#desolyt

[oncejaw]

@desolyt​ (starter call) (acc.)

------------ The sun is setting on Caraneth district. The skies are bathed in red hues and bloody oranges, that bleed onto the cobblestone, on the fabric of his jacket, on his skin. Alone, for once, Marcel Galliard wanders, seeking solitude and quiet while his comrades rest so that he, on the other hand, can think. Fatigue has settled into his bones, but fatigue hasn’t felt like such in his body for many years - Marley had ensured that he and the Jaw would always be on high alert, that exhaustion passed through a filter and turned into agitation. Six days of cleaning up the streets from Trost, of scraping dead bodies and body parts off the cobblestone should have worn him out; it only made him more restless. There is no time to lose now. They will need to make their next move soon; now that they have finally found what they are looking for, their time on Paradis truly is counted. They need a plan. Come on, Galliard, think. 

He wandered into the streets of Caraneth for peace of mind, but soon, his attention is pulled elsewhere; though he left the barracks alone, it takes only a few minutes for him to feel strangely accompanied. Observed. Somebody is watching him. Marcel can feel their gaze burning a hole into his nape; who, why, why now. Marcel does not turn around, nor does he look back; he inhales, and buries his hands in the pockets of his white trousers before taking a left turn into a small alleyway. In his pocket, knuckles brush against the cold, familiar smoothness of a folding blade.

It doesn’t take long for the other to manifest themselves. His stalker finds the alleyway empty, disturbed by nothing but the slow drip of a leaking gutter abovehead; out of his hiding spot Marcel lounges, boucing on his legs with feline agility and ferocious strength. The struggle doesn’t last, though the opposition he faces does surprise him - this person can fight. Surprise has been his advantage: a successful lock of arms behind their back, and Marcel pushes the other against a cold, damp wall, presses with all his weight while the tip of his blade grazes against their spine. “You probably shouldn’t try picking up on soldiers, buddy.” He comments, somber. “Who are you, and what do y...”

At the mercy of the last rays of sunshine and a light gush of wind, the other’s hood moves slightly; reveals feminine features he has never seen before; at least not like this, not at this age. Familiarity strikes him across the face, and memory come pooling back, curl up into a fist that strike him directly in the stomach. No way. That’s impossible. “... Frankie?” 

[liberons]

ﾟ 〢    ✕    //        𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌  𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒   :     always   accepting .

her hand slips into his, fingers curling gingerly around his own. it's a small, bated attempt to pull his attention from whatever thoughts are running through his mind. nothing pleasant, she's sure, how could they be? "hey..." voice soft against the quiet of night. "this isn't just on you, alright? we made the decision together. you don't have to carry this alone."

                                                  ⸻         ⌜     @desolyt     ⌟

𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒  𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌  𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓  𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃   /         𝑎  𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒  𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔            in  every  line .     his  eyes  sweep  heavy  over  her  form ,    drawing  in  like  the  fog  of  humid  fall .     trepid   /   thick .     if  he  basks  in  his  thoughts  just  enough ,    he  can  hear  the  crinkling  of  early  death  right  outside  their  tent .     the  curling  of  leaves  coming  in  on  themselves ,    fallen  from  their  homes .     he  wonders ,    then .     he  wonders  how  it  must  smell .     is  it  terrible ?     a  sickly  stench ,    and  they  remain  unphased ,    wont  to  the  decay ?     or   do  they  truly  want  it    —    desire  the  feeling  of  death  and  relife  .    the  habitude  of  it .    the  hope .     is  anything  more  refreshing  than  the  corruption  in  their  lungs ?     that  copper  taste .     the  tent  blows  like  a  howling  at  his  back ,    coming  in  the  occasional  chime  of  their  quiet  motions .     he  lies  in  the  aubade .

fate's  nothing  but  an  anchor .     the  easiest  solution .    control  is  what  gives  reconviction  of  regret  /  regret  /  regret  :   a  symphony  for  the  conscience .     it  sweeps  over  him   /   a  sheet  over  dead  bodies ;    breath  heaving  into  the  one  next .     the  iteration's  at  his  tongue ,    but  he  can't  bring  himself  to  say  it .     the  truth's  never  lain  so  close  to  his  lips   —   but  here  it  weighs  heavy .     judging .     he  knows  she  won't .     it's  himself  he  fears .  

there's  so  much  he  knows  he  can  say .     his  defenses ,    reasoning ;    nothing  she  hasn't  heard  before .   only  hours  ago .     he  could  say  his  graces ,    sing  of  sweet  thankfulness  for  her  concern   /   despite  the  call .     despite  it  falling  to  him ,    and  not  needing  to  serve  as  a  bearing  of  pressure  for  her .     maybe  he  should   —   despite  it  all .     but  here  lies  the  thought  alone   /   sinking  in  his  own  suffocation .

