Heyo im here with some drops for my victorian story! Here you go, first chunk of chapter one, knock yourselves out!
Click, swish, click, swish The sound of the loom was the only thing besides silence that filled the Clemont house. It was the soundtrack to Marina’s entire life, supporting the feel of threads beneath her fingers, underpinning the movement of the shuttle, the cadence that defined all she did.
The house hadn’t always been this quiet. Marina’s father, Jonah, was the sort of man that lit up the room. He’d been dead for almost ten years now, taken by the illness that swept over the countryside when Marina was little, but if she shut her eyes tight, she could see his face, feel his rough hands on hers as he taught her to weave, hear his baritone as he sung her to sleep.
Now it was just marina and her mother, alone in a house that felt much emptier than it was. Marina’s mother was the strict type, the tether that grounded her dreamer of a father, but now those fetters fell on marina, and she could never hope to fill her father’s footsteps. His tapestries were so magnificent, so vivid, that when hung on a wall it was almost like you were looking through a window. The half-finished tapestry of an ocean that sat on marina’s loom wasn’t even half as pretty, but it was good enough to satisfy the merchant who ordered it, at least, she hoped so.
Hands are a funny thing. It’s hard to distinguish a person’s identity just by looking at their hands, but you can tell several other things about them. Marina’s hands were calloused and nimble, marked with dozens of tiny scars you could only see in the light. Her mother’s were constantly stained, calloused in the same places as marina, where they would naturally be after working a loom for a lifetime.
Her mother was in the corner of the room, dying thread in a washtub to the light of a flickering oil lamp. If the merchant doesn’t pay soon, we’ll run out of oil, Marina thought. She often wished for a different life, one where the larder was always full and they didn’t have to worry about saving oil, but it was hard to imagine. This was the only life she’d ever known, the three rooms of their cottage and rickety bedframes and constant sound of the loom.
But something else caught marina’s ear, a sound that couldn’t have come from the loom: a knock on the door. The mail, she thought. Her mother’s eyes, blue as the dye that was staining her apron, flickered away from her work as they so rarely did, finding the door.
“I’ll get it” Marina answered her silent request, glad to get off the wobbly stool she’d been sitting on for the past two-and-a-half-hours. She pushed through the fabric hanging to dry in the doorway and past the empty umbrella stand, finding the cold handle of the front door in the near-darkness.
On the other side of the door, a young man in a pressed gray uniform was tapping his freshly-polished shoes on the doorstep. He certainly wasn’t their regular postman.
“I’m looking for a Ms. Marina Clemont” he read the back of the letter he had clutched in his gloved hand.
“That’s me.” marina answered. Mail rarely came for her, much less mail delivered by a posh fellow who surely had something better to do because he was checking his pocketwatch.
“Letter for you” he said curtly, turning to leave as soon as the letter left his hand. She closed the door behind him, examining the letter. The envelope was crisp and white, with an intricate blue wax seal holding it closed and marina’s address written on the back in careful calligraphy. The mailing adress, the seal, and the stamp all mentioned one place in particular: Blackwood Academy. Marina had heard its name before, spoken in proud tones and hushed whispers by people with far higher status than her. But why, marina mused, slipping her thumb under the seal, send a letter to me?
Miss Marina Clemont
We are delighted to inform you of your acceptence into Blackwood academy. You will be expected to arrive on the first day of auttumn. Attatched is a list of the required materials and the dress code.
Best of luck, Headmistress Tabitha Blackwood.
Marina shut the envelope, then opened it again. Surely this must be a trick. The Blackwood academy was practically a myth in the valley where she lived. Supposedly it was where nobles and their ilk sent their children to learn leadership, magic, and gods knows whatever it is rich people do. She’d never even dreamed of going, much less had she applied. Her life was laid out before her on a path paved with shuttles and warps, and it certainly didn’t lead her anywhere near a formal education. But the thought of it… grand libraries filled with books from floor to celing, gardens full of the finest roses, elaborate tapestries on every wall… It drew her in, however silly it was.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
Have a told yall about the time I cracked my head open?
I did that once. I don’t remember very well. But it happened.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
O sorrow, I have ended, you see, by respecting you, because I am certain you will never leave me.
Ah! I realize it: your beauty lies in the force of your being. You are like those who never left the sad fireside corner of my poor black heart.
O my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved: because I know that on the day of my final agony, you will be there, lying in my sheets, O sorrow, so that you might once again attempt to enter my heart.
Have a told yall about the time I cracked my head open?
I did that once. I don’t remember very well. But it happened.
I wonder why you don’t remember it well. It is what it is, at least you aren’t dead.
Probably because I was 2
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
O sorrow, I have ended, you see, by respecting you, because I am certain you will never leave me.
Ah! I realize it: your beauty lies in the force of your being. You are like those who never left the sad fireside corner of my poor black heart.
O my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved: because I know that on the day of my final agony, you will be there, lying in my sheets, O sorrow, so that you might once again attempt to enter my heart.
I looooove making scenes set to musicals in my head for characters. For the victorian story, I already have a few.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
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Ah
Sig but long ^w^
Gulpmissle Day, Saturday, Feburay 15th, 2025
'Naner Day, Tuesday, March 3rd, 2026
💛🤍💜🖤 🩷💛💙
Salem has dubbed me Fellow Pancake of The Fox.
Henlo, I am a pan, NB, chaotic ADHD mess of a furry.
I am also a eepy eeper, who likes WoF, WC, and fire.
Heyo im here with some drops for my victorian story! Here you go, first chunk of chapter one, knock yourselves out!
Click, swish, click, swish
The sound of the loom was the only thing besides silence that filled the Clemont house. It was the soundtrack to Marina’s entire life, supporting the feel of threads beneath her fingers, underpinning the movement of the shuttle, the cadence that defined all she did.
