Sorry I disappeared for a while, I was working on a little something. The little something in question was supposed to be my Saturnalia gift for Marius, but I finished earlier than expected, and here it is!
(No, I can't wait until the proper date, I have no patience.)
All the nonsense below is loosely based on the sock meme by @fofoqueirah, and honestly, I had neither the energy nor the courage to work on the little something until I saw this meme and felt an irresistible urge to put a little something into a sock. Now you know who should be thanked for the existence of this doll, and it's not me!
(If you hate this little something, I am the one to blame, OK?)
Despite his millennial wisdom, Marius could not guess...
(See below?)
... until his present spoke up...
Alright! Present revealed!!!
And cherished by the owner!
... and rescued from the terrible, terrible sock... (at this point Thorne decided he'd better take the Prince away, just in case...)
... and cherished and loved even more...
... and carried to bed...
... and given a warm sweater and a hug...
... and maybe even a Prince to bite (respectfully)?
And everyone lived happily ever after)))) The end!
Various make-up products sit haphazardly across the vanity; a blue dress with white lace at the collar and cuffs laid out on the bed.
Claudia stands in the centre of the room, staring at the variety of rouges and eye shadows laid out before her. She’s collected these, over time, from her many victims. She prefers to prey on women, and they often have small cases of make-up which they carry around with them; hers for the taking.
Her father takes his victim’s money, she takes her victim’s beauty products, and is it any wonder? They’re more alike than she would care to admit. Clearly, stealing from their dinner runs in the family.
The dress on the bed is a new one. Lestat had bought it for her a couple of weeks ago, to match the dress of her also new doll. Claudia scowls at the dress through the reflection of the mirror. When will her fathers learn to stop treating her like one of their playthings? Don’t they know she’s no longer their little girl?
Well fine. If it’s a doll they want, then it’s a doll they shall get.
She puts on the dress before sitting before the vanity and brushing through her thick curls. Claudia stares at the products laid out before her, then picks up one of the rouges and starts to apply it to her cheeks and lips. When she’s done with her rouge, she selects a blue eye shadow to match her blue dress.
Once satisfied, she sets them down and turns her head left then right to get a good look at her work from all angles. She decides it’s time to take her efforts out into the world.
| @dolls-runeterran-dollhouse's lissandra, from here ₊˚。❆
Their name from Her tongue was a chilling blessing, and they follow her command instantly. Even blessed as one of Her most faithful, there was no feeling of routine to Her presence. Every moment of her attention, an unsurmountable gift. A final dip of their head in thanks to Her would begin Devan's report, each word strong and clear despite their awe of her majesty.
"My time waiting allowed me to settle back into the Citadel, my Lady. It was, missed on my questing." Missing the company of their fellow Frostguard, Devan would have admitted, held the most reason for their homesickness. But while they settled, even the citadel's towering walls and cavernous hallways felt reassuring to walk amongst again.
"But return I have, and with the news of the southern world, as well as the wilds of our own."
Adjusting their posture with the creaks of metal, Devan rests both hands in the small of their back, beneath their long cape.
"Firstly, the tribal apostates are growing bold. I was ambushed on my returning journey to the Citadel. I made certain of no survivors - blessed by my faith with the strength to do so - but this attack was still planned. To be so ready to stike at those who keep the peace of their very home, should be met with harsh discipline.
Not only that, but the spirit walker heretics dare openly tread upon your blessed land." the name is spat out with vitriol, "Their banishment has been cast aside with the false belief there will be no damnation for their insolence."
Collecting themselves after a deep breath, the Draklorn continued.
"The southern lands, have their own worries. Demacia's ruler has recently changed; a young king now takes to the throne as his kingdom dissolves into archaic fearmongering. But it is not the only land tumbling into war, my Queen. False Gods are rising out of the Shuriman dunes, believing their long-dead dreams of world domination are still possible while the vial Darkness unleashed on their lands continues to steadily consumes. The Noxian Empire burns every resource it has as it prepares to expand again. Even the accursed Shadow Isles reawakens from it's ocean tomb, ready to terrorise the world with it's undead army and it's King of Ruin."
There is a moment's pause for Devan to regain their breath. Dissapointment of the world weighs their tone down.
"Forgive my crass words, my Lady, but the southern lands will eat themselves alive before the Watchers ever get a chance. No unity can be found between them, nor true power from their weak leaders."
Oh, no! A certain boy is in the sock(s) again. Except this time I have two socks for him (scary, so scary!).
Armand's look is loosely inspired by Chapter 1 of Isaiah 1:15-18 (a wonderful marimandstat fic by @fofoqueirah, link: here) except, of course, I couldn't find an exact match. I ordered the longest socks, and they didn't reach the middle of his hips, alas. Also had to put underwear on him, because doll anatomy. But I did the best I could with the things I had, and I think he still looks cute!
And of course these socks attract predators (the blond ones):
I got some new stuff for them. The 'Norway' sweater came a little torn around the collar, but I don't think they mind too much as long as it's just the two of them inside.
cobalt eyes simply star at the thief, saying nothing at the incredulous and piercing gaze delivered his way. while yusuke cared little about what his classmates and strangers said about him, the thought of boring his friends to the point of disinterest was enough to make his blood run cold. this was no small part due to living under madarame's roof, where a person's value was placed solely in the content they could produce. if he couldn't produce anything of value for his friends, would they toss him aside too ? akira's own incredulous question was the heart of his own problem, the very fact that yusuke could never be anyone but himself.
his eyes widen then at akira's words, surprise painting itself plainly on his face. while akira was never cruel enough to willingly let his friends self deprecate in his presence, yusuke still found himself in awe of how easy it was for the other to affirm his belief in his friends. the effortlessness behind it made the artist feel silly for ever saying such a thing to begin with. he flinches imperceptibly at the sudden hand around his shoulders, but the warm that surrounds him and the offer to go to an exhibition has him completely forget about any of his former worries.
❝ are you sure ? i don't wish to take up your valuable time just because you wish to humor me. ❞