a  sigh  leaves  him  instead .

levi  wraps  his  fingers  into  the  touch ,    pulling  their  entwined  hands  over  frankie's  form ,    his  own   looming   over .     there's   other   options  entirely .     the  chase  of  his  body  to  simmer  something  rich  inside  him   /   a  launch  of  that  familiar   opium   stitch .     his  lips  come  over  hers ,    fierce  in  their  taking ;    brow  furrowed  in  the  only  moment  he  lets  himself  look  truly   conflicted    —    so  close  she  could  never  see  it .     he  draws  back  when  he  can  hear  nothing  but  their  breaths .     only  a  second .     then  he  sinks  to  her  side ,    strands  of  hair   brushing   against  her  cheek .          ❛       i   know ,       ❜         he  whispers ,     voice  much   lower   than  anticipated .    it’s  more   welcome   than  the  cacophony  in  his  mind .          ❛       all  we  can  do  is  keep  moving  forwards .       ❜         clouded  eyes  come  up  once  more ,    weighed  further  by  the  moment .     he  considers  leaving  it  at  that .     reviews   the  options  of  laying  awake  for  hours  again ,    facing  the  potential  of  more  conversation   —   or  the   fresh ,    early - day  memories .     the  flash  of  blond .     a  shoestring  necktie .     a  sheet .

he  moves  down . 

[worstheir]

&. STARTER CALL | @desolyt​

 ❝  I know you want to ask. . .  ❞   the pieces of this puzzle were slowly starting to assemble, though not into the picture anyone would have guessed. The worst was yet to come. This, of course, was not what she spoke of. There were some secrets she would take to the grave, but this could not be one of them. Not from one of her last dearest friends. To carry the weight of the world was one thing, to carry this in addition was far too much to bear. It was the least of her sins. Besides, Frankie was suspicious. She had been from the moment her this twist of fate was announced. The commanding officers and nobles had swallowed her story like wine. Bitter wine, but wine nonetheless... Slender is the hand the brushes her belly, as if to make certain it was still there. A LIFELINE, RATHER THAN A LIFE.  A dig of tiny limbs press back against her palms in gentle reassurance. Historia is all but waddling at Frankie’s side as the young women venture down to the blessedly silent lake. Away from prying ears and her beloved. Blonde hair is lank and unkempt, blue eyes hollow, but she is triumphantly ALIVE. The ticking time bomb had slowed for the moment. She would weep with relief were it not tainted with SORROW to be backed so far into a corner that no other option remained to her. And how far her dearest friends would go to keep her safe. The blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb. The ties the bound them now were tight as shackles. 

She would marvel forever at the lengths they would all go to for each other, that she would go for them. The child growing inside her was proof of that. No price was too great to keep each other alive.    ❝  You can, if you swear you’ll never repeat it. Not to anyone. Not ever.   ❞   

[oncejaw]

5 / 22

@desolyt (character solidifying)

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?

As literal child soldiers, I probably wouldn’t say that either of the Galliard brothers were overprotected or sheltered - rather the opposite :’) I would however say that neither of their parents properly prepared them for what being a Warrior candidate and a Warrior entailed. Marcel found himself in a strange in-between state, where his parents would tell him to keep an eye on his brother and support him, without ever really telling him what to protect him from. Part of it was them genuinely not knowing,genuine ignorance (who can ever really imagine what it is like, to go through this kind of experience at such a young age?), part of it was denial and minimisation on their part. Marcel absolutely grew up with the standard anti-Eldian propaganda and the idea that becoming a Warrior was a great honour, even if he quickly abandoned this ideal and went against it by trying to steer Porco away from this trajectory. His parents failed to prepare him for the realities of his position, and did their best not to burst this bubble of propaganda and positive outcomes associated with becoming a Warrior, brushing everything else under the rug, consciously by certain aspects, unconsciously by some others. The Galliard parents never questioned the righteousness of the Warriors programme itself, but if they questioned whether or not it was right to let children participate in it, they never expressed it to their children, and decided to go with the flow, complicit and complacent, in a distorted attempt to protect themof the consequences of doubt. 