The house hadn’t always been this quiet. Marina’s father, Jonah, was the sort of man that lit up the room. He’d been dead for almost ten years now, taken by the illness that swept over the countryside when Marina was little, but if she shut her eyes tight, she could see his face, feel his rough hands on hers as he taught her to weave, hear his baritone as he sung her to sleep.
Now it was just marina and her mother, alone in a house that felt much emptier than it was. Marina’s mother was the strict type, the tether that grounded her dreamer of a father, but now those fetters fell on marina, and she could never hope to fill her father’s footsteps. His tapestries were so magnificent, so vivid, that when hung on a wall it was almost like you were looking through a window. The half-finished tapestry of an ocean that sat on marina’s loom wasn’t even half as pretty, but it was good enough to satisfy the merchant who ordered it, at least, she hoped so.
Hands are a funny thing. It’s hard to distinguish a person’s identity just by looking at their hands, but you can tell several other things about them. Marina’s hands were calloused and nimble, marked with dozens of tiny scars you could only see in the light. Her mother’s were constantly stained, calloused in the same places as marina, where they would naturally be after working a loom for a lifetime.
Her mother was in the corner of the room, dying thread in a washtub to the light of a flickering oil lamp. If the merchant doesn’t pay soon, we’ll run out of oil, Marina thought. She often wished for a different life, one where the larder was always full and they didn’t have to worry about saving oil, but it was hard to imagine. This was the only life she’d ever known, the three rooms of their cottage and rickety bedframes and constant sound of the loom.
But something else caught marina’s ear, a sound that couldn’t have come from the loom: a knock on the door. The mail, she thought. Her mother’s eyes, blue as the dye that was staining her apron, flickered away from her work as they so rarely did, finding the door.
“I’ll get it” Marina answered her silent request, glad to get off the wobbly stool she’d been sitting on for the past two-and-a-half-hours. She pushed through the fabric hanging to dry in the doorway and past the empty umbrella stand, finding the cold handle of the front door in the near-darkness.
On the other side of the door, a young man in a pressed gray uniform was tapping his freshly-polished shoes on the doorstep. He certainly wasn’t their regular postman.
“I’m looking for a Ms. Marina Clemont” he read the back of the letter he had clutched in his gloved hand.
“That’s me.” marina answered. Mail rarely came for her, much less mail delivered by a posh fellow who surely had something better to do because he was checking his pocketwatch.
“Letter for you” he said curtly, turning to leave as soon as the letter left his hand. She closed the door behind him, examining the letter. The envelope was crisp and white, with an intricate blue wax seal holding it closed and marina’s address written on the back in careful calligraphy. The mailing adress, the seal, and the stamp all mentioned one place in particular: Blackwood Academy. Marina had heard its name before, spoken in proud tones and hushed whispers by people with far higher status than her. But why, marina mused, slipping her thumb under the seal, send a letter to me?
Miss Marina Clemont
We are delighted to inform you of your acceptence into Blackwood academy. You will be expected to arrive on the first day of auttumn. Attatched is a list of the required materials and the dress code.
Best of luck, Headmistress Tabitha Blackwood.
Marina shut the envelope, then opened it again. Surely this must be a trick. The Blackwood academy was practically a myth in the valley where she lived. Supposedly it was where nobles and their ilk sent their children to learn leadership, magic, and gods knows whatever it is rich people do. She’d never even dreamed of going, much less had she applied. Her life was laid out before her on a path paved with shuttles and warps, and it certainly didn’t lead her anywhere near a formal education. But the thought of it… grand libraries filled with books from floor to celing, gardens full of the finest roses, elaborate tapestries on every wall… It drew her in, however silly it was.
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
the meme-o-mancer returneth
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
this is really good man trust me
Reasons why its the best:
EXPRESSIVE
ANIMATION SO GOOD
COLORFUL
apollo and aphrodite are gorgeous
Ares is genuinely intimidating
HERA BE BOPPIN
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
Hey there I’m on my second account for now
Frydoodle's second account
Bro I know
Your local friendly stupid doop!
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake! I am a minor so you will do none of that (GP) with me! I use He/They pronouns :3
Extended Signature!
Best Epic Animatic?
Your local friendly stupid doop!
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake! I am a minor so you will do none of that (GP) with me! I use He/They pronouns :3
Extended Signature!
That one
Frydoodle's second account
Have a told yall about the time I cracked my head open?
I did that once. I don’t remember very well. But it happened.
O sorrow, I have ended, you see, by respecting you, because I am certain you will never leave me.
Ah! I realize it: your beauty lies in the force of your being. You are like those who never left the sad fireside corner of my poor black heart.
O my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved: because I know that on the day of my final agony, you will be there, lying in my sheets, O sorrow, so that you might once again attempt to enter my heart.
-Excerpt, Prayer for loving sorrow
I wonder why you don’t remember it well. It is what it is, at least you aren’t dead.
My dad cracked his head open once, so did my friend. (I was around in the aftermath of the latter)
Probably because I was 2
O sorrow, I have ended, you see, by respecting you, because I am certain you will never leave me.
Ah! I realize it: your beauty lies in the force of your being. You are like those who never left the sad fireside corner of my poor black heart.
O my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved: because I know that on the day of my final agony, you will be there, lying in my sheets, O sorrow, so that you might once again attempt to enter my heart.
-Excerpt, Prayer for loving sorrow
I was a little older when mine did. Don’t remember it well either way.
I looooove making scenes set to musicals in my head for characters. For the victorian story, I already have a few.
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) goofin' around on the interwebs
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, undead cutie pie, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)