French to start off.

Amélie opened her eyes, and her expression changed to a more amused look, softly laughing. She gently flicked the young girl on her temple, and scoffed. “Get back to work.” Her tone was in a teasing manner, and she had rolled her eyes. Cheese omelette? Really?

But, that was what Lena deserved. Out of sheer tomfoolery she flinched when she got flicked, and a very mild sense of satisfaction twinkled in her eyes. “Aye-aye...”

#Widowtracer Week #Widowtracer #Widowmaker #Tracer #Lena Oxton #Amelie Lacroix #Overwatch #Overwatch fanfic #Character: Tracer #Character: Widowmaker

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theconservativebrief · 5 years

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Right now, on the website for Edible Arrangements, you can purchase a bouquet of cut fruit featuring cartoon-style flowers cut from pineapple with bulbous cantaloupe centers, with leafy moons of honeydew and fat strawberry roses, dotted with sprigs of shiny red grapes.

You can buy many arrangements like this one, in various configurations, depending on your budget and edible needs. Sometimes, the pineapple is shaped like a star and not a daisy. Sometimes, there are orange wedges. Some arrangements have fruits dipped in chocolate. The “Peace & Doves Bouquet” depends upon a small flock of pineapple birds in white chocolate coats.

They cost between $24.99, for a petite-sized FruitFlowers® Bouquet, and go up to $1,999, for an Incredible Edibles® Chocolate Spectacular, which is less an “arrangement” than an edible shrub.

In the two decades since the company was founded, it has become an icon and a punchline. It is the ultimate gift for gift’s sake, a category of objects that exist exclusively to be presented to someone else. It is not that nobody wants an Edible Arrangement; it is just that wanting (or not wanting) an Edible Arrangement — a present that exists at the intersection of frivolity and groceries — has very little to do with getting one.

There are no rules, of course, preventing you from buying yourself a chocolate-covered pineapple bouquet, but there are customs. An Edible Arrangement is like a MacArthur Fellowship; you cannot nominate yourself.

Tariq Farid opened the first Edible Arrangements store in 1999 in East Haven, Connecticut. He had been working in the floral industry, so he knew about flowers, and he was also aware that there were people making bouquets out of fruit and so he started selling those, too, in a corner of his flower shop. He didn’t invent the concept, he tells me. It’s just that now, if you picture a fruit bouquet, it’s probably one of his.

“I’ve always done things according to what customers think,” he says, which is good, because customers loved his arrangements that were edible; as of early 2018, annual revenue topped $500 million.

The banks he was trying to get loans from did not. In Connecticut magazine, he described these initial meetings: “I looked like I was on some type of drug like speed or something. I’m going, ‘THIS IS GONNA BE BIG,’ and they’re like, ‘It’s fruit, in a basket.’”

This, in fact, was the whole point. It is fruit. It is in a basket (or a vase). But people did not understand. He would show them the brochure in his pocket — as the company was starting, he always carried a brochure in his pocket — and explain, and they would tell him how cool it was, and then confess that they’d thought it had something to do with edible underwear.

This confusion did not last long. According to Farid, “every customer that came in loved it and wanted to know how they could order more.” The first major fruit-flower holiday they were open, Easter 1999, they had “about 28 orders. It was amazing, the type of response we had.” And it would be easier to dismiss this as entrepreneurial puffery if the brand did not — despite various troubles — currently have 1,200 stores in 11 countries worldwide.

People think Edible Arrangements are very expensive, Farid says, but that’s wrong. “Our most popular arrangement is $25. We wanted to make it an everyday option, and that’s what we did.”

Thanks to an army of specialized fruit-cutting machinery — the company holds a staggering number of patents for devices relating to the slicing of melons — you can impulsively swing by an Edible storefront and have one arranged on the spot, in “7 or 8 minutes.” It can be a planned gift, or an impulse gift, or a gift you give when you can’t think of a different gift, or for when you forgot you needed one.

If you are presented with an Edible Arrangement, Farid really wants you to say “wow.” To feel “wow.” To taste “wow.” The company is in the “wow” business: Up until about two years ago, Farid says, the mission statement was “to WOW you.” (It has since changed to the more community-minded “to fill the world with goodness,” although “wow” remains a top priority.)

“I mean, we’re a gifting company. That’s why you send a gift. You give a gift to wow someone, to make their day.”

“I mean, we’re a gifting company. That’s why you send a gift. You give a gift to wow someone, to make their day,” Farid explains. It is not just a gift, but a symbol of a gift. “I am a gift!” announces an Edible Arrangement. Its primary job is to exist.

The Edible Arrangement beautiful giftiness is also what makes it a joke. There is an Onion headline: Continued Existence Of Edible Arrangements Disproves Central Tenets Of Capitalism. “According to experts,” the article reads, the company has “defied all modern economic models, expanding continuously for the past decade despite its complete lack of any discernible consumer appeal.”