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

This is going to sound a lot harsher than it really is but: Marcel’s friendships, canonically, are first born out of circumstances. The other Warrior candidates are the only other children he gets to spend time with and bond with, so they primarily bonded because they were eahc other’s only socialisation with childrne their own age. After circumstances came experiences, and the hardships and events they lived through together, creating unbreakable bonds between all of them. Fortunately, in Marcel’s case, personal affinity also played a major role, turning those ‘accidental’ friendships into genuine, chosen bonds. Marcel is a very sociable, open, curious, interested in others, and easily finds something to like about other people. He would have no difficult explaining why he individually loves each of the Warriors and why he calls each and every one of them his friends.  From the perspective of grown-up/adult Marcel for the second part of the question, while the question of lovers or partners is a tricky one, he finds that he is quite keen on the idea of companionship (more on that in a future more fleshed out post when I’m not lazy). His ideal partner in this configuration would be someone who both feeds into and alleviates his independent and protective tendencies. He would want to feel like his partner looks up to him, relies on him - he needs to feel needed more than anything, and tends to panic/drastically lose confidence or any sense of self-worth if that’s not the case :’) But, likewise, his ideal person would be someone he can rely on, and not feel like he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders when he is with them. And on a less angsty note, his preferred type of people are people who challenge him, in every possible shape or form, people who keep things interesting by pushing him to do, or think, or be better, whatever the shape that ends up taking.

[oncejaw]

@desolyt​​​ said:  ' you are still a good person. '

-------------- “Goes to show goodness really is a matter of perspective, doesn’t it.” 

He almost regrets the words as soon as they leave his throat. There is a stern bitterness to them that he doesn’t like, coupled with a detachment he never wanted to make his in the first place, but that seems to have become his default tone whenever something comes to hit a little too close to home. He doesn’t like the way his brain switches gears, the way it shuts some things off without his say so. It shouldn’t be doing that; especially not when Frankie happens to be the unfortunate witness of his sour moods. If anyone can weather them without as much as a flinch, it’s her. 

“20% of the island’s population was sent to its death after our attack. Not to mention those who lost their lives during the attack itself. I wouldn’t exactly give us a badge of honour for that feat of arms.” Words that would most likely cost him his head back in Marley can be spoken freely here, among enemies, in the company of a friend - who would have thought. Marcel is done pretending. Frankie has known him long enough, and has been here long enough to get it, he figures. They are their own little unit - the dissidents, secretive and utterly useless in the face of the war machine powering them both. Still. It does feel good, not being as lonely. Frankie doesn’t have to rely on him as much as the others do; hers is a company that feels like a shot of oxygen directly into his bloodstream. What a relief, to have found her on this wretched island.

He relaxes his features somewhat, and his eyes flick to her, her face framed by incendiary red hair - he would have recognised that shade anywhere. “It’s good to know that’s not enough to deter you entirely. Or maybe that just goes to show you have horrible tastes in friends.” His elbow moves to nudge her ribs; but soon enough, a veil of seriousness returns in the amber of his eyes. “We will make a move in the near future. You should try and make your way to safety before that happens, somewhere where we can pick you up. We will be going home soon.”

[oncejaw]

@desolyt​​ said:  holds him ☺️❤️   (inbox)

--------------- “Oy!” Arms lock around him from behind, entrap him in an embrace he, too absorbed in his thoughts, had not seen coming; leave him unable to repress a little yelp and a startle, spine stiffening under the attack. That is, under bright red hair come cascading over his shoulder, the warmth of a familiar cheek squishing against his; of course, he would recognise that giggle anywhere. 

“You know, you’re not accomplishing anything except making us look like a pair of idiots.” Yeah, she’s the one being a problem, here. Totally not him, or that dumb blush bringing colour to his cheek - he’s not blushing, by the way. Nuh-uh. Not him. “Okay, miss koala, if you’re not letting go, I’m gonna have to carry you like that all the way to the gates, and you’re gonna look real dumb. Hold up!” His hands move to secure her grip around his neck and the boy stands up with a snicker, pulling poor Frankie from the ground. If it is battle she wants? She’s getting it! And off they go, the little Warrior and his weird koala hanging off his back - a share of laughter, to forget about the war he will be shipped off to come morning. 

[oncejaw]

----------- “Whenever everything is terrible, I remember Frankie exists, and everything is a little bit less terrible.”

“Don’t tell her I said that though.” ( @desolyt​)

[aendeiousa]

‘  nothing  about  this  is  soft  but  we  pretend .  ’

        a dying light, it fades within her hands. the way it grasped worn fabric desperately that knuckles go white. the feeling doesn’t settle, merely overwhelms. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜. 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙? she dares to ask, but already knew that answer that awaits. 𝑖𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑠𝑒. for as long as the sun could be felt on porcelain skin.   

“  it’s exhausting.  ”  she muttered, a near tremble in her voice. 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫. though the one thing that did scare her had already happened. death had taken another and not herself. but the other knows, had carried the weight herself. for far even longer. her youth had barely touched the surface of whats to come.  “   we should go...  ”  she said finally, bones moving to stand. they ache with the weight of the war to come. with the death they would face.  @desolyt !!