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Enemies of France beware, for the roses of justice are in bloom!

When I learned about the Daisy : Mysteries of France series, I was very amused since it bares a lot of similarities to my old fanfic, The Scarlet, where I also made Mickey into a costumed vigilante of France!

#my art #fanfic #the scarlet #daisy duck #mickey mouse

#MoM #America #America Chavez #Dr Strange #Dr Stephen Strange #Wanda Maximoff the Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #The Scarlet #Scarlet Witch #Multiverse of Madness

made a bunch of memes for a non-existing show in my head

#unreality #but it's real in my head <3 #basically a mix of 1899 and the terror but the horrors are lovecraftian not scifi or the cold #bit of a western vibe too #and by that i mean there are shootouts #daniel solace #just a reference of him #character memes #writing memes #The Scarlet #i will not stop

When: a few days after the aftermath. lunch. Where: common mess. Whom: closed for @scarlxtdrops

The tension is palpable now. It’s charge hangs in the air, like the moment just before lightning strikes. The only difference: she would prefer lightning over a riot. Over all the disdained looks and silent fury of the Promethean seamen.

She is sure that the only thing that safeguards the survivors’ lives ( her life ) are the Captain’s orders but the resentment leaks out in other ways, like poison through a cracked bottle.

Emma-Rose looks around the mess hall for an empty seat, rations in hand. Suddenly, a hard shoulder hits her from behind, knocking her forward as the culprit continues to walk on through—as if she was never there to begin with. Her feet catch her but it doesn’t stop the burning on her face, the flush of embarrassment mixed with anger.

She spots Farah, sitting alone, and decides that it is safer with company. Emma sits directly across, deliberately avoiding the other’s eyes.

“We don’t have to talk. I’m just here until its safe.”

#scarlxtdrops #the scarlet #scarlet01

THE SCARLET.

— NAME: FAHRA VARASTEH.

— AGE: 29.

— GENDER: cisfemale.

— ROLE: guest, former handmaiden.

— FACE: golshifteh farahani.

We are never greater fools, and greater martyrs, than when we believe love can be outrun. If your love had been an ordinary one, perhaps you would’ve outgrown it, outlived it still - perhaps it would have tapered like a childhood dream. But its intensity was one that blazed throughout your present and your future - no candle, but lighthouse, forest fire. You fell into a tumultuous romance not only with the man you worked for, hired as governess for his children, but also with his wife. The three of you spent seasons of rapture, of half-mad joy, until rumors took hold. They had to choose between their dreams and their desire, and as is the mark of bright, ambitious people, they chose the former. You could not see, could not think; you boarded the Agathe because it was first international vessel that looked comfortable enough, safe enough, too. What irony, that you would’ve been safer on a into the unknown. Now, thousands of miles away and an ocean of horrors between you, you learnt some things cannot be escaped. And then you learnt it again, and again, and again.

CONNECTIONS.

✹ THE MARKED — They belonged to the same international society as your lovers. Researchers, academicians, with a mind to rule the earth and a name to inherit it - it was not a world you went in willingly, but blindly. You stepped into cross-continent meetings at strange chateaus, often with the children in tow - and you did it resolutely, throat bared as onto an altar. How odd, that they, a passing face once upon a time, should be all you have here.

✹ THE SUNFLOWER — There is more than strength that unites people. Perhaps it might have been what united The Cassandra and the Judas, or what held the late Capitaine’s crew together when everything began to disintegrate - but in these last months you discovered frailty and fear to be even better ties between two souls. You see this reflected in the Sunflower: not victimhood, not for either of you, but martyrdom.

✹ THE VOLCANIC — How could you know what goes through their mind? Often it seems nothing could be there at all - not in the cutting irony you would throw half a year ago, but in the purest, cruelest sense. They look to you with the glassy eyes of mounted animals. It makes it impossible to know if they are being hunted along with the rest of you, or if they might be a hunter of their own kind.

This skeleton is TAKEN by Drynne.