oc: crimson


crimson by qrsk

Thomas the toy maker

Thomas, after realising that everything had changed, Lucille gone, Allerdale in a state beyond repair, a chance at freedom, left his machine. Perhaps he would return to it in time, the drawings and machine parts tucked away in a box ready for when they would emerge once again. 

Given his sustained injuries instead he turned to smaller ventures. More difficult at times, but it kept him occupied and helped build muscles and his coordination. The trinkets that had once been repayments of guilt to Lucille, now offered him a means to an ends. A small building in the town, bought when he sold the ring that had been his ticket to many a woman’s heart. It had a small living quarter above it, enough for him with a rather pleasing view out over the hills, whilst beneath him was the space for a small shop. That was where he would spend his days tinkering with his little creations, the magician, the little automaton of the mining machine, the little rocking horse he had started. That was when there had been a gentle knock at the window. Thomas sat and wondered who it could possibly be. Edith had left as soon as she was sure that Thomas was alive and well. No one else knew he was there apart from the gentlemen he had bought the residence from. Cautious and holding his hand to steady himself he peered through the window and saw a the daintiest of little girls stood at his door. 
“Can I help you?”
“You have toys”
“Can you fix mine?”
Holding it aloft for him, Thomas saw that the little girls doll had suffered quite the trauma and as such was no suffering a missing limb.
“No, I’m sorry” hunched against the door and only allowing the smallest of space, Thomas shook his head, 
“I can’t-”
“Is that a rocking horse?”
Yet the little girl was determined. Pushing past his weakened legs, she marched to the table, 
“Please leave or I shall have to call for your mother-”
“Its so pretty”
Her child like fascination, her bright and genuine eyes as her fingers gently ran along the back of the rocking horse, the doll crumpled and long forgotten at her feet. 
“A magician!”
Pushing the brim of her wide hat back from her face, stood on tip toes she turned to Thomas and nodded. She wanted to see it work. Sighing, too tired to argue, he turned it on and watched her reaction as the ball disappeared and soon appeared from the magicians mouth. A thrilled and stunned gasp bringing a small smile to the once baronet’s face. Her innocence was a difference in a lifetime of dark. 
“You are very clever sir…you’re the toy maker”
He never intended for it to become something significant. But once he had reattached the arm of the doll, showed her the other trinkets he had been working on, there were soon more at his door. People bringing their children with their broken toys but secretly wanting to see the toys that were hidden behind the door. 

So it went. Within a couple of months, a lick of paint and redecoration and creation of more ornaments, Thomas opened his doors to the town. People from far and wide came to see the toy maker whose shop was filled with toys, where fluttering moths and butterflies hung from the ceiling and whose wings cast shadows of colour onto the floor thanks to their glass wings. It was a wonder world for those who could otherwise not afford, but Thomas always made sure they went home with some kind of trinket. Seeing the smiles and the way that people enjoyed his work, eased the pain that he had otherwise been feeling. He brought happiness to them, to children, something that had been absent from his own childhood really. Soon enough the shop was not big enough and the demands too much for him to handle alone. He had to move to a bigger residence and employ a skilled few to help him complete his orders. Sharpe’s toys were a success. Orders even from around the world were sent to the toy maker.
“Can I help you?” Thomas was walking the shop floor one morning when he saw a little girl stood staring at one of the butterflies that sat fluttering on the counter. He had made those when he had first started, now it was seven years later and they were still popular for their realistic qualities.
“My mother likes butterflies, they remind her of someone special” she speaks, her head crowned in a bonnet hat, a rather pretty white dress on. Thomas smiled and crouched down, 
“Really, and who is this special person your mama speaks of?”
The moment he saw the little girls eyes he knew who her mama was. Her eyes were the exact same, golden brown with flecks of yellow. Only her hair was not blonde, no it was dark and waved…like his own.
“My papa, he died before I was born, but mama says he was very good with machines”
“Is- is that so” he tried to swallow the dryness in the back of his throat as he wondered whether truly what she was speaking and his own assumptions were true.
“Can you show me more?”
She held her small hand out and Thomas wondered whether he should send her back out, tell her to leave. But he couldn’t. Her curiosity so like his own and her mothers. Standing, he took her small hand in his and led her round the shop. He would simply have to meet her mother later, meet his old butterfly.

Nohrian Festival: Ryoma and Scarlet Conversation Pt. 1 & 2

Oh god. OH GOD. This was even more painful to translate than Flora and Jakob’s conversation. Ryoma, you friggin’ dense bastard. I had thought that in Revelation I had sensed something a little more… mutual between you two. CLEARLY I WAS WRONG. This misunderstanding was PAINFUL, poor Scarlet.

This is even more painful because Scarlet’s best chance of staying alive is in Birthright and SHE CAN’T SUPPORT RYOMA REGARDLESS. You heartless storyboard writers. 

Keep reading


Crimson: “The meaning of the flower you gave me that time was ‘Eternal Affection’. I was happy. And that was the reason for why I could fight stronger than usual.”

i’m crying because of course then Ryouma proceeded to tell her things like yeah but i totally had no idea about flower language and shit like that tho so that was actually unintentional ;o;