But to economist Joel Waldfogel, author of Scroogenomics, a credo against the inefficiency of holiday gift-giving, gifts are rarely logical propositions. A good gift is something you wouldn’t buy for yourself, I propose, which is an unoriginal insight, but also what I think.

From an economic perspective, though, it’s the opposite. “What’s efficient is to give somebody something they would have purchased for themselves, or cash,” Waldfogel says. “But that’s not really gift-like.”

And in most situations that require a gift, “cash is not acceptable,” except in very specific circumstances: your grandmother might give you cash, but you are probably not writing a birthday check to your boss. But an Edible Arrangement is perfect for when cash would be both ideal and colossally inappropriate.

And so it makes sense that some number of arrangements are corporate gifts, bestowed upon one company by another, because it’s Christmas and they appreciate your business. In November and December, peak corporate gifting season, this constitutes about 11 percent of the business.

“It’s a great item to send to an office where everybody can enjoy it,” Farid points out, for the same reason a more classical fruit basket is a great gift to send to an office: “If you send chocolate or candy, maybe some people will say, ‘I can’t eat sugar.’ If you send fruit, everybody will dig into it.” What he does not say is that an Edible Arrangement is blissfully impersonal; it is the color ecru in gift form.

The primary target customer, however, has always been not a corporation, but “a mom,” Farid says. “Or that 25- to 40-year-old female demographic — skewed female, because a lot of times the decisions get made by the lady of the house, except for Valentine’s Day and possibly Mother’s Day.” And even then, sometimes it is the 25- to 40-year-old woman demographic telling her husband, “Hey, don’t forget mom, it’s her birthday, let’s get her something,” he says.

But how intimate can a present between lovers be, if it is equally appropriate as a gift between corporate law firms?

Mother’s Day is the biggest Edible occasion — there are late presents, and early ones — but the single busiest Edible day is Valentine’s Day, because “it’s all about love.” It is similar to other gifts given for these holidays — a bouquet of actual floral flowers, for example — but, Farid notes, the value proposition is higher, because cut fruit is beautiful but also food. In the great schism between “things” and “experiences,” a fruit bouquet is both: You gaze at it, but then you eat it.

But how intimate can a present between lovers be if it is equally appropriate as a gift between corporate law firms? As one former Edible Arrangements employee recalled to Munchies, they are also big with men trying to hit on women they mostly do not know.

“They’d write notes like, ‘Saw you at the club the other day, you told me where you worked…’” and then it would be up to him to wander through a Macy’s with a vase of floral melon balls looking for a woman based on vague physical characteristics and no last name. Except that the men aren’t wrong. “Everyone,” he concluded, “is so thrilled to get these weird topiaries of fruit.”

And yet it is easy to be dismissive of Edible Arrangements. Unlike fruit-gifting competitor Harry and David, purveyor of gold-wrapped pears, or the perfect $125 melons sold at Sembikiya, Tokyo’s most famous luxury fruit market, Edible Arrangements has always identified as working class.

“When we started, we were mostly in blue-collar towns,” says Farid. “And our stores did the best in those towns.” He attributes this to the healthy selection of lower-priced options, and a belief that “blue-collar people tended to celebrate a lot more.”

His own father, after bringing the family over from Pakistan, worked as a machinist, so he understands. “We know we have to take care of those customers who are celebrating but have limited resources.”

Is it so wrong to give a gift that exists to be given? Is it a bug that you need know nothing about your recipient to present them with an Edible Arrangement, or is it — perhaps — a feature?

It is rarely a misstep. “The worst thing that can happen is you’ll moderately enjoy it and then it’s gone,” Waldfogel tells me. “It’s not some kind of permanent burden, like the ugly picture that hangs on the wall that you’re expected to have on the wall every time the giver comes visiting.”

Waldfogel has no public stance on Edible Arrangements, but he will say that there is “something special about it … I suspect for most people, it’s not a usual thing to consume.” And in that way, yes, “it has some of the criteria that you might associate with a ‘perfect gift.’”

But the problem with gifts is that they are occasional; even in the age of extreme self-care, people are mostly not buying chocolate-dipped fruit trees for themselves. “Where we’re going towards now is we have a lot of treats,” Farid says: chocolate-dipped fruit chunks, fruit smoothies, “donuts,” which are actually chocolate-covered Granny Smith apple rounds. “Our ideal customer is the person who treats themselves. The ‘gifted giver,’ we call them.” The company, he says, has evolved “from gifting into a treat business.”

Does this mean that we aren’t giving so much anymore, I ask? Not at all, Farid assures me. We’re probably giving even more now, if anything. “You can send a little emoji and make someone’s day.” Sometimes, his kids send him a heart; he loves that. It’s a gift in itself.

“What people give has changed,” he continues. “People want to be a lot more sensible.” But the basic impulse to give? No, that hasn’t changed. It’s just that there’s a new recipient now. It is us, gifting ourselves the gift of being gifted.

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Original Source -> What is the meaning of an Edible Arrangement?

via The Conservative Brief